I got tagged again, only this time it has something to do with answering a lot of emotionally scarring questions. Naturally, I figured this meant that I should create an entire blog out of it. No, it’s not cheating.
1. EVER BEEN GIVEN AN ENGAGEMENT RING?
Wow. So, we’re going there right away are we? We can’t warm up a little bit with a question that won’t send me into therapy? Fine. No. I have never been given an engagement ring. In fact, I’m fairly certain the concept has never crossed anyone’s mind in reference to me. Happy? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if I can get some couch time tomorrow.
2. LONGEST RELATIONSHIP?
Depends. Do you mean the decade with The Ex, or do you mean the subsequent years mourning The Ex?
3. LAST GIFT YOU RECEIVED?
Does a drink from a single man count? Yes, that’s right. I had a drink with a single man the other night. But that’s another blog.
4. EVER DROPPED A CELL PHONE?
Oh, yes. My phone dropping skills are legendary.
5. WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU WORKED OUT?
Technically, it was an hour ago. Alas, my mental exercises tend to be more regular and rigorous.
6. THING(S) YOU SPEND A LOT OF MONEY ON?
Well, Jimmy Choo and I are clearly in love. But I don’t shop there often, it’s just when I do, it tends to cost quite a bit of cash. However, if we’re talking about frequency of purchase, I’d have to say anything involving The X-Files universe.
7. LAST FOOD YOU ATE?
Bowtie pasta with organic marinara sauce (which was actually better than I thought it was going to be). Although I’m eyeing a piece of chocolate, so by the time I finish this tome, this answer could, in fact, be entirely different.
8. FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX?
I notice a person’s “presence” more than anything else. I don’t know if it’s a person’s stature or just their overall bearing, but it’s definitely a quality that’s hard to pick out in a match.com profile photo.
9. ONE FAVORITE SONG?
That’s an impossible question. I have a favorite song for every real mood, and every transitional mood.
10. WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
I live in Los Angeles where it will be 77 degrees tomorrow. Look at that—I have simultaneously explained where I live and why I live there.
11. HIGH SCHOOL YOU ATTENDED:
Andrews School for Girls was honored with my presence. That’s right, I went to an all girls school. And no, I do not recall any pillow fights, nor do I recall having any friends named Tootie who hung out on roller skates all day long. Then again, I didn’t live in the dorms, so maybe I just missed her. They were so devastated when I left that they ceased to exist. Ok, that’s not true, but it feels true.
12. CELL PHONE SERVICE PROVIDER:
My life is currently mortgaged to AT&T.
13. FAVORITE MALL STORE:
I don’t think I have a favorite mall store. Banana Republic and I are close. They keep sending me mail. Although I have a feeling Dior and I are about to become intimately acquainted.
14. LONGEST JOB YOU HAD:
I have spent the last 14 years as an analyst for an international firm. Why are you yawning? Oh, wait, that’s me.
15. DO YOU OWN A PAIR OF DICE?
I don’t actually know the answer to this. I think I do, but I couldn’t possibly locate them.
16. DO YOU PRANK CALL PEOPLE?
Good God, no. I don’t like people enough to talk to them when I have to, and talking to strangers might as well be renamed “waterboarding” in my world.
17. LAST WEDDING YOU ATTENDED:
I think the last wedding I went to was CH’s wedding in Virginia/DC.
18. FIRST FRIEND YOU'D CALL IF YOU WON THE LOTTERY:
David Duchovny would be my first call. Seriously, with that kind of cash giving me false confidence, why not call him?
19. LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR BEST FRIEND:
“Best”? Hmmm, that sounds elitist and wrong. Yes, that’s me refusing to answer.
20. FAVORITE FAST FOOD RESTAURANT:
Does Pink Taco count as Fast Food? They do occasionally bring the margaritas in under three minutes.
21. BIGGEST LIE YOU HAVE EVER HEARD:
LMAO! Well, I suppose it’s possible that I’ve heard a couple of huge ones recently, but I have a 48% confidence level to date in the intel. And if I get pictures, two people are going to be $100 richer to make up for my lack of immediate faith.
(22 was not sent to me. The nerve!)
23. WHERE'S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO EAT WITH FRIENDS?
Depends—have I been forced to leave my apartment? I’ve had quite a good time at Craft and Pink Taco. However, I think I’ll actually always prefer to eat in my apartment while trying to figure out why my friends keep trying to move in bunkbeds.
24. CAN YOU COOK?
The Fire Marshall has actually certified that I can not cook. Tsk… one little alarm goes off…
25. WHAT CAR DO YOU DRIVE?:
I drive a Jeep Wrangler.
26. BEST KISSER:
Sadly, The Ex still ranks at the top of that list. Not that I’ve tested this theory much. I am willing to just say George Clooney because I’m sure it’s possible that he’s quite good at it.
27. LAST TIME YOU CRIED?:
I was quite upset about the passing of Kim Manners, as well as the state of a long-term friendship, on Monday night.
28. MOST DISLIKED FOODS:
I dislike most foods.
29. THING YOU LIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
I must like my own company quite a bit given my adorable hermit-like qualities.
30. THING YOU DISLIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
I dislike my inability to talk to strangers. I need to be fearless.
(31 is also awol)
32. LONGEST SHIFT YOU HAVE WORKED AT A JOB?:
It’s probably a tie between some long days early on at the current job and a 15 hour X-Files shooting day.
33. FAVORITE MOVIE?
Right now? “I Want to Believe” ranks pretty high on the list currently. I don’t really have a favorite overall because, like music, I seem to shift according to mood.
34. CAN YOU SING?
No, I can not sing. I have a voice teacher who can attest to this reality.
35. LAST CONCERT ATTENDED?
Um… I think my last concert was Paula Cole. It ended in disaster when I humiliated myself in order to protect The Ex from scorn and ridicule. Yeah, in retrospect, I should have let him fend for himself.
36. LAST KISS?
Never. I’m not married, so it is clearly wrong to kiss anyone. What? :)
37. LAST MOVIE RENTED:
The Duchess through Netflix.
38.ONE THING YOU NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE WITHOUT:
My blackberry. This has got to change.
39. FAVORITE VACATION SPOT:
Rhodes, Greece. I’d love to go back to that balcony attached to our group house in Lindos on Rhodes.
(I swear to you, I don't know where 40, 41 and 42 are)
43. LAPTOP OR DESKTOP COMPUTER?:
Both. Neither works for what I currently need, so I’m shopping right now.
44. FAVORITE COMEDIAN?:
Jon Stewart, Tina Fey and Steve Martin, currently. I was a big George Carlin fan.
45. DO YOU SMOKE?
I’m deathly allergic to smoke. This is not an exaggeration. If I’m in a closed space with smoke I start to cough within minutes. In theory, I stop breathing if I don’t get into open air within a reasonable period of time. I’d prefer not to test that theory.
46. SLEEP WITH OR WITHOUT CLOTHES?
I sleep with clothing on because I live in the land of earthquakes. No need to traumatize the neighbors more than the sudden earth movement already has.
47. WHO SLEEPS WITH YOU EVERY NIGHT?:
Me, myself and I. It’s very crowded.
48. DO LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIPS WORK?:
Yes, I’ve made them work. Plus, bonus points in that the guy will be around occasionally, but not enough to think that he gets ownership of the remote.
49. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN PULLED OVER BY THE POLICE?
I think I’ve been pulled over as a driver once, but then I totally beat it in court, so it was expunged from my record.
50. PANCAKES OR FRENCH TOAST?Why make me choose? Oh, the humanity…
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Kim Manners
It’s impossible to explain or relate the connections you feel to other people, particularly those who you don’t know well. You see their work, and you love it, and a connection grows. You have a random conversation on any given Tuesday, and for some reason it strikes a note. Maybe it’s part of a fandom’s illusion of relationships through shared experience.
Whatever it is, I can’t really explain the loss I felt when I heard that Kim Manners died of lung cancer on Sunday.
For those of you who didn’t know the man or his work, he was a prolific director on The X-Files and Supernatural (as well as an exec producer for both shows, as well as numerous other projects over a long career). Technically skilled and exacting, Kim’s sets were a fascinating experience—one I had all too rarely.
While I worked on a number of his X-Files episodes over the years, I’ll never forget the first time I actually spoke with him. I had accidentally (aka completely on purpose) crashed his 50th birthday party. It was the middle of the shooting day, but a party broke out, and as I was working as an extra, I got caught up in the moment (aka left holding area to find out what all the cheering was for). I remember the speech he gave about how much he loved his cast and crew—they were obviously family to him. He talked about how if it were up to him, the show would continue another 8 years because it meant that much to him.
As he was leaving the party to head back to work (we had another 9 hours in front of us), I wished him a happy birthday. He kissed me on the cheek, called me sweetheart, and stopped to talk to me. The conversation itself wasn’t earth shattering—mostly about if I had worked the show before, etc. The only thing that kept running through my head was, “Don’t you know who you are?” Directors don’t talk to extras. I didn’t do a lot of that kind of work, but that’s one thing I definitely knew. And yet there he was.
Eight hours later, I was standing on set with Kim, Gillian, my hot swat guy (damn, what was his name, and why didn’t I pay attention) and her manager, Connie. It was 1am. Everyone was exhausted, and we all knew that there was at least an hour or more to go. Despite all of that, Kim, who undoubtedly had a longer day than any of us, was on the move. The man’s energy was contagious, and with an entertainingly suggestive conversation with Gillian, we were off and running.
That’s how I’ll always remember Kim—a man of boundless energy, enthusiasm and colorful turn of phrase, always exhorting and inspiring people to be better.
The IBG Group has set up a donation page for people who are interested in honoring the man. All donations will be given to the American Lung Association in Kim’s honor:
http://allthings.inspiredbygillian.com/
Whatever it is, I can’t really explain the loss I felt when I heard that Kim Manners died of lung cancer on Sunday.
For those of you who didn’t know the man or his work, he was a prolific director on The X-Files and Supernatural (as well as an exec producer for both shows, as well as numerous other projects over a long career). Technically skilled and exacting, Kim’s sets were a fascinating experience—one I had all too rarely.
While I worked on a number of his X-Files episodes over the years, I’ll never forget the first time I actually spoke with him. I had accidentally (aka completely on purpose) crashed his 50th birthday party. It was the middle of the shooting day, but a party broke out, and as I was working as an extra, I got caught up in the moment (aka left holding area to find out what all the cheering was for). I remember the speech he gave about how much he loved his cast and crew—they were obviously family to him. He talked about how if it were up to him, the show would continue another 8 years because it meant that much to him.
As he was leaving the party to head back to work (we had another 9 hours in front of us), I wished him a happy birthday. He kissed me on the cheek, called me sweetheart, and stopped to talk to me. The conversation itself wasn’t earth shattering—mostly about if I had worked the show before, etc. The only thing that kept running through my head was, “Don’t you know who you are?” Directors don’t talk to extras. I didn’t do a lot of that kind of work, but that’s one thing I definitely knew. And yet there he was.
Eight hours later, I was standing on set with Kim, Gillian, my hot swat guy (damn, what was his name, and why didn’t I pay attention) and her manager, Connie. It was 1am. Everyone was exhausted, and we all knew that there was at least an hour or more to go. Despite all of that, Kim, who undoubtedly had a longer day than any of us, was on the move. The man’s energy was contagious, and with an entertainingly suggestive conversation with Gillian, we were off and running.
That’s how I’ll always remember Kim—a man of boundless energy, enthusiasm and colorful turn of phrase, always exhorting and inspiring people to be better.
The IBG Group has set up a donation page for people who are interested in honoring the man. All donations will be given to the American Lung Association in Kim’s honor:
http://allthings.inspiredbygillian.com/
Monday, January 19, 2009
Perception
Perception is a funny thing (and by funny, I mean evil and wrong). For instance, yesterday, I thought I was doing a gangbuster kind of workout. I pictured myself on the elliptical machine making magic happen. I pictured myself being athletic, svelte, prepossessing, or sweaty-chic.
Then I looked in the mirror.
I’m fairly sure your ass is not supposed to move that way. Seriously, the cellulite undulation was making me seasick. Like any rational person, it just inspired me to work out more.
Oh, wait… no.
It inspired me to stop every activity that could elicit jiggling of any kind. Because really… no one should see that, not even me.
A friend of mine told me a story about a recent trip to Blockbuster. She noticed several people looking at her. She knew she looked good. She was having a “that girl” moment (you know, the fantasy where people are looking at you and whispering “who’s that girl…over there… that charming creature”). At least, that was her perception.
Then she caught her reflection in the window.
Note to self, when you get your brows waxed make sure that all the wax and the bright red marks, from where the technician ripped off your skin, have faded before renting ‘I Want to Believe” at your local video store.
Every day I get up at 5 am for work. Yea. I suppose I could blame the darkness for the ensembles I put together, but that would be a lie. I think I look good when I leave my apartment. I mean, no one is going to mistake me for Gillian Anderson, but people won’t hide their children from me to avoid the horror.
So, why is it that the look that works so well at home before I leave is suddenly ill-fitting and somewhat south of chic when I see my reflection at work?
Perception is deeply misleading.
Then again, maybe reality is really the problem.
Kate
Then I looked in the mirror.
I’m fairly sure your ass is not supposed to move that way. Seriously, the cellulite undulation was making me seasick. Like any rational person, it just inspired me to work out more.
Oh, wait… no.
It inspired me to stop every activity that could elicit jiggling of any kind. Because really… no one should see that, not even me.
A friend of mine told me a story about a recent trip to Blockbuster. She noticed several people looking at her. She knew she looked good. She was having a “that girl” moment (you know, the fantasy where people are looking at you and whispering “who’s that girl…over there… that charming creature”). At least, that was her perception.
Then she caught her reflection in the window.
Note to self, when you get your brows waxed make sure that all the wax and the bright red marks, from where the technician ripped off your skin, have faded before renting ‘I Want to Believe” at your local video store.
Every day I get up at 5 am for work. Yea. I suppose I could blame the darkness for the ensembles I put together, but that would be a lie. I think I look good when I leave my apartment. I mean, no one is going to mistake me for Gillian Anderson, but people won’t hide their children from me to avoid the horror.
So, why is it that the look that works so well at home before I leave is suddenly ill-fitting and somewhat south of chic when I see my reflection at work?
Perception is deeply misleading.
Then again, maybe reality is really the problem.
Kate
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Dream Job
http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20090113/od_afp/lifestyleaustraliatourismoffbeat_20090113032028
Let me get this straight. They will pay me a little over $100,000 in order to play on their island? Hmmmm. Clearly the strenuous duties of sunbathing and frolicking are worth that, but I’m missing the catch. As it stands, I do believe I’ve found one of my two or three personal fantasy jobs, so I believe I’ll be getting a plane very soon.
At last a chance to truthfully yell, “You! Off my island”.
The thought of it alone makes me all tingly. It can not be a truly primitive island because you are supposed to do on camera work and web blogging—hello, internet! I already blog, and usually that’s from a place far less glorious than the one pictured there.
Frankly, I giggle at the downside—relatively few people.
Do typhoons hit this island? Is that it? Is there some sort of bomb testing going on next door? Because otherwise, I can’t figure out how there is anything bad about this. Oooooh, unless they don’t have satellite TV, then I can see how that would be a struggle. Also, Dominoes probably doesn’t deliver quite that far. While that’s a shame, it’s not really a deal breaker.
So, it’s been real. I’ll send you a postcard.
What do you mean they might not pick me? How could they not pick me? I mean, I promise not to wear a bikini on camera.
Off to buy more sunscreen.
Kate
Uh… you don’t think there is a smoke monster on this island like there is on “Lost”, do you?
Let me get this straight. They will pay me a little over $100,000 in order to play on their island? Hmmmm. Clearly the strenuous duties of sunbathing and frolicking are worth that, but I’m missing the catch. As it stands, I do believe I’ve found one of my two or three personal fantasy jobs, so I believe I’ll be getting a plane very soon.
At last a chance to truthfully yell, “You! Off my island”.
The thought of it alone makes me all tingly. It can not be a truly primitive island because you are supposed to do on camera work and web blogging—hello, internet! I already blog, and usually that’s from a place far less glorious than the one pictured there.
Frankly, I giggle at the downside—relatively few people.
Do typhoons hit this island? Is that it? Is there some sort of bomb testing going on next door? Because otherwise, I can’t figure out how there is anything bad about this. Oooooh, unless they don’t have satellite TV, then I can see how that would be a struggle. Also, Dominoes probably doesn’t deliver quite that far. While that’s a shame, it’s not really a deal breaker.
So, it’s been real. I’ll send you a postcard.
What do you mean they might not pick me? How could they not pick me? I mean, I promise not to wear a bikini on camera.
Off to buy more sunscreen.
Kate
Uh… you don’t think there is a smoke monster on this island like there is on “Lost”, do you?
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Nicknames
I had a nickname. It was perky. I am not perky.
I had a nickname. It ended in an “I”, although most people who hear the nickname spell it wrong.
I had a nickname that brings to mind cheerleaders, school spirit leaders and the possibility of a role as a Stepford Wife.
I had a nickname that took years to get rid of. My parents still use it, but they are allowed because they named me, so they get a pass.
Shortly after meeting The Ex, I asked him not to use it. Most of my friends were still using it. Most of my professors still used it. But in a conversation in the library, I told him that if he wanted me to answer him, he wouldn’t use it. His response, “I wondered why someone with such a beautiful name would choose to use the nickname”. He never used the moniker again. Maybe that’s the moment I knew that he was going to be a tough one to shake off—not that I didn’t try.
I had a nickname. And now it’s back. It started slowly—a few old friends used it on Facebook. Since I never use it, I didn’t think anything of it. Then a few new friends on other forums spontaneously started to implement it. I thought it was odd, but figured if I kept signing everything with the name I use, they’d get the hint. But now it’s spreading… like a rash.
Grant it, when faced with the drama in the world—disease, famine, flood, struggling economies, the potential re-emergence of parachute pants—this seems like a small thing. It’s just so unexpected. I felt certain that my otherwise taciturn nature would stem the rising threat of perky.
Why is it then that I feel the need to start doing the “Bring It On” cheer?
I’m sexy, I’m cute
I’m popular to boot.
I’m bitchin’, Great Hair
The boys all love to stare
I’m wanted, I’m hot
I’m everything you’re not
I’m pretty, I’m cool
I dominate this school!
Ahem...Evil
Kate
Back, back perkiness!
I had a nickname. It ended in an “I”, although most people who hear the nickname spell it wrong.
I had a nickname that brings to mind cheerleaders, school spirit leaders and the possibility of a role as a Stepford Wife.
I had a nickname that took years to get rid of. My parents still use it, but they are allowed because they named me, so they get a pass.
Shortly after meeting The Ex, I asked him not to use it. Most of my friends were still using it. Most of my professors still used it. But in a conversation in the library, I told him that if he wanted me to answer him, he wouldn’t use it. His response, “I wondered why someone with such a beautiful name would choose to use the nickname”. He never used the moniker again. Maybe that’s the moment I knew that he was going to be a tough one to shake off—not that I didn’t try.
I had a nickname. And now it’s back. It started slowly—a few old friends used it on Facebook. Since I never use it, I didn’t think anything of it. Then a few new friends on other forums spontaneously started to implement it. I thought it was odd, but figured if I kept signing everything with the name I use, they’d get the hint. But now it’s spreading… like a rash.
Grant it, when faced with the drama in the world—disease, famine, flood, struggling economies, the potential re-emergence of parachute pants—this seems like a small thing. It’s just so unexpected. I felt certain that my otherwise taciturn nature would stem the rising threat of perky.
Why is it then that I feel the need to start doing the “Bring It On” cheer?
I’m sexy, I’m cute
I’m popular to boot.
I’m bitchin’, Great Hair
The boys all love to stare
I’m wanted, I’m hot
I’m everything you’re not
I’m pretty, I’m cool
I dominate this school!
Ahem...Evil
Kate
Back, back perkiness!
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Shy
I am an incredibly shy person. I know that this can not be a shock to many of you. It sort of fits with the whole “so, I’m a hermit, yeah, yeah” thing I have going on. It’s not so debilitating that I won’t interact at all with other human beings, but it is definitely one of the reasons that I’m not big on making approaches to strangers.
Shyness is a killer for networking. You remember that charity event that I was assisting with in December? Logically, if I saw the guest of honor on the street, I should feel comfortable enough to exchange a greeting with him—particularly since Frank Spotnitz may be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life. But I know me. I’d hide from him. I’d assume that I was imposing by approaching him, or that he wouldn’t remember me (well, he does meet a lot of people). How on earth would I go about meeting strangers if I seriously thought about changing careers (and not just becoming a beach bum after I win my many, many millions through the lottery)?
But you know what else gets shut down from shyness? Dating. Thank goodness the people at Yahoo!Personals have provided me with this handy article: Dating 101: Four Ways to Overcome Dating Shyness (http://dating.personals.yahoo.com/singles/datingtips/87492/dating-101-four-ways-to-overcome-dating-shyness).
According to this article, by admitting that I’m shy, I’m accepting a negative thing about my mindset. They suggest that I say out loud that I am no longer a shy person and that eventually I will grow to believe it if I say it often enough. Yeah, because that works. Much like, “I am a millionaire” becomes accurate if I say it often enough, and David Tennant is heading to the States to sweep a certain friend of mine off her feet if I chant that in a mirror. As an aside, yes, I will definitely start chanting that in a mirror, Pen, just in case I’m wrong.
Item number three in the article tells you to realize that you are not being judged. Really? That’s ridiculous. Of course, you’re being judged. You have the power to not care about an anonymous person’s judgment, but telling yourself that a person, particularly a first date, hasn’t made immediate decisions about you, is delusional. A guy has at least judged whether or not you’re “fun” or a “3rd-dater” (or, as is my case, a “don’t bother”).
The final piece of advice is to just accept who I am—that I am shy because I’m harshly judging myself. Sound, reasoned advice, this one.
But I have a question.
What happens if accepting who I am means accepting that I’m shy?
Kate, pondering the eternal conundrum
P.S. I want you all to know that if I ever do manage to get myself on a proper date, I’ll log into twitter and bring you all along as moral support. That couldn’t possibly go wrong.
Shyness is a killer for networking. You remember that charity event that I was assisting with in December? Logically, if I saw the guest of honor on the street, I should feel comfortable enough to exchange a greeting with him—particularly since Frank Spotnitz may be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life. But I know me. I’d hide from him. I’d assume that I was imposing by approaching him, or that he wouldn’t remember me (well, he does meet a lot of people). How on earth would I go about meeting strangers if I seriously thought about changing careers (and not just becoming a beach bum after I win my many, many millions through the lottery)?
But you know what else gets shut down from shyness? Dating. Thank goodness the people at Yahoo!Personals have provided me with this handy article: Dating 101: Four Ways to Overcome Dating Shyness (http://dating.personals.yahoo.com/singles/datingtips/87492/dating-101-four-ways-to-overcome-dating-shyness).
According to this article, by admitting that I’m shy, I’m accepting a negative thing about my mindset. They suggest that I say out loud that I am no longer a shy person and that eventually I will grow to believe it if I say it often enough. Yeah, because that works. Much like, “I am a millionaire” becomes accurate if I say it often enough, and David Tennant is heading to the States to sweep a certain friend of mine off her feet if I chant that in a mirror. As an aside, yes, I will definitely start chanting that in a mirror, Pen, just in case I’m wrong.
Item number three in the article tells you to realize that you are not being judged. Really? That’s ridiculous. Of course, you’re being judged. You have the power to not care about an anonymous person’s judgment, but telling yourself that a person, particularly a first date, hasn’t made immediate decisions about you, is delusional. A guy has at least judged whether or not you’re “fun” or a “3rd-dater” (or, as is my case, a “don’t bother”).
The final piece of advice is to just accept who I am—that I am shy because I’m harshly judging myself. Sound, reasoned advice, this one.
But I have a question.
What happens if accepting who I am means accepting that I’m shy?
Kate, pondering the eternal conundrum
P.S. I want you all to know that if I ever do manage to get myself on a proper date, I’ll log into twitter and bring you all along as moral support. That couldn’t possibly go wrong.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
The Special Glow
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,475905,00.html
True love last forever—or at least that’s the case being made by a group of scientists in the latest love study. Romance novels (chick lit and harlequin varieties), all those movies and teenage dreams got themselves a bit of validation this week. Although I don’t remember brain scans being involved in any of those Judy Blume books. Perhaps I missed a couple along the way.
They have posited that brain scans indicate that essentially the intensity of the first blush of love can remain in couples decades later. What I need is for scientists to figure out how to get rid of that. Clearly, I’m all for forever love. I’ve had forever love (it just turns out that forever is just slightly shorter than it used to be). But what happens to one of these people if her brain is “oooh, Mr. Darcy” and his brain scan is “see ya”? Is true love only mutual? Does that make her love for him less “true” if both scans aren’t glowing in the dark?
And if she has this “true love” glow about her what the heck happens to her if she now finds herself alone? Does her glow for that long-departed person mean that she’s blocked and can’t glow for someone else—you know, barring radioactivity, of course? Does it only get triggered when she’s in the presence of the other person? So, she’s fine unless on the eve of her dating someone else, she runs into him in the dog food aisle at the grocery store—at which point you can see her from space?
These and a million other probing questions will undoubtedly be in the next study that I will personally fund. No reason. It’s just all about the science for me. Mostly.
Kate
True love last forever—or at least that’s the case being made by a group of scientists in the latest love study. Romance novels (chick lit and harlequin varieties), all those movies and teenage dreams got themselves a bit of validation this week. Although I don’t remember brain scans being involved in any of those Judy Blume books. Perhaps I missed a couple along the way.
They have posited that brain scans indicate that essentially the intensity of the first blush of love can remain in couples decades later. What I need is for scientists to figure out how to get rid of that. Clearly, I’m all for forever love. I’ve had forever love (it just turns out that forever is just slightly shorter than it used to be). But what happens to one of these people if her brain is “oooh, Mr. Darcy” and his brain scan is “see ya”? Is true love only mutual? Does that make her love for him less “true” if both scans aren’t glowing in the dark?
And if she has this “true love” glow about her what the heck happens to her if she now finds herself alone? Does her glow for that long-departed person mean that she’s blocked and can’t glow for someone else—you know, barring radioactivity, of course? Does it only get triggered when she’s in the presence of the other person? So, she’s fine unless on the eve of her dating someone else, she runs into him in the dog food aisle at the grocery store—at which point you can see her from space?
These and a million other probing questions will undoubtedly be in the next study that I will personally fund. No reason. It’s just all about the science for me. Mostly.
Kate
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