Every society will have strangers among it. The stranger is always among us, confusing, intriguing, and repulsing us with his Otherness. He may not realize his Otherness, in which case there's comedy, or he overstates it, in which case there's tragedy. But he's there, walking our streets, the Alien in manflesh, thinking different thoughts, feeling different things.

There comes a time where each Alien starts studying its environment, and often, the Alien decides to assimilate. Drop the headgear, lose the piercings or paint, tone down the rhetoric. The Alien becomes anonymous, legion though they may be, and life goes on. Perhaps a few old chums of the Alien remember, and they accuse or congratulate the Alien about the change in status.

But there's the other choice...humiliation, not assimilation. The moment where the Alien uses his knowledge of the society in which he lives to become Predator. To use the society's shortcomings against it, to inject his poison into the society in which he dwells, to threaten it and use it for the sake of his cold ambition. Is the Predator truly motivated by ideals? Or does his hate serve as his true ideal? Surely he must realize that there is no place to retreat to, that the ships are burned, that his mission is doomed as it starts, that he carries within himself the seeds of his own extinction. But while the Predator lives, perhaps the Alien quietly envies him, even though the Alien may publicly decry the Predator.

I dryly remark that Jesus was a Predator. And that I've never seen any Alien or Predator movies, but one can't waste a good framework.

Think back to the last compliment you received that made you feel good to be you. The last time someone made you feel like you are special and mean something, that who you are is pleasing and desirable. Ah, how we can hoard those moments of bliss! But (pushes nerd glasses further up nose) let's talk about how affirmation works for single people both pre- and post-relationship.

I was talking to an awkward yet lovely person the other day. After tearing myself away from the mirror, err, finishing my conversation, I was reminded yet again how it can be tough if you've never been in a relationship before. You've never really been affirmed as desirable enough for someone to want to date you. And so there's this feeling that "I need someone to affirm me as beautiful or strong." However, I think it's critical that we learn to affirm ourselves (goes back to mirror) without being in a relationship. I would cynically joke that no one's out of your league if their self-esteem is low enough. It's true: your best protection against opportunists, scammers, and manipulators can be to have a high-enough self-esteem to not fall for the first compliment tossed your way. So get to that self-affirmation already. "I am beloved by puppies and possess vast reservoirs of socially acceptable puns and quips." Err, oops, was supposed to say that to myself.

There's a cheerful hope that really, if we single people would all affirm one another more, we'd never get in all these lousy relationships. It's a good thought: the idea that if we all just fill each other's affirmation banks, we'd never get into a relationship just so we could be told that our hair looks good. But in reality, I think it doesn't work. You, platonic female friend, doesn't it feel a bit awkward if a guy compliments you? My default comment for all pretty photos posted by platonic female friends are "Looks nice" "Nice eyes" and "Um, looks like it was a nice day. Lovely!" because anything else causes awkwardness. And even same-gender compliments are tricky. Go ahead, tell your study buddy "Bob, I really appreciate the amount of time you took getting ready for school, that cologne really suits you. And by the calm way you answered Professor Smith's question on rotational dynamics, I can tell you'd be a good father." Do it! Let me know how it goes, because it won't be at all awkward.

Finally, affirmation after a break-up is critical. Breakup is a radical surgery in which the lover is surgically removed from one's frontal lobe and the steady supply of affirmation is cut off. Rebound relationship jokes aside, no wonder the newly single person struggles so much. Yes, I hate being refriended by someone who just broke up with their lover because they need some sympathy. No one likes feeling like a convenience. But in the end, a breakup is a mini-illness, and the person is going to need some hugs and compliments to get better. I wish I could say that romantic rejection or breakup should have no impact because it's just one person. (Also, can we agree that "Lots of fish in the sea" type comments are weird and insensitive? I'm bad at fishing too, stop kicking me when I'm down!). But it does, and so affirmation is important, even though I just said in the paragraph above that affirmation by friends doesn't work. So, um, back to self-affirmation. "My knowledge of 18th century American history makes me a welcome addition to any small coffee-shop gathering."

Me babbling. Ok, here's one for you to try. Every time you see a door, I want you to think of ice cream. See if you find yourself craving ice cream after a week, ha.

Last weekend I was in Canada for a bachelor party. We ended up being out in the entertainment district at AM times, all eleven of us loping along the sidewalk, trying to find a good place to, um, read books and sip cokes. My half-sleepy, half-stimulated mind suddenly started thinking "We own this sidewalk, man. The crew, right here! All eleven of us, no one's going to mess with us..." and would have broken into old-school rap had I known any. About two minutes later I reminded myself that I'm a white-collar fattie and my go-to fighting move is the fetal position. Still, WHAT?!

See, I'm trying to figure out, why do men have this natural affinity for gangs? Why is it, even if you get a few nerd bros in a chat room, you suddenly have this weird alpha and beta structure where the most reckless males immediately lunge for the lowest common moral denominator and the supporting males form a phalanx of support and supplies? We're hardly talking about the mean streets of Chicago here, more like the weak streets of Cyberbia. Yet there's this natural tendency of men to form a gang structure for support (ok, and assault too. FLEE, CANADIAN WEAKLINGS. I CLAIM YOUR BORDER TOWN AND ITS CASINOS FOR AMERICANA.)

The more male gang behavior I see, the more I laugh, but the more I'm fascinated at how deep the roots go and how easily we form a hive mind. It's almost instinctual to go submissive or dominant as needed to form this odd Borg unit. Is there a way to turn these instincts for good? Why does this happen? Not sure.

Of late, I've been reading a lot of articles bewailing the decline of men in our society, and posting several of them to "other social networks." These articles point to statistics showing that men are going to college less, getting married later, and essentially wearing away their 20's at their parents' house in a haze of video games, failed music/artistic careers, and porn (but not at the same time. I think.)

We had an interesting moment in the public arena a few weeks ago. Rush Limbaugh called a girl a name, and people were upset. All labels are rude and improper, and we should be more polite, right? Don't use words like SLUT. Keep it classy. We are all good people and deserve better, right? Labels are baaaaaad. And yes, running around sticking post-it notes with names on people's backs is a recipe for disaster. One might even say Jesus himself was against name calling (see Matthew 5:21-22). But, in the middle of all this head-shaking, I feel like we're going too far and saying that behavior-based labels themselves are lies. Some want to say that there are no SLUTS, ALCOHOLICS, or ADDICTS. These are just bad words that society uses to blame individuals for their choices. We're all just good people trying to do good things, lalala, no one's ever wrong, no one's ever mistaken...

But frankly, in the midst of all this politeness and finger-wagging, THIEF, we forget what behavior-based labels are for. We forget that sometimes we need to look at ourselves in the mirror and smack ourselves in the face with STUPID. By trying to declare that behavior-based labels are bad, we try to avoid any kind of accurate judgment of our actions that hurt one another, RACIST, or destroy ourselves, ADDICT. Those words bear a stigma because they should, IDIOT. Denying our status as members of a community, where we do indeed succeed or fail based on the actions of other members of the community, is futile, SELF-CENTERED FOOL. So look, sneaky ADULTERER, instead of always fighting the label, fight the action, ABUSER. I worry, SINNER, that at the end of the day we are trying to excuse away all manner of harmful, abusive, and cruel behavior by legislating the labels away, as if that helps the people we hurt, MANWHORE. Don't dodge the labels, dodge the crime, PERVERT. Get it?

Her eyes opened, finally, and he rushed to her side. "How is the fever?" He asked. She paused, regarding him with a fond but surprised look. She had not remembered him looking so gaunt. "I believe it is gone...although the memory may haunt me for some time." He smiled without teeth and remarked "So I am free to go..." the question hanging in the air between them. She winced, still not fully recovered and said "Yes...starve a fever long enough, and it will disappear. You are free, but not forgotten." He smiled, with teeth this time, and his eyes were both sad and glad as he slowly dissolved from her mind...

Last night I was chatting with @burn_journal, and she was talking about her dear boyfriend, who she met on Xanga but who now uses Xanga a lot less. We thus got on the topic of how relationships change our Xanga usage. Here is my theory:
I. Single men spend more time on Xanga than taken men do. Once a guy gets a girlfriend, his Xanga usage almost disappears.
II. Women in relationships spend more time on Xanga than single men do. When a woman is truly single and not dating anyone, she tends to avoid Xanga.
Agree? Disagree?

I'm sitting here when I should be working, reflecting on recovery after pain. My body is an odd compromise between health and disease. I rarely get ill or injured, but when I do, it takes forever for me to recover. A simple heel bruise can make me limp for a while. And I've been thinking about how often our bodies, hearts, and minds are united in an odd dance. The way I exercise is the way I think is the way I eat is the way I love.

Eventually, like the octopus, I regenerate my missing tentacle. The hurt fades, and the new part grows in. But while waiting for that burned unit to heal and grow again, one wonders why it takes so long. Time is short. Time spent licking wounds and wearing casts could be spent instead moving forward. Fat accumulates from disuse, and rust limits one's movements when the burned unit finally heals and the fresh skin appears once more.

This is filled with disjointed word pictures and slapped-together collages, much like my brain...

Ah, mystique, that little special sauce that makes relationships sizzle at the beginning. A little mystery and tease go a long way in making a relationship interesting. But suppose that you are a geek or nerd (and yes, not quite the same thing, but for now, forgive the combination). You live for understanding better that thing that you are obsessed with. You want to know every last little dimension of the USS Enterprise, Skyrim, or Banach spaces. Mystique is an enemy to be cut down to size and subdued.

So picture, now, the geek dater with his girlfriend. The girlfriend hands him a card proclaiming him as "The Best Lover Ever" to which the geek pushes up his glasses and says "Actually, by my calculations, given my stature and lack of physical fitness, I'm at best the #47th lover in this town."

Imagine that some man who may or may not be me is attempting to tell a nerdy, glasses-wearing woman how beautiful she is, only to be derailed by a long explanation about how she really isn't attractive because she doesn't match the modern standards of beauty. Of course, a lengthy explanation of how this man who may or may not be me has different tastes than the modern standard, complete with references, dates, and bibliography would only further serve to eliminate all traces of mystique. And she didn't even appreciate my "I make passes at girls with glasses" t-shirt! err, I mean, moving on.

But seriously folks, somehow the geek handing over a 40-page user manual about all things himself or herself so that the prospective symbiotic partner (that's the technical term) can be fully aware of quirks and quibbles kills mystique. I know! I think it's because she only read 3 or 4 pages. If she had only seen my diagrams on page 27!

Ok, that wasn't serious. But yes, geeks and nerds are mystique-impaired. We get lovers interested in us because they can't figure us out, then we feel we must explain everything to them and ruin any subtlety to the romance. We are mystique-killers, sometimes in a subtle way, sometimes overtly. And I don't see this changing any time soon. Now, anyone want a gently-used user's manual? I spent a lot of money on color printing and don't want it to go to waste! ...err, mystique killed again.