Looks matter when it comes to dating. Call me shallow all you want, but it's true.

People will say that looks don’t matter to them and I will happily tell them that they are liars. Looks do matter, your genetics dictate that. Our minds may have been warped by our society and we may judge on ever more arbitrary criteria as our species grows further and further from the basics of survival… but it doesn’t matter. Your genetics require you to be attracted to your mate. This is innate to humanity.

Looks do matter, clearly. There is no reason to romance someone you are not attracted to – a close relationship with someone you don’t wish to make love to is in fact a friendship, not a lover’s entanglement at all.

However, the details don’t matter. Beauty is not the swell of a woman’s breasts as they perk forth from her chest, it is not someone’s eyes, it is not symmetry in the cheek bones. It is no single factor. It is every single factor.

I recently watched a movie titled Cash Back, it didn’t receive much in the way of publicity but it was quite good. In that movie, the characters more than once visit the idea that some women dream of dating an artist because of the artist’s capability to truly see her beauty in every detail and to understand it.

The idea may not be entirely central to the movie, but it raises a question in my mind. Is beauty really better understood, better experienced, by someone who seeks to consciously identify its various components?

I don’t believe it is. Just as it is impossible to completely understand our emotions with our conscious mind, so too is it impossible for our forebrain to tally up the sum of a person’s features. There are too many, they exceed the capacity of the conscious mind.

Look at your lover, realize that what attracts you to them is thousands, literally thousands of features. These features are multiplied by how they interact together, each movement offering hundreds more permutations. Again multiply this number by the angles your varied viewpoints give you of the person, by how your moods and even their actions color your opinions of their features, and yes, even the light they stand in from moment to moment.

I know it is a lot to keep up with, but sub-conscious is running the tally. Don’t worry, I think your boy has it under control. The point is that in seeking to understand beauty, you’re splashing in the shallows of a near bottomless database in your mind. Each perception of your lover has been weighed, cataloged, and a corresponding level of lust and fondness attached. As you think about the person in question, these handily prepared judgments are served to your stream of consciousness like lens filters, coloring every thought you have about them. We are rarely aware of these filters, but it cannot be doubted that they are present and that they alter our actions and opinions deeply.

This process may not be flawless, it may indeed be broken in many of us. It is however honest, utterly so. If you desire your lover, your sub-conscious will let you know no matter what. You may even hate them for a moment but you won’t be able to escape the filters as they tinge your every thought.

There seems, as far as I can tell, little reason to disrupt this process. Want what you want and don’t worry about why you want it. You cannot escape what you want, you cannot understand what you want, it is your lot only to want.

The artist does not understand by dissecting his attraction anymore then the 5th grader understands by pulling a frog apart. There will be many moments of “Oh that’s there and I bet it does this!” for the dissector, but the deeper complexities are lost and the knowledge gained is really only a pretend understanding.

All in all I suspect your time could be better spent in the pursuit of humanity’s birthright of happiness. Let those who don't already know better seek understanding.

Ya, I know. Shitty updates lately, all about me. I get it, I'm boring.

Anyways, I'm interviewing with the Air Force JAG Core on Monday. I'm pretty excited for this, because it's a way of using my law degree that won't plant me behind a desk for 10 to 14 hours a day. Firm life may be uninterested in me at the moment, but I find more and more that I am equally disinterested.

In the mean time, I start a gig in Manhattan this week deposition coding. The pay isn't great, but after the first week I can work from wherever I like. Clearly this will lead to the severe abuse of craigslist sub-lets in extraordinarily snowy locals with good broadband access and even more severe abuse of friends' couches.

The beauty of living out of a book bag is that a job like this grants me complete freedom within my monetary means. As long as I work hard enough to make my rent, loan payment, and food money I'm pretty set. I think I'll try and just work enough to pay expenses, ski excessively, dine finely, and update a piece or two of my gear.

Might be time to trade the venerable laptop in for one of those fancy new macbooks, and the ipod is just a bit too small these days. I feel 120 gigs calling my name. Other than that no point in buying anything if I'm heading off to the JAG. It's the one place where I would actually need to have LESS than I do already. I will probably have to get rid of my plucky little lazer printer, my wii, and the Jeep. Hopefully I can keep my fancy little ergonomic pillow, it makes me so happy.

As for the rest of it, well there's not really anything else anymore besides clothes, a couple shoes, and uh... a book bag? Possessions are the enemy apparently.

So I passed the New York BAR exam. I have no idea how I passed, I was under-prepared, over-anxious, and an all around bitch in regards to the process. All of my study buddies passed too, with flying colors. As per usual 85% of any grade I receive is utterly thanks to them.

I did well enough to waive into Washington D.C., North Dakota, and Minnesota. Why anyone would want to practice in any of those three states... I don't know. But fuck you, I'm going to anyways. One is flat, one is filled with people with a funny accent, and one is full of assholes. Can you guess which is which?