Waiting is

Neophobe - Neo = new.  Phobe = fear.  Exact definition would be the fear of new, but in more appropriate contemporary fashion, it actually boils down to the fear of change.

Neophile - Neo = new.  Phile = love.  The exact opposite.  Those who love and are excited by change.

I propose for myself, in order to label and classify myself, which is something I never do, a new word.

Neomeh.  I do not fear change.  In fact, for the most part I am excited by it.  Aroused by new possibilities, toys, gadgets, experiences, locations, flavors, people.  All the things.  However on the other hand, I have complete disregard for change, simply for its own sake.  I find this to be a tedious waste of time.  If the change advances a situation, I'm on board.  If its simply to do differently than has been done, with no goal of an improvement in the situation, then fuck it with a wooden spoon.

I have, for a few months now, been in the midst of transition.  It has on some levels been heartbreaking, painful, frustrating, and pound-my-head-into-a-brick-wall productive.  Slow.  So.  Effin.  Slow.

Granted much of the slowness was due to a job that had rendered itself superfluous, my dedication to a show that took up a lot of spare time, and my own reluctance to actually take action.  However, the job is no more, the show is over, and action has been taken.

So now I'm on the cusp.  I have a new job.  Its actually the job I've been looking for, for over four years now.  No I'll never get rich doing it.  It's not the job that will lead to a dream career.  It IS...exactly what I need.  Something that will pay the bills so I CAN do the things I love to do.  This job will not conflict with my whole self assigned purpose for being, as every single other job in SLC has.  I am, to say the least, thrilled.  There are people who had a hand in helping me get this job, and to those I don't have enough gratitude to give.  Thank you.  A million times...thank you.

Although my ex and I have been "My ex and I" for a few months now, I've still been living in the same apartment.  With all the other things going on in my life, moving out has not really been possible.  It works out for her, because it helps her save money for when I'm NOT here any longer...however...

However, it is of course impossible for either of us to really move on (whatever that may mean) while we're still locked in a stagnant situation.  Sometimes although change is necessary, it takes longer than desired.  That's simply the way things go occasionally.

I have a new place to live.  I won't be there immediately, but I will be there.  Its now on the horizon.  I can see it, whereas, just two days ago...I couldn't.  I'm excited.  Thrilled.  And a little bit sad.  Its been inevitable for a while.  Something that was going to happen.  But now its happening.  Now it is.  Now things real in the back of my mind, are real in the front of my mind.  Things I had, out of necessity put off thinking about, are being not only thought about, but planned, diagrammed, and followed through with.  Now the change isn't theory.  It's action.

New job.  New place to live.  New social groups.  New people.  New experiences.  New faces.  New places.  All right in my lap, and it is a little bit overwhelming.  A little bit unnerving.  And a LOT exciting.  This is the kind of change I love.  The kind of change that propels action and response.  The kind that pushes my own comfort levels, and asks me to re-examine my self, and my habits.  This is the kind of change that allows me the metaphorical starting point to begin something brand new, and make the most and best of it that I can.

Its also the kind of change that makes me wistful, and reflective.  The kind where I look backwards with a little bit of pain, at all the things I did wrong.  At the things I have lost.  The things that were once such a huge part of me, are no longer.  That feeling of missing pieces.  Memories that come with the kind of smile that hurts.  The kind of change that prompts me to make a checklist of all the parts of myself that didn't work, and should be left behind.  Live.  Learn.  Grow.  Move on.

And that's where I am now.  That cusp.  It's happening now.  All of it.  Still a few weeks in the making, but it is being made...and I move with more purpose now.  I move with destination, instead of searching for destination.  I move from point a to point b, now that I know where point b is, and I do it with full steps.

The strange thing is, through all this change.  All this different perspective shit I've been going through, and doing to myself, and exploring...well....
I'm still me.  I've changed, but, I haven't changed at all.  The core is the same.  The emotional center is positioned a little bit differently, but still made up of all the same parts.  The bigger picture hasn't changed a bit.  Not one iota.  All the things that make me, me are still exactly as they were.  Still starved for attention, and still looking for the next stage and script.

All your faces, that have been with me on this ride, I still love.

I have changed, to become exactly the same.

Fractured Musings

I keep secrets.
I tell lies.
I fashion the parts of this world that I am able, to suit my little fantasies.

I have xray vision.
I have horrible vision.

I think more than I talk.
When I do talk, its usually not what I was thinking.

If you ask me what I'm thinking, I'm going to make something up.
Unless I don't.

I tell the truth too.
At least my version of it.

Either way, lies or truth, I am always...always...
and always
sincere.

I almost always have pain somewhere.
I almost always don't care.

I am a master of understatement.
Neat is my favorite word.
If I had favorites of course
Which I don't.

But if I did...Neat would be one of them.
If I say something is neat...well...that's because it really
really
is.

Or really
really
isn't.

I appreciate that my opinions are simply that.
Mine.
Opinions.
I am neither right nor wrong.

I simply am.
Simple.

I don't mind
I don't care
if you don't share my opinions.

You are interesting when you do.
You are interesting when you don't.

You are fascinating when you let me learn about you.
The little parts of you that really matter.

At least matter to me.

I don't care your religion.
I don't care your politics.
I don't care your job
or your house
or your car
or your.

I care your hobbies.
I care your passions.
I care your inner child.

I love that you can teach me.  You do teach me.
I love that you can move me.  You have moved me.
I love that moment, when you and I connect.
Over the most ridiculous things.

I love eye contact.
I love body contact.

I think people should hug more.
kiss more
touch more

Share music
and laughter
and inconsequential gestures more.

I think people should rub noses
and bump butts
and dance

always the dance

to the music of the stars.
to the vibration of your breath.

I don't know that there is more.
I don't know that there isn't.

I simply know that there is this.
Only this
forever this one thing
chance
time
instant.

To discover glory.
But we can't do it alone.

I think we need to erase fear.
I think this might be easier than we are willing to admit.

I think we need to clean the windows of perception.
Open the doors of awareness.

I want to see all the animals in your zoo.

Also

I hope
I really hope
I really really hope

That today you smiled
and right now

You remember why

And smiled again.

Gratitude in Starlight

There is this thing that happens.  Maybe all actors get it.  I don't know, I've never really talked about it with anyone else.  That feeling sitting in an empty theatre.  Its sometimes overwhelming.  It's like home...but better.

 

I love it when no one is there.  Everything is dark, except maybe work lights over the stage.  I like in that moment, to find a seat in the audience.  I like to write a play in my mind.  Cast it from the world of actors in my head.  

I never use celebrities, or movie actors.  I have nothing against these people...but when I watch my imaginary production I use people I know...or know of.  People I have seen live.  People I have worked with.  People I have seen, in front of me.  People who have, in effect, moved me deeply in a theatrical setting.

I never cast myself in this little head play.  I think because its hard for me to see myself.  I never HAVE seen myself.  I don't have that kind of objectivity when it comes to myself.

I imagine scenarios where the stakes are life or death.  I watch my creations fight passionately for every breath.  Every word.  Every action.  I create my own cathartic experience, and sometimes, you are the star.

That's right.  It's true.  I imagine you on the stage in front of me.  I hope that doesn't creep you out too much.  For what its worth, you are profoundly talented.  As the director of this pretense, I don't even have to give you notes at the end of the show.  Simply a bravo.

What I like even more, is later.  In real life.  When I come out of my fantasy world, and really truly watch you on stage, and you're even better than I created.

I'm intimidated by you.  Your force is overwhelming.  Your beauty is staggering.  Your physical presence is so breathtakingly compelling, that I can't NOT watch you.

You see I have had the pleasure...I have been lucky enough...to work with some really amazing actors.  (Please note I use the generic gender neutral term here, and am actually referring to performers of both sexes.) There are many of you I have to honestly confess that the likelihood of us working together again is pretty slim.  Time and distance have too far separated us.  I never say never, but odds are slim.  This makes me sad.  Truly.  We told some incredible stories.  We had some truly heart wrenching moments.  In essence, we had fun, and I miss you.  I miss that stage connection that was so vibrant and alive.  I hope you are still finding those moments, and finding those other actors to share them with. You make me want to do better, to remember you well.

There are many that I have acted with, that I will almost assuredly work with again.  I can't wait.  I love that we have a building block to work from.  We don't have to start fresh, but can pick up where we left off.  The trust has been built and exists already.  Our launching pad is already so much higher.  We have already borne children together, and I can't wait to make the next one, just to see what it looks like when it grows up so quickly before our eyes.  It never feels like starting over, just continuing the next step.  I love you so much already, and working with you again is like coming home.  Its comfortable, and warm, and feels like the best kind of blanket.  Wrapped up with you in a common goal.  This is where my joy lives.  You make me want to be better, to make each new show shine brighter than the last.

Then there are those of you I haven't worked with.  The ones I've only seen before.  Not everyone I've seen.  Not every actor who's taken the stage before me, has done this to me, but there are a few...more than one, less than ten, who scare the shit out of me.  Its kinda like sex with someone for the first time.  You don't know if its gonna be great, or awkward, or horrific.  You don't know if you'll end up better lovers for it, or staring silently at each other from opposite sides of the room once the lights come up.  All there is right now is nervous anticipation, and the hope that I'm not too disappointing.  You are the ones who compel me to be better than I am, so that I might be competent enough to keep up with you if we ever are on a stage together.  You are the ones who have moved me, not by working with you, but simply by watching you do the thing so well, that I love so much.  You make me want to be better, to do with you to someone else, what you did to me.

Regardless whether I'm onstage performing, or offstage watching, this is what I do.  This is what I live for.  This is who I am.  I am a million other people all with the same face.  I tell a million different lies all with the same voice.  I am slowly weaving this little tapestry of my life, with the people who have meant the most offstage, because we wound around each other so closely on it.

A drop of blood on my psyche

I can't be certain, I've done a lot of shows in my life, but I think I've bled for just about every one of them.  Tonight made R&J no exception.  Please don't think this is a brag.  It is very definitely not.  I'd love to not split myself open on a show.

Nearly every time this happens its my own damn fault.  Tonight made R&J no exception.  While rehearsing the Romeo kills Tybalt death scene, I marked myself wrong.  Instead of faking smashing my head into the platform, I went ahead and smashed my head into the platform.  Now there's a nice little slice on my forehead where it appears someone made a small but accurate scalpel incision.

It doesn't look so bad.  Adds character to the character.  In true head wound fashion, it bled like a motherfucker.  At the time there wasn't much pain...certainly nothing I couldn't deal with.  Now there is a little bit of throb underneath it.  There will probably be bruising.  No biggie really.  Just...of course...the blood.

I bring this up not for attention.  In fact, to illustrate a point of pretty much the exact opposite.  For someone who has spent nearly his entire life on stage, someone who is a nudist to almost but not quite the point of exhibitionism, someone who excels at public speaking, and has no problem being at the center of focus...I actually have an incredibly hard time being the center of attention.  I think there might be a difference.  I'm not sure, but I know this...I really REALLY do not like when the attention is on me.  It makes me very uncomfortable.

So when this happened, of course the actor playing Romeo felt bad.  If he ever finds himself reading this, I can't reiterate enough how this was completely my fault.  I did it to myself, because I dropped focus, and I got stupid.  He felt bad though.  The stage manager was running around looking for band-aids.  The producer to gather ice.  All this stuff for me, that made me feel more out of sorts than the actual wound itself. This is not to say I wasn't grateful.  Of course I was.  I suppose in that specific moment, I was in need of some at least moderate attention.  I just hated that.  A lot.  And of course in true "me" fashion...I had to go into my head and analyze what exactly was happening, and in my moment of trying to escape the outside me, with the inside me...I hit upon a realization.

I am shy.

I have spent decades of my life, training myself to perform.  Teaching myself how to be in front of people.  How to handle large groups at a time.  I can do this.  I have no fear of it, in fact an enormous love for it.  I can sit in the safety of my own room, behind the sanctuary of glass, plastic, and lettered keys, and say anything in the world.  I can even talk one on one with most people on any topic they choose.  Even if I know nothing about that topic.  In fact, if I know nothing, that's usually better...because then I can just ask what how why questions and let the other person keep going.  I can't however let it become about me.  Oh sure...surface shit is no problem.  I just can't let it become about ME.  The me.  The me part of me.

I don't mind attention on any character I may be playing.  I don't care about attention on any surface emotion, or event.  It doesn't bother me how much of the physical part of me may or may not be on display. None of that matters.  It's what I do.

I do mind however, giving even the tiniest glimpses of what's going on underneath it all.  Typically when questioned about it, I will do every damn thing in my power to divert attention somewhere else.  To flip the conversation as quickly as possible to something...anything...else.  I can't handle scrutiny.  Which when I think about it is kind of funny, because I've nothing to hide.  I just feel the absolute need to.

I do, and am very much capable of love.  Its just that whenever I say it, it always sounds so hollow.  So shallow.  Because the words don't connect to the emotion.  The emotion is VERY much there...but I can't make it come up and out properly.  As soon as I feel, that the other person may also feel it as well...in the same way I do, on the same level, to the same degree, I feel like they have touched a part of me that I don't want to be touched.  The attention becomes reality.

I wish I could tell you properly, how much you mean to me.  But when I do...if I do...then you'll not have heard the words, but felt them.  We will connect on a level that quite frankly, I'm not very good at dealing with.

So yeah, I'm shy.  I have dedicated most of my life to learning how to cover it up, but not a single second of my life to learning how to actually overcome it.  And its not the kind of shyness that people think of when they hear the word shy.  I can function just fine in public.  I have no problem interacting with people, either in groups, or individually.  I just can't accept attention.  Focus yes.  Attention no.  I'm still working in my mind on the difference, but I know there is one.  I am a master of changing the subject.  So subtly that it will not even be realized.

I naturally keep almost every single person I know at a distance.  Some are much closer than others, but no one gets close enough to actually touch.  Maybe a couple get to touch...but absolutely no one gets in.

I honestly don't know why I'm like this.  Some may call it a defense mechanism.  Maybe, but defense against what?  Loss?  I am no stranger to loss.  Pain?  I've had my share of that as well.  I recognize that unless I wake up dead tomorrow, I'll probably experience both again.  I am not unaware that they both come as a price for breathing.  I accept that.  So accepting those as eventual facts, there is really nothing to defend against.  Maybe I am anyways.  Maybe I'm simply hedging my bets and lessening the blow now, before it can happen later.  I don't know.  I honestly don't.  That seems like a possibility, but I don't accept that its the only possibility.  There very likely could be something else as well.

The only thing I know for sure is that tonight, when the attention was on me, even for just a short time, to take care of something that needed to be taken care of, my skin was crawling.  My guts were in knots.  I hated that shit stopped because of me, and felt overwhelming relief when we all moved past it, and I could safely slip into the forgotten background again.  And please don't get me wrong.  It wasn't traumatic on any level.  It wasn't anything that ten minutes of solitude with a cigarette couldn't resolve, but for those few moments, it absolutely was the most uncomfortable part of my day.

A Whole Lotta Nothing

I think for my final role ever, I'd like to play Yorick.  It would I think be fitting, and pretty damn funny, if I was around to enjoy it.

My brain is on fire, but unfocused. I will allow my consciousness to stream, and see where it flows, perhaps we'll find safe harbor somewhere along the way, until then...lets drift together shall we?

I have mentioned before, but shall again...and probably again in the future, and probably again after that; I am a big fan of bad ideas.  This sometimes comes with consequences of varying degrees, but I simply can't help myself.  I will say yes to many things that all instincts scream against.  Alas, I have also found that my instincts prefer boredom.  Safety. Security.  The rest of me prefers to have fun.

There are some ideas that do go a little too far even for me.  For example I will never inject heroin into my body.  I will never sleep with another man's wife, without that man's knowledge, and I will never intentionally visit physical harm on another person or person's property. Beyond that I'm game for pretty much anything. There exists a high probability that you could throw out other suggestions that I would probably say no to, but there exists a higher probability that I would in all likelihood say yes.

You see I do not believe that I'm going to be around much longer.  Of course that's relative, depending on what you consider to be long.  I'm hoping for another forty years.  Fifty tops.  Of those forty to fifty years, probably only fifteen to twenty to keep pushing myself the way I do.  I am going to run out of gas someday.

I also do not believe that once I am gone, I'll get another shot at this.  I have no reason to think that I'll come back again, as another person, or rabbit, or cockroach, or plant, or any such thing.  I don't believe my consciousness will continue.  I don't believe that the person I am now will continue to exist is some afterlife somewhere, or float around the ether.  Those are all romantic ideas, and quite frankly I'd love to be wrong, especially on the reincarnation front.  Of all the possible afterlife scenarios, that one is my favorite.  I just don't have any reason to believe that I am wrong.

I get to play one time.  I intend to.

I am the ringleader of my own circus.  The star of my own show.  The author of my own unwritten autobiography, and I really want to make that an interesting read.  It may or may not be...to some.  Here's what I DO know.  Most of my best stories, do not come from the times I decided to play it safe.  They are not examples of me making the responsible decision.

This does not mean I'm not able to make those decisions.  It doesn't mean I'm not aware of them.  I am, and I very often do.  I may be sorta stupid, but I'm not all the way stupid.  Its simply that I can't think of a single time I made the safe and responsible decision, and it turned into an interesting story.

Let me say this...I have a LOT of interesting stories.  I hope to make many more.

A couple months ago I chipped my front tooth.  My current job does not provide benefits, or pay me enough to do anything about it in the immediate future, so it's simply something I'm going to have to live with.  Typically I'm not too concerned with my looks.  Fuck em if they can't take a joke.  This however is really bugging me.  I'm not the self-conscious type...but for some reason about this, I really am.  Perhaps its because there is currently not much in the world I can do about it.  I'm blind...I wear glasses...no bother.  I'm bald...I shave my head...no bother.  I chip my tooth, and all of a sudden I can't smile.  Its strange that after so many years of not caring...for some reason on this...I really do.
On the other hand I've spent many years trying to perfect my impish grin.  I console myself by saying the chipped tooth contributes.  I don't know that it does...but it offers some solace.

The above paragraph has nothing to do with anything.  I told you my consciousness was streaming.

I can spell consciousness without the use of spell checker, and I'm sort of proud of that.

You probably don't know this, because I never tell you this, so I'll tell you now.  You inspire me.  In ways you can't imagine.  I just wanted to tell you.  And thank you.

You make me smile.
You make me laugh.
You've brought tears to my eyes.
Your words are...well...amazing.

About my use of you.

Sometimes when I say you, I'm being very general.
Sometimes when I say you, I'm being very specific.
Sometimes when I say you, I mean me.

I think my brain just hit a brick wall.  I guess that's it for tonight.  I do plan to write more...and especially write more specifically.  I do think about a lot of things, but right about now...most of those things are Romeo and Juliet...or personal life bullshit...new job, new apartment, all that completely uninteresting stuff. Things that I could bitch about...but not here.  Here is for other stuff, and that stuff, well...it just isn't with me tonight.

Soon though...

Very soon.

Sometimes I just gotta bitch

I wrote an entirely different blog.  It was pretty much my perception of theatre in SLC.  I got very angry.  Even a bit douchebaggy.  It is born out of a HUGE frustration, that sometimes makes me think I'm going to explode.

I've addressed this topic before, but I got pretty in depth this time.  I covered a lot of bases.  I said a lot of things.  Things that if taken the wrong way may be considered offensive.  I don't want to offend.  I honestly don't.  So I think this is one of those times that it truly is better for me to keep my fat mouth shut.

So I erased the whole thing.  Some things really are I think, better left unsaid.  So I unsaid them.

The other problem is that when I do find someone to talk about these things that really bother me, we inevitably hit a point where the other person does more justification than actually listening, thinking, or contributing to the conversation.  This is fine as well.  I guess I'm not trying to change minds...I'm simply attempting to be understood from my end.

I guess what it boils down to, is that I've yet to find a theatrical soulmate out here.  Someone who feels the same way I do.  Someone who sees the same things I do.  Someone who I honestly connect to in that only part of me that I take seriously.  My theatre me.  My artist me.  My...well...me.

Anyways.  I already feel myself going back to my other blog.  The one I erased.  I guess that shit just REALLY needs to come out, but I'm not going to let it.  At least I'm going to do my best to not let it.

I will go to and say though, that it is a large part of the reason I so desperately want to move back to Vegas. In Vegas I may never get paid.  There are certainly no equity opportunities, or contracts waiting.  For me not a big deal, that's never been a big motivator anyways.  Those things exist here.  Sort of.  See the problem with SLC is those opportunities are rare, few and far between, and in the meantime, if you want to work you're going to have to sing some goddamn Weber, or Rogers and Hammerstein.  Fuck that.

In Vegas there is rarely any waiting.  There is new and exciting all the fucking time.  Every month, there will be audition notices for theatre that is alive, and vibrant.  No fucking warhorses.  No relics.  Stuff that means something.

Slipping again.

Puppies
Kittens
lollipops

All the shiny things

All right.  So far, this one is much less vitriolic.  Its also much less detailed, but the price I pay I guess.

You see my problem is that I don't care about so many things.

I don't care about what's on TV, or who took the box office.  I don't care about the Olympics.  I don't care about fashion, or celebrities.  I don't care about the weather.  I don't care about religion or politics.  I don't care for your gods or your demons.  I don't care about recipes, or food.  I don't care about vegetarians, or omnivores.  Organic or McDonalds.  Farmers Market or Convenience store tins.  I don't care about the causes.  I don't care about the fights.

Don't get me wrong.  All of these things serve their purpose.  I have opinions on all of them.  I can converse about all of them.  And its a small lie that I don't care.  I do...to an extent.  I have feelings on most of the topics listed above.  When I say I don't care...what I really mean is...

I don't CARE.  I'm not passionate about any of them.  I haven't invested my life, my time, my soul into any of those things.  I haven't studied them with a fierce burning love.  I haven't devoted hours and hours of my existence to them.  I haven't bled for them.

I have for theatre.  Acting.  Writing.  Directing.  I care so intensely.  So passionately.  So fucking fully for that one dynamic.

If as they say, life has no inherent meaning other than that which we assign to it, then that is MY meaning.  That is the reason for MY existence.  I don't care if I get little green pieces of paper to do it...I just want to fucking do it.  I don't care if I have a card from a Union that says I'm better at it than someone else.  I just want to do it.  I don't even care if I AM better...or worse...at it than someone else.  I just want to do it.  I want to breathe it.  I want to swim in it.  I want to fuck it.  I want to dive in and never come up for air.

I also understand that my passion is just that.  Mine.  You may not share it.  You very likely have things in your life that you feel just as strongly about.  Maybe not.  I hope you do.  Whether its the same thing as me or not...isn't really the point.  My point is simply this...I may be geographically mislocated to live the life I want to live.

I'm not positive on that.  I want to be wrong.  I honestly have wanted to give SLC a chance, and to have it give me a chance.  So far it hasn't worked out satisfactorily for either of us, and I wonder how long...how many chances...before its time for both of us to cut our losses and move on.

There are things...very specific things, that I want to do in SLC before I leave.  Things that if they work out, may keep me here forever.  But the chance to do those things come so rarely.  Are so fleeting, and for the most part missed when the chance does come along.  To fill the time in between the options are Joseph and the goddamn coat he sings endlessly about...or nothing at all.  And in that time I stagnate.  I can't keep doing that to myself.  I honestly can't.  I so desperately need...I know that sounds melodramatic but its true...I fucking NEED to not stagnate.

I'm gonna quit for tonight.  I keep almost writing stuff that I intentionally don't want to write.  I've said I think enough to communicate where my brain is at tonight anyways.  Really what I'm doing is realizing that in three weeks, my life opens up, and I need to pretty quick make some hard decisions on what, and where, I want that life to take me.  Plus...I don't deal well with my own personal life transitions, and I'm coming up on some pretty big ones.  Forgive me my vitriol.  My release.  My use of this space to vent.  Usually I make an attempt to be a bit more controlled.  Focused.  Positive.

It just doesn't always work out that way.

At least throw in some pearing knives.

Sometimes I wish I could just force myself into my new skin, but the old skin is still just so comfortable.  Reliable.  It fit me well for a while, and I'm still not sure about the cut of this new thing.

Ah well...c'est la vie...or something like that.

I hate how so many things now are geared toward the idea that women are simple machines, that if you figure out the mechanism, you're all set.

Learn these 3 simple phrases, and she'll be yours.

Touch her in this unexpected place and she'll melt.

Treat her good.  Treat her bad.

Ever since I changed my status on FB to single, every ad on my sidebar is about finding women, and how easy they all are.  And all types and ages.

Milfs
College girls.
Sluts
Virgins
Good girls
Bad girls
Senior Citizens
School girls
Asian girls
Tattooed girls
Hipster chicks.

Oh yeah, and a shit ton of gay ads too...you know...just in case.

I never paid much attention to the sidebar ads before.  I went through a phase for a while where I made sure that all religious themed ads were removed.
FB tried...I mean REALLY tried to find out what I wanted.  They changed up their ads, and their attacks.  Different foods, video games, hiking adventures, vacation destinations.  They were determined to find my interests and appeal to them.

Now that I'm single I guess they figure my only interest is sex.  Or possibly dating...maybe, but mostly just sex.

My favorites though are the seduction technique ads.  These really...REALLY...appeal to my deepest appreciator of the absurd.  Apparently you girls have been figured out.  You've been reduced to your lowest common denominator.  You are all simply suckers for a couple phrases, a light touch, and boom...you are putty in any mans hands.  And for five easy payments of 19.95, any man can learn these and become master of your vagina.

Sometimes, I don't want to live on this planet anymore.

I will never join a dating site.  I will never give another person money to teach me tricks.  Essentially I guess what I'm saying is that if I'm going to spend money to get laid, I'll go to a prostitute and cut out the middle man entirely.

I will of course never be able to convince the Facebook ad matrix of this, and so I'm, I guess, going to have no choice but to learn to accept that this is who Facebook thinks I am now.  That's a little bit annoying.  I mean only a little bit.  Not because I give a red squirrel fuck what said matrix has narrowed me down to, but simply because its a near constant reminder that because I am the proud owner of a penis, with nowhere to consistently put it on a regular basis...this must obviously be the single thing in my life that is top priority.

Sometimes, I don't want to live on this planet anymore.

See if FB really knew me I would be seeing ads for new books.  Play Scripts.  Theatres and auditions in my area.  Yoga classes.  How to get the most out of my mushroom trip.  Where to get good clothes on the cheap.  Interesting facts about stupid bullshit.

Maybe I've grown up a little.
Maybe I've gotten a little more tired.
Maybe I see things differently than I used to, but I am oh so much more than my sex drive.

That's not to say its not there, but its certainly not what FB thinks it is.  I have less than zero interest in anything they have so far offered.  Whatever happened to quality.  Whatever happened to REAL seduction. Not tips.  Not 3 hidden phrases, or unknown places to touch her.

I'm talking about seduction not for the sake of sex.  Sex is the byproduct.  I'm talking about seduction for the sake of the game.  Whatever happened to the long game?  Whatever happened to Valmont?

Personally, I blame the microwave oven.

I think sixty years ago people were innately more patient.  Then came this magic box.  This device that taught us that it was not only okay, but actually preferable to sacrifice quality for immediacy.  It wasn't an immediate change.  It was gradual to be sure, but it was a change.  Not just in how we eat, but in how we think.  Perceive.  Expect and accept.  We didn't overnight become new people, but we did almost immediately understand that this was neat.  This was good.  This saved time.  This created less time here, to be spent there.  And now, we want that with more than just our food.

I think that's what happened.
I could be wrong.
Quite frankly I wasn't here sixty years ago.  All of my ideas of what the sixties were like are based on Old TV programs, older plays, and special tribute news broadcasts.

But I'm still going to blame the microwave oven.

I guess the thing...the way...the...I don't know...the idea in my head, is that I don't want to seduce everyone. I don't want to EVER think that all women are the same.  I don't want to know that there is a phrase or button that can be said or pushed, and its all done.  I don't want a microwave sex partner.

I want to know that whoever it may be that I'm pursuing on a sexual level, is not because I learned a trick, because I got her drunk, or because she looked good in a low cut shirt.

I want that feeling of pursuing someone sexually, because I don't have a choice.  I don't ever want sex for the sake of sex.  I want sex because there was an exchange.  Because there was something there that started small, and grew.  I want sex not because I want...but because I am wanted.  I don't ever want a LCD woman.  Nor do I want to place any woman on some mythical pedestal. I want, in all ways, not simply sexual...but in every way possible...to find equals.

To find people who challenge me.  To find people who interest me.  To find people who live and laugh and share things with me.

Really what I want is for Facebook to stop playing the pimp.  Stop prostituting an "idea" of women, and how easy they really are.  Just please FB...

Let me enjoy my friendships the way I want to.  Not the way you tell me it can be done...your way sucks.