Monday, July 04, 2005

Collective Bargaining

Banana Chic came over a few days ago to borrow my driver's license since I won't be needing it in Asia. Her October birthday makes her an illegal club-goer in Ontario and my convicted felon-looking ID photo has enough accessories to disguise her fresh faced reality. We entertained ourselves in my room hula hooping while dancing to some radio friendly hits. I'm telling you, there is no way to shake it like a Polaroid picture while simultaneously humping a hollowed-out hoop. And forget dunking your booty during "Yeah!" because that's about as likely as licking your own elbow, Gene Simmons or no Gene Simmons.


Shotgun Toter and I hung out at Chapters today. She read Sex For Dummies while I browsed through Why Men Love Bitches. That book inflicted a prolonged moment of humiliation that transcended simple recognition by way of a stomach-churning vertigo. It immediately occurred to me that Ms. Argov, from her Victorian banister in Ladies' Home Journal-land, was advocating The Rules under the pretense of tough love. Men, she intones, have an insatiable appetite for a good challenge and as women, we must provide for that reptillian need. Uh-huh. So where's my challenge? I have no desire investing any time with shameless Pavlovian dogs nor modern-day Henry Kissingers, professional sophists and playboys with semi-functioning fixtures. All the games we're conditioned to play are merely sophisticated mannerisms acknowledged to have an arousing effect in the opposite party. So what of that? Are we so naive that we expect long-term attraction between members of a specie not programmed for monogamous arrangements (and upright incentives)? Is attraction a means to an end or an end in itself? Emperor penguins do a better job staying together with their mates (though I doubt they suffer existential crises curable by flashy, tertiary outlets). I ask myself, Am I expected to feel good knowing an unexplained action of mine is driving someone else insane, rendering him powerless and unproductive? On this note, I might as well reiterate the well-worn adage that the definition for insanity is repeating the same behaviour and expecting different results. In which case, I wonder why dating exists at all? I can count on one hand the number of official quote unquote dates I've been on (okay, maybe more like two and three-quarters ... give or take some toes). Consistently unsatisfied, I've given up on this "tradition" easily likened to ritual suicide. The artificiality of food, drink and timed merriment: I might as well nail a sign to me head proudly proclaiming fertility since I'm apparently -- irrefutably -- on that trajectory anyway. Why is it that we struggle to accept free will, yet shun any script that does not follow the linear model?


My mom said she was pleased with my cooking. Lord Almighty, she not only ate it, but was indifferent to my efforts; no complaints! She usually starts a conversation with an accusation of pep and stubborn refusal of her (as yet-to-be mentioned) request:

"Lily? Aye ya! Why you no make food? So lazy! I always ti'ed, wo'k all day, but you no do everything! I say make food, but you no do! Aye ... "

"Mom! I didn't say I wouldn't! I just picked up the phone!"

Click. She hangs up on me.

No comments: