We don't have much time, so we often have to settle for less than our ideals.

I


  didn't know until this morning how cool C-SPAN is. They broadcasted this fascinating lecture by this philosopher/psychologist named Steven Pinker. From beneath his poofy bad hairdo, he's hawking his new book called How the Mind Works. In his lecture, he methodically went through a number of behaviours that we don't even think about, explaining their evolutionary advantage. Revulsion, he explained, is an intuitive microbiology which our intuition learned long before science found its basis. And romantic love is an involuntary (emotional) means to seal relationships in their early stages so the important task of reproduction and child rearing can be accomplished. Mr. Pinker adeptly addressed the reality of the dating game:
1. We pick the highest quality lover who will accept us.
2. We don't have much time, so we often have to settle for less than our ideals.
3. There's a good chance we'll find somebody better after a complex relationship has been established. This would be bad for the children and for our lives.
4. So, to show we mean it, we fall in love, and the rest of the world dwindles away to meaninglessness. It's an emotional thing we cannot control, and it is advantageous for both parties of a romance.

It all makes sense to me. It even applies to me. Sometimes it actually crosses my mind that I've been a bachelor for too long. I don't think I'm particularly fussy about the girls with whom I'll sleep, but I'm definitely too fussy about the girls with whom I'll fall in love. When was the last time I fell in love? When was the last time I fell out of love? Does anyone fall out of love? No, of course not; either circumstances drag you kicking and screaming from the oblivious security of love

or love fades away and comes to resemble the nostalgia with which it gets shelved.

The main problem, of course, was that I barely knew what I was doing and Steve knew even less than me.

M


aggy the Anomaly appears to be gradually fading away. I doubt I'll have much nostalgia for either her or her supporting crew of swollen lymph nodes. I'm becoming stronger again. Bike rides no longer tax me as they did a few days ago.

I rode to the Corner to consult with my coworker Steve about the JavaScript calendar I've been working on. The thing works extremely well; it draws arbitrary graphical calendars given a month and a year. It's slow on some machines, but it downloads relatively quickly. The only problem was figuring out what URLs to pass to the cgi script of a Cold Fusion database. The most obvious URLs didn't seem to work. The main problem, of course, was that I barely knew what I was doing and Steve knew even less than me.

Back at Kappa Mutha Fucka, I watched the Simpsons and other fun things while I did various activities with my computer. I have cable televison on all the time now; it's kind of sick.

I also drank a fairly large amount of vodkatea. Deya was downstairs watching the Simpsons on the television down there, and again I felt guilty for how antisocial I was being.

We were all picked on, we were all rejected, we all loved unilaterally, we were all humiliated. And we continue to be.

I


'm starting to better appreciate the socializing I do over the Internet. That's a very good thing, since that's practically the only socializing I've been doing. Some of the online journals I've been reading lately, though seemingly written by unpredictable psychotics (who routinely delete huge chunks of their text minutes after I read it), have a richness and texture to them that I haven't gotten from text in a long time. Characteristic of most of these authors is their amazing talent for describing their personal flaws. That's essential in good writing. If the writer is the unqualified hero, how can anyone relate? It's phony and it's boring. We were all picked on, we were all rejected, we all loved unilaterally, we were all humiliated. And we continue to be.

Another thing about these writers is that they seem to be simultaneously manic and depressed. Having that combination is evidently an asset if you want to write well.

Given my lonely yet contentious situation, I probably should be miserable. I'm a little uneasy and unsatisfied, true, but I'm fairly happy. I think this is because I feel, for whatever reason, as if I'm in control of my destiny. I've always felt that way. I'm the cynical optimist.

I


t's become very cold in Charlottesville. The skies are clear, and at night any heat from the day is sucked up by the void of space. Space is one hell of a big cold place.

one year ago

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