Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Opheelings

I’ve been vacillating between bummed and fine for the past couple of weeks like a cranky ping-pong ball. Sometimes circumstance strikes such a crappy chord that nothing feels satisfying except moaning along, improvising some miserably trite lyrics about how everything sucks and everyone sucks worse. Eventually I get fed up with laying all fetal on my kitchen floor and complaining, remember that my problems are minute and uninteresting when compared with, oh, let’s say fucking Iran, listen to “Better Things” by the Kinks for a few hours and cheer the hell up. And it works. Onion rings are ingested with gusto; sunshine is enjoyed; books are finished and new ones are cracked enthusiastically.

And then Monday morning comes calling and I wake up for work still tired, and everyone else was smart enough to make the long weekend longer, and ennui leaks right back in like my life is the basement of a shitty suburban ranch house, and circumstance strikes again to make me embarrassed like I haven’t been since I was twelve and had braces and a short, mean kid named Mike read my journal over my shoulder on the seventh grade Frost Valley camping trip and threatened for three horrible days to out my childhood crush, and I go to sleep listening to the Cranberries without even a trace of irony.

This has lead to a lot of googling of and affection for the stupid Victorians and their melancholia, and its sister illness nostalgia. I wish I could still convince people what I’ve got was a disease (it’s not) instead of a sour mood (it is), a serious one, but one that could be cured with lots of laying around in bed in fancy nightgowns and being considered very fragile and having my whims catered to out of medical necessity.

So, yeah, googling melancholia eventually lead to googling Ophelia (grant me my melodrama, okay?), and then I found this amazing story about a notoriously wonderful performance of Hamlet back in 1720. Apparently there was this actress named Susan Mountfort who was relatively famous for the time, but who had been suffering from some non-descript madness induced by a broken heart. I mean, that’s the given diagnosis. The shit is, she got away from her nurse one night and ran to the theater where she used to perform. The troupe was performing Hamlet. She basically booted the chick who had been playing Ophelia out of the way right before the big mad scene, ran onstage, and gave one of the greatest Ophelia performances in history. And then, according to the story I found, “she died right after.”

That. Is all kinds of awesome.

If you put your sadness on a scale and hope its purpose is a sufficient counterweight, that story is a supremely romanticized example that, yeah, maybe things can balance. Sure, she was heartbroken enough to go legit bonkers, but that let her play such a good Ophelia you can still read about it 289 years later.
I can’t put my finger on why that’s a satisfying idea, but it is, and after a month of feeling more than my usual hue of blue I’ll take it. I’ll just keep throwing my lame little bummers on the balance one by one and trust that there’s a point to it all that’ll even me right back out.

Thursday, July 02, 2009

M-4-DoubleEw

It's back. Here are my favorites from recent postings in the M4W Craigslist personal ads section.

Dominant / Rugged / Tall / Assertive / Masculine - 34 - (NYC)
I’m a Durango.

sometimes the stars are aligned - 61 –
To cosmically, magically, miraculously allow you to bone a dude already receiving the AARP magazine. Thank you, universe! O God, you are truly wondrous!

HELP! Do you have BIG LABIA? This is a real post! - 35 -HELP! THIS IS A LABIAMERGENCY! SOUND THE LABIALARM!

electrician looking for someone to spark with.... - 21 - (stamford)
Ba-zing, motherfucker, ba-zing.

Any women like men that show off the body in skimpy underwear/swimwear - 45 - (CNJ/NNJ)
Showing off my body in skimpy underwear is very different than showing off the body. It’s like seeing a shooting star when you find a simple case of article misuse that can turn your run of the mill pervy sentence into a serial killer’s one-liner.

Girl Boobs (Chinese) - 34 – pic
This sounds like something on a badly translated menu.

How would you like a long sensual mass and oral sex for u (optional) - (Downtown)
Oh fuck yeah babe, I’ll read from the Gospel of Mark real slow, and then I’ll bless that big, hard Eucharist...

I'm sick of games, how about you? - 22 - (Chelsea) pic
Word, if I have to play one more game of Chutes and Ladders I’m offing myself.

latin male looking for them freak ladys - m4w - 30 - (new jersey)
No. Problem.

I'm in a relationship but.. - 38 - (Upper West Side)
…I’m also on Craigslist being a dirtbag. (No fatties.)

In need of real "lady" - (Queens)
I’d love a “woman” to let me “touch” “her” “vagina.”

Every Inch of your Pussy......(no sex) - 30 - (Astoria)
No sex? What sentence begins “Every inch of your pussy” and does not include sex? Every inch of your pussy will be treated to a lecture about the Algonquin roundtable?

How I normally operate... - (Manhattan)
With a plastic knife in a room I made in my basement. What?

Today’s gold star goes to a poem that manages to be horrifying and entertaining all at once; the title is the kind of cutesy and nonsensical phrase that makes me want to wretch, and the triple use of “sore” in the first stanza made me cross my legs defensively, but picture a dude reading this aloud on a Vaudeville stage and it’s kind of (but just KIND of) endearing.

CUTIE DEAR BEAUTY(POEM) - 45 (Sac CA)
Cutie dear beauty, this poem is to you.
Its about all the things I want to do.
I want to make love to you, like never before.
And when I am done with you,you will be,sore,sore,sore.

To me lovemaking is an art.
Its takein 45 years to profect my part.
Twenty years ago,you would pay a high price,for me.
A male escort,the best that can be.

I am hung like a horse, and easy on the eyes.
Tall,dark,and handsome, I must not lie.
I love to make love, and the best that can be.
Looking for someone, someone like me.

So don't be afraid, to give me a try.
You never know, I might be the guy.
I can last all night, and part of the day.
You see my darlins, I am really good in the hay.

But you will never know, unless you try.
I am the best of the best, could be your guy.
I am respectful,honest,and wild in always.
I have had many woman say. (that i was there greatest lay)

You will never know,unless you try.
So here I am, simple guy.
I would love someone, to share my heart.
We will never know, unless you start.
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