An addendum for "Ugly Girls" . . .

Yes, I actually wrote all of that (even the "self-help" stuff which sounded so trite, as if I'd lifted it from Doctor Date, Love Lines, or some such syndicated whatnot. I made it up as I went along, and I do believe most of what I wrote) in a single take, even stayed up all night, right after coming back from a visit with a bartender friend.

The first time I read your "Ugly girls make better girlfriends" profile I was in a rather suggestive state of mind. Bear in mind that I am a drinker of alcoholic beverages, beer in particular (a regular, but not heavy drinker, it's part and parcel with my occupation) but I do not partake of other medications or substances, and was rather sober at the time I read your headline and profile. The thing is, it made me feel a bit sorry for you at first, probably because I could not read through your sense of humor with the whole "ugly girls" bit. I really wanted to protest, to stand up and shout "You're not ugly, you're BEAUTIFUL!", but then I realized the nonsensical nature of 'standing-up' online and of shouting (all caps, I know), and just kept your profile in mind for another time.

The next week I wrote you, after coming back from a weekend vacation.

It's true, you are beautiful and even sound quite intelligent and sincere. And yes, as I said, you really are the spitting image of my ex - what a coincidence, huh? Therefore, (apart from the existing age difference) your physical resemblance to my ex is a HUGE reason why we should never meet or even correspond via email, IM, or what have you. The physical similarity alone is not simply a hurdle but an inpenetrable impasse.

You do indeed sound sincere, like a young person who's had their heart broken (hey, it happens to almost all of us. It happened to me at age 25 and age 30. I hope it never happens again, and in order to act upon my 'hope' I will basically stay out of the dfating game for the rest of my life. The last time almost killed me.)

I do wish you the best of luck and pray that God be with you, even though you're not religious.

Take care.

“First of all, I am way too old for you, so forget about you and me . . . ”

I oughtta have that tattooed on my forehead by now . . .

I am an honest guy (honestly), and seeing as how honesty is important to you, I’d say I’m in the right general neighborhood, even though the games are going on at entirely different ballfields. I really am too old . . . *really.* I mean, twenty seven is the top edge of yer age range, right? So who am I kidding? Moreover, why am I even bothering to write you?

That’s a very good question . . . I’m wondering myself, and hoping that I can answer the question for both of our sakes.

- - - - -

Twenty seven was a “great year” for me the first time around. No, honestly, it was a MOMENTOUS year. I had just recently turned twenty seven when I began dating someone whom I thought would end up spending a long time with me (she did.) For a couple of years prior to that I was aimless, drifting in a sea of possible amour, less interested in actively seeking someone new than frantically desperate for something sane, and with my head still ringing from the first go-around; I was a veritable flyweight recovering from a one-round bout with Smokin’ Joe Frazier.

I was a virgin ‘til age twenty five.

A good Catholic? “monster shy?” I still don’t know, but dumb luck struck in the form of a chance encounter at the Quickie Mart (the name here has been changed so as not to indict the Innocent.) I can’t recall much from the experience, apart from the fact that my first girlfriend was very nearly my last (a virgin at eighteen is a rarity, but a virgin at twenty five was then and is now a crime against God and all his Creation.)

The second time around was a bit more . . . deliberate? I didn’t want to rush into anything, but nor did I want to keep chasing the girls off anymore, either, for in the two years that passed between Girl 1 and Girl 2 there were innumerable opportunities to date at least casually (these days I think kids “hook up” a good more, but I could be wrong, as I’ve been out of circulation for a good ten years) and the fact is, for the first time in my life, the girls were *finally* beginning to notice me! Yep, at age twenty seven (and an aspiring fifth year Senior at the U) I had only then begun to fit the “it” look of the day. Grunge had recently passed, but I was already way, way into the Retro look of vintage sport coats, bowling shirts, and Tiki couture. I was also a Club Kid, attending as many concerts each week as possible, be it Techno, Metal, a band from the burgeoning Goth scene, or just plain pop-punk from my old friends ALL, now hailing from Fort Collins.

So the opportunities were there. I was ready. She was ready. Everything seemed to fall into place perfectly . . .

But it wasn’t perfect.

What complicated matters was the fact that my mother was dying of cancer at the time, and to describe the complexity of the situation here would require more words (and more characters and more typing) than even my own penchant for late-night communiqué will allow. Suffice it to say that I felt that the time was right to settle down, to leave my dying mother with the impression that I was finally moving in the right direction, growing up and taking responsibility for my own life. I’d never have this chance again! Girl 2 had everything I was looking for (and a bit more that I was probably not ready for, looking back in hindsight) so how could I fail to at least try?

Well, try I did, but what complicated matters was the fact that there was a Girl 3 in there somewhere. Ten years after the fact I remember less of this than I remember from the Girl 1 Saga (starring “Jenny” from Quickie Mart as the Ex), and yet the Girl 3 Saga left its own, more lasting effects when Best Friend B came along a while later and wooed her right out from under me. Prior to that, I thought that I had a good chance at a long-term relationship with either Girl 2 or Girl 3, but couldn't really decide on either. The clincher was that both my Mother and Grandmother had met Girl 2.

My mother passed within a month of this meeting - my Grandmother shortly thereafter.

As a Catholic I shouldn't have to explain the concept of “Catholic Guilt” to you (right?)

Girl 2 and I were together for five years. Traveled together. Moved around the country together. Loved and hated our jobs together.

And then we went our separate ways.

-----

I’d like to say that we remained friends afterwards, but that would be akin to tacking a fairy-tale ending onto the final, critical scene in Star Wars: Episode Three - you know the scene? Where Vader shouts “NOOOOOO!!!” and goes all Frankenstein’s monster?

I’ve lived the past five years as a virtual shut-in from the dating scene, far from the world of Pretty Young Things (A), and making no effort at all. But I attainted Saintly Bachelorhood gracelessly, whilst throwing swingin’ keg parties at my chillin’ bachelor’s pad Above the Bar, attended by more wild women (and crazy, mixed-up bachelors like myself) than I ever thought possible. The problem was not only that I never did meet anyone crazy enough to fall for a guy like me, but more to the point? I *still* wasn’t ready to start dating again.

I spent the next couple of years diving headlong into a new career, coupled with a diversion or two into old hobbies along the way. A lot of this career and hobby-oriented work involved plenty of emailing and surfing the web, and this was years before the advent of Firefox and Adblocker. As such I ran across ads for online dating services, too many ads to count . . . and the pop-ups, oy veh! I finally caved in out of sheer irritation and a sense of reckless adventure – why not look for a date online?

Well, for one thing it isn’t at all traditional, and I am a fairly traditional person. For another thing? I was not ready to date again . . . three years later I am STILL not ready!

But out of a sense of curiosity (what do women want? Hell, what do *I* want?) I soldiered on, joining a dozen dating services before stepping back to survey the damage.

So . . . three years later have I learned anything other than what I knew to begin with?

I know that women are still basically the same overall, and that is to say that they are really no different than men. Oh sure, we like to THINK that there is such a great and readily-definable set of differences between the genders, and yet when you get down to it these differences can be set on a shelf like a fossil or artifact from a culturally less-enlightened time.

Finally, what have I learned after three years of scouring the online-dating profiles?

1. Men are dogs.

Who cares? A great many women are drawn to “bad boys”, and there are just as many women who aspire to be “bad girls” these days (has it ever really been any different?) If you steer clear of the Dog Pound (no matter how sad and lonely the look in their eyes) you will soon begin to differentiate between those who are in it for the long haul and those who aren’t.

2. All women are Gold Diggers.

Nonsense. Everyone is out for themselves and always has been. Men are equally guilty of looking for a free ride whenever they find it, and I don’t have to explain the pun. The thing is, nobody really needs to be a gold digger nowadays and nobody needs to be the Gold Mine, either. Men and women seem to be on an increasingly-level economic playing field, which brings me to the next point . . .

3. Keep a poker face handy at all possible times – and learn some Texas Hold ‘Em

If I’m reading my own cards (and the profiles I’ve encountered) right, women are plenty savvy to the internet dating gambit these days. As many have been burned online as have been by the bar scene or the Blind Date Toad syndrome, and they’ve learned a few tricks to help keep wanna-be bread-winners, sugar daddies, and Players at bay. Either that or medical secretaries really DO make high six-figure salaries these days.

4. Kids are fine, unless you’re Mike and Carol Brady, in which case they’re GREAT!

Just like Tony the Tiger said, right? Children from another marriage are a tough hurdle for many bachelors, yet with the prevalence of divorce who doesn’t have kids by the time they hit thirty? Plenty of men can leap this so-called hurdle, and a great many have already fathered children. Whether they are a good father or not? That requires more on-site inspection. But by the same token how is that lady as a mom? These are but two of the many dimensions to the realm of online dating.

5. Flexibility and Honesty are key.

If you’re an intransigent bum, a shifty snake-oil salesman, or an intolerant person in general, you’re in for a tough ride. Men have for a long time been characterized as no-good down and dirty dogs, and women these days are very up front about the importance of honesty. The same holds true of the need for flexibility (and I ain’t talkin’ Yoga, here.) With two busy, working individuals (and children and existing family obligations as well) it becomes more and more difficult to find someone who fits your pre-existing lifestyle. If he or she can’t bend a bit to try and conform, chances are it won’t happen for ya, at least not in the long run. Do I even need to mention Understanding?

Ultimately I’ve learned that women today are a lot more open about what they want in a relationship. As a means of making their needs known, the realm of online dating has made for an excellent forum and sounding-board.

-----

At any rate, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Your profile struck me as exceptional for several reasons and I just wanted to pass along this note to tell you as much . . . that's all. I realize my own limitations, faults . . . even the odd strength I might have here and there,but as a single man with very little to offer a single woman of any age (again, I am too old, too poor, and too stuck-in-his ways to really even think about dating) I must now say goodnight, good luck, and pleasant dreams.

And by the way, yes, you are the spitting-image of Girl #2. Go figure.

A) Actually I still live on campus, so there are an abundance of pretty young things. But as an older man with nothing to offer there is simply no point in paying attention to them. I have become what a friend referred to as a “rock and roll Scene Monk.”

Elvis in the ground, panhandlers in Dinkytown

A zine. An actual xeroxed digest-sized zine.

One sheet of paper, hand-pasted clip art. Only two typefaces.

It's not often that you run across these reminders of the pre-digital age, but I found one today in the coffeeshop. Simple and to-the-point, it warned of the demise of "the underground scene" and the pervasive nature of everything Pop, while stridently urging its readers to go out to shows more often, sporting the 'last interview' with locally-based Volante as its feature article.

Refreshing (and a tad-bit old-fashioned) Tundra put an easy smile on my face.

And yes, I saw the first panhandler in Dinkytown that I've seen for months and months. Dressed for the weather (it was 10 degrees and sunny today) and I should admit, dressed in new clothes, he didn't look like your typical panhandler, more like an out of work IT wonk. So be it. He got my spare coinage for the rarity and novelty of it all.

This night has opened my eyes*

"Waking" Friday morning at a friend's place, well, in fact I never went to sleep.

Tired (very tired, dear) from another day of retail at the peak of the Holiday Season, and I simply felt like going home to sleep. But no, I have responsibilities to the partying public, a certain reputation to uphold, and it is almost New Year's Eve after all, and with New Year's Day on a Saturday I haven't a solitary excuse not to Party like it's 1999 (except for the fact that I already *HAVE* partied like it's 1999, both at the end of 1998 and 1999, so Prince's Millenialist fantasy is now rendered Pop music, fun, redundant, and not at all threatening, all at once.) But . . . I'm older now, turning grey, my liver doesn't work as well as it used to . . .

but I still have no excuse. Parties are everywhere, with Cabs and sober drivers for every fifty people, along with the rare chance at a romantic encounter . . .

and still, all I want to do by Friday, New Year's Eve, is take a spot on my couch and read a book, later to drift aimlessly to sleep around the time the Ball drops.

But this journal entry isn't about a Smith's song or even New Year's Eve at all, but about December 30th in particular, for it was then that I took in a show at the Whiskey Junction, where a friend's band, Soda Pop Jerk, were playing. I'd seen 'em only once before, at the Terminal Bar in '99 just prior to leaving for Boston. I remember very few particulars about that set, I was probably stoned at the time (blame THAT on my youthful enthuiasm and easy access - hey, it was college, and folks REALLY LIKED Ween back then : D), mainly I remember a loud, noisy, hot, and crowded affair, in other words a classic Terminal Bar gig, a joint in the spirit of the best gigs that the 24 Bar ever had to offer.

Aside from that Terminal set I'd always thought that Bagger '97 had been a great band from only a few years prior, having caught them on numerous occasions around town, and Soda Pop Jerk had been formed just following the demise of the Baggers.

So any way you slice it, it's been years since I've seen Tim's band play, and yet his brand of 'Sota Pop still sounded as fresh, energetic, and well-played as ever, and it was certainly well-practiced to my ears (after all, these boys have been playing their sets for around five years now!) They're a trio, now, playing solid pop-rock with marked, identifiable punk and post-punk influences, a perfect blend of major chord vocal harmonies and minor chord dissonance that places the band squarely in the emotional hardcore millieu that's more or less characterized the past twenty years of the so-called "underground" of post-punk and college rock. In one sense it was nothing to write home about, but in another it was a great deal better (and better-played) than much of the music I'd heard over the past fifteen years, and in that sense I'd like to think that these guys still have a chance at making a name for themselves outside of the local bar and college-rock scene. I guess I think I've heard a lot in my time, and to my jaded ears they sounded pretty darn good the other night. Still, on the other hand . . . I have way too much common sense (and an even better sense of who-I-am) these days to think that I'm any kind of a tastemaker or anyone who can do much of anything for anyone.

But after the set (and just before the next band had finished sound-check) I asked whether or not Soda Pop Jerk had a CD out. The answer that came back "What? Someone's asking for something to take home?" was only a bit unexpected. After all, at one time or another it has always been considered de riguer to carry along a handful of Things To Want and Buy to sell at the gigs you'd play, a little something to help put gas in the tank, beer in yer hand, or food on the table tomorrow.

But these guys had nothing.

"We've just never gotten around to it somehow. This is all just for fun anymore, ain't no way we're quitting our day jobs!"

Along with another old friend (Jon Greenlee) Tim's also spent some time in recent years playing in Space Camp, a sort-of side project for both of them, or just another distraction from the meat and potatoes of the DayJob, I guess.

After the set we played some slop pool, drank hella 50 cent High Lifes, and listened to the other bands on the bill droning away in the background, obscured as they were by college girls, neon signs, and a James Bond marathon on the boob-tube. We eventually made our way back to the East Bank for a Chapman Stick demo and a bit of Humboldt's Finest.

Finally, in the wee hours of New Year's Eve, I came face to face with my own Mortality. Mere moments after trying (once again) to operate a simple VCR remote-turned PC remote I watched as the rabbit in the corner of the room bacame again and again amorously attracted to a plastic gallon milk jug.

This unlikely Couple had a better sex-life than I did.

Checking the time (5 AM!) I bolted from the place, bunny-hop all-too fresh in mind, and began to make my way through the still-dark streets and byways of the U of M campus, freezing my underdressed skinny-white ass off and cursing the inevitable onset of winter.

I reached home chilled to the bone, stoned and weary, not-quite lookin forward to a hangover and a 12 hour day of retail.

But later that morning (and just for a moment) I watched as white puffs of snowflake drifted down through a highway overpass, momentarily illuminated by the glow of a harsh winter sun, and I felt as if the entire past twelve hours held more meaning than the entire last twelve years.

Epilogue:

January 2nd. I spot Whiskey Junction's weekly City Pages ad.

Soda Pop Jerk are nowhere on the bill.


(*and I will never pilfer a Morrissey title again.)

Cut off cut down held back don't trust anyone

My life has changed enough in the last ten years that I'm not quite ready for the changes to come in the next ten (or twenty, or sixty.) I've seen enough change, especially change in the world. Would I like to see more peace, love, and understanding? Well yes, certainly, but is it being too hopeful to hope for more? At this point in life my dreams shouldn't seem too far fetched to most folks, as most folks my age have easily achieved the things that I only dream of achieving. I no longer have any goals or aspirations, just the general desire to lend a helping hand to those friends and loved ones that I feel that I can help in some small way. Life probably holds a few more surprises and changes in store, yet I no longer feel that I am so eager to see the changes, as I'm definitely no longer as resiliant to the buffeting of the winds of change. I hold fast to my faith in the innate goodness of humankind, but, having seen an abundance of contradictory evidence, am no longer certain where the balance lies. To this end my faith in an all powerful and ever living God is more resolute, and a strong upbringing in a faithful household must certainly take some credit for this. I do have a tendency to equivocate, seeking redemption and reconciliation through the grace of God, but I feel complete in my faith and daily prayer alone, as if I have no reason to take direct action in my daily life - am I wrong?

An yes, back to the "Ex" in the title . . . I do feel cut off, despite being a ten minute walk from anywhere, despite being located smack-dab in the middle of a large college campus. I'm cut off here, surrounded by artifacts of the first three decades of my life, haunted by thoughts of my ex-girlfriend or pseudo-wife or . . . whatever she was. Not so ironically, the last communique I recieved from my Ex was an email telling me to go out and find another girl. That email was sent well over a year ago (and I hadn't seen her in almost two years by then) and I still do not know what to make of it, I am still trying to figure it out. In light of this I think I'm doing fine where I am, big old house, plenty of books to read, plenty of beer in the cupboard, friends are easy to find. Things couldn'r be better.

Giddy Giddy Carousel

(BGM: Red Lorry Yellow Lorry "Talk Abobut the Weather*")

Been a lot on my mind lately, though mostly the same type of stuff. Have been in a sort of funk, but with the weather being as warm and pleasant as it has been ("Indian Summer") it's hard to be in any kind of funk, so I've been in a reasonably good mood. Of course adverse weather doesn't affect me nearly as much as the changing of seasons, and now that it's Autumn with Elections very near, the new fiscal year underway, and students crawling all over the University campus . . . ESPECIALLY with all of the students back . . . all of the old nagging questions come to the forefront: "why have I no college degree? Why didn't I finsh school? Why, as a nearly-middle-aged adult man, surrounded by tens of thoudands of beautiful young women, do I feel incredibly frustrated and guilty?"
And so it goes . . . .
Last Monday around lunchtime Arik and I found ourselves walking around the neighborhood marvelling at the abovementioned flocks of young women/girls, feeling a bit too old and basically like dirty old men. Sometimes it's fun to feel this way, but mostly it's not very fun (makes you feel dated and useless at best, or superior and indifferent at worst.) On the previous evening Arik had knocked on my window and we ended up drinking, surfung the internet, and watching WACO: Rules of Engagement 'til the wee hours of the morning. At some point during the surfing and downloading Arik tried to convince me that I was "loney" (i.e. lonely, it's an old joke : ) and I had to insist that I wasn't. He tried to tell me that I deserved a significant other or grilfriend or what have you and obviously I was in the market what with this journal and all of the adult friend finding services I belong to, and yet I still tried to insist that at this point I'm probably a commited life-long bachelor with no prospects. Some of the things he said rang true to me, and yet it still doesn't change my outloook: online there are as many (if not more) beautiful young women and yet they all seem equally unattianable or mismatched to the odd duck that I am. Not to mention Uncle Kevin's Cardinal Rule ("no dating within the workplace") and there are always plenty of beautiful and talented young women there. Just rambling right now, but these things are always on my mind anyway.
My dreams have been wonderful lately, typically cryptic and filled with allegory and allusions to things that only I would know about, so unfortunately I cannot share them with you at this point (I will say this: some people write down a dream journal every morning or right after they have a dream regardless of the time of day, and this seems to work for them. As for myself my dream journal is kept within the confines of my dreaming mind itself, and as such my dream-life or dream-world is actually extremely well-developed and always has been. My inner dream journal has basically been my guide to the collective unconscious and a keen psychic investagatory tool all these years, through which I've often been able to see future events many years down the road . . . "oh no I've said too much.")
More later. I just wanted to get these things down while I had a spare moment.

*an old fave band and an all-time fave song for when I'm pissed-off/angry, not that I am angry today, however

Panic in The Year of W

(BGM: Joy Division@Preston)
A musing on Annual Wage Increases vs the rising costs of healthcare, interest rates, consumer price index, etc:

As "raises" are scheduled to be implemented soon at my place of employment I've been crunching the numbers. The upshot is that it doesn't look good. Sure I have a 401K and Profit Sharing, but I realize now that my hourly after tax take-home wage (as a soon-to-be middle-aged adult) amounts to less than the same figure I made as a young man in college . . . phooey! At this rate I'll never be able to afford much other than my quirky bachelor's lifestyle, let alone a family and all the fun that comes with (. . . sorry ma, no grandkids from this boy, Lord Knows I Tried.)

On the New Place and Solitude versus my place in The Group:

The new place has been going swimmingly for . . . is it three months already?!? I've grown accustomed to the relative quiet and relaxed atmosphere . . . just me and my boxes of belongings and deciding which of the things to stow permanently versus which to display, how to get things up off the floor, and wheteher or not to invest in Area Rugs and Ikea (ha ha ha!) I'm getting more and more used to the idea of blowing off my Bar Life altogether, but afteer years of being a regular atabar down the street from work it just seems strange to not go in there EVERY NIGHT for a few drinks, equally strange to not be living above a bar with its own petty politics, regulars, and internal squabbles. I have to admit to have grown to like certain aspects of this, but freely admit to liking my new situattion much MUCH more than the old. Nowdays Ican come home and drink chilled beer form the fridge without tipping anyone, can play my own brand of crap music instead of listening to the crap on the piped-in DMX, and DO NOT have to watch or listen to SPORTS on the television (as with the first few weeks of living with just a couch, VCR, and TV, I've been watching old videocassetes lately. Mostly weird stuff that wouldn't work for anyone but me, but like with The Manchurian Candidate some weeks earlier I've fixated on WACO: Rules of Engagement recently - probably all the Far Right literature I'd picked up recently.)

The other night at The Bar a friend and fellow regular suggested (for the upteenth time) that I ought to phone her and invite her over to "hang out" as in "we should hang out sometime now that you've got your new place." I say "sure, as soon as I have it cleaned up" and I do mean it, sort of. I mean this is a friend, but also a lady on the rebound from a divorce (I'm a friend and co-worker with here Ex) less than two months ago! Don't get me started on my Catholic Guilt (started? That guilt stuff never stops or goes away!), but I mean her implcations seem less than friendly and, well, you know what "hanging out" means at some stage of your adult life, right . . . um, *right?* Well, this lady's a bit younger than me, but is basically about the same age as the folks in my college peer-group, and for my group, back in college (was is ten years ago already?) "Hanging Out" was a phrase or term that was used as a colloquial shorthand for "more than just friends." The implications here, whether or not she's recently divorced, are for me a bit ominous and unwelcome. I mean I've been back here in Minneapolis licking my wounds from a five-year relationship that ended pretty badly in Boston, and although I am presently more than interested in the possibility of a relationship in the future (as opposed to five years ago and in the intervening five years, when I *was not interested at all!*) I think it would be a wasted effort and a waste of a friendship to mosey along into a romantic/sexual relationship with a recent divorcee. Not to mention the fact that she's *just not my type*, in other words I'm not greatly physically attracted to her. Sure she's a woman and I'm a man (remember the old Lloyd Cole song?) and both of us may be lonely, but . . . don't they make videos/magazines/adult toys for folks like us? I mean aren't there Matchmaking (I'm on about an even dozen online) services for goodness' sakes? Besides, engaging in a relationship with someone from Work (and this includes the ex-wife of Someone from Work) abrogates Uncle Kevin's Rules of matchmaking . . .