The Movie of Doom

As I drove in to work today, I had NPR on the radio.  I often have NPR on the radio, because I need something to quiet the voices in my head... and NPR keeps me from having to listen to love songs that make me cry over The Redhead dumping me.  Because, you know, crying is not particularly conducive to safe driving.  And isn't it amazing how many popular songs are about love?  You'd think there was nothing else available about which to write songs.

But I digress.  On the program Snap Judgement, I heard a segment by the documentary filmmaker of Seeking Asian Female.  She described how she came to make the film; described how she was uncomfortable with the way that a certain kind of (generally White) male looked at her, objectified her, and that she wanted to get into those guy's heads, wanted to see what it was that they saw when they looked at her. 

Have I mentioned that I was born in Japan? I thought about a particular incident from my life: the night that I walked through a dark parking lot, and a man in a truck drove past, turned back, parked his truck, and came to talk to me.  There is no horror story here; I talked politely but distantly to him, he got back in his truck, I got in my jeep, and I drove miles out of my way on well-trafficed streets to be sure he wasn't following me.

But it happened because of how I look, is my point; it happened because he perceived me as being part of a class of women that fit his particular desires, and it didn't have anything to do with who I was. So I have some experience of what the filmmaker was talking about, is my point.  And I listened to her piece with interest.

One thing that she said made me sad: "Steve wasn't really marriage material.  He didn't have a house, he didn't have much money...."  It made me sad because you could say those things about me.  I have a decent job, but I don't really have any savings.  I have a twelve-year-old car that my mother gave me, and it's requiring a lot of maintenance lately.  I don't have a house... I rent an apartment in a part of town that's okay, but not the best. 

When The Redhead and I were together, she wasn't my girlfriend; she was my partner.  I placed her needs, physical, emotional, spiritual, on a level with my own, and tried to find ways to fulfill those needs... hers, and mine.  Sometimes, I put her needs first.  Sometimes, I put my needs first.  Most of the time, I found ways to fulfil both of our needs at the same time. 

I'm interested in my partner's life.  I'm interested in her interests.  I'm a good friend, an affectionate partner, and, I think, a good person to be with.  But it wasn't enough for The Redhead.  And, apparently, it's not enough for the maker of the documentary.  Which makes me wonder if there's anybody it's enough for.

In the last argument that The Redhead and I had before she dumped me, I said that I chose to believe that the future would be better; that I had to believe that, or I'd end up in the bathtub with a pot on my head to keep the bullet from going through the wall after it went through my head. 

I still feel that way.

The Anniversary of Doom

In March, 2012, I was living in Knoxville, Tennessee.  Or, as I would sometimes write it, Tteenneessee.  On White Day, March 14, 2012, The Redhead sent me an email indicating her interest in me.  We'd become accquainted on Google Plus, and I'd been flirtatious at her, but figured nothing would come of it.  But on White Day, I wrote about Valentine's Day / White Day, and how lesbians interpreted the roles.  And The Redhead sent me a White Day present, indicating her interest.

We wrote a lot of email for a couple of days.  And she revealed that her roommate was leaving town for a few days, and that she was a little scared because the previous time that the roommate had been gone, she'd passed out and concussed herself.  She was afraid of that happening when she was alone, and of the possiblity that she could die with no one there.  So I stole money from my brother's "get out of jail eventually" bank account, put gas in my car, and drove the four hours to Charlotte to be with her while her roommate was away.

A year ago this very moment, I was waiting for her to get out of the shower and answer me, let me know if it was okay for me to come and keep her company.  She did, eventually, and I drove.  I stopped just across the TN/NC border, and got a side order of bacon at the Waffle House.  We were text messaging each other at each of my stops, and she was concerned about what I might pick up on my skin at the Waffle House.

So, when I arrived about five in the morning and found her sitting on her porch, I sat beside her in another chair, and didn't touch her.  We talked for about an hour, and then I got up and went inside, used the bathroom, and did a full nursing scrub from my fingertips to my elbows.  And when I came back out, I took her hand, and we talked for another hour or so, sitting on the porch, holding hands.

Eventually, we decided it was time to sleep, and we got up and went inside.  I hesitated at her bedroom door.  "I came here," I said, "with hopes, but no expectations.  If you want, I can go and sleep on the couch, and it'll be fine."  And she smiled, and took my hand, and led me into her bedroom.

We had a very good week together.  And that turned into a relationship, and that turned into the best six months of my life.  I felt like I was loved; I felt secure and happy.  And I didn't know what the future was going to look like, but I believed that she would be next to me as we went forward into it.  As we shaped that future for ourselves, to suit ourselves.

But then, she began to draw away from me.  She made new friends, and adopted a new religion, and one of the keystones of that religion was "No Homos!"  And she said, "They're going to have to yield on that," and she said, "any friend of mine will just have to acccept you," and she said... many things.  But in the end, she kept me hidden from her new friends, and eventually, she broke up with me. 

And the worst six months of my life ensued.  I miss her every day.  I cry at stupid things, because The Redhead would like them, and I can't share them with her.  I haven't spoken with her at all since Christmas Eve, and I don't expect that I will ever speak to her again.  And I'm coming to terms with that.  But... I still miss her.  And I still love her.  And I've gone over everything I've done, and everything she's done, and I don't see anyplace I could have done anything different.  I don't see anywhere I did anything wrong.

I thought that this relationship was going to be different.  I thought that she saw who I was, and accepted me for that person.  I thought that I was ready to have a real, grown-up relationship, and to make it last the rest of my life.  And I thought she was ready, too.  I thought that there were myriad little pieces of our lives and experiences that fit together and made us an excellent, an amazing couple.  I knew that she made my life better, and I thought that I made her life better.

But somewhere, I was wrong.

The Maunderings of Doooooom

I was thinking about FurryMuck tonight. As I did paperwork, wrapping up yesterday, preparing for today, I was thinking about who I used to be. Mucks started after the grand hayday of text-based adventure games, after InfoCom stopped being a gaming company, but they were the same sort of thing... a text-based environment where you could relate to people through their words, and yours.

And even then, I foresaw that they wouldn't last forever; that graphics would overtake them. And though FurryMuck is still there (I had to check; I myself have not signed on in years), it has been made less important by the advent of MMO games. In some ways, MMO games are not as free an environment as the mu* worlds, because you can't do whatever you want; only what the programers have set up for you to do.

But I wonder how long it will be before technologies like Kinect make it possible for you to be in those worlds more fully; before you find the line between reality and virtual reality blurring.  I read an article which suggested that gaming insiders believe holodeck-equivalent technology is no more than ten or fifteen years away.

And I find myself wondering... how will we find each other there?  FurryMuck was found because people had a common interest in antropomorphic animals (or theriomorphic people, depending on how you view it) but I haven't found that the PlayStation Network's Home has any organizing principles.  I haven't played Second Life... in part because no one I know seems to play it... but I wonder how people find each other there.

I talk, sometimes, about how great it would be to be able to play RPGs with Michael and Steve, who now live far away from me, or with Grace in England.  I wonder... will the technology make that possible, or will there always be barriers such as time zones stopping us from getting together?  Will we be able to gather for a few hours once a week with those who are congenial to us, and have shared adventures?  And... how would we find those people, new people, who are congenial to us?

It's a brave, new world.