Rob Zombie has made a career of loud music about evil women, super
beasts,fast cars, and soundbites of old horror movies and the word
"Yeah" repeated ad nauseum You know what some knee jerk pentocostal
types would refer to as "devil music". The videos he crafted were often
assultive in image to the point of cartoonish, which he parlayed into
his first movie House of a 1000 Corpses. That movie had a hard time
holding a coherent narrative down, which is pretty difficult for a
horror picture, but he managed this feat pretty handily. This could
signal that he may the most diabolical gifted movie director ever. It
could have been victim to a number of things; Too many editors in the
bay cutting the scenes together, the bankrolling studio wanting a
different picture, or maybe there was just two or three different movies
that were shot and then reassembled all together to put into theatres.
Whatever the case may be, the movie was not all together that good,
unless you were 13 years old, and then it would have been the best thing
ever.
He offered up a sequel of sorts, The Devils Rejects, and a funny thing
happened. There was somewhat a workable narrative in the picture.
Characters were delightfully amoral, disturbing, and outright scuzzy. It
was more of an homage to the no budget thrillers of the 70's, like
Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It was pretty gutsy from a story standpoint to
have a family of murderous cannibals as your protaganists halfway
through the story. This is an example when the overall movie trumps it's
individual parts. It had plenty wrong with it (the story, some of the
acting, and incredibly grating music that Gasper Noe should have used to
soundtrack Irreversible) yet the end result was satisfying in the sense
that Zombie had moved from video director to movie director. He could
put together some interesting sequences and images, and he seemed to
have a better grasp on what he could do with something long form.
Then there was the announcement of Halloween which is a picture that
should have never been reimagined nor remade. It's pretty sad that there
are people out there that think this would be a classic, while the
Carpenter version sits idle and the select few who do watch the
original, giggle that it's cheap looking and not scary. Zombie's take
and obvious affection for Michael Myers doesn't generate 1/3 the
palpable tension Carpenter had in the original. It goes out of it's way
to try and figure from a psychological standpoint of what makes Michael
tick. His affection for all things illiterate redneck bloomed like a
magnolia flower in this movie, as did his desire to drag out every kill
with the intention of making it as realistic as possible, or as
realistic as a 7 foot hulking guy who can hoist and carry a tombstone,
take several bullets and continue to walk. It was completely
unnecessary. Once again, there were moments of visual brilliance and
there were scenes that worked. Once again, there was some signs of
growth behind the camera.
With all this being said, I snuck an early preview of Halloween 2 last
Thursday night. I read that Rob wasn't pleased with his first run, and
this one would be his definitive take on Michael Myers. He wouldn't be
encumbered by the weight of Carpenter's original. I agreed with this
statement, and looked forward to seeing this new take, although I am
somewhat of a masochist, so I knew the chances of the sequel being
better than the original were pretty slim to none.
The results were far more interesting than I was willing to credit it.
Is it a great horror movie? No. There are some interesting concepts that
he manages into the story, as well as some freaky and bizarre sequences
that look as if they sprung from the mind of David Lynch. The surviving
characters from the 1st movie are all changed to a degree. Yet, despite
the improvement in some areas, he continues to lack in others. Zombie's
love affair with rednecks continues unchecked in here, as well as his
penchant for some horrible dialogue and his insistence of using Tyler
Bates to score his movies. He presses further with some slow sadisitic
violence inflicted on characters which actually slow the momentum of the
movie. I grew slightly bored sitting there as Michael disposed of
random folks just because he moved like mollasses in the middle of
winter. The movie is just, well, it's crap, but not crap like the 1st
one.
I think Zombie could someday be an actual competent genre director. He
has developed a distinct style and look since his first movie. All his
pictures seem to float in a limbo that stretches from the late 70's to
present day for example. He has some intriguing ideas developing
character and mood that pay off sometime. What I hope he can do is keep
some compulsions in check on his next project. If he can concentrate on
crafting a story that can be satisfying to more than teenage boys, or
men who are in a perpetual state of arrested development, instead of
editing a series of awesome kewl! moments, he will be better as an
director overall. Of course, that's my opinion, I could be wrong.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Old Post from 2003
I was cleaning house last night, and came upon this notebook I had
put away with the following lines written down. It was dated as the
subject heading. It's some angry bitter work, but I was taken aback by
how strong the work was. I was really hitting on all cylinders with
this, and I hope to parlay this kind of passion first in a more positive
manner and into all my writing endeavours.
And this is how the year began on a cold winter evening barely remembered now, but most likely drinking beer, watching some video on MTV, some New York times square celebration, some movie by Gregg Araki or Harmony Korine or David Lynch or some other avant garde, enfant terrible, vanguard wallowing in images, in sound, in dreams of being there someday with studio money creating the next big thing that would be talked about for 40 years or so after the premiere, the awards, the accolades, the honors where print critics, radio critics, and television critics all fawn, gush, sigh, and praise the work of art, the courageous act, the best thing since _______. The evening probably ended with surfing on the net, a boring phone call, more beer to drink before going to bed and thinking of her, getting excited, releasing tension, or maybe it was listening to a CD on my walkman, maybe Powerman 5K or Manson or Smashing Pumpkins or the Beatles or maybe Roberta Flack & Donny Hathaway telling myself the lyrics to "For All We Know" would be the single thing that would bring her back to me as the lyrics are more honest, sweet, and gorgeous which I still aspire to match in my feeble attempts at being creative.
Along comes Cody, friend and confidant, who drinks heavy at night, quick on his feet in thought and in humor with his new girlfriend who was at one time the girlfriend of an older married woman who worked in a portrait studio in Wal-Mart and they exchange glances and double entendres over vodka and pucker in my apartment, as they strung the married woman along who was with Cody more than a few times, including once in my own bedroom the first night I met the two women, while I was acting or trying to act laid back and reserved with Cody's soon to be girlfriend then, but coming off desperate and clingy than suave and cool getting her not to shed her clothes but peel off personal information from Mellisa that night as follows 1) Republican 2) Bi-sexual 3) Bra size is a D cup 4) exhibitionist 5) Would rather have sex with Cody and her female friend in the bedroom than sit with me in my home. Of all the luck that is dispensed among people and I'm not the recipient of any. We share number one, it's ok on two, I never get to see the sight of number 3, because she doesn't play number four and she would later pull off number five a few days later with both of them as I would hear about it from Cody during a phone conversation. He speaks of the experience as if he had just scaled Mount Everest, or something equally history defining, and kind of rubbing it in my face by trying to pimp out the married woman to me so I didn't feel left out. Yeah, a good start to the year indeed.
And this is how the year began on a cold winter evening barely remembered now, but most likely drinking beer, watching some video on MTV, some New York times square celebration, some movie by Gregg Araki or Harmony Korine or David Lynch or some other avant garde, enfant terrible, vanguard wallowing in images, in sound, in dreams of being there someday with studio money creating the next big thing that would be talked about for 40 years or so after the premiere, the awards, the accolades, the honors where print critics, radio critics, and television critics all fawn, gush, sigh, and praise the work of art, the courageous act, the best thing since _______. The evening probably ended with surfing on the net, a boring phone call, more beer to drink before going to bed and thinking of her, getting excited, releasing tension, or maybe it was listening to a CD on my walkman, maybe Powerman 5K or Manson or Smashing Pumpkins or the Beatles or maybe Roberta Flack & Donny Hathaway telling myself the lyrics to "For All We Know" would be the single thing that would bring her back to me as the lyrics are more honest, sweet, and gorgeous which I still aspire to match in my feeble attempts at being creative.
Along comes Cody, friend and confidant, who drinks heavy at night, quick on his feet in thought and in humor with his new girlfriend who was at one time the girlfriend of an older married woman who worked in a portrait studio in Wal-Mart and they exchange glances and double entendres over vodka and pucker in my apartment, as they strung the married woman along who was with Cody more than a few times, including once in my own bedroom the first night I met the two women, while I was acting or trying to act laid back and reserved with Cody's soon to be girlfriend then, but coming off desperate and clingy than suave and cool getting her not to shed her clothes but peel off personal information from Mellisa that night as follows 1) Republican 2) Bi-sexual 3) Bra size is a D cup 4) exhibitionist 5) Would rather have sex with Cody and her female friend in the bedroom than sit with me in my home. Of all the luck that is dispensed among people and I'm not the recipient of any. We share number one, it's ok on two, I never get to see the sight of number 3, because she doesn't play number four and she would later pull off number five a few days later with both of them as I would hear about it from Cody during a phone conversation. He speaks of the experience as if he had just scaled Mount Everest, or something equally history defining, and kind of rubbing it in my face by trying to pimp out the married woman to me so I didn't feel left out. Yeah, a good start to the year indeed.
July 7 2009
Today was one of those days that was designed for me to get outside and
do more. Seriously. It was blue skies, mild temperatures, and a slight
hint of humidity. It didn't feel like early July, but early April. I did
get out today, visited my parents on my day off, and then mowed the
lawn at my house. I keep thinking about how I probably could have gone
to Hendrickson Park and maybe walked the trail a couple of times. I
could have done something besides getting up getting dressed and then
going over to my grandparents and sitting down for a couple of hours.
All around me there is work to be done, but I just don't feel that gnawing compulsion to do anything about it. My mind is bouncing about in different directions the past few days. I'm concerned about my Dad and his general health. I've been witness to someone wasting their life away through alcohol abuse last year, and sometimes I think it may repeat itself. It's difficult to try and tell someone you think they have a problem when they still come off, even as an adult, to you as someone who knows everything and knows better. I am perpetually a child when I am around my Dad, so the smart thing to do in this case is never done, at least not by me. I have always been the peacemaker, avoiding conflict at all costs. I never want to rock the boat. I will actively try and avoid the concerns I have, because I know he has probably heard it over and over again, thus erecting a wall to which no pointed statement or emotional outburst can penetrate. I feel inept and useless at times when this happens, which isn't often, but it does happen. Good sons should be able to derive their strength from their dad and when needed use it to help others, instead of sitting idle off to the side and keep themselves preoccupied with work, love, or other diversions. I wish that whatever t think on how he has struggled with his 60's. I think he has been overly critical of how his life has gone, and there is some depression in there because of that, and it worries me at times that I could go the same route if I don't keep myself in check. There are plenty of reasons why I should be morose and sad, but I refuse to be a illustration of self loathing any longer. In a perfect scenario, I would had graduated college, had a great career in something, with a wife and kids. Life isn't perfect though. It's clumsy, sloppy, awkward, and unpredictable. I am here for a reason I don't know just yet. The world is still open to me, and I need to seize the moment. It extends farther than the city limits of Poplar Bluff, MO. I'm better than that.
To my Dad: I love you. It's tough to say because there are times when you aren't dad. You are almost a stranger living in my parents house. I wish there were more hours in the day which I could spend some time every day with you. I hope that your recovery is quick and that maybe you can start recovering your emotional state as well. I would like to someday bring you some grand kids to visit. I'm not here to condemn you for what has happened. I want you to get better. I wish there was something the equivalent of Clarence the angel that could show you what an impact you have on your friends and family. I wish you could keep that realization in your head daily. You are stronger than anything that troubles you. We all know this. I love you Dad. Get Well.he procedure conducting on him will make him better, but also give him a moment of clarity. We can never go back to a time of how things were in life. We are all in a different place and mindset, but to have your father attempt and follow through with whatever steps he needs to do to get his mind and health right, that would give me peace of mind. There have been opportunities presented in the past, as far back as the start of this decade where he could have done something, but for whatever reason, he hasn't. His life has been invaluable to me, my mother, and my siblings. For better or worse he has touched my life that no one else has, and sometimes I think he loses that sight, that realization of how important he is to us all.
All around me there is work to be done, but I just don't feel that gnawing compulsion to do anything about it. My mind is bouncing about in different directions the past few days. I'm concerned about my Dad and his general health. I've been witness to someone wasting their life away through alcohol abuse last year, and sometimes I think it may repeat itself. It's difficult to try and tell someone you think they have a problem when they still come off, even as an adult, to you as someone who knows everything and knows better. I am perpetually a child when I am around my Dad, so the smart thing to do in this case is never done, at least not by me. I have always been the peacemaker, avoiding conflict at all costs. I never want to rock the boat. I will actively try and avoid the concerns I have, because I know he has probably heard it over and over again, thus erecting a wall to which no pointed statement or emotional outburst can penetrate. I feel inept and useless at times when this happens, which isn't often, but it does happen. Good sons should be able to derive their strength from their dad and when needed use it to help others, instead of sitting idle off to the side and keep themselves preoccupied with work, love, or other diversions. I wish that whatever t think on how he has struggled with his 60's. I think he has been overly critical of how his life has gone, and there is some depression in there because of that, and it worries me at times that I could go the same route if I don't keep myself in check. There are plenty of reasons why I should be morose and sad, but I refuse to be a illustration of self loathing any longer. In a perfect scenario, I would had graduated college, had a great career in something, with a wife and kids. Life isn't perfect though. It's clumsy, sloppy, awkward, and unpredictable. I am here for a reason I don't know just yet. The world is still open to me, and I need to seize the moment. It extends farther than the city limits of Poplar Bluff, MO. I'm better than that.
To my Dad: I love you. It's tough to say because there are times when you aren't dad. You are almost a stranger living in my parents house. I wish there were more hours in the day which I could spend some time every day with you. I hope that your recovery is quick and that maybe you can start recovering your emotional state as well. I would like to someday bring you some grand kids to visit. I'm not here to condemn you for what has happened. I want you to get better. I wish there was something the equivalent of Clarence the angel that could show you what an impact you have on your friends and family. I wish you could keep that realization in your head daily. You are stronger than anything that troubles you. We all know this. I love you Dad. Get Well.he procedure conducting on him will make him better, but also give him a moment of clarity. We can never go back to a time of how things were in life. We are all in a different place and mindset, but to have your father attempt and follow through with whatever steps he needs to do to get his mind and health right, that would give me peace of mind. There have been opportunities presented in the past, as far back as the start of this decade where he could have done something, but for whatever reason, he hasn't. His life has been invaluable to me, my mother, and my siblings. For better or worse he has touched my life that no one else has, and sometimes I think he loses that sight, that realization of how important he is to us all.
Futile Nostalgia Moment
Nostalgia. It's really a curse all dressed up nice. Yeah, you only
remember the good stuff in life, but when it comes at you, it usually is
unexpected and relentless, leaving you bedazzled and in awe of the
memory. It never keeps itself on time to be ready in it's revelation
when you are ready. There is no meeting halfway between the two of you.
Once nostalgia hits me, it's like a torrent of bit memories flooding my
head, reaching maximum capacity. I try and counter this with something
else, trying to stay in the present, but it really gets futile quickly.
Sometimes, it can be watching someone, or something or re-reading a
book, or listening to music that all at once bombards your conscious
with warm fuzzies. Nostalgia is like perfectly legal LSD.
There has been a moment in my life this year which I have not been able to shake. It's rather simple and mundane to most, but to this writer, it's a rather profound and moving experience. I try not to use the phrase I love You errantly. It's a sign of a culture wasting it's intelligence away when they casually toss the phrase around with about as much emphasis as hello. I don't want to drain it of it's meaning, or substitute it in the place of another inexplicable feeling I may have for a woman I am dating and I cannot think of a proper way to articulate it. I want it to continue to mean a profound amount of significance.
I have learned as an adult that sometimes it's better that you show it in action, and it has a greater impact than any list of words or sentences you may put together. One instance was in late April of this year. I ended up surprising the girl I was dating, and pretty serious for, by cooking her dinner. Well, I heated up a platter of lasagna, a loaf of french bread, and canned greens, so it's technically not cooking, it's merely warming things to adequate temperature. The point of this is I don't really cook. I don't have a small stack of books following recipes to the tee. I'm the guy who navigates the easy route to sustenance. Bologna? I'm there with a side of pringles. Frozen dinners? I'm listening. The girl I was dating, she understood this about me being a cheap diner. She would notify me that this wasn't a healthy way to live long term etc etc. She would get a chuckle when I would look at the oven as if it were something completely alien. "You worked at a fast food restaurant for nearly two decades," she quipped one time. "It's stunning and sad that you don't know how to operate the oven and stove." "No one pays me by the hour for it," I replied, and then warmed up a can of lasagna in the microwave.
I would sit and tell her that one day, she would come home from work and smell dinner. She would just get all sarcastic or incredulous at the statement as a reply. I followed though with my promise though. Hustled together the items at Wal-Mart, brought a bouquet of flowers for this wide lipped vase she had on the kitchen table. Lit some tall narrow candles that hadn't been used since 2002. I carefully read the directions on the box, which in a nutshell is, take off cellophane place on oven rack after preheating to 450 degrees and wait for 20 minutes, or it's a rough approximation thereof.
When she crossed the threshold of the front door, that look she had on her face was pretty indescribable. There were no words to be said. I think she sensed just how much I cared for her in that instant, for the past few months, it had all culminated in this one moment, sitting in the oven cooling down. This was a great moment in my life, an act I performed for exactly one other girl in my adult life, and this may sound sad or pathetic that I've wasted more words and lines on something completely mundane like cooking dinner, but it worked for me. It's something I can think on when I don't want to think about anything but sleep. I can remember just the absolute silence we sat in, exception being some soft music in the background. The food tasted pretty well.
A week and a half later, she left me, and I haven't seen her since.
That's how life goes though. It's best to not think of the negative, but concentrate on the positive. Realize that you were "the man" in that moment. You were something akin to having an S on your chest, cape billowing behind you. It's good to keep this in your head as you sit alone and think what it is that went wrong and why you aren't settled as of yet. It's not me, it's you. I can think to myself.
There has been a moment in my life this year which I have not been able to shake. It's rather simple and mundane to most, but to this writer, it's a rather profound and moving experience. I try not to use the phrase I love You errantly. It's a sign of a culture wasting it's intelligence away when they casually toss the phrase around with about as much emphasis as hello. I don't want to drain it of it's meaning, or substitute it in the place of another inexplicable feeling I may have for a woman I am dating and I cannot think of a proper way to articulate it. I want it to continue to mean a profound amount of significance.
I have learned as an adult that sometimes it's better that you show it in action, and it has a greater impact than any list of words or sentences you may put together. One instance was in late April of this year. I ended up surprising the girl I was dating, and pretty serious for, by cooking her dinner. Well, I heated up a platter of lasagna, a loaf of french bread, and canned greens, so it's technically not cooking, it's merely warming things to adequate temperature. The point of this is I don't really cook. I don't have a small stack of books following recipes to the tee. I'm the guy who navigates the easy route to sustenance. Bologna? I'm there with a side of pringles. Frozen dinners? I'm listening. The girl I was dating, she understood this about me being a cheap diner. She would notify me that this wasn't a healthy way to live long term etc etc. She would get a chuckle when I would look at the oven as if it were something completely alien. "You worked at a fast food restaurant for nearly two decades," she quipped one time. "It's stunning and sad that you don't know how to operate the oven and stove." "No one pays me by the hour for it," I replied, and then warmed up a can of lasagna in the microwave.
I would sit and tell her that one day, she would come home from work and smell dinner. She would just get all sarcastic or incredulous at the statement as a reply. I followed though with my promise though. Hustled together the items at Wal-Mart, brought a bouquet of flowers for this wide lipped vase she had on the kitchen table. Lit some tall narrow candles that hadn't been used since 2002. I carefully read the directions on the box, which in a nutshell is, take off cellophane place on oven rack after preheating to 450 degrees and wait for 20 minutes, or it's a rough approximation thereof.
When she crossed the threshold of the front door, that look she had on her face was pretty indescribable. There were no words to be said. I think she sensed just how much I cared for her in that instant, for the past few months, it had all culminated in this one moment, sitting in the oven cooling down. This was a great moment in my life, an act I performed for exactly one other girl in my adult life, and this may sound sad or pathetic that I've wasted more words and lines on something completely mundane like cooking dinner, but it worked for me. It's something I can think on when I don't want to think about anything but sleep. I can remember just the absolute silence we sat in, exception being some soft music in the background. The food tasted pretty well.
A week and a half later, she left me, and I haven't seen her since.
That's how life goes though. It's best to not think of the negative, but concentrate on the positive. Realize that you were "the man" in that moment. You were something akin to having an S on your chest, cape billowing behind you. It's good to keep this in your head as you sit alone and think what it is that went wrong and why you aren't settled as of yet. It's not me, it's you. I can think to myself.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Perils of Online Dating
I deplore fickleness. I really wish we would have the capacity to go in whole heart into something without reservation more often than we do.
I have been lurking about on okcupid the past month or so, in the means of finding a friendship connection, and perhaps grow and nurture this into something else. It hasn't gone as well as planned.
Sure, in the beginning, it was peaches and cream. I had clumsily wrote a quick few lines to some vague female stranger and got a reply. A couple of brief conversations turn into a number exchange. The exchange begat a couple of phone conversations and some text messages. It seemed to be slowly progressing, at least in my opinion, but this wasn't to met the same way, and despite her request to meet up some venue and some time, 72 hours later, she says personal yadda yadda, and don't contact me again. Add insult to injury, I guess I'm blocked as a security measure.
Now, your humble narrator wasn't playing the whole clingy,whiny, pathetic motormouth sap card as he is usually prone to do with the opposite sex. It was quick, clever, and brief. Yet, once again, I feel as if I had moved too fast, or something equally trivial to give her the strength to say no. Hmmm, I didn't get forward with her, unless you consider a message of how you're doing forward, or how was your day. I can see the potent forwardness in that question.
So, life lesson learned right? Yeah, and a couple of others as well.
Lesson 1) No matter how much humor is interjected into a site like okcupid, it's still feels slightly creepy to me. I feel all I'm missing is a rustic van with tinted windows and no backseat with shag carpeting, whilst I troll from picture to picture. It's foolish to think you can devise the makeup of one's personality gleaned from a few paragraphs and some photos. There is no instant connection when looking at pictures other than the unchecked feeling of lust that begins to stir. The site was better when I was just taking the occassional quiz or answering some open ended ethics question.
Lesson 2) I may be pretty straight forward and honest when I'm trying to strike up some conversation, but a lot of women and probably guys double stack their page with bullshit. Yeah, I hear you all going "Duhhhh!" collectively reading that statement, but color me either naive or capricious in thinking different. It's a dating site, and the desperation quotient is pretty high for thousands of people putting themselves out there on the internet. You may read how said member is wanting to find a guy who listens and has a sense of humor, and how you will at least get a good friend of the prospective partnership, but alas, it's all for naught. It's contradictory in thinking you will discover that soul mate, or potential good friend or casual sex partner online, and then develop a sense of standard suddenly. All statements made should have subtitles. Like, if you read something about how it matters what a person looks like inside, they are still jonesing for chiseled man candy with the impeccable hair and jaw line, not the lemur looking cat who's trying to get a reply from her.
The best one, the real cincher online is- I like to think of myself as open and honest. I will tell it to you straight and not afraid to do so. Translation- I'm sad and lonely in need of some form of conversation. I cannot swallow my fear or articulate my feelings, so I will merely avoid and ignore you long enough until you get the hint, so I feel as guiltless as an innocent babe, and give you an inferiority complex.
In light of all these recent discoveries, I really wonder if continuing this exercise is beneficial, outside of the humorous aspects of the fumbling about and ego withering shoot downs. I am a glutton for punishment though, a masochist. Chances are, there will probably be a few more posts detailing some new nameless woman without a heart this year. Biological clocks ticking and all.
I have been lurking about on okcupid the past month or so, in the means of finding a friendship connection, and perhaps grow and nurture this into something else. It hasn't gone as well as planned.
Sure, in the beginning, it was peaches and cream. I had clumsily wrote a quick few lines to some vague female stranger and got a reply. A couple of brief conversations turn into a number exchange. The exchange begat a couple of phone conversations and some text messages. It seemed to be slowly progressing, at least in my opinion, but this wasn't to met the same way, and despite her request to meet up some venue and some time, 72 hours later, she says personal yadda yadda, and don't contact me again. Add insult to injury, I guess I'm blocked as a security measure.
Now, your humble narrator wasn't playing the whole clingy,whiny, pathetic motormouth sap card as he is usually prone to do with the opposite sex. It was quick, clever, and brief. Yet, once again, I feel as if I had moved too fast, or something equally trivial to give her the strength to say no. Hmmm, I didn't get forward with her, unless you consider a message of how you're doing forward, or how was your day. I can see the potent forwardness in that question.
So, life lesson learned right? Yeah, and a couple of others as well.
Lesson 1) No matter how much humor is interjected into a site like okcupid, it's still feels slightly creepy to me. I feel all I'm missing is a rustic van with tinted windows and no backseat with shag carpeting, whilst I troll from picture to picture. It's foolish to think you can devise the makeup of one's personality gleaned from a few paragraphs and some photos. There is no instant connection when looking at pictures other than the unchecked feeling of lust that begins to stir. The site was better when I was just taking the occassional quiz or answering some open ended ethics question.
Lesson 2) I may be pretty straight forward and honest when I'm trying to strike up some conversation, but a lot of women and probably guys double stack their page with bullshit. Yeah, I hear you all going "Duhhhh!" collectively reading that statement, but color me either naive or capricious in thinking different. It's a dating site, and the desperation quotient is pretty high for thousands of people putting themselves out there on the internet. You may read how said member is wanting to find a guy who listens and has a sense of humor, and how you will at least get a good friend of the prospective partnership, but alas, it's all for naught. It's contradictory in thinking you will discover that soul mate, or potential good friend or casual sex partner online, and then develop a sense of standard suddenly. All statements made should have subtitles. Like, if you read something about how it matters what a person looks like inside, they are still jonesing for chiseled man candy with the impeccable hair and jaw line, not the lemur looking cat who's trying to get a reply from her.
The best one, the real cincher online is- I like to think of myself as open and honest. I will tell it to you straight and not afraid to do so. Translation- I'm sad and lonely in need of some form of conversation. I cannot swallow my fear or articulate my feelings, so I will merely avoid and ignore you long enough until you get the hint, so I feel as guiltless as an innocent babe, and give you an inferiority complex.
In light of all these recent discoveries, I really wonder if continuing this exercise is beneficial, outside of the humorous aspects of the fumbling about and ego withering shoot downs. I am a glutton for punishment though, a masochist. Chances are, there will probably be a few more posts detailing some new nameless woman without a heart this year. Biological clocks ticking and all.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
First Post
So, this will be an attempt, not sure of the commitment degree, of maintaining a blog. I've had fits and starts before with other blogs before, yet, I invariably drift away from them and forget a password to an account or get passwords crossed etc. It's a nightmare of frustration that's associated with getting up there in age.
Anyway, my name is Jeremy. I am 37 years old and currently live in Poplar Bluff MO. I'm a long time collector of comic books as well as movies and CD's.
Anyway, my name is Jeremy. I am 37 years old and currently live in Poplar Bluff MO. I'm a long time collector of comic books as well as movies and CD's.
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