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?

Religion is always a mixed bag. It provides something useful to certain kinds of people, who do need it. It is also a tool, used to subvert the will of that same group of people and make them do horrible things.

Horrible things like... persecuting the homosexual in California by spending millions to support proposition 8.

I grew up in the Catholic church, making it loom large in my mind in any situation in which its deeds (good or bad) are involved.

That is why I am so disappointed that the Catholic Church invested money to support the removal of the homosexual right to form contractual life partnerships - marriage, civil union, whatever you want to call it.

The Catholic Church invested this money, in what can only be called a hate-filled past time, in a State where that money could have been spent to feed, house, and educate homeless children. Homeless CATHOLIC children, of which California has a large population of stranded Catholic immigrants.

Then the Catholic church whined to the media that protesters are attacking them for their hate filled act.

Here is why I find this so upsetting. Supporting Proposition 8 is a hateful thing to do, but it is your belief - and so be it that is your right.

But in California this year, the Catholic church had money to spend. They had the option to spend that money making the world a better place or to invest that money in an act of hate that brought no benefit to the world.

This Fall the Catholic church chose the evil option. Sad.

This is

In the late afternoon of October 21st of 2008, the woman who raised me died. She had been dying for quite some time, and we had been saying good bye for slightly less time. The fatigue of saying good bye to her had begun to set in, not just in me but in us all. She had been unconscious, sedated, for so long that to me it was like she had died weeks before. She had died, but our hope had not. She had not died, in the sense that her body continued on with mechanical assistance and medication. But the person we loved was gone, she could no longer respond to us. This is death in every way that matters to me, and it worried me. I worried that I was letting her go too soon, then I worried I would not feel it as I should when she died in physical fact. I need not have worried. My grandmother didn’t.

 

One night before she left for Boston to receive the stem cell graft, I overheard her talking to one of our cats. She did not know I was within earshot, it was late and everyone else in the house was in bed. The cat was very old. It had stopped eating and moved as though it was always sore. But that cat never stopped demanding attention, forcefully. It would claw its way into your lap, ram its head into your hand and pet itself if you did not.

 

My grandmother asked the cat if it was afraid to die. Then she pointed out that they were both old girls. The cat never answered, I assume it just kept butting its head into her open hand – petting itself if she was too slow. But I believe the consensus was clear, neither was afraid.

 

My grandmother never stopped doing what she had dedicated her life to; she cared for and fiercely protected the children in her life for over forty years. She helped anyone she could, whenever she could and she went after anyone she felt deserved it, no matter what. If these traits can be found in our genes, then please, let them occur more often together – the world would be a better place.

 

She said to me before she went, with absolute earnestness, that the only reason she consented to medical treatment in Boston was so she could be around for the kids until they were a little older. She wanted to be there for them, and she didn’t want me to have responsibility for the kids on my shoulders. She honestly felt guilty that she might die without seeing my brother and sister completely raised. I hope she let that go because she had already done more for us all than anyone could have ever asked of her in good conscience. She gave everything she had on a regular basis to two generations of children.

 

It has been a couple months since I heard my grandmother speak to that cat. Not wanting to embarrass her, I stepped away when I overheard. I knew she would not want to indulge fatalistic thoughts in front of me. Both parties to that conversation are gone now and I miss them both. But it is a source of comfort to me now to know that my grandmother was not afraid. I believe what she said, she felt only regret not to see the little ones grow up. There was no fear, she believed wholeheartedly in reincarnation and had for the past five years or so. That comforts me, a lot. I believe her regret is what caused her to fight so hard for recovery, even once unconscious. Again and again doctors told us she was certain to die during the night, and for weeks she surprised them all. Even once the machines and medicines were removed she continued to fight stubbornly on.

 

All she ever wanted was the well being of her loved ones and for us to love her back. She achieved that level of enlightenment naturally, it was her natural state. It was her natural gift. Her example will be missed. Her help, love and support will be missed. But most of all, she will be missed. I don’t know what we will do without her, but we won’t let her down. We will finish her legacy, the kids will always be safe and raised the best we can. That is the best thing we can do to honor her memory. It is probably the only thing we can do to honor her memory.

I'm sitting in a hotel in Lexington, Mass and I'm honestly at a loss for words. 12 hours ago, I was driving here to say goodbye to the woman who raised me - forever. Last week doctors urged us to end treatment of my grandmother, who had been on a breathing machine for several weeks.

We decided to let it go one more week, just to be sure we exhausted every treatment option. In her weakened state (chemo) she had contracted four serious infections. 1 Viral, 2 Bacterial, and 1 Fungal infection in her blood. Her white blood count was so low that we were advised the fungal infection was pretty much a death sentence - we forced ourselves to move into thinking only of her comfort and giving up on thoughts of recovery.

A week later... She was off the ventilator for 2 hours yesterday. She beat the fungal infection - or at least it appears she has from preliminary tests. Her blood pressure stabilized when they removed her medication, and she survived being shocked for an irregular heartbeat with apparently no ill effects.

This is all great news. There can be no doubt that her recovery is still a long shot, doctors are swift to remind us of that. But today when we walked in, they spoke to us about quality of life post-recovery instead of "ending her suffering". That's a big change.

Her hair is growing back, she has color back in her skin. She honestly, looked dead to me last week. Today, she looked alive - pained, but alive and as robust as a woman who has had a stem cell transplant and spent the past 2 months unconscious and bed-ridden could possibly look.

To even be talking about recovery options and different ways to move forward with treatment... It scares me. I resigned myself to losing her. If I hope too much, I mean... the odds are still against us. But, hope? How can you not.

It's really hard telling a 13 year old and an 8 year old not to hope. I don't think there is a way to protect them against what might happen. I can't even protect myself against what might happen right now, how can I possibly explain it to them?

I guess you can't out-think events and get ahead of the emotional curve, no matter how much you want to or how much you need to. It just can't happen. I have to accept this hope, embrace it, and just know that odds are I am going to get the shit kicked out of me again. Believing in her recovery is the least I owe her.

Oh sure, Harrigan's latest article over at Capitalist Chicks is humorous. It highlights idiocy, which is his bread and butter. But it isn't like he did a geological survey for this one, he just hacked a few chunks off the virtually tapped out mine of idiocy that is PETA. Mocking PETA is a like mocking scientology - easy to do, but you aren't going to stop stupid movie stars from giving them money.

PETA does not respect the natural world, that is simple fact. As an individual who cares about the environment, I am embarrassed by the organization  - deeply so.

That said, if you want to hear why PETA hates ice cream - Harrigan is probably the best one to hear it from so head on over and give him a read.

My family, or at least, what remains of it has elected me to a new job. Actually, maybe it was more of a decree than an election... doesn't really matter - either way I'm fucked.

Or to be more exact, I need to come up with a conversational way of discussing sex so that my brother is... well... not fucked. At least not before the age of 18!

That's right, my grandfather acknowledged today that he's just not up on the technicalities of sex in a world teaming with diseases that did not exist when he was out tom catting. His solution? Me.

So now I have to figure out what I want to tell this kid. Figure out my stance, etc, figure out what I believe. I waited until I was 21, although not really by choice - more just because my relationship situation at the time demanded it.

I don't really think it's realistic to ask a young man to wait until 21, he's biologically predisposed to nod his head yes and then walk out the front door and hump something if you try that tact.

So that is the safest option that would leave me with the most peace of mind - except it also has the lowest chance of working at all. So in essence, asking him to wait until he is 21 is a false sense of security that will most likely result in... bad things.

So what's left to me? I could assume that he will have sex in high school - that's a pretty fair assumption actually. He's already playing the "I Love You" game with girls on the phone @ 13..... (jesus I know.... slow this shit down!)

If I make that assumption, then I have to take a permissive tact and run around trying to avert disaster. Provide condoms? I guess I would have to, if I took this tact. Clearly there would have to be STD education as well, since we all know the Catholic Girl stereotypes.

But at 16 is he really mature enough to remember a condom? To put it on right in an excited moment? To ask if she's on birth control? Is he mature enough to differentiate between "Ms. Prim and Proper nice girl first timer" and "Peggy Sue Crotch Rot"? I don't really think he will be at that age, I'm not really all that sure that I was. I was lucky more than anything at that age.

So what am I left with? A middle ground? A compromise? 18?

Do I make my case like so - "Listen, sex is exciting but it can ruin your life. That's why I want you to to wait until after the age of 18 to actually do it. I'm educating you now, because there is so much learn that I'm going to make you listen to this talk more than once just to make sure you will know it all when the time finally comes to put this safety knowledge to use. I want you to wait until you're 18 to have sex. It may not feel like it now, but that's actually when MOST level headed people begin to explore it for themselves. A lot of your friends are straight up lying about their sexual experiences right now."

Clearly that needs refining - I have no idea how to go about this. Teaching abstinence is borderline child abuse in my opinion. It's setting the child up to fail because you aren't providing the safety measures and info that will protect them from their biological impulses.

But if I am too permissive, it's like I am condoning early teenage sex - which is the last thing I want to do. That's a terrible idea.

How am I supposed to walk the razor's edge between these two extremes? Advice is welcome. I'm going to wait around 4 days to have the talk, collect my thoughts, etc.