The Future of the Past

A few had RSVP’d, and Dolores pegged those that had as those that were seated in the folding chairs towards the front of the shabby room. They had their legs crossed and were talking emptily to each other so that she knew they must have come together, or at least told each other to attend. It seemed they didn’t know each other too well, but that was, again probably for the better, since she didn’t want these women to feel pressured to live up to their friends ideas of who they were. She could hear them say, with feigned passing regard “Yeah, we’re not serious, and I like it that way. I like that he will just call me out of the blue when I’m not even thinking about it, you know?” Dolores wanted to vomit. She didn’t understand this nether-region that women were so happy to occupy. Hers was of the opinion that if one was going to do something, it should be done all the way. Black or white, good guy or bad guy, springtime or autumn, ones or zeroes. Because, like it or not, that is how...

Dolores had placed an ad on Craig’s list for this meeting, the first time she had actually used Craig’s list, despite the thousands of suggestions from numerous boyfriends to sell her old furniture and glutted record collection. The idea of offering up her well-worn and once loved things to strangers and then getting no response or interest had depressed and frightened her, so she remained, with closets full of outdated technology and camera equipment boxed next to duplicate CD’s of the Talking Heads 77 and Celebrity Skin. But posting this meeting for some reason did not summon up her long-standing fear of rejection, because an idea is so much less a reflection of the self than taste. An idea is merely incidental when determining another’s worth. All she had written in the description was “Do you want a new Feminist movement? Dissatisfied with the patriarchal structure? Still mad at your last boyfriend? Join us at the first meeting of the Avant Femme.” And this is what had showed up.

There weren’t as many people in the little room as she had anticipated. But then, she wasn’t sure what she had anticipated in the first place. They were mostly in their late 20’s, which was good, she knew that. It would certainly make for a more effective campaign, plus they would probably be more receptive to her ideas, since at this age what they wanted was permission from someone like herself so that they may satisfy their own vanity. Dolores took in the group of girls around the coffee pot and cheap butter cookies from Trader Joe’s she had bought the night before. Each cautiously took a paper plate from the meager stack, then paused interminably, almost reaching for a cookie, but then covering their actions by picking at the plastic table cloth or adjusting their purses, until a more sizable girl finally broke suit and grabbed a couple of the sweets to go along with her heavily sugared coffee. Then they gathered like squirrels, still careful to take a napkin. They were ladies after...

Here is a list of slightly grotesque and deeply implicational people I am attracted to (in no particular order): 1) George Plimpton 2) William F. Buckley Jr. 3) James Watson (the one on the right...he always seems to be on the right, v. strange) 4) Stephen Hawking (quite a popular one. Our society is sick) 5) Sir David Attenborough 6) This is just so sick and wrong, but Anthony Weiner. I hate my loins. I have removed Ira Glass from the list, as apparently he was recently offered a spot on People's 50 Most Beautiful People. Simply will not do for this list. ...I will continue my list as I run across them. Please add your own nauseating crush!

Can't remember when I became quite so obsolete in terms of words. I always prided myself on knowing quite a number of words, but in this new 2.o world of BigGoogle Brother, I seem to find myself at a loss. What is a doc alert? What's fishing, or the advantage of Google reader? Should I learn C++ language before I learn Cantonese or Spanish? Apparently now it is almost as gouche to use IM as to leave a voice message on a mobile phone (which is no longer a cell phone). Maybe I shouldn't communicate at all. Damn. Guess I shouldn't have posted this.