Sunday, November 29, 2009

Where's the Cream Filling?

It’s so hard to find anyone with substance.  Not saying that I’m loaded with the good stuff, though I will say I can bullshit with the best, or whoever is just below the best.  I find the majority of my conversations lacking in correctly spelled words much longer that my common four letter fare.  It’s not that I’m a spelling nazi (I am), it just says something to me when words are constantly misspelled when the clock hasn’t quite struck 10 o’clock and all involved parties are sober.  Of course, there’s more to substance than proper use of spell check, sadly there’s not much involved in my lackluster social interactions of late.  Even the flirting drags on, even though I love to please a beautiful woman with the gift of words.  I also love to please a beautiful woman with gifts of the more intimate variety, but that’s another rant for another night.  My new found self-loathing, which I embrace, tells me it has something to do with my awful attitude and over-abundant cynicism concerning the opposite sex; however, I have come to the conclusion that it is indeed the fault of my chosen conversational partners.

Whatever happened to intelligent women with opinions and thoughtful insights into the various subjects of life in which I am interested?  I’m not asking a lot, I’d just like to have an interaction with a pretty face that didn’t make me feel like I was trying to masturbate in public on a cold winter day.  As you can imagine, there’s no happy ending there, just that tired feeling that leaves you longing for something more that is also preferably a great deal warmer.

Whatever happened to deep, intimate conversations between strangers?  Why is everyone so scared to talk about sex?  I don’t mean that the only worthwhile conversations are ones about sex, more often than you would think healthy for a 19 year old of the male persuasion, sex is the last thing I want to talk about.  I’m simply referring to the sad state of individuals’ intellectual capacity for anything outside the realm of their cut and pasted opinions, religious beliefs, and methods of reasoning.  I feel like I’m spreading myself thin over so many topics, so let’s focus.  This blog is about a lack of substance, so let’s save the sex talk for another time.

Conversation occurs everyday.  So why do so many people seem to suck at it?  When you strike up a conversation with another person and you realize they don’t have anything to say, I think it would only be polite to let them know they should work on that.  Don’t be rude.  Be honest.  If only men were more interested in conversation, all the women I’ve come across lately might be better at it.  When it comes to relationships with women, men are pretty one-dimensional.  It may be a horrible stereotype to say that everything a man does is decided by the member that hangs between his legs, but the majority of a man’s decisions concerning the fairer sex can be, and often are, decided wholly by what his dick wants.  It is a distressing fact that, even after thousands of years of evolution and civilization, this atrocity has not been discouraged on the level required to make us stop.  Men are more than a sexual organ on legs, but as men, we generally fail to let the women we encounter know that things like intelligence, individuality, and personality are just as important as how much their appearance makes us want to ensure the continued survival of our species (or at least go through the motions while using a prophylactic).  Some would say you can’t fuck a personality or get a blow-job from a college degree; well I would say that you can’t discuss the philosophies of Thich Naht Hahn with a pair of breasts or share your poetry or prose with a pussy (yes, I did that for purposes of alliteration).

What I’m basically trying to say is that, as a majority, man has seemingly done all in his power to discourage women from having substance.  Who needs substance when most guys seem to say that they would rather date a girl who puts out quickly than a woman who is more concerned with having something interesting to say.  Please, I need to make sure my genes proliferate, but if I can’t find a girl who’s beauty is more than skin deep, the world’s gonna be short a few “effeminate male body” and “12 inch genital” genes (I only did it for the alliteration, really).  I think that would just be a travesty, but hopefully it won’t come to that.

(12 might be a bit of an exaggeration, but only by a few inches at the most, I swear)

Of course this all applies to men as well, and ladies in this position…I feel your pain.  But as most know (though won’t admit) interactions between two men border on cavemen level most of the time.  And I doubt this next bit is true for most men, but my interactions with women are far more genuine than those I have with men.  Hence my reaction to the lack of conversational partners.  It’s not for completely shallow reasons.  I may be effeminate, but I am still a man.

I can find some pretty lady to stick my tongue in, but that’s only a temporary distraction (unless she was really good, then it might be a slightly longer temporary distraction).  If I could sit down over coffee and have a halfway decent conversation about the possibilities and implications of quantum physics, or discuss how Jack Kerouac perfectly captured rhythm and beat in his writing, I would be overjoyed and inspired for quite some time.  I’m not against going out and doing things, sharing mutual interests, and discovering the possibilities of our own physicalness, but when everything else grows old, when we’re tired, when we’ve exhausted ourselves and can only lie in bed, we always have our words.  I’ve sped through all the physical possibilities so fast sometimes that I’ve basically smashed my face against that large brick wall that is the lack of conversational compatibility.  After that, I’m not pretty.  Shit doesn’t last long then.

What’s the solution?  Fuck if I know.  Go read some books.  Catch up on your Nietzsche.  Don’t ask me, I just point out how fucked up we all are.

1 comment:

  1. If I were a beautiful woman, I might have been offended by the above comments.