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| 11 february 2002 | unrecognizable This weekend, love kept bumping into me. Literally. I had a really fun weekend, especially Saturday night. Enjoyed a strikingly good production (in excellent company, no less) of The Glass Menagerie, staged by our own Little Theatre. Afterward, we ended up doing some midnight cosmic bowling (think black lights and glowing balls. Totally fun, especially after a few beers and while in the middle of a 12-year-old's birthday party.) While the bunch of us is bowling and having a generally swell time, we notice this party of teenagers slowly encroaching into our area. Not just walking past us to grab nachos, but full-on getting in our way. One twosome was particularly stomach-turning, as they were attached to one another at the mouth, with additional points of contact at the hands, hips, and rear end. This was icky enough, but the closer they got to our table, the more they kept losing their balance. He'd move his hand from hip to butt, she'd scooch and smooch a little more persuasively, and **blammo**, they toppled into me for the third time. Aah, love. Or in this case, lust, made all the more clumsily passionate by the absence of any responsible adults. Erk. I haven't turned on the television in days. However, between the radio station I listen to while running, two thirds of the Internet, and the bowling alley; I'm feeling a little smooshed under the deluge of Valentinia. I can't logon to the Internet without seeing any number of the following pitches:
For women, there are thousands of Cosmo-esque surveys and tarot readers "waiting for you now". They will help her determine once and for all whether her jo* is a scroungy rake on this all-important Valentines' Day. For men...well, let's just say you'd better buy her something, or else. No, I'm serious, dude. Anything...just buy something before she freaks the hell out. I can't handle all of this pressure. At least at Christmas, you can sit on Santa's lap for a little free counseling session, you know? The consumerism is wigging me out, man. Can I have a candy cane? You guys probably already guessed this, but I'm not too keen on public displays of affection. Some occasional hand-holding and smooching is AOK. It's sweet. There's love, and then there are these displays that are like watching a fungus attach itself to a dead log. What was once puppy love is now a parasite-host relationship. And it's getting in the way of me bowling a strike. I carried this image into my fitful sleep on Saturday night, along with the hundreds of visual and audio ads I've been subjected to for a few weeks now. Do you love someone? Then prove it. Only money can buy that proof, right? As I read Sunday's paper, the throttling continued. Pulling out those ad flyers was like yanking a magician's scarf from a sleeve: never-ending. Candy, lingerie, cards. I try not to let stuff like this get to me, but this was unnerving. This whole deal stopped being about love somewhere between K-Mart, the editorial section, and Radio Shack. And then I went to the grocery store. I got my stuff, and found my place in line. A middle-aged couple was in front of me. They had a cart filled with what looked like stuff for a Sunday School class project. They seeemed pretty happy with what they'd gathered, quietly discussing how this was going to go with that. Throughout the conversation, they would negotiate ideas and plans. There was no sniping, no one-upping that you see so much these days. They didn't glare at one another once. If you're not paying attention, sometimes you miss dances that take place directly in front of you. This couple--they did just that. They danced with one another. It was so subtle. It was a quiet language of intimate eye contact, sweet smiles, and an occasional word now and then. It was comfortable, but not bored. Relaxed, not weary. As I go along in my life, I experience these rare moments upon which I want to place a glass dome, and preserve like one of those snowy paperweights. I don't have answers to much in this life. Most of the time, I'm pretty good with that. Today, I got a hint to carry around for those times when we wonder what love is, and what do you want from it? I'd gently pull that dome out of my pocket, and say, simply, This. |