The Perfect Man: Part 2

     A day hike to view Malibu stole the stress of looming budget cuts and downsizing at work. Clean, lightly salted air fills his lungs with every breath as he's careful not to outpace the East coast hiker in tow around familiar curves. She smiles when blue sea breaks the landscape and memories of traffic out of town fade. Their return plans of taco trucks and a chance to grow on each other vanish at the unfamiliar sound of a battery exhausted. Hood aloft and auto club on the line, he hides his disappointment with humor as she recalls the last time she was stranded like this. Unafraid to admit defeat he solves the problem with help and proves upset plans are an opportunity for patience and roof-top sunsets.

     Weeks after their romantic tow truck ride he prepares for a night of dinner and dancing. Teeth brushed and tie bent his easy smile comes arduously. A month spent watching friends pack personals in file boxes left him feeling fortunate but frustrated to adapt to his new normal. The assumption of safety seeing collegues gone and dust since cleared, made today's trial untenable. Determined not to ruin a night anticipated, he forces an irrational positivity she can see through on their walk to the car. A courtesy denial precedes his honest answer as he explains the potential options at his disposal. She asks him to be angry about it. He calmly affirms her reaction to the news but sees his new unemployment as a fresh start.

     Today marks the beginning of his new workout routine. With job hunting hours a mere eight per day he sees an increase in muscle mass and social options. The call came as a surprise after seeing how much energy he had at their Christmas dinner. Losing someone so inspiring and full of life feels like a physical impairment to him. She comes with him to the funeral looking modest but beautiful. It reminds him of his own vitality and the way Uncle Jim would expect him to feel after he was gone. His words are short but reminiscent of their conversations at the lake house in the late hours after everyone else had gone to sleep. His wisdom was unparalleled and his cigars were terrible.

Blessed Beyond Recognition

     Throbbing pain lulled him awake after a weekend long battle with exhaustion. His first drug induced thoughts placed him in a nursing home about five decades too soon before the presence of loved ones tipped him off. They filled in Tyler's patchwork memory and like a scene from a movie he identified with their story's hero in terrifying technicolor. By his physical reaction to the account, mom thought it prudent to wait and allow the doctor to fall prey to the messenger's burden. Before he could arrive however her son became keenly aware that part of his body was untouched by pain. He couldn't feel the low thread count sheets on his feet, the blankets warmth which would normally make him uncomfortable or even his mother's hand resting on his leg.

     It's incredibly difficult to see beyond our own disappointed expectations. Dream career's usurped by cubicle caged temp work or first-sight love unrequited, keep us blinded to the blessings around. Finding the needle in life's stack of arbitrary goals can feel more like busy work than it does a life worth living. We collect obstacles as a testament to our resilience, the greater the challenge, the more justified we feel to pursue. Completion is not the reward, instead the reward exists both as something to be avoided in an effort to preserve our continued pursuit, as well as a thing to guage our next goal by. Unfortunately none of these constructs make us happy. Happiness needs us to recognize that to be crippled from birth is an excuse for disregarding blessings disguised by timing.

     What happened to Tyler could happen to me tomorrow. It's simple to assume our lives may end at any moment. The challenge is to seize life right now, with no regard for the disfiguring perils that come at us when we feel our microwave is properly sealed or the seat belt securely fastened. You are alive in this moment and it's a shame to mistake what limited means we have as anything but extraordinary.

   

   

Smooth Alterator

     Bandaged and sore she regrettably said no again for the third time this month post-op. A thousand dollars sat stuffed into a drawer that will only open once more for Goodwill if she can stomach the idea of contributing second hand underwear. His favorite brew turned Brutus according to an add riddled article claimed he may be in need of her recent hand-me-downs lest he begin selecting a diet option. Apparently autodrafting an LA Fitness holiday rate each month buys nothing but excuses and the "work" his jacked associate ordered, proved useless when faced with an impatient beer drinker.

     From physical to spiritual and every gradient between, a change that is possible is most certainly prompted by the dating market. Women seem inclined to doctor their bodies while men carve car payments from modest wallets. Confronted with consistent failure by following the standards set by Saved by the Bell, we can't help but look to the God-given curses our parents spent years spinning as desireable attributes, for blame. A mis-representative nose or a passionately defended affinity for the arts may land us in bullshit categories only ethics prompt us to defend. But in the dark corner of desperate distancing we pray to be identified as the very thing we seek to change and loved in that very spot.

     So why do some seek a doctorate in dietary trends when their crush turns out vegan? Or still others pursue a masters in mountaineering because John Muir hangs framed above the family fireplace? What makes us think that what we've invested a half-life into can't be worth backing because small people want immediate results? Sure, anyone can become a Seahawks fan overnight or claim to enjoy Halo because apparently video games are cool now, but no one worth loving wants a reflection in a mirror dimly. Who you are now is worth loving and change delays connection, don't be fooled.

Political Pick Up Lines

    Tara is very vocal and settles into the supportive perch of a like-minded environment. As a self-described ultimate player and spin enthusiast she's surprised when friends feel the need to mention Hillary as an introduction is made. She's proud of the fact however and her date is likely to hear arguments related to qualification and experience before the proper method for throwing a frisbee. Not a century previous though, women like her were dependent on a man and by binding extension the title of wife in order for their voice to be heard. Now, the simple fact that I'm writing this on my phone can disguise how little time has actually passed while the world has changed so rapidly.

     Unfortunately rapid change can be devastatingly illusory. Just as the signatory end of slavery in the US sat for an entire century before African Americans in 1964 were finally given the right to continue to be targeted by law enforcement and incarcerated at an egregious rate in contrast with other races. Law is clearly important to civilize an evil landscape, but culture reigns supreme. When we change the rules the losers like to pretend like something happened so nothing changes culturally. Unfortunately most of us can't even know the law well enough to defend ourselves and far too often we're faced with choosing between bankrupting legal fees or plea pushing public defenders.

     In the face of great opposition be encouraged, if only by necessity because discouragement remains the oppressor's Great Wall. When we feel like these complicated laws and the limited means we have to change them fail to support our ideals, politicians urge us toward the polls. We're herded in droves to cast our solicited and often uninformed vote toward a lesser evil and the process serves to mask proper representation. You won't find yourself reflected in the image of presidential candidacy so don't look for it there. Its not because they fill a higher class but because these people work for us, from the bar tender to the second grade teacher to the stay at home mom or dad. Don't refuse to vote because you feel underrepresented, a blank ballot is a vote for the majority. Tara's vote counts for herself and for anyone who's fallen victim to being on the wrong side of culture.
   
   

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Mid-Date Texting

     Just imagine she's wearing mirrored aviators and midnight blue. Her black and white parked alongside you clogging the HOV lane as you both ride the brake below 30. Your breath slows feeling the tug of your shoulder belt and as you recall dad obnoxiously checking each tail light last month before leaving your parent's for a visit. Vibration from the center console has never been easier to ignore knowing she's watching you. Your focus on the road ahead hasn't been this intense since the third attempt at your driver's test when you were sixteen. That's a good thing too because she doesn't want your attention on her; the road is her words and she won't accept a compliment as an excuse for running into the car ahead.

     Many have already forgotten what life was like without smartphones. Something so powerful and useful that's always accessible, demands attention. Priorities become ambiguous when we all can relate to the excuses for checking a text during a conversation or using Google to insert details into it. After all who can enjoy their meal wondering the average weight of a bengal tiger or who won the gold medal for figure skating in the '86 Olympics? We even leave our phones on the dinner table as if to say, I'm listening to you but keeping my options open. It's easy to tuck the world away on a first date. You're both excited and you legitimately have decades of detail to learn about this person, detail that Facebook has filtered from view. What speaks to her isn't how well you merge into traffic the first time but instead what habits dominate your daily commute and how you drive when no one is watching.

     

Chemistry in Context

     Having a laugh at work when Greg's toupee sags or bonding punch bowl-side at a holiday party may jump start the heart, but it's easy to confuse attraction in social interactions with real one-on-one chemistry. The energy in a social setting is contagious and the side-effects may include impaired judgement and enhanced conversational skills. I myself have fallen prey to the sudden swoon brought on by a communal connection, especially amidst pairs of healthy happy people I respect and admire. I have some need to mirror their bonds, or at the very least an obsessive compulsion to pair up overcomes me and what feels right may be indifferent to our unique personalities.

     Decorations placed post turkey day, hung for weeks in anticipation of ugly sweaters and piles of cheap sugar cookies, ushered in employees of all ranks in search of the promise of an open bar.  Jovial murmurs filled the halls with occasional bursts by the more boisterous and in casual coordination most made their way to their bosses for obligatory greetings and gratitude. Olivia spent little time without close friends nearby and after discovering no one from her wary HR department there, began heading for the door. Huddled in the foyer akin to an amateur improv troupe in balance and demographics, the collection of IT professionals and their dates clumped together for security.

     Oblivious to their topical wordplay, rooted in tech terms and obscure reference, she would've passed by in Irish fashion had Dan not backed up abruptly to accommodate his own wild gestures. He apologized for the third time that night and breaking out of his typically timid character asked Olivia why she was leaving so early. An hour later she still didn't know his name, but he passed it off in stride displaying confidence that could only come from the focused energy of a captive audience.

     Weeks later, after several awkward and expensive trips down sushi row, it was clear their interests were divergent. Dan was not the same life of the party she'd been attracted to through New Years and the more he sensed her disappointment the harder it became to feign his brass. Maybe Olivia was never drawn to him but thrived on their dynamic first act, or simple Dan lost steam discovering her strongest feelings were derived from foreign cuisines and cultures. Whatever the disconnect was they remained blind to the communal cues that linked them that night and Dan's only takeaway was a concerted effort to minimize large hand motions in small walkways.

   

   
   

   

Facebook Stalker

     When she mentioned an ex of mine, I couldn't be sure at first that it wasn't my second cup of coffee inserting paranoia into the conversation or if I had reasonable apprehensions. Afterall it is a large town with many intersecting circles. Perhaps she felt compelled to mention a mutual friend upfront like reading my Miranda rights before the arrest. Yet I didn't recall sharing my hometown either and so it became increasingly difficult to distinguish between caffeine shake and the shiver that comes from feeling like you're being watched. Of course I don't regret what she might find and have sought out old friends through Facebook many times myself, but the more she spoke I was convinced she couldn't tell the difference between what she'd read and what she'd heard me say.

     Its as though my unedited résumé of relationships sits on public record, along with more than sufficient details to complete the Meyers-Briggs without cheating. All these exciting tools keep us accepting unread terms of agreement and gather a sewer grate swath of personal information available to friends and foes alike. A third cup of coffee proved distracting and hardly worth the brief reprieve of waiting in line. She continued on as I sat back down and I couldn't be sure she'd noticed my absence the way questions put to me typically included the answer.

     Caught off guard by references to photos I'd forgot, filled my head with more than a thousand words, not one of which could I get in. A moment did come though when to catch her breath she looked away briefly and I saw my chance to interrupt. The idea of telling her my discomfort, turned out to be far less aggressive than when I put it into use. Was her profiled perception of me soiled by my patience and honesty? Had I given an expert researcher a foul motive? Only Timehop will tell. 

The Breakup Gene

     News may have never been true. Fact and fiction, like the five or six words of Donald Trump, often blend into something wholly unrecognizable when control is at stake. The Internet has undoubtedly complicated the matter, bringing word of celebrity deaths decades before they occur and video evidence of real UFOs, compliments of Photoshop. Science seems to fall victim to this confusion on a daily basis, so when seeing an article that implicated genetics as a potential culprit in the case of failed relationships, I was skeptical. As if there weren't enough reasons to pass the buck already, now a gene could take the blame for Steve the jobless rapper who lives with his mother, being undateable.

     Naturally like anything online, I read enough of the article to form my own opinions and dashed to my local library where I could source reliable materials for cross-reference. I didn't actually visit the library or remember anything specific about the report, but the following opinions are true. What seems appealing about said discovery has less to do with excuses and more with the potential for us to solve a complex problem with a simple solution. Like turning to cosmic sea creatures and farm animals to explain why Jim and Sally didn't last, we can readily accept one dimensional concepts like fate in the face of the hard work that comes with correcting decades of antisocial behavior.

     Perhaps the most difficult part of choosing the narrow path is how long it takes. Snappy ideas and the judgments accociated promise immediate results. Isolating a gene that can be used to explain your last three drunken-rage fueled breakups might lend hope that a medical solution exists or at least Darwin might have the last laugh at our expense. Sadly the latter doesn't suit our requirement for instant gratification or personal application so a door has opened. When we know the answer to a problem is demanding, it is merely a matter of time before progress opportunistically lends a hand in exchange for a monthly service charge.

   

The Perfect Man: Part 1

     His belt matches his shoes but he spent no time thinking about it. Akin to a walking issue of GQ he manages to make others feel comfortable as they are. His compliments feel more like confident observations but inspire women to love themselves and men to push for their potential. 430 horses accompany him on his commute but he drives responsibly as though carrying precious cargo. In traffic he listens to Kipling, aloof to the mess of rage around. Perpetually early to work he's respected there and meets challenges with strength, always prepared to stand alone because nothing worth doing requires permission.

     When he leaves the firm his first thoughts are of food prep and preheating. A talent beneath the range hood, he'll have you craving veggies. Weeks after his Asian fusion dinner party you double the TJs budget looking for spice and sauce to cheat close to what was served. Though he calls to check on his mother once a week he never mentions it and be it a compliment or not would never compare another woman to her. He takes work, diet and relationships seriously but humor comes first. When you want to cry but laughing feels better, it's his fault. More important than the laughs he draws, is how consistently he knows the joke and makes you feel understood in deepest sarcasm, with a lonely laugh calling others into question.

     After benching a personal record he writes it down in private, letting the proof speak for itself and saving Instagram for family and friends. As much as he's coached through the screen his favorite teams, he spends twice the time in cleats and sweat. Not holding on to high school dreams but grounded in corporate paintball and interoffice softball, he leads. On a date he's polite and attentive, she's not sure if he even owns a cellphone. He'll make his date feel petite in heels and when they make eye contact she won't remember where they are. She feels young and beautiful with him but while she has his attention now she knows it can't be taken for granted. He's never ordered Dos Equis and never will, so long as craft brews are on tap. He's the perfect man.

Text Don't Call

     Holding our breath hoping a twelfth reset might be unecessary, action was called and the hundreds of pieces were set in motion. Camera and talent were blocked in a dance so specific at times it was a game of inches. A perfectly timed pan and cross obscured that reflection finally discovered in take eight, tongue-twisters simplified to save us from flubbed lines five minutes into the scene and boom pole operation so surgical in skill to avoid shadows even Ben Carson would be envious, not to mention his patients. It wasn't until the last minute, after the beer spill and squib hit as the sun left for its giant trailer in the sky, that Bon Jovi joined the soundtrack uninvited and the PA attached scrambled to silence Jon before his first day became his last. If you work on set, at least once you've been that guy, and in the moment no phone call could be worth the shame that follows.

     For this reason I committed to silence my phone 24 hours a day, 365 days per year. As much as I'd love to hear the X-Files theme every time a stranger calls, instead I generally miss phone calls making text my preferred method of communication. She preferred to call. We enjoyed many passive aggressive conversations on the topic but ultimately after three missed calls during a shower with no message left to reply to, I decided it wasn't working. I know many people who swear by communicating through the tiny microwave next to their brain, afterall how could you expect sarcasm to translate through text? Though generally I see text as the more considerate option, refusing to demand immediate attention in favor of connecting with someone on their terms. 

     I've undoubtedly spent hours at a time trying to communicate simple ideas via text that were settled in seconds once someone decided to pick up the phone and call. That's a genuine argument to include minutes in your plan but those rolling over will never find a purpose. Even if you found yourself buried in a box like Ryan Reynolds, your battery would die before coming close to using those rollover minutes. Just picture that every text, from the delicately formatted 6 Plus screen busting paragraphs down to a simple winking emoji have all been drafted with care. Meanwhile the majority of phone calls I receive from close friends are butt dials. It really doesn't matter how great that butt might be, I'd rather talk to a person, even if it's vowel-less text sent from the can and smattered with yellow faced winkers.