Hey, Look Everybody....!

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Dear Wary!

Dear Wary,

You've touched upon the nature of artistic temperaments and egos run amok directly and indirectly a number of times. I have a question generally tied in with that tender subject, but I'm wondering more particularly about it as it pertains to relationships. To be succinct, before I really get into it, should being made to feel special by your partner be a relationship requirement?

You see, I'm with a man who is in many respects wonderful. He's bright, ambitious and successful. He's been kind and trustworthy. We share interests. His laugh makes me happy. However, at times, he just doesn't make me feel special. In fact, he makes me feel very ordinary. While one can shrug off the sting of the indifference of the world at large, it hurts to be made to feel ordinary by your partner, by the person who has supposedly chosen you as the one he wants to be with ahead of all others. I don't think it's deliberate on his part: It's not aggressive, he doesn't ignore my calls or deny me affection, and on the rare occasion when he's angry or slightly unkind, he doesn't demonstrate subtle or insidious cruelty.

Is it wrong of me to feel entitled to feeling special around people who are special to me? Not that I think I should be told I'm remarkable all the time, but I'm just wanting that kind of quiet, steady glow of esteem that certain people can sometimes give you.

I'm worried that I'm simply a narcissist and should be grateful for having found this wonderful man. It's complicated by the fact that I've always been told I'm pretty remarkable in most facets of my life by most people. The occasional stranger stops me in the streets to tell me I'm beautiful. I've been very successful both academically and in an esoteric and competitive field. Frankly, he's the only man I've ever been with who hasn't fawned over me a little bit from time to time. I miss that! It keeps the energy in a relationship up, and I always return the sentiments in kind.

I don't think I'm just an emotional sponge, but I'm also at the beginning of those generations who grew up being told how wonderful they were and who had their self-esteem nurtured at every turn. Perhaps my capacity for enduring relationships has been stifled by self-absorption and instead of looking for real love I'm just looking for the emotional equivalent of a skinny mirror.

So, what do you think? I love this man; he says and acts as if he loves me but I'm afraid something vital is missing; I just don't know if I should pursue a lifetime of feeling ordinary. Even worse, what if my presentiment is accurate and I'm really not all that special to him? If so, it's unfair to make him conjure up something that is not there. That's actually a number of questions, but please answer! I'm at a loss and don't want to prejudice anyone in my life against him in case we do go for the lifetime commitment; the time is at hand for those decisions.

Ordinary or Special?

Dear Special,

Yes, Honey, I know you're a real special person. A lot of people might say that you've got too many free hours in the day to brood about meaningless shit or that you're just one needy high maintenance shrew but that's not it at all. The truth is that you're most sweetest, most loveable gal in the whole wide world and this fella of yours just isn't getting it.

So what do you do? Well, remember all those Shirley Temple movies which kept us going through the war years? You can't just sit there like a rock and hope Mister Wonderful realizes how magical you are. No, you've got to put on those tap shoes, paste on that happy smile and then get up and dance and sing! Any time of the day, whenever you're feeling blue, wherever you are, the melodies of Broadway will make those pesky old blues go away!

Turn your life into one unending musical and believe me, like night and day, happiness will follow.

And if that doesn't work with the cold, heartless bastard, well, I'm not suggesting anything rash but does the name Lorena Bobbit ring a bell?

Dear Wary!

Dear Wary,

I want to be a musician but I am afraid that I don't have it in me. I want to play an instrument and sing and create music and perform it. I don't really care about fame. I want to admire myself for being a more realized person, and I want to enjoy the company of artists, and until I am one I would be nothing but a fake, or worse yet, labeled a groupie. I am plagued with the existential anxiety that my life has been pointless thus far, and I see music as a way to create meaning and connection with my own humanity.

But when I listen to interviews with musicians, or hear their music, I am struck with the sense that they were born for it, that creating music runs in their veins, and that it's a way of life for them as much as eating or sleeping. Can someone become an artist after many, many years of not being musical, indeed after a life spent idling in conformity? Is a love for it and a dedication to working toward being musical every day really enough? Could someone like me really join the ranks of artists?

I Dream of My Ideal Self, in Vancouver

Dear Ideal Self,

Truthfully, I think you're setting your sights a little low here.

While creating music might "run in the veins" of some of the weak-willed milquetoast American musicians you might sometimes run across, let's face it. You're Canadian, heir to a savage race that conquered an entire continent. One which swept like a Mongolian horde across plains, mighty rivers and even mightier mountains, killing and burning and raping everything in its path. Do you think it's for you to worry your manliness about learning to play some flimsy guitar (much in the way the women fumble with the lutes in the tents)?

No.

Like Russell Crowe himself said in Gladiator, it is time to grab your destiny. By this time next year, I want you to be up in the North Woods, hunting grizzlies clad only in a loincloth and strangling them with your bare hands (and playing the guitar at the same time, if that is Your wish.)

Go USA! Go USA! Go USA!

So anyway, now that support for the war is down into the low 30s, I've just one thing to say to all you people who chortled so merrily at the French not so long ago. Come on, you pansies, take that dress off and get with the program.

I'm sick of hearing of you guys whine about how Bush lied about the WMDs. Really, who cares? For the last twenty-five years, I've had to listen to you guys bloviate on and on about how America is the toughest hombre on the planet and how it was her duty to "take names" and "kick ass." Or sorry - to "take some names!!" and to "kick some ass!!"

Pardon... Those were your words, weren't they? Well, there are the quote unquote "ragheads," they're burning the American flag and it's time somebody did something did about it! Right? Isn't it time for you guys to march on down to the recruiting offices and sign on up? Show us spineless liberals how it's done?

Really, the question you should be asking yourself right now is WWRD? What would Rambo do? He wouldn't be moaning on and on about some supposed quagmire, that's for sure! And listen. Cock your ear and listen real closely. Across the Atlantic. It's the French. And they're laughing. Laughing at YOU.

And burning down some McDonalds.

Merry Christmas Everybody!!!!!

And don't even think about all that credit card debt (...for another week at least!)

Hooray

Strike's over. BACK TO THE CUBICLES, EVERYBODY!!!!!!

A Guide to the Holidays (Part Two)

Culture. Even the most benighted, distant of suburbs has heard of it. Yet there is a thin line to be walked here. Acknowledge it. Yet DON'T GET CARRIED AWAY. No one likes SOME SMART ASS who drops in every 12 months or so to show off his or her FANCY PANTS EDUCATION. Thus, with that in mind, let's take a look at the various "safe areas" which you might venture out into without the ice cracking beneath you...

Literature - In short, you can't go wrong if you praise The Da Vinci Code. (Yes, we know. We know. But can't you JUST FOR ONE NIGHT learn to get along with THE PEOPLE WHO LOVE AND CARE FOR YOU?) Talk lovingly about the breadth of Dan Brown's imagination. Be amazed at his astonishing historical revelations. However, refrain from pointing out that he largely paints the Catholic Church as a bunch of EVIL, POPE-WORSHIPING MURDERERS. That would be rude.

Art - It all began and ended with Norman Rockwell. Boy, that guy really knew how to paint (or draw or whatever). If any instructor from the local community college wanders in and mentions some really obscure painter like Jackson Pollock, MOCK THEM HARSHLY. In fact, if any happen to be present, DRIVE THEM OUT INTO THE STREET and CAST STONES AT THEM.

Music - The same deal. DO NOT SUGGEST that any possible aesthetic satisfaction can be gained from jazz or classical music. If possible, vigorously claim that either form was cooked up at the 1968 Democratic Convention at the behest of George McGovern and/or Leon Trotsky.

However, do CELEBRATE THE WONDER that is COUNTRY AND WESTERN MUSIC. Explain you particularly enjoy listening to it while hunting grizzlies in Montana (armed only with a dull bowie knife.)

To sum it up, this is a tricky area, one in which you must tread lightly. It's tempting to scoff at the dangers yet DO NOT DO THIS. Did you see that excellent movie about the dangers posed by flesh-eating corpses that have been infected by an ALIEN SPACE VIRUS which came out last year? Do you remember the scene at the end with the UNDEAD JAPANESE DWARVES...? Yes, that one, the one that proved so controversial.

We need not say more.