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Archive for April, 2007

Sunday Sing-Along

As I ruminated about the death, this week, of Bobby “boris” Pickett, it occurred to me that a man in love is like one of those crazy monsters from an old movie. Now understand, I’m not talking about a truly evil or intelligent fiend like Dracula. Vampires know what they want out of life and they generally have a plan. Women in love often act that way, but not the men.

No, a man in love is more like one of those giant gila monsters that would attack Tokyo or the swarm of oversized locusts that attacked Chicago in “The Beginning of the End” (starring Peter Graves). Just like a fellow who finds himself in love, these beasties are stupid and generally unaware of the destruction they are causing. They come in, stomp around for awhile with no clear direction or motivation and, once a good chunk of the place has been pulverized, they sulk back from whence they came. Well, there’s not much we can do about it. It’s just how we are. Be sure to sing along now.

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Since this blog is supposed to be about love, I decided to take a look at some of the more popular online dating websites. What I found was very frightening. I have included a few quotes here and added some of my own commentary. I have to warn you; these are not for the faint of heart.

Female:

“I live a distance from the maddening crowd but I don’t mind the drive:) I hope to meet someone who shares my interests and is taller than me:) Interesting, amusing, well-read and disarming…I hope its you….”

Well. If you should somehow manage to meet somebody “well read”, he will notice that you misquoted the title of Thomas Hardy’s novel “Far From the Madding Crowd.” Good luck, shit-for-brains.

Male:

“I’m looking for someone who I can always share a laugh with. I love to smile and interject by unique sense of humor as often as I can.”

I have an idea, dipshit. Why don’t you interject some grammar into your writing so you don’t sound like somebody who could fuck up a wet dream.

Female:

“I am a lady that is in need of real and perfect love, I need a man tha t can take me through.I am far from a millionaire,I do not smoke or drink.I am not a promiscuous woman.”

I am a man who needs to see somebody write a coherent sentence. I don’t think punctuation means what you think it means. But maybe you can hook up with some retarded idiot who will be amazed by your ability to “write”.

Male:

“I raced motocross for a while and am presently getting back into it, it’s like an addiction for my as well as all types of motosports. I like to look for antiques and old stuff, I find them very appealing to me along with the history that surrounds that object.”

The only “old stuff” on this posting is YOU. Hey, the seventies called and they want their hobbies back. Why don’t you get on your little dirt-bike and ride it over to somebody who can proofread your shitty personal add.

Well. I just threw up a little so that’s all for today. Try to enjoy the daylight.

LC

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This was a shit week. Death is stalking us like a pissed off teenager and I can’t get a girl. At this point in history, a guy is more likely to get shot than he is to get laid. This little number sums things up pretty well. Be sure to sing along now and I promise you’ll feel better, although I probably won’t.

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In La Vita Nuova Dante claimed that, when he looked upon love of his life, Beatrice Portinari, he was seeing the divine through her. Beatrice also serves as the symbol for salvation in The Divine Comedy. We here at The Lover’s Compendium say it’s high time we bring this kind of attitude back into modern thought.

The world is in desperate need of salvation. The Virginia Tech. shootings killed over thirty people on Monday. At the college where I work, it has also been a bad week. Somebody was beaten to death outside a bar last weekend. Yesterday, we lost a student in a motorcycle accident. The news from Iraq continues to get worse every day. All over the world men are shooting, stabbing, and exploding themselves and each other. How long will it be until we are all gone at this rate? What we need now is a return to spiritual values. I’m not talking about a return to Christianity, Islam, or misc. They have failed us. The God of these religions, if he exists, has shown himself to be nothing more than a petty tyrant with the temperament of a poorly raised child.

No we need to get the world behind the one pure truth that everybody can agree upon: the beauty of women. No creature on Earth is more wonderful, more sensitive, more healing than a woman. They are the reason for getting out of bed in the morning and for coming home in the evening. They are the cooling balm to a fevered mind and a soothing rain for a wounded soul. They are stronger than steel, and more gentle than water.

The world may fight over many things, but don’t we all agree that women are beautiful। So let’s turn this thing around. Look around yourself. Chances are there is a beautiful woman near you right now. Turn off the computer. Get up from your table. Go tell her how wonderful she is. Make the world a better place.

LC

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Unfullable Longing

Have you ever had a feeling that you just can’t shake, a feeling that makes you want to walk down the street singing emo songs at the top of your lungs and then go sit in the corner and eat a tub of iced cream with your baseball hat on backwards? Me too.

The last time this happened I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I conjured the spirit of Giovani Boccaccio (otherwise known as that-Italian-guy-who-wrote-the-Decameron). Now, I won’t go into the details of how the process works (suffice to say it involves a rubber-band, thirty-two matchsticks, and a poster of Asia Argento). Anyway, Boccaccio showed up and the following is a transcript of our conversation. Enjoy.

LC: Hi Boccacccio। How is everything with you?

Boccaccio: Well, not too bad considering.

LC:
Considering?

Boccaccio:
Yeah, considering that I’m dead and you conjured me away from my eternal rest.

LC:
Sorry about that। The thing is I have this strange feeling, like everything’s great and everything’s terrible at the same time। Are these the symptoms of being in love?

Boccaccio:
No they are not. I mean not quite. What you have there is a case of unfulfillable longing.

LC:
What do you mean?

Boccaccio:
Well, It’s not quite love, but it is very similar. In fact there are those who say the difference really only depends on how the whole thing plays out over time. Y’know, if your longing is ultimately fulfilled, then it wasn’t unfulfillable. Some people even claim that they are the same. But I say that there is a slight difference. You see, one can feel unfulfillable longing about many things, though it is mostly women.

LC:
What is this Unfulfilable Longing? I haven’t heard of it before.

Boccaccio:
It can’t really be defined. The best I can do is give you an example. Say, for instance, you are standing outside the Università degli Studi di Milano. You are perfectly at ease with yourself and you are talking with a friend of yours when a young woman walks by. You know this woman. She is a friend of yours but she walks by without stopping. Maybe she is in a hurry or maybe she doesn’t want to interrupt your conversation, whatever. You notice how beautiful she is in her high boots and her winter coat. It occurs to you that you have always found her to be beautiful. You just never thought about it until now.
Your friend continues to babble on about quadratic equations or some other nonsense, but you don’t even hear him anymore because all of your thoughts are with this lovely lady as you watch her walk away down the sidewalk, toward a little footbridge. See her now, how lithe her walk, how quiet her footfalls, as if she were already half-way into heaven. You ache for her beauty and then you ache for her, to speak with her and hear about her day, to know how she feels and what she thinks. Then you realize that you do know these things. You are aware of her on a level that you didn’t know existed before this day. But she’s getting farther away now, and when she turns and walks over the little footbridge, you remember that she wants to get a kitten. And that’s when it hits you, unfulfillable longing, an emptiness and a fullness in your soul. You know that whatever happens next, you will never be the same as you once were.

LC: Wow. That’s deep. So what’s the cure?

Boccaccio:
There isn’t one. The only thing you can do is go listen to some emo and eat a tub of iced-cream in the corner. Also drink some wine.

LC:
You’re not very helpful. It’s like you haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know.

Boccaccio: That’s interesting.

LC:
No it isn’t

Boccaccio: Well, I have to go now. Goodbye.

LC:
Bye.

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I get a lot of email here at the Lover’s Compendium. Mostly they are from people who are having trouble in their love life. They can tell from reading the blog that I am highly experienced and have a “down to earth attitude”. Here is a recent email that I recieved:

“Dear LC
Why can’t I get a woman of my own? I know that I am a caring and thoughtful person. I am always very nice to women and I try to show them what a good boyfriend I would make. Like yourself, I am a lover of literature and I like to write poetry (although I don’t burden other people with my mediocre poems the way you do). Through my reading of literature I have learned so much about humanity that I can really love a woman more than the guys they always seem to go out with. What gives?”
-Charlie

Well, Charlie. The answer to your question is simple: Love is like literature, but dating is like mathematics. Essentially, dating is a numbers game. Think of it this way If a guy gets on a train in Chicago that is going to New Hampshire at a rate of sixty-five miles per hour, and the train makes five stops of thirteen minutes each, how many dates will he have by the time he gets to New-Hampshire? If he is a math-oriented person (in other words, if he is a pencil-necked little bastard) he will have a large number of dates. This is because he is going to hit on every female in the train and the law of averages says that he is bound to attract at least a couple.

If, on the other hand, there is an English major on the train, he will probably not get very many dates because he will sit in the pullman car and drink highballs while he watches the math guy make an ass out of himself. The English major will think that no woman would fall for somebody like that stupid math guy. But wait, oops, when the train gets to New Hampshire the math guy has a lovely lady on each arm and the Literature guy is forced to walk slowly away, under the lonely light of a row of street-lamps (y’know, like Jimmy Durante in that movie).

Sorry Charlie. You may have a lot of love to give, but because you didn’t pay attention in math class, the woman of your dreams is probably going to end up with some left-brained dude who wears T-shirts with outdated products on them to make “a statement”. He will beat you because he had the foresight to play as many numbers as he could. It’s sad, but maybe if you watch the Sunday sing-along you will feel better. Be sure to sing along.
Cheers.
L.C.

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Beauty

the other day I was walking down the street, my mind troubled about this or that. I happened to come across this sheet of paper blowing in the wind, so I grabbed it as it flew by and this is what it said:

“went out to a bar with some friends after work. It was nothing special. Anyway, as it happens, three of the women there were good friends with one another and they sat together at one end of the table. As far as I know, none of these women are interested in becoming more than friends with me, so I wasn’t vying with anyone else for their attention. Instead, I was just enjoying my glass of Balvenie and chatting it up with whoever. I found myself slowly pushed toward the other end of the table as a number of men politely insinuated themselves between me and the young women. Whatever.

Eventually I looked up from my scotch and saw the three of them together at the other end of the table. It suddenly occurred to me how beautiful they were, how like a Botticelli painting as they talked and laughed. One of them was trying to grade papers and the other two were continually stopping her with jokes and distractions. Whenever they succeeded in getting her attention, the three of them would laugh and move their heads closer together.

How lovely each one was in her own way. What a wonderful thing is beauty. What a miracle on earth is a beautiful young woman.”

I agree completely.

MF

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