The Jon Swerdloff Blues Explosion

Ethan, God bless him, was in a bad mood tonight. I got out of work "Early" (returning to my apartment by 9pm, a full 11 hour workday) today, so to help the best friend with the bad mood was sort of... automatic.

I've been really enjoying work lately, so this isn't about that. I've also enjoyed the outpouring of email and IM support for both this site, and for my proposition that Israel should be treated equally with Palestine, and that the heads of Palestine should be called to task for targeting civilians, before any of the world-stage hypocrites start demanding war crimes tribunals against Israel, of which there has been a surprising amount, but quietly.

But off the I/P question that seems to haunt most people's days, there's the more important (to me) question. The Swerdloff question.

As many of you know, I admitted to myself that I had fallen in love in January. The relationship was over by late March. Maybe April. It's debatable. Without going into who she was (which I think I've kept pretty well hidden) I've got lots to report, much of which crystalized this evening.

First of all, that wasn't love. That was finding someone I had great chemistry with, and mistaking that for love. I've got that much down.

Second, I learned something today. I sat in on a little chat between several women. Here's what I learned: Women crave attention, but they hate attention. What the fuck do you mean by that, Swerdloff? Well, what I gleaned was that while a woman wants to know that you're thinking of her, you had better have your own life, your own direction, your own thoughts. Which makes sense. What human wants to be responsible for another human's happiness? What a burden that becomes - I've got to spend _my_ time worrying about how _you_ feel? God. If a woman put me in that position, I'd smack myself in the head with a mallet. Or let her down gently. Or just stop calling.

The short answer is, what I learned today (what I'd learned already, but was definitely reiterated today) was that you have to be your own person before something with someone else can work. Otherwise, you don't have love, you have dependence, and that's no good.

No good at all. I'm no longer surprised that She Who Requested Not To Be Named left me. Outside of her history, I committed possibly every blunder in the book. Enough said.

This evening, Ethan took me to see the Brain Mitchell band. I kept making fun of Ethan for going to these shows "what're you, obssessed?" And then he dragged me tonight. At the show I had many revelations.

1) I am not a writer. I am a drinker with a writing problem. Toss a few back and off my fingers go.

2) Particularly beautiful women tend to get the same "I'm so bored here let's do some coke" face no matter where I go. Ladies, if you're reading, let me give you a hint - the coke is making things worse. Engage reality. Your genetic defect isn't helping you, and as you get older and eventually uglier (it happens) you're going to get more depressed as you can't squeeze any more pleasure out of life. Let it go. I'm very serious when I say engage reality. I've done it lately. Engage the world and it will repay you every moment of every day.

3) The Blues are nothing but a good man got down. I don't have the blues anymore, but damn, they're good to listen to.

4) Ethan's got better taste in music than I gave him credit for.

Consider: the 2000 census showed that 57 percent of the people over the age of 15 in New York City were single (for Manhattan, it was 65 percent) [says the NYTimes] No wonder I'm still single.

Posted by Swerdloff at July 26, 2002 08:52 AM