At 17, I had a pretty good idea of what my love life would look like at 25. After having spent my early 20s dating and casting aside a litany of handsome and variously successful men, I would, by 25, have met my Super Awesome Live-In Boyfriend. We would have a sweet apartment in the city, fulfilling and well-paying jobs, and a host of extremely good-looking friends. Our dog would have an ironic name like Snoop or P. Doggy and when we would take him for walks in the local park, neighbors would smile and wave enthusiastically. We would spend most evenings cooking sexy meals together during which we'd engage in a lot of sensual vegetable chopping and hysterical laughing over minor culinary mishaps.
Every couple of months we would take epic trips to places like Machu Picchu where we would befriend the natives and take pictures of each other doing hilarious and awesome things. Later, we'd show these pictures to our really good-looking friends who would remind us that we are, in fact, the coolest couple in the world and they wish they had taken a llama ride through the jungle with a Peruvian drug cartel. At 30, after 5 years of continuous adventure, we would be married on a Grecian Isle and divide our time as newlyweds between our sweet apartment in the city and our renovated Highland Castle. Our children would frolic in the heather and grow up to do something about all the problems.
It hasn't yet come true and is, I guess, a bit unrealistic. But the general gist of my vision of love hasn't changed much. And, despite all evidence to the contrary, I'm confident a large percentage of it is in my future. How could I possibly be that optimistic? I don't know. Probably because I'm kind of an idiot when it comes to love. Yes, love makes fools of us all at one time or another, but truly, I suspect I'm in at least the 80th percentile for romantic idiocy. I'm not complaining, though. I've achieved a nice balance. For example, I've been kissed in the Piazza San Marco on a summer night. Totally awesome. But I've also been rejected at not one but two of my own Christmas parties. Ouch. The point is, I've come out about even.
Is that my point? I'll be honest, I'm not even sure what this post is about yet. It definitely doesn't have anything to to with armchair travel. I was originally intending to tie it in with some kind of variation on a theme of either "traditions of love around the world" or "showing your love by giving to charity this Valentines Day." Best laid plans. In lieu of that, I'll provide you with this link I found when I Googled "Fun Facts About Love." Clearly, a lot of work goes into this blog.
Anyway, my favorites are numbers 11 and 20.
Special shout-out to Molly, Peyman, Mark, and Suna for being excellent Valentines.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, February 14, 2011
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Tony Hawks or My Life's Philosophy
Those of us behind The Armchair (me) have recently suffered a defeat. I wanted something deeply and with my whole heart. I competed for it, and I lost. I was prepared for disappointment and heartbreak. What I wasn't expecting was a crisis of faith. After all, I'm from Massachusetts.
I suppose it's something that even the least religious of us experience over time. Certain ideas hold a particular magnetism. You're drawn to the same concepts over and over again until, in spite of yourself, you've created some kind of individualized belief system. Physics class with Mr. Langlois. Listening to Ben Folds' Philosophy in my high school boyfriend's basement. Reading The Alchemist in my dorm room sophomore year. Coming to terms with sentence fragments. It's all resulted in some kind of wacky personal philosophy I barely knew I had, complete with rituals and tenets and the sacrificing of virgins on the vernal equinox.
Like any system of faith, mine is full of convenient shades of gray and a few glaring inconsistencies, the details of which would probably bore you. For simplicity's sake, and because it doesn't completely stray from the topical bounds of this blog, I'd like to focus on the most important work in the literary canon of my philosophy: Round Ireland with a Fridge, by Tony Hawks.
So who is Tony Hawks? Well, he is not Tony Hawk, professional skateboarder and video game personality. He's a British comedian, writer, and object of my affection. Admittedly, my crush on him is staggeringly age-inappropriate (even for me), given that my father is only senior by about 8 years. But what can I say? It could be worse. I have a friend who lusts after John Cleese:
Anyway, as to the premise: Our hero Tony and his constant companion The Fridge document a hilarious hitchhiking adventure around Ireland. Miraculously, The Universe opens up to accept Tony and help him in his ridiculous endeavor. In the midst of irreverent comedy, you discover a deeper faith in humanity, a deeper love for Ireland, and the realization that you can accomplish any manner of crazy feat if you maintain an open heart and mind. Whether or not you come away with a complete and total schoolgirl crush on Tony Hawks obviously depends on your personality, sexual orientation, and drinking habits.
My dream is London, with or without a fridge. My goal was 2010. So what do you do when The Universe doesn't seem to open up and accept you and your crazy plans? Well, if you're anything like me, (a well-loved, well-fed, well-educated 20-something cliché) you cry, drink, blog, and decide to move to New York, knowing that at some point in the near future, you'll try it all again. And when it doesn't work out that time, you'll cry, drink, blog, move in with your parents, and die a slow death surrounded by cats and old photos of yourself covered in dust and regret. Just kidding.
Just as Tony must have had some rational reasons for wanting to hitchhike around Ireland with a fridge, (perhaps the possibility of writing a best-selling book?) I have plenty of rational reasons for wanting to live in London. I'm a classical musician. Culture. Opportunities. Proximity to continental Europe. Yadda yadda blah blah blah. But really, the nuts and bolts of it is that I just want to. I just really, really want to. And why can't that be okay? Why does my psyche equate desire with guilt? It's a loaded question and believe it or not, one that Round Ireland with a Fridge has helped me to deal with. Shamelessly declare your crazy intention and people will come out of the woodwork with help and support. Trust to The Universe and it will provide for you. Things will, of course, most certainly go wrong. Proverbial s*** will hit the proverbial fan. But with love, trust, hope, friends, beer, and a great sense of humor, dreams can come true. So even though I'm stranded on the metaphorical highway with my metaphorical fridge waiting for a metaphorical ride that might never come, I'm still carrying with me the insane hope that eventually, everything will work out in my favor. Thanks, Tony.
Tony Hawks' Wikipedia Page
Official WebsiteI suppose it's something that even the least religious of us experience over time. Certain ideas hold a particular magnetism. You're drawn to the same concepts over and over again until, in spite of yourself, you've created some kind of individualized belief system. Physics class with Mr. Langlois. Listening to Ben Folds' Philosophy in my high school boyfriend's basement. Reading The Alchemist in my dorm room sophomore year. Coming to terms with sentence fragments. It's all resulted in some kind of wacky personal philosophy I barely knew I had, complete with rituals and tenets and the sacrificing of virgins on the vernal equinox.
Like any system of faith, mine is full of convenient shades of gray and a few glaring inconsistencies, the details of which would probably bore you. For simplicity's sake, and because it doesn't completely stray from the topical bounds of this blog, I'd like to focus on the most important work in the literary canon of my philosophy: Round Ireland with a Fridge, by Tony Hawks.
So who is Tony Hawks? Well, he is not Tony Hawk, professional skateboarder and video game personality. He's a British comedian, writer, and object of my affection. Admittedly, my crush on him is staggeringly age-inappropriate (even for me), given that my father is only senior by about 8 years. But what can I say? It could be worse. I have a friend who lusts after John Cleese:
Anyway, as to the premise: Our hero Tony and his constant companion The Fridge document a hilarious hitchhiking adventure around Ireland. Miraculously, The Universe opens up to accept Tony and help him in his ridiculous endeavor. In the midst of irreverent comedy, you discover a deeper faith in humanity, a deeper love for Ireland, and the realization that you can accomplish any manner of crazy feat if you maintain an open heart and mind. Whether or not you come away with a complete and total schoolgirl crush on Tony Hawks obviously depends on your personality, sexual orientation, and drinking habits.
My dream is London, with or without a fridge. My goal was 2010. So what do you do when The Universe doesn't seem to open up and accept you and your crazy plans? Well, if you're anything like me, (a well-loved, well-fed, well-educated 20-something cliché) you cry, drink, blog, and decide to move to New York, knowing that at some point in the near future, you'll try it all again. And when it doesn't work out that time, you'll cry, drink, blog, move in with your parents, and die a slow death surrounded by cats and old photos of yourself covered in dust and regret. Just kidding.
Just as Tony must have had some rational reasons for wanting to hitchhike around Ireland with a fridge, (perhaps the possibility of writing a best-selling book?) I have plenty of rational reasons for wanting to live in London. I'm a classical musician. Culture. Opportunities. Proximity to continental Europe. Yadda yadda blah blah blah. But really, the nuts and bolts of it is that I just want to. I just really, really want to. And why can't that be okay? Why does my psyche equate desire with guilt? It's a loaded question and believe it or not, one that Round Ireland with a Fridge has helped me to deal with. Shamelessly declare your crazy intention and people will come out of the woodwork with help and support. Trust to The Universe and it will provide for you. Things will, of course, most certainly go wrong. Proverbial s*** will hit the proverbial fan. But with love, trust, hope, friends, beer, and a great sense of humor, dreams can come true. So even though I'm stranded on the metaphorical highway with my metaphorical fridge waiting for a metaphorical ride that might never come, I'm still carrying with me the insane hope that eventually, everything will work out in my favor. Thanks, Tony.
Tony Hawks' Wikipedia Page
Round Ireland with a Fridge
Playing the Moldovans at Tennis
A Piano in the Pyranees
One Hit Wonderland
The Fridgetrust
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