Suppose you, lovely lady that you are, happen to walk into a party. While waiting in the drink line, a guy strikes up a conversation with you. He asks you many interesting, insightful questions, and keeps making great eye contact with you. Turns out you have several hobbies in common. "Wow", you think, "I definitely made the right choice wearing this dress tonight. This guy can't get enough of me!"

Sadly, you're probably wrong. Believe it or not, guys don't think about sex all the time. He might just be that excited about Arrested Development, your trip to Russia, the way you dyed your hair, or your major in biomedical engineering. Men tend to get passionate about things they like. Have you ever seen a geek in rapture about his favorite topic? That wide-eyed look resembles romance if you don't know the context. (Winces before typing this sentence)...Men compartmentalize easily, and we can strongly love one part of you without necessarily being in love with all of you.

Men, what other signals do women misread as romance?

It was a lazy day, spent at Wal-mart in my hometown because that's where the magic happens (or not). I was browsing the book on which "The Silver Linings Playbook" movie is based. In the book, a woman(played by Jennifer Lawrence aka KATNISS in the Hunger Games movie) is wracked with guilt after her husband dies, that she failed to fulfill his sexual desires. She goes through a period of nymphomania, sleeping with as many men as she can, perhaps feeling that doing so assuages her guilt.
The men who sleep with Jennifer Lawrence may not be aware of her motivations and disorder. Unfortunately, given human ego, I'm sure many of them would just assume "Hey, I'm that awesome, that's why she wants to have sex with me after three minutes of conversation!" One does not ask too many questions when a woman like this is interested in you, correct?

But, in the end, Pat (the male protagonist) ends up not sleeping with her, partly because he is still obsessed with his ex-wife. It helps shake her out of her nymphomania, and the two end up together in the end. Pat didn't mean to do the heroic thing, but he did. Why am I bringing this up? I'm not sure, but bear with me.
Sometimes, we are offered our fantasies for free. But it's because something went wrong with someone else. Maybe your aging uncle has an unfair vendetta against his own children, and thus puts you in the will instead. Or she came out of an awful relationship, and is rebounding so desperately that she throws herself at you just because you show her a little kindness. In that situation, it's so, so hard to open your mouth and ask the awkward question. To say "Slow down, maybe we should talk." Come on, it's Katniss we are talking about here! HOW CAN YOU SAY NO TO KATNISS?!?!?! No one will blame you! And what if Katniss is indeed that much in love with you, and your question offends her? Love is a fragile thing! No, no, close your mouth and open...but I digress.
It takes vast amounts of moral courage to say no to Katniss, to say no to $, to say no to an undeserved promotion or sexual experience. But I ask myself (and you), can you summon that moral courage?

In this country, Christians are sometimes accused of having a persecution complex. "Oh you Christians, always thinking the media/Hollywood/your neighbor is out to get you!" And I admit, it can be true sometimes. Christians at times tend to either fall for elaborate conspiracies (That Disney movie totally has hidden messages!!?!!) or to blame others for their own bad behavior.

But let's not go too far. Sometimes, Christians are indeed hated for just being Christian. Take the Christian sorority girl who tries to live a pure sexual life, living in a house with her sisters who live promiscuous lives. No matter how nice she tries to be to them, how kind, her very existence is a sort of testimony that sex is not necessary, and that one can find fulfillment in life without man's approval. They find her eating breakfast calmly at 10 AM while they slink in from various empty exploits from the night before. No surprise, then, that she feels unwanted and a bit disliked, although no one is ever quite clear as to why that is.

Usually, it's the Christians who are expected to compromise. The non-Christian hints, "Don't say anything about my drunkenness: don't wince when I curse in your presence." And a Christian can fool themselves into thinking "Oh, I need to be a nicer person to those who don't believe the same things I do." But in reality, often, there is nothing the Christian can do to be acceptable to non-Christians. Because when we abstain from what they do, our abstinence makes them think twice, and inspires anger. Saint Peter tells the story well: "They insult you now because they are surprised that you are no longer joining them in the same excesses of wild living."

I have to admit, for the most part, my attempts to be more friendly to those who made different lifestyle choices than I have failed. One cannot be a true Christian without being hated: the absence of hatred indicates the presence of compromise.

On such a special day, it's a bit crass to talk about uncoupling, but I feel like I should. Why don’t we put more effort and thought into dealing with romantic breakups and breakdowns?

I know several female friends who, immediately after a breakup, got into sexual rebound relationships that ended up in pregnancy/bad relationship. If you’ll forgive some crudeness, 18 seconds of coping strategy turned into 18 years in a snap of the fingers. And, will you believe me that breakups are even more devastating for a man when he is fully invested? That a man rarely has the support network a woman does, and yet he is expected to cope better. That a man finds that he has subconsciously woven his ability to satisfy and entrance that woman into the very foundations of his ego, and when that ability is gone, the entire house of Jenga cards (METAPHOR COLLISION!) implodes.

We act as if breakups are merely the common cold: put up with it until you’re better. Just stay in bed and eventually you’ll get better. I had a cold just last week and I'm fine now. Why aren’t you better yet?

But what if, instead, we took the symptoms and costs of breakups and breakdowns seriously? What if we treated breakups (wince, beware of a tortured analogy) more like AIDS? A disease that must be cured, that must be taken seriously, that fundamentally makes humankind’s most pleasurable experiences into a deathtrap?

Trapped in a time of breakups and breakdowns, forced to weather the shock of having kilojoules of love, encouragement, and sexual satisfaction ripped out of your life cold turkey, how can you cope? Supporters of love just say it’s part of the game (and if it is a game, it is a game of mutually assured destruction or delirium), just find someone else…someone else to repeat the cycle with. But I instead say, let’s take this part of love seriously…if we are not just all hormone-hooked junkies willing to pay any price for the next hug, err, hit.

This isn't Sunday, but I had to write a quick update on the Pope resigning. He no longer feels he has emotional and physical strength to do justice to the work of being Pope. Which leads to a hard question for a person of faith:

When should a Christian disregard common sense and instinct and trust in God's power instead?

No, the answer isn't always, because then we have little kids saying "Jesus, make me fly!" and jumping off of buildings. Remember, Jesus said not to test God when the devil encouraged him to jump off the temple roof.

But the answer can't be never, either. Certainly, some Catholics have wondered if the Pope should have just held on to the bitter end, trusting God to make him strong enough to finish out his work as Pope. Sometimes, you start crossing the Red Sea before the water separates, not after.

So when have you trusted in God's power? Was it the right choice?

Warning: This post contains humorish elements and was produced in an area where it might have come into contact with raucous laughter. If allergic to such substances, please kindly avoid this post.

No Asian girl who has met me has ever had a crush on me. The extent to which this offends me is incalculable. (Perhaps not, it's about 3 shoulder shrugs, 1 furrowed brow, and a slight "tsk tsk" sound). We're talking about a slightly taller than average, nerdy white guy who has a postgraduate degree and writes on Xanga. Given stereotypical stereotyping, this post should be written under duress due to the massive crush of Asian femininity distracting me. I should be writing polite Dear John, err, Jia letters like the following:

"Dear Jia, thank you for your application to the Greek Institute of Affection. After careful scrutiny and the ordering of your transcript from Cornell, we noted that you only graduated magna cum laude with a 3.78 GPA in psychology and are not currently enrolled in a post-graduate program. You have been shuttled to the Facebook Admiration track. Please limit yourself to one photo like per day."

The preceding two paragraphs should make you want to slap me silly or at least ask me important questions such as "Hey hypocrite, when was the last time you showed significant interest in an Asian female?" and "Stereotype much, egotistical man-child?" followed by a lot of awkward silence on my part. "Really?" you say. "Guys would actually think like this?" Why yes, thanks to a dreadful dating disease called Prove-a-point-itis. Much as I'd like to deny its presence in my life, I'm just as susceptible as the next guy. "Oh, she was surprised that I went out with Susan? She doubts my man-credentials? Oh she won't be so surprised when she has met (insert really-weird self-created moniker that is one-half animal kingdom, one-half crazy)."

Ugh. Prove-a-point-itis is why guys date the cheerleader, and then one year later realize they would have been much happier with the librarian. Prove-a-point-itis turns normal women into "The Bachelor" contestants, foaming at the mouth at some guy who has been placed on a slight pedestal. It's embarrassing, self-destructive, and humiliating in retrospect. And yet, it persists. Now if you'll excuse me, I think that secretary who looked into my office had a slightly disapproving glance. Just wait until I catch up to her and use my wit and charm...to embarrass myself further.

When you love me, I only see the outcome of that love. I see how you look when you know you are going to meet me. I hear what you say, and sense vaguely what you don't but what would like to say. I feel what you do for me, and receive your gifts, whether tangible or intangible. But in reality, I am in the dark as to how you truly love me. Because the true reasons for love are in the mind, and somehow rarely make the short journey from mind to tongue.

Why? Perhaps we feel too obligated, too much pressure, when we know what we really mean to someone. Did you know how you heal old wounds, or fulfill lifelong dreams, or quiet the screaming voices in their head? Did you know how he is drawn to people who look like you just because of the memories you left, how he hears your voice singing to him every time it gets quiet in the evening, how she still smiles every time she thinks of your awkward hellos and good-byes on the phone? Is it too much to hear how he dreams of your future? Of how she just realized the other day that you are her 12-year-old dream come to laughing, embraceable life, and how she misses you so fiercely even though you've never had a full day together? And forget the romantic: think of how his moods so neatly compliment your own, the way her forgiveness and fealty strengthen your weak walk and make you more like your better self, how you quietly marvel at his patience and practicality and wish that you had been brothers and not merely bros.

Yet somehow all these raw feelings are too much to bring up. I think of how much physical intimacy we partake in and yet how little verbal intimacy ever occurs. How your blog pages burn with the feelings behind your hookups but how those feelings never make it from page to person. We are somehow not ready to tell the truth. Perhaps loves are not ready for it, and the bonds are too weak to sustain the knowledge. I find it a safer world when I do not reveal the specificity of my affection, clouding it in generics and theories. Outbursts are punished. So we play elevator music instead of experimental music, and I suppose we are all the happier for it. But secretly, don't you wonder what you really mean to him? This Valentine's Day, I challenge you to answer, and ask.

My parents had some older Christian books from the 60s and 70s in our house growing up. I read those books, feeling both confused and intrigued. The Jesus Movement of the 70s was essentially a revival among hippies, and you can feel the fire, joy, and idealism in the books they wrote. I was a logical kid, but I loved the passion, and the books spoke to me.

The price of prose fascinates me. Was reading some random posts today and wondered, "Do we know how hard a certain post was for someone to write?" Some posts flow easily and smoothly. I've at times been flattered by people thinking I put a lot of time and effort into a post that was instead dashed off in 15 minutes. But other posts are a torture to write, filled with backspaces and strike-throughs, posted painfully and slowly and with a slight whimpering at what the reaction might be.

Just a random thought. Also, I'm going to try to toss some posts onto other web-sites I belong to nowadays. The cold makes me want to write even more, and I can't stop typing. Sigh it's all vanity, and yet I keep paying (groan...ok, you knew it was coming...really, Greek, all this just to start and end the blog with the same pithy phrase...have mercy...) fine, the wages of words.