Love is just a fantasy

Chris and Alison in the receiving line.

Alison and Chris met online. They fell in love. They dated for I don’t know how long. Their dates and eventual weekends together meant long drives between Macomb and the Quad Cities (I don’t know which one Chris called home). I attended their wedding last September. 

As the reception got swinging, my buddy Kent, an excellent professional photographer who was shooting the ceremony and party, starting making some impromptu portraits in the rustic lake-resort setting. As I posed by a wooden tower for a dilapidated slide into the lake, somebody – Al or Jane – joked that it could be my profile picture for an online dating site. No way, I assured them. I would not be doing that, despite the recorded success of Alison and Chris and my own brother and his lovely wife Gayle.

I look a little fat or round or something.
But the lighting is good.

A month later I was on Match. And yeah, I used that great photo by Kent for my profile pic – one of ’em anyway. I cobbled together a profile – my statement about me, who I am. A soon realized it was not right, so I sought the help of a friend who is even better with words than I and who knows me. She gave it the proper tweak. But that didn’t assure success...

Online dating is rough. It feels kind of like job hunting, but with higher stakes. Or at least stakes that matter more than money.

Reading a person's profile is like looking at an ad in the employment classifieds — only expanded. First there's the come on: great gal who enjoys many of the same activities and is attractive. Looking for...

Just like the job ads I've perused from time to time, profiles leave me wondering if I stack up: Well, I'm within her prescribed age range and distance from her home. I am between 3'5" and 8'9" (really, would a 5'7" woman consider me if I were 3'7"? Or 7'11"?) And hey, she has no preference on hair, eye color or income level.

Kent photographs Chad and Jane.

Back to who she's looking for: A guy who's handy around the house. Hmmm. I'm not a total doofus, but I have more than my share of home repair horror stories. I once chucked a circular saw at a tree in frustration, for example, and inadvertently taught my toddling daughter a profanity combo that’d draw a penalty flag in a soccer match. 

I have a rather archaic, unrealistic romantic fantasy. Guys are entitled to those, too, right? See, I like the magic movie romance of the 1930s and '40s or so. You know, John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara in "The Quiet Man" or Cary Grant (whom I don't really care for much) et al and their typical whirlwind screen romance. (Whirlwind as in quick to fall in love, not over and done.)

One of my favorite examples comes from the 1933 classic "King Kong." The first mate on the boat carrying filmmaker Carl Denham to Skull Island in search of the mysterious Kong falls for the lovely Fay Wray pretty instantly. He plays tough guy for a bit, but push comes to shove and he's quick to declare, "say, I think I love you." And that's that. By the end of the he’s fought freakin’ King Kong to rescue her film and they’re married.

Or how about the sweet, quirky romance that blooms between Zach Braff and Natalie Portman in “Garden State”? It takes some time to develop and that first kiss doesn’t come along for a few days. But the chemistry is apparent from the start and even the couple of uncomfortable bumps are bypassed quickly and happiness reigns.

But that’s not reality. Reality is unanswered emails and ignored “winks.” The considerate rejectors at least reply with an encouraging “good luck out there.” As previously noted, I have made a great new friend. That’s something. We’ll see what else comes from my six-month subscription. In the meantime, here are some random thoughts on what I’ve seen so far.

1. Why does Match use a birthday cake as the graphic to accompany “you’re both loyal to the same alma mater”?
2. How does a “mutual match” fluctuate from 87% to 100% and points between when neither of you has changed anything in your profile?
3. Should one (I) really care one iota about “mutual match” percentages? I mean, really, is “you both prefer pooches” or “like you, she’s a middle child” a basis for anything? How much of a common denominator is that? Honestly, I checked that I am the middle child and the oldest, because I come from a “blended” family. Take that, Match!
4. How can someone “favorite” you but not show up as having viewed your profile?
5. How can the number of people who have viewed your profile go down if you haven’t reset the counter? Maybe that happens if a viewer’s profile becomes inactive or s/he blocks you.
6. Why can’t some people find an in-focus photo to post? Or save it big enough to see a face?
7. Are green-eyed women somehow cursed? There seems to be a preponderance of them on Match. At least they’re more common on Match than in my daily life. I think I know one person with green eyes, and I didn’t know it until I saw it in her Match profile. If I know others, I am unaware of their eye color. Personally I think green eyes are pretty, just rare. So why so common on Match?

8.   I like the missteps: Looking for a “corruptible man.” Is she serious? Facetious? Did she mean “incorruptible”? Another wants a man with a “corky personality.” Like the kid on “Life Goes On”? And for those who actually spell “quirky” correctly, just what does that mean? How do you define quirky? How fine is the line between quirky and OCD and just plain weird? When you say you’re not into drama, does that necessarily rule out role playing and dress-up?  I did find it interesting when one person admitted she was prone to some occasional drama. That kind of honesty is a nice touch.

I'm better at shooting still lifes.

Today's Stats

Temp: 36 degrees F outdoors

Distance: 3 miles

Weekly Total: 7 miles

Treasure: Self awareness.

iPod Playlist (shuffle)

How Will I Know – Whitney Houston

Venus – Bananarama

One Room CountryShack – Buddy Guy

Very Special Love – Alabama

Mr. Pitiful – The Commitments

Terminal Frost – Pink Floyd

The Grand Illusion - Styx

For the love of a leg

Writer's note: (I don't have an editor, though I am one, hence the "writer's note.") You should probably read the previous blog entry before this one to understand its place in the time-space continuum of the blogosphere. p.s. I find it ironic that the word "blogosphere" rates a spellcheck underline in a blog (as does the word spellcheck -- I suppose it should be spell check, but that looks lame).

Mimicking Ralphie's adoration of the "Major
Award." Ah, "the soft glow of electric sex."

I don't suppose I've shared the story of the leg lamp with everyone, you know, in a public forum. I'll skip the story of how I fell in love with "A Christmas Story" back in 1984, the night a group of extended friends at Western Illinois University attended the show in the University Union. Met my first real girlfriend that night, too.

So, long about 1994 I was traipsing through Bergner's in Sandburg Mall one Sunday afternoon around the time they were doing a store renovation. That meant replacing old fixtures and display pieces. The pervert in me was enthralled by a slender plastic leg used in stocking displays. I'm tellin' ya, it was a rather well-formed leg for as slender as it was. I think it must have been modeled after a dancer's leg. For 3 bucks I couldn't pass it up. At that moment, I hadn't made the link between the leg and building my own "Christmas Story" leg lamp. I just dig weird stuff.

At some point later I decided I could transform it into a leg lamp. Thus began the three-year quest for the necessary parts to complete the project. I would need a floor lamp, a shade, fringe, a sexy high-heel shoe and fishnet stockings.

Tracked down the lamp first. After visiting several antiques stores I found an old floor lamp for cheap that fit the bill. Except that it's socket was for an old-style bulb with a large base that I don't think is available anymore. It was a challenge to cobble together a shade that would fit because the lamp had a glass up-shade, you know, the kind that focuses the light toward the ceiling. I believe my then-wife found the shoe and fishnets. The shoe is red velour rather than black like the original. Sexy, though. The fishnets, she pointed out, would have been easier to acquire in October before Halloween than in early December. But Casey's Party Creations came through.

Dad unpacks the leg lamp on Christmas Day 1997.
Apparently a "grab shot" given the poor framing.

After cobbling together the lamp, I set out in search of a suitable box. Lindstrom's TV & Appliance provided a nice water heater box. Excelsior packing material, as used in the movie, would have been outrageously expensive, so I collected a load of packing peanuts from my wife's Discovery Toys shipments.

The size of the package would have been a giveaway, so I waited to bring it in after all other gifts were opened. Sure enough, the laughs erupted as soon as I brought in the box marked "FRAGILE" (Italian for "be careful or you'll break what's inside"). Only my brother Scott was perplexed by the humor of the situation. He'd never seen "A Christmas Story." That has since been remedied.

Cinderella Story

Finally, the storybook magic I've been looking for may have landed at my feet. Returning to work Sunday night after dinner with a friend, I spied from my position in the shotgun seat something in the gutter that would require later investigation. 

As I craned my head to see if I could distinguish any detail from the dark form by the curb, I let out an excited "Ooh!" 

"What?" Trixy asks.

"I don't know, but there's something in the street I'll have to check out later."

"You'll have to come this way on your run," she encouraged. She's all about making me work.

Well, I ran indoors Sunday night after work, though it was nice enough to run outdoors (over 30 degrees anyway). But I pedaled past the spot on North Prairie Street Monday afternoon after returning a movie to the video store ("Hobo with a Shotgun" starring Rutger Hauer). 

The dark blob from the night before turned out to be a big black boot (I had suspected a shirt). It would seem the modern Cinderella prefers a thigh-high black velvet boot to a teensy glass slipper. And she sports a size 10. 

Let the fitting quest begin!

I've already been on the fitting quest, sans shoe. No wonder it's been so difficult. Match.com (or simply Match, as the cool and initiated call it) tries a lot of different angles to help you find, well, a match. But shoe size isn't one of the bits of information factored into their calculations. 

Match is more concerned with birth order, body type, interests, pet preference and a load of other insightful information. 

I have made a new friend through Match, so that's cool. And she's pretty much great. I'm helping her hone her skills as a smart-ass. She's teaching me to not be a dating dolt (she's now my Match guru) and periodically threatens me with violence as a means of motivation for various purposes. I like to call her Trixy.

Come back later for part 2 of this compelling tale of love Lost and Found. In the meantime, let me tell you about today’s finds (and a little more about the boot). First item of note today was a nearly empty punch-pack of The Pill. The fourth week, labeled “inactive” was left unused. Huh.

So, what are the consequences of not taking the inactive pills in the birth control pack? I could look it up, but I’m aiming for a little interaction here. Was it a wise move for some gal to ditch the fourth week?

Back to the boot. I felt the need to model it somehow for a good photo, though the shot of it as it lay in the gutter is pretty detailed. What better model (well, other than an actual Amazon) than the wonderful “Christmas Story” leg lamp I made dad for Christmas back in 1997. I biked over to my folks’ house where the leg lamp is on display year-round (because it’s pretty much the greatest thing I ever built and an awesome Christmas gift). I taped the boot high on the leg to display its full length. Wow! Can you say, “She’s a beauty”? More like "indescribably beautiful!"

Sidebar: Trixy just threatened me with violence again, publicly this time, for daring to correct her spelling on Facebook. Would you believe she’s never seen “A Christmas Story”?

My brother had never seen “A Christmas Story” either, before I delivered the leg lamp, complete in a big box marked “FRAGILE” (that’s Italian, ya know). He didn’t get the joke at first. He has been redeemed. Someday Trixy will be, too.

Today's Stats

Temp: 43 degrees F

Distance: 4 miles

Treasure: Birth control pills (only fourth week, inactive, remaining); 1 grey magic glove; 36 cans (a regular cananza!).

I don't think he was playing.

iPod Playlist (shuffle)

Two of Hearts – Stacey Q

I Wouldn’t Want To Be Like You – Alan Parsons Project

Levelland(live) – James McMurtry

That’s How Strong My Love Is (live) – The Rolling Stones

Count On Me – Whitney Houston and Cece Winans

DancingIn The Dark – Diana Krall

Willie McBride (live) – The Don’t Be Brothers

Drunken Lady of the Morning – Michael Martin Murphey

Time and Time Again – Counting Crows

FiveO’Clock 500 – Alabama

Yer Blues – The Beatles.

I’m Every Woman in Black

I went to the movies Saturday night. Well, actually I went to one movie at the multiplex. We do like to pluralize words unnecessarily, don't we? Walmarts, anyone? Hells yeah!

I don't go to movies in the theater very often. Frankly, it's too damned expensive – $8 for an adult ticket these days. I know, that's what big city folk were paying ten or fifteen years ago or more. Well, this ain't the big city. And really the experience isn't worth it. There's something to be said for seeing a first-run film in a full theater, feeding off of the collective vibe as everyone experiences something new for the first time. Gasps, jumps, jolts, shrieks, etc. But more often than not there's some buffoon who does all that at the wrong moment or has to jabber with his or her date/seat partner, clouding important dialog and generally spoiling the moment.

The last movie I saw in the theater was the lousy remake of "Conan," with a couple of friends. Yawn. The 3-D effect was poorly used and the film lacked the chutzpah of Arnold's versions. This time I went alone. There were others in the theater, but I had nobody with me. I don't mind so much, though especially for a ghost story it would have been nice to have someone to hold my hand and cuddle in close during the particularly scary parts. For her, of course, not for me (OK, I have been known to cover my eyes and peep through my fingers when I know it's gonna get jumpy).

Trailers are always part of the experience, and they can be almost as much fun as the feature. Saturday night gave tastes of: “The Raven,” “Snow White & The Huntsman,” “The HungerGames” and “7500.” I’ve always been a fan of Poe. And of John Cusack. Imagine my ecstasy when the trailer for “The Raven” played. Then there was the live-action “Snow White” tale, the incredible first part of the “Hunger Games” trilogy and terror in the skies with “7500.” Great-lookin’ summer lineup! (Creepy: I can't get the link to work for "7500.")

Knowing the ridiculous prices for concession snacks, I decided to take my own candy. Who knew Sugar Babies were a better deal than my old standby Raisinets? Fewer calories, lower cost per ounce. The only obvious sacrifice was the loss of antioxidants. I thought I might knuckle under and buy a soda. Small = $4.25. Seriously. WTF. I stayed dry.

There were about 20 of us in the theater. About half the crowd was couples (I say “about half” because I don’t recall if there were four or five actually paired up). That would have been nice for this one! Scariest thing I’ve seen since “The Exorcist.” There were a couple cheap scares and nearly all were punctuated by heavy audio augmentation (but that’s not rare). As expected, there was some giggling at inappropriate moments, but I chalk that up to the uncomfortable titter of fear.

I’m not about to attempt a film review. Read one here. I will say again it was the scariest thing I’ve seen since “The Exorcist.” Well done. My heart was pounding. Goosebumps ran rampant up my arms and back. I countered with my own internal humor. In one scene, as Arthur Kipps (Daniel Radcliffe) inched down the hallway toward the haunted nursery to investigate a strange thumping, candle in one hand, hatchet in the other, I shouted in my mind: “Expecto Patronum!” I might have even laughed had somebody else said it aloud.

So how brilliant was it to complete my next run, 24 hours after movie night, in a darkened gym, listening to the music of a recently deceased pop star? Thankfully I saw no ghosts, though I did induce goosebumps a few times just by thinking about scenes from the movie.

Today's Stats

Temp: 31 degrees F outdoors

Distance: 3.1 miles

Weekly Total: 9.6 miles

Treasure: Goosebumps.

iPod Playlist (shuffle)

All the Man That INeed

I’m Your Baby Tonight

I Will Always LoveYou

I Have Nothing If IDon’t Have You

I’m Every Woman

Exhale (Shoop Shoop)

I Believe In You AndMe

It’s Not Right, ButIt’s Okay

It seemed right to finish the Whitney playlist (actually I finished running before the last two songs could play - My Love Is Your Love and You Give Good Love)

Whitney Was a Freedom Fighter

I did not know Whitney Houston. I did not know Michael Jackson. Nor Clarence Clemons or Michael Been or Warren Zevon. John Lennon was dead before I started high school and I never got to meet George Harrison either.

I never bought a Whitney Houston album (or CD or even an iTunes download). I liked her pop songs, the ones  that received airplay, but I wasn’t interested enough to delve deeper into the Whitney catalog. I did buy a Michael Jackson song or two, though never an album. I love Clarence for his contributions to The E Street Band and other artists. Been was leader of an ‘80s new wave band known as The Call. I bought their music more recently. And I have nearly all of Zevon’s albums and those of The Beatles as well.

I’m guessing you’ve bought your share of pop records, whether Whitney’s or Michael’s or The Beatles’ or somebody else’s. Somebody else who, like Whitney and Michael and Zevon and the two Beatles no longer on this earth, undoubtedly makes headlines for his or her music or movies and maybe for his or her battles with personal demons from booze to pills to perversions unnamed in family publications. And who, like all those aforementioned celebrities, will make headlines when they die. They’ll stay in the news for days, weeks, maybe months or years, depending on the circumstances. They may grow into legend like Morrison and Hendrix and Joplin.

Well, if you have bought those pop records or gone to their movies or rented the DVDs, you’ve contributed to their celebrity status and helped to fuel the interest that places them in the news when they die inauspiciously in a drug-induced stupor-turned-drowning.

We don’t know these celebrities. We haven’t met or likely even exchanged emails or Christmas cards. Yet we feel we know them. Their art has touched our lives. Maybe we just like a song or two. Or maybe Michael’s dance moves inspired you to pursue dance as an expression of who you are. Or Whitney’s voice so pierced your soul when she hit those amazing notes and then held them for what seemed an eternity that you knew you had to sing, too, even if only in the high school choir. Maybe that was the outlet you needed to crawl out of your shell and socialize, make friends.

In that way, artists, too, have ensured our freedom. They didn’t fight for it with a gun or a plane. They didn’t die because of another’s actions, heroically defending democracy and freedom halfway around the world. Whether their death was the result of drug addiction or cancer, technically both are illnesses. We don’t want to have sympathy for some rich celebrity who turned to the dark side and gave up greatness for a “good time.” Maybe it wasn’t even a good time. It might have been a place to hide from the unknown rigors of life in the limelight.

Whatever the case may be, they touched our lives and so we remember them, even when we rarely pay tribute to those who died in ways we view as heroic. But then, war dead will have their remembrances. There will be monuments are markers. But what is a slab of stone inscribed with names of the dead? And who cares if Whitney is the focus of the 24/7 news cycle for a couple weeks? If we really cared about the disparity, we’d find a way to pay our military personnel and, hell, our teachers among others, the kind of money entertainers and athletes command.

But really it isn’t about fame and fortune. At least it shouldn’t be. 

Here's what somebody else said about this.

Today's Stats

Temp: 36 degrees F

Distance: 3.5 miles

Weekly Total: 6.5 miles

Treasure: 2 gloves (1 grey Isotoner, women’s; 1 black magic glove); 5 cans.

iPod Playlist (All Whitney Houston, just for you)

Saving All My Love For You

How Will I Know

Greatest Love of All

I Wanna Dance With Somebody

Didn’t We Almost Have It All

So Emotional

Where Do Broken Hearts Go

One Moment In Time