And so it is, the shorter story

So here it is, 4 in the morning, I just finished watching Closer, and I'm sitting here, surrounded by unsatisfaction (that's not even a word). I want sleep, I want love, I want sex, I want it all. I want to know who I am and what I want, I want to be as strong as I appear, I want to be successful in the things I do. I want to actually do the things I say I'll do.
I want the world, basically.
And this is a pretty honest post, as far as these things go, but I just have this urge to say something true, something real, something maybe I'm scared about. But at least it's the truth. Because, really...

Someone recently told me that being a good friend meant letting your friends lie to themselves, letting them get away with their own personal brand of bullshit. I really hate to think that he's right, and I denied that remark with all the strength I had, as thrown as I was by the severity of the statement. But I have to admit (while I'm being honest here) that it's at least partly true. Or true for specific people. Or something like that. But there's an element of truth to it that bothers me, and I can't pinpoint where or why.

So here I am, 4 in the morning, writing.
Does any of this actually mean anything? Does it ever make a difference?

Somehow I feel all of my posts are written around questions, the answers too elusive and perhaps too consistently changing to find.
Truth changes forms.

Okay, so not the O'Reilly Factor... but I suppose this is the next most villainous arm of FOX

Hi Matt -

I'm not sure if you're the Matt we're looking for, but I thought I'd give you a try. I'm a producer with Geraldo At Large, a nationally syndicated news magazine anchored by Geraldo Rivera. We are producing a piece on the Monterey Salka controversy, and would like to do a taped, on-camera interview with you about it.

Our program is based in NYC. If you are still in town, we can come to you and would only need about an hour and a half of your time. If you are already headed back to CA, we have a producer there who can meet you at a location convenient for you to interview you. We are scheduled to finish shooting the story Friday, 12/23.

If you are concerned about what kind of questions we would like to ask, I can provide you with a list. We simply would like to talk about a little bit about Monterey, the photo shoot, and your reaction to the Salka's lawsuit.

As usual in television, time is of the essence for us, so if you could get back to me at your earliest convenience, it'd be much appreciated.

Thanks,
Bob Higgins

Seasons of love...And it's definitely winter.

There was a lot of talk about love last night. First it was with Meghann, pertinent to the subject of marriage, and then I brought it up with another close friend of mine, Mike. What is love? I don't know what it is, and despite that, I don't know if I believe in it anymore.
When you're a little girl, an adolescent, a teenager, you watch movies, read books, hear stories...And you inevitably believe that there's some "Mr. Perfect" out there for you; you just have to go and find him. But that's bullshit, or at least I think so now. Perhaps I'm turning into a cynic. But looking at the divorce rates and the number of people who cheat...I'm not so sure humans are monogamous creatures. And if we are monogamous, then what the hell is our problem?
So now I'm still a teenager, at the tail-end of that label, I've never been in a relationship, and I feel jaded; not just because of who I am but because of what I've seen of relationships, mostly with people of my age. People who think they're in love. People who are in love. But I don't even know what that means.
There are a small handful of people on the planet that I could honestly, and with a clear conscious, say that I love. A very small population indeed. But I'm not in love with them.
I just watched my parents take my dog out for a walk, and I've noticed that ever since I've left for college they've been happier. And please don't get me wrong, this isn't a pity thing and I know I didn't ruin their lives or anything like that - three is a hard number. But I used to question so often as to whether my parents were in love or loved each other at all. When things hit rock bottom a few years ago I asked my father if he and my mom were still in love, and he said I don't know. I think that messed me up.
I know everyone's perception of what marriage is supposed to be is based, obviously, on what they saw of their parents' relationship. Obviously, Meghann is more comfortable with divorce and thinks it's much more acceptable than I do. It makes sense. But with everyone's different perceptions and experiences, do any two people really agree? I'm not even going to ask if there's a "right" and a "wrong" way of thinking because I know you can't judge things like this.
As I was frantically cramming for my Sociology final, I read an article about marriage that basically explained that in every marriage, there are really two marriages, and when asked separately, spouses disagree on about a third of the things they're asked about, such as who's in control, who does what household chores, etc. I find this unsurprising. But to me it just adds to my confusion about the subject. How do you make a marriage work when you're obviously so disjointed?
And what about the correlation between marriage and love? Is one necessary for the other?

Too many questions, no satisfying answers. And I suppose I'll figure it out for myself eventually. But it does leave one feeling kind of lonely.

"Love is a many-splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love..."
Right.

J-O-O's

There are only a few times a year when I feel Jewish. Passover, Yom Kippur, and Hanukkah. The first two are obvious. My food intake is disrupted and that causes me to complain to my gentile friends. Hanukkah's also pretty obvious, seeing as how I've been bombarded with Christmas crap since October. I actually like Christmas, though. This will be only the second year of my life that I don't have a Christmas tree. However, even though I'm in the capital of politcally correct, I have yet to see a single Hanukkah decoration. I spend a lot of time at the mall because that's where my gym is. Everywhere is red and green garland, lights, and a giant pile of present with a red throne in front, where Santa sits and talks to the kiddies. As a sidenote, I'm surprised that this Santa tradition still exists. Who wants their small children to sit on an old man's lap? Yeah I thought so.

So anyway. I have yet to see a single aknowledgement of Hanukkah. I'm sure I could go home to redneck ass San Diego and see more. True that Carmel Valley is basically Little Jerusalem, but you know. This is San Francisco.

Today Hailee's mom sent Chelsea and I a package. It contained a pair for each of us of Rudolph socks and a box of Mrs. Field cherry candy canes. Of course I'm not peeved at this at all because I think it's pretty much of the nicest things ever, but I had to chuckle at myself. I'm not gonna lie. Gelt would've been cool.

4:47 A.M.

Child molesters

So last night, Heather, Chelsea, and I decided to go out to dinner at El Toreador, our local neighborhood mexican restaurant. Our first strange encounter was an extremely drunk man in his 60's who came up to us while we were fucking around outside, waiting for a table. I assume he stumbled down from the neighboring pub, Joxer Daly's. He approached us and said, "Can I ask you a question? I'm not a bad guy or anything." He asks how old we are and we tell him, and the following 15 minutes are a blur of slurred life advice, culminating in this little nugget of wisdom,"...and have as much sex and possible, with as many people as possible. But only with me." He then stumbled off and we ran screaming into the restaurant.

You'd think we were safe. Oh, no. A group of four people walk out: two women and behind them, their husbands. We're sitting in the waiting area and the two men (clearly in their 40's) come over say, "Hey, you should come have a drink with us next door." We laugh nervously and mutter after they leave. Another group of men (also in their 40's) walk out and one comes right up to Heather and says, "Let me guess. Vicky. Hahahahaha." The only pleasant coming-on was three stoned surfers from Santa Cruz who were jealous that we were so far ahead on the waiting list.

So here's my question: Why do old men find it appropriate to hit on little girls? I'll clarify this by saying that all three of us were wearing jeans, sweaters, and big jackets with scarves, and Ugg boots because it was freezing outside. There was nothing maturely sexual about us. So what the fuck? You could be my father. For all I know that old man could've been my grandfather.

Alligator wrestlers and dead fish

My University Writing instructor wasn't lying when she said she was writing a novel about a family of alligator wrestlers in South Florida. Turns out my shy, quirky writing instructor is moonlighting as a brilliant fiction writer. Her story, and an interview. It's definitely worth the read.