The Laws of Attraction

Alright, people. This one is going to get a bit autobiographical, but hang in there. I am going to make it worth your while.

Back when I was but a young, pimply, angst-filled youth of about fifteen, I felt like breaking the rules was pretty much the way to go. Almost any rule, for almost any reason. One of the rules to which I responded with particular distaste was the rules of dating. Primp yourself to death and be naturally endowed with the kinds of hormones than make your tits big (not the kinds that compromise your skin tone, let’s say…or make you burst out in tears during math class.) Then, let the whole affair unfold bit by bit, as he notices you, he decides to make a move, you flirt a little bit but not too much, and then eventually, you get the privilege of allowing him to pressure you into sex, preferably in the back of a car. (Your mother’s or his, doesn’t matter.)

I thought to myself, Hey! What a waste of time and energy! Life’s too short! So I developed a crush on a boy whose identity shall be protected (except to say that his name was Ray Martinez) and promptly told him, outright, that i liked him, no bullshit. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hey, ahh, Ray…could I talk to you for a minute?

Ray: (takes a swig from his bottle of Mountain Dew) uh, sure..

Me: I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re pretty cool, and anyway I am attracted to you and..yeah, I guess that’s it.

Ray: uh.

Me: Ok, well, seeya later!

Ray: (silence.)

Now, I have no desire to blame Ray for the fact that a romance did not blossom from that exchange. I have since gone to the opposite extreme in my thinking, telling my (equally vocal, though perhaps not as forward) friends, ” The most attractive thing you can show a man is your back, as you walk away. Nothing is a more powerful aphrodisiac than rejection. Treat ‘em like shit. They LOVE it.” This method, let’s call it the “Mean” Method (as opposed to the above “Open Method”) developed from the repeated experience that the ones I like never like me, and vice versa. I realized: it is not because I am only worthy of people to whom I am not attracted, but because everyone (not just men, now) is wired to want what they can’t have. This is one of the most trusted pop-psychology principles, but it is also simple economics.

So where does this leave us? Do we merely settle for those we don’t really like, because we know they like us? OR…Do We Play Games.

You may have guessed from my punctuation that I am leaning towards the second one. But Playing Games is NOT the same as “mind-fucking.” Mind-fucking is sadistically toying with someone because of the pleasure you gain from watching them writhe in desire. Games, on the other hand, are actually kind of fun. Games allow you to gain a better understanding of who the person is, and they allow you to develop a rapport, maybe even…a relationship? Games are a gentle way to build something, and to give it the time and space it needs to grow on its own. I would be the first to admit that it is a bit safer than just sticking your neck out there, or your cock out there or whatever but maybe that’s ok. Cause anyway, nothing worth having comes too easily (or quickly. heh. double-entendre that one all you want, baby.)

Friend-o-tainment

So when did friendships become an internet roleplaying game? It seems to me that social networking is not just another mode of communicating with people you know, or people who know the people you know, or people you would like to know. It is an outlet for boredom, and a weird points-system that is way freaking out of control.

Now, it is a tough call about all this, because there is no official rule-book and the rules keep changing. Remember when people used to write on their own facebook walls? Not anymore, Bucko, that would make you a type-1 LOSER and egomaniac, and plus it means you (sigh) kind of don’t know how it works.

What about friend numbers? This is also tricky, because if you have millions and millions of so-called “friends” on there, but most of the pictures on there are of you taking pictures of yourself on your macbook wearing lipgloss and trying to look cool, then it is just painful and you are trying too hard. On the other hand, if you have very few friends and very few pictures of yourself, but the ones on there are high quality good-time/drunken or artsy pictures (preferrably posted by someone else) then that means you are too cool to spend most of your time trying to use the internet to prove how cool you are. (This type of profile is becoming increasingly rare. Because even if you never post a picture of yourself–you dinosaur, get with the times–then everyone else still will, trust me.)

And Facebook is a really cool way to stay in touch with people you meet when you travel, or friends who you rarely get to see. But often this “keeping in touch” only surfaces in extremely shallow ways, like commenting on a PARTICULARLY hot picture, or writing “happy birthday” on somebody’s wall when the internet tells you it’s their birthday. (And, also, falling out of touch is kind of ok. Let’s leave something up to mystery, something up to chance sometime…can we? no?)

Which brings me to the phenomenon of The Wall. Remember when you would only write something on someone’s wall if you really didn’t mind if everyone else read it? Like, maybe a stupid in-joke, or the occasional gut-churning “i wuv you” from one end of the siamese-couple to the other. Writing on the wall was the equivalent of talking loudly, perhaps rudely, in a crowded room.

But now, everyone writes EVERYTHING on the wall. (for example: What time are we meeting? Friday? 3pm? At Dusty’s Pleasure Warehouse? Seeya then! ) Everything goes on the wall, because otherwise nobody will know how many people care to contact you. TRagic. Now, it seems, writnig a private message is like whispering conspiratorily to someone after pulling them aside…whatever is being said not is REALLY very private, not for anyone else to know.

I realize it is a bit hypocritical for me to use the internet to criticize…the internet. (Kinda like when they forst invented writing, and all these philosophers started writing essays about why writing was so bad.) I am not AGIN it, you understand. I do it too. But it scares me the extent to which these internet outlets are having more and more of an influence on the activities to which they are ostensibly separate. Some vapid tart in this magazine I was wasting my time reading said something about how if you are not on the internet, you do not exist. Vapid tartliness aside, the truth of that statement freaks me out.

If a tree falls in the forest with no one to digitally recapture it and put it on the internet, does it make a sound?

UC Santa-francisco

Did you know that the neighborhoods of San Francisco are based off the residential colleges at UCSC? Well they are. Read on and prepare to BE AMAZED.

Stevenson=The Richmond
Cowell=The Presidio
Kresge=The Haight
Porter=The Mission
Merill=Potrero/Potrero Hill
College 8=The Marina
College 9/10=The Financial District
Crown=meh
Oakes=Oakes

I have already experienced some ish with this flawless analogy. I think that anyone who questions this brilliance has been swilling down the hater-ade, and should please stop. Thank you.

Bicycool

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have just purchased a road bike. It is a bluish greenish gorgeous color, with stripy 70s designs on the seatpost and I must say that overall the thing is fucking RAD. I am not ashamed to admit that part of the reason I got it was because I thouught it looked cool, and I thought maybe it would make me look cool, wannabe-hipster in denial that I am.

BUt I got to thinking–is there anything wrong with that? As an amateur cyclist (I mainly bike to work and around town, working on my endurance for some longer treks) I am aware that the “car monoculture” makes cycling not just an act of rebellion but also a somewhat antagonistic one as well. The fact is, it is impossible for two such different forms of transportation to exist harmoniously without some small speck of irritation on either party’s side, the motorist’s or the cyclist’s. If you are in a car, you are thinking, jesus, can’t that idiot ride a little closer to the parked cars? Come on now, share the road applies to you, too, you helmetless bozo, don’t you know you are taking your life in your hands? Meantime, the cyclist is thinking, well, hey now, this is just a tad fucked, I am paying for your convenience by breathing your gas-fart into my pure little lungs, and hey look, city driver, I just passed your ass and now I am one, no, two stoplights ahead of you! I deserve to cut you off, you gas-consuming permission-slip for the “War on Terror!”

This antagonism is perpetuated and exacerbated by the lack of adequate bike lanes on city (and other) streets. (“Well if you want me not to be in your way, then build some bike lanes!”) Cars like to be the only thing on the road. They don’t relate well to other modes of transport; the aforementioned bikes, motorcycles, even other cars.
But the reality at the moment is that cars are the primary method of transport in this state, and in this country, and probably in plenty of other countries too. This has got to change. And promising people some general reward like “makes you healthy and strong” or “stops the planet from becoming inhospitable for human life” is apparently not a good enough incentive for many people. What would be, then? Let me suggest: Vanity.

Yep. People want to look cool, hip, sexy, whatever. Admit it. You do. I do. Whatever, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. And that is why it is a cyclist’s duty, a cyclist’s OBLIGATION to look cool while riding a bike. We gotta get people doing this, guys. Fight the national obesity epidemic and global warming at the same time. Sounds like a PLAN.

Which brings me to my original thought, me and my gorgeous new bike. Together, we are making a change. It is not just coolness by association for owning and riding this stunning piece of work, it benefits the cause as a whole. If you are riding your bike and looking like a class-A Dork, you are not helping ANYTHING. On the other hand, if you are like me, you are looking like a class-A sexpot, which you are. And good for you, because it is getting hot out here…