Randomness

Cause it's a dreary Sunday evening and I'm on 3 hours of sleep and am trying to keep myself occupied enough to avoid napping before bedtime ....

1) This here blogging platform went into glitchorama on Thursday and into Friday, and it wasn't even related to the 13th. Error messages everywhere. The powers-that-be behind Blogger ended up removing every post made everywhere (everywhere! on every site!), including mine, in those 30 hours to perform the necessary back-office maintenance. After which they ostensibly restored all the content they removed. This firstly meant I couldn't post or edit that day, and it affected this post by deleting a long comment from Student Driver about how it's probably best if Piano Man just stay a mysterious sex-based chat buddy, and that the reason things are funny between us is probably because I just don't really want to be with him. Which does seem kinda right. It secondly means I am WEIRDED OUT that random Google code geniuses can just remove and return my thoughts like that.

2) Speaking of Piano Man, on Friday I caved and checked in.

Karin: So now who's being quiet?! How are you?

Piano Man: I know, I know, sorry. Just been a tense week. How's yours going? (etc. etc. etc.) When the dust settles would be nice to talk. Cheers,

K: Tense? Why? What's wrong?

PM: My (name-omitted income-producing) project seems to be idling, which is rly bad for me.

The project he speaks of has been idling both before and since we met. During which he talked to me all the time and at all hours. So he's either now otherwise engaged. Disinterested, perhaps. Or waiting for my musical to end. Or else the whole situation just ran its course. Or not. Because he just texted me.

3) Very early this morning at the closing party for The Secret Garden, I sucked myself into a game of "how old do you think I look?" with a couple cast members. Drinking a second homemade cosmopolitan at 3:15 a.m. is the perfect occasion and time to claim to be the oldest person in a room full of extremely attractive people. One girl said she was sure she was older. Gasping with jaw hanging down, I asked her to lean over and whisper her age. "I'm 30!" she exclaimed. I gasped again ... but with some delight.

4) Speaking of the age issue, spring is the season on OKC when shirtless wonders point cameras into bathroom mirrors and send the headless results to women 15 years their senior. Between yesterday and today, 3 of 'em. Some ones wearing shirts (and backwards baseball caps), maybe not ready to bare anything, otherwise entranced me with their poetry (a sample):

(23, Roselle, IN): "damn your a sexy woman....like younger men?"

(22, Portland ME) "I know I'm a little younger then your baseline, but hear me out. Why would a beautiful women such as youself, wanna put up with all the BS on this site? I don't believe for a second you can't get dates off the internet."

5) Because I have seen that last phrase or a variation of it so many times, I Googled it in its entirety to see if it was part of a collection of online-dating pick-up cliches. No dice. But it did randomly connect me to the site Thought Catalog and an essay by Charles Warnke (21, Berkeley, CA) titled "You Should Date An Illiterate Girl." Which is totally literate. I just can't discern if I'm reading rant or ironic tongue-twister in his premise that it is better to date a woman who doesn't read because

"A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

"Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived."

What a relief Charles isn't sending me shirtless photos, eh? I might not be able to hold myself back.

Day 13 of 31: 2.20 miles

Day 14 of 31: 4.25

May Total:  27.93

2011 Total: 240.13