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February 28, 2008“Life, like jazz,often happens best in the spaces between the notes.WHAT YOU DO WHILE YOU’RE WAITING AROUND…is more important than what you do while you’re doing,” says Holiday Mathis in my SF Examiner horoscope. Well, what am I doing? I am alternately writing this column and packing up books, packing up my flat, packing up my life, to move on to the next incarnation. So am I writing or preparing myself for change? Am I preparing myself for change by writing about it? Which is the notes, which the spaces? Or are they in-between writing or packing, the interstices of silence while I think about what to write next and how to phrase it, or pause to review what I have to make happen to get myself out of here? I CAN’T THINK OF ANYTHINGmore satisfying, in terms of “doing,” than working on a writing project, some serene Bach filling the air, my cats curled by my side. To add a man to the picture, he would have to be as companionable as a cat—someone who does not intrude or demand, but is simply part of the household, as much as I. It happens that I am thinking about adding such a man to the picture—a fellow I met through another friend, with whom I shared a ride to Burning Man ’07. We’re speculating on being housemates. Ooh, that’s a tricky one. Me: Bipolar solitude junkie. Him: Well, I’ve nothing to say against him. He is the only person I could think of that might be good a match for me. An artist, healer, centered, calm, deep, but likes excitement, energy, change. As much as I love the silence that is empty of people, writing is an isolating occupation, and we could be good for each other. I inspire him; he grounds me. UNLESS SOMEONE FLIES ME TO THE MOON,as far as dating goes, I’ve got to back away from The Match Game for the time being. Too scatter-brained. And I’m old enough to know what I don’t want. Unless someone flies me to the moon, I’m no longer interested in sleeping with men I’m not in love with. It’s just too unsatisfying, like a sketchy cell phone call that ultimately blanks out. Some connection, but not enough to keep it together. I’d rather be alone. WHAT’S THE SECRET TO SUCCESSFUL DATING?asks a Nerve.com email. Unfortunately their link to the article “The Match Game” doesn’t work. So we’re still on our own. Well maybe the secret is The Secret—the law of attraction, that is. If you are happy, centered, loving, giving, you will attract the same to yourself. Set out on your date expecting an exciting venture into someone else’s life. Expect him/her to meet you halfway. If you’re looking for a good catch, be one first yourself. I TEND TO BE ATTRACTEDto men like myself—risk-takers, artists, dreamers—the sort most unlikely to have a regular job or to “settle down.” They never demand too much of me. But for me the ultimate risk is love, to really expose and make oneself vulnerable to another, and trust him or her to honor that. And in that realm so many men (and women) are cowards. They will swim only so deep before being distracted by the other bikinis on the beach. I ESCHEW PERSONAL ADSand online dating because there is something creepy, distasteful, too modern, too information age, about prescreening and prejudging people based on certain criteria before you meet them. I want to in the course of human events, living my life and pursuing my interests, meet an interesting human being I’d like to know more about. I MET SUCH A MAN,clever, quick-witted; he walked, a stranger, into my flat much as Bud did, sent by a friend, but I found I was so distracted by the sale of and move from my flat, that I wasn’t able to give him his due. I was so preoccupied I was unable to be fully present. A shame. Because the Numero Uno points a man can score are from the willingness and nerve to approach me. That right there is to be rewarded. I’M NOT GOING TO ADVERTISE MYSELFon the web. That’s what it is. They’re not profiles; they’re advertisements. I don’t care if I’m alone or not so I’m not going to expose for all to see my picture and details of my life, to be offered up to men who are looking for this, that and the other, and I don’t make the grade (I’m 52—and lovin’ it!). They pass you over as a stale grocery, and pick a riper peach. I’VE HAD ONLY ONE DATEfrom out of the personals, way back in Philly in my 20’s. His ad read “Knight in shining blue jeans,” which made me smile and I decided to scope it out for the experience. I have no recollection of what we did on the date, but at the end of the evening, he propped himself against a concrete City waste receptacle, and said, his arms outstretched, “Well, this is it! What do you think?” I THINK YOU’RE SITTING ON A TRASH CANtelling me that in one evening I’ve experienced everything about you that I need to know. What you see is what you get, eh? And indeed there was nothing else I needed to see. DATING IS ALL BACKWARDS, ANYWAYYou go out with someone you don’t, or barely, know. And the pressure’s on. Is there a spark? Time passes and you either fall in love or fall into bed, or forget the whole thing. I know dating prospects is as common as lousy sex, but I think I’ll proceed with the old-fashioned manner of discovering I care for someone after knowing them a while, letting love blossom, if it does, in the fullness of time, not expecting or trying to force it. Much more natural an evolution! Love comes when you least suspect it! EVERY TIMEI got together with a man I was instantly attracted to, I got burned out on the sex and what was left was either a friend or a memory. Only once have I ever fallen in love with someone by sleeping with him. The most intense experiences I’ve had have been with men I would never have thought of in that light—until I saw them in it. GIRLS, BOYSIt’s a jungle out there. Don’t treat your date like a commodity, like he either is or isn’t a good catch. Remember, if he’s caught, he’ll have a fucking hook through the roof of his mouth. No man worth his manhood wants to be captured like a prize fish, to be shown off to your friends like he’s a treasured mounted bass, your most awesome catch. AS I WRITEa bizarre tune sung a capppella in cotton candy voice by Mama Cass creeps up on me on ITunes:
THERE HE IS AGAIN,or at least his specter. Mr, Right. One time I was on the sidelines of a party observing someone in the crowd. The thought came unbidden and ungrammatically into my head, “That’s him, isn’t it?” Him. The man you’ve been waiting all your life to love and whom you will love for the rest of your life. Well, he belonged to, and married, someone else. But I carried that torch for years. I told a friend, “It seemed important at the time.” “It was,” he said, “at the time.” I never understood how a love could be so encompassing to me, and so meaningless to him. Important enough to me to make sure he knew what he was passing on. And he did. Pass. In fact he said, “Can we talk about something else?” C’est l’amour. I recall as a teenager walking the shoreline at Atlantic City, NJ, singing the hit of the time, “Where is the love?” What is the karmic significance of love you can’t give? Where does it go? Out into the world at large, dispersed among your loved ones, or into the ulcer in your stomach? GOD, WHY IS LIFE SO UNFAIR?Oh boo hoo. When I feel sorry for myself, I recall a picture of a Thai girl, skin and bones, so malnourished she did not have the strength to sit up on her grass mat. Her legs were like pencils, her pelvis barely covered by flesh. YOU’RE LUCKY TO EVEN BE HEREsaid John Lurie (or Tom Waits?) to Roberto Benigni in “Down by Law. “I am lucky to even be here,” he repeated, trying to absorb the idea while a fugitive trudging through a swamp. We are. We are lucky to even be here. In Buddhist thought, you have already achieved a kind of enlightened status simply by manifesting as a human being and not a jackal. Think of the evolution and lifetimes that led to you. You must be here for a reason, don’t you think. THE WAY IT WORKS IS,it is up to you, and all of us, to discover what that is. Life is in flux. It is being created and developed every second. “The Secret” may be corny and excessive, but it has a point—the positive or negative vibes you send into the universe create the present and the future. If you’re complaining and miserable, you will draw the same to yourself and perhaps infect others. Give love, and you will draw love. John Lennon said it better. Look, you’re lucky to even be here. Congratulations! You’re alive. I think I have a column.
The author suggests you not take her too seriously ------------------------------------------------------------ "Fanfare for the Common Man"
'cause she can be full of shit. Trust your instincts. copyright Alexandra Jones 2008 |
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