Greetings, Friends! Here’s a little preview of some new features coming your way on Spooky Action At A Distance in the upcoming months.
Last year, I posted a serial horror story called Ningún Santuario. I presented it in 20 periodic installments over the course of 7 months, and each chapter was improvised without a preconceived outline. This seat-of-my-pants approach created a situation wherein I was often just as surprised at the rapid-fire plot twists as were those taking it in. One of the people taking it in was my good friend Tanya, a/k/a The Incurable Dreamer. In a comment beneath the story’s final installment, she expressed a wish that I would embark upon another such work of soap operatic fiction on my page. I agreed under one condition: that she would need to create some parameters for this story (not necessarily the actual plot, but perhaps the subject matter, writing style, etc.) and that whatever she came up with, I would accept the challenge, even if it is far outside of my comfort zone. Anyhow, Tanya has advised that she is almost ready to give me the specifics of this fiction challenge and I am really looking forward to doing it as much justice as I’m sure it will deserve. Obviously, I can’t provide you with anymore teasers about the forthcoming saga because I just told you everything I know about it at present.
But don’t absquatulate, philosophy fans! Despite the fact that I recently abolished a few overused multisyllabic words from my lexicon, I will continue to expound on abstruse metaphysical topics whenever the mood strikes me (with the additional challenge of finding synonyms for much of my mercifully retired go-to terminology). For those who might want to play along, I was kicking around the idea of becoming something of a philosophical advice columnist from time to time. I haven’t decided exactly how this would work, but it might involve taking questions from my readers who may be searching for input from an unbiased third party about matters of love, life, career, health or family. The questions themselves would be similar to those found in popular venues such as Ann Landers and Dear Abby, but my replies would be informed by knowledge and theories obtained from the study of philosophy and theoretical physics. I’m pretty confident I can make this work and if I really put out the effort, it might even make sense. Should anyone be game to send me a personal question you’d like answered, please do so via the Contact page or in the Comments after any of my posts. Your participation will be greatly appreciated. I’ll use the first question I receive as a trial run for this embryo of an idea and if it works out well, perhaps I’ll make a philosophical reply to a reader question a weekly feature. Again: I’m not thinking of questions like, “Curmudgeon, what do you think is the best method to alleviate mental delusion?”, but more along the lines of, “Curmudgeon: my boyfriend is wonderful in almost every way, but he has an annoying habit of biting his nails and he has to take his shoes off to do it. It’s embarrassing! Should I tell him how I feel?” I will then provide an answer whose purpose will be twofold: 1) to teach you something about your place in the Universe and how your misapprehension of phenomenal experience energizes and increases your neuroses; and 2) to gently point out that you probably wouldn’t be saddled with a toenail-chomping baboon for a boyfriend if you weren’t such an impetuous idiot. So hit me up, self-improvement enthusiasts, the therapist is on duty!
The other day, Bojana of Bojana’s Coffee & Confessions To Go requested that I write about a certain topic before I pointed out to her that I had already done so not too long ago. Briefly, she wanted me to explain why I currently choose to be single with the hope that in responding, I might learn a thing or two about my own psychology and unconscious defensive reasons for throwing in the towel on all things romantic. You’ve gotta respect her optimism in believing that she could break my unshakeable resolve to ensure that my blog not morph into a series of self-pitying diary entries, and I fully appreciate her curiosity regarding a middle-aged man’s atypical aversion to affectionate attachment. Therefore, I’ve decided that I will answer this oft-asked question once again, albeit in a radically different way than a self-psychoanalytical blog post. The last time I put even the slightest effort into finding a mate was in late 2015 with a half-assed, largely uninspired series of personal ads on Plentyoffish.com and Match.com. The upshot: I met about a dozen idiots, went on a second date with about half of those idiots just to confirm that they were indeed idiots, and slept with one of the more libidinally appealing idiots (an impetuous decision that I regretted before I finished my post-coital cigarette). In the next week or two, I am going to post another personal ad to a dating site and all of you, my dear readers, will be privy to whatever may happen as a result since I will periodically report on my progress (or lack thereof) right here on SAAAD. But to keep it interesting, this will be very different from my past experiences with online dating. I’ve decided to choose a meetup site that has the least likely potential of yielding positive results, namely FarmersOnly.com. (Technically, ChristianMingle.com is probably the least likely of dating sites upon which one would expect to find a guy like me, but there has to be at least a slim possibility of meeting someone with a mutual attraction, so I made a compromise.) FarmersOnly proclaims that “City folks just don’t get it!” and this city boy is fixing to take them up on that challenge. Though I may not get any, I am quite confident that I will get it. So brace yerselves, all you hillbilly hotties in Daisy Dukes — Curmudgeon’s crossin’ the Mason-Dixon Line in search of some lovin’!
Finally, I want to leave you with a pop culture epiphany I had last night while watching another episode of Comedy Central’s brilliant mid-90s cartoon Dr. Katz: Professional Therapist. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, this show was the prototype for The Gilmore Girls. I’m serious. The quirky speech patterns of Rory and Lorelai Gilmore that you all know and love are identical in their cadence, rhythm and deadpanned sarcasm to the frequent back-and-forths between Jonathan Katz and his son Ben. That’s it. I don’t have anything else to say about this. It is what it is. And as it happens, it’s also the incredibly clumsy and somewhat cattywampus way that I’m choosing to close out this post.