news fails
after two days of enduring the washington post's interest-less stories i wonder what it takes for them to write something well.
as one of today's "most viewed articles" what, exactly, was the point of the story A Bed of Roses. Of course, i implore anyone not to read it. it's just trite.
He was a combat soldier in Iraq. She was a divorced mom in California. They flirted, fell in love, committed . . . and then they met in the flesh
My question after this lede is: so the fuck what? Here's a glimpse at my own experience:
They were separated only by a continent and the border...They flirted, chatted at length, fell in love, committed....and then one of them moved across said continent to be with the other. Oh, and to work. And get a dog. And then move again. And then again.
Online romance isn't unusual. there's an estimate that runs as high as 30% of couples now meet online. Because half of the one featured in wapo was in Iraq shouldn't make a lick of difference- I really *really* fail to see the "freshness" of this story.
The otherh and i knew each other online for over 3 years. Both of us experienced a shut-down in the relationships (romantic) that we were each in at about the same time. After three tries in five months, we finally met. but we had long since decided that being 3000mi apart wasn't going to work out, we just wanted to be together too much. So i said fuck it to life in Los Angeles. The family loves the otherh like they've loved no one else i've been with. (including the former spouse.) For that matter, so do i. While adjusting to knowing nothing about a culture can be rough, while learning celsius can be crazy-making, while getting used to really badly designed traffic routes can make one (me) want to forego driving for the rest of my life, i have the otherh. we have as much to talk about as we did four years ago, when not-diametrically-opposed ideas on theology and philosophy propelled us to chat until sunrise.
Derrida wrote that world view comes from textural interpretation. We make words out of everything we see in order to make sense of it. There's no other way to do it. When a therapist suggested my online life was obviously depressing me, i slammed derrida at him in retort, to which he had no reply (being he was a therapist, i wasn't surprised). Beckett's moving novel Watt speaks (oh my. a pun) of the importance of language and the devastation which occurs when it isn't accessible any longer.
What started as "chat" with the otherh rapidly became "camaraderie." What spun from there was the awe we share that we ever found each other. Having spent three years never having met wasn't relevant, our Dasein didn't need a handshake, or a hug or a long, hard kiss. That we are mitdasein has everything to do with togetherness, and i'd wager, roughly nothing to do with the fact we share 24hrs a day in the same space.
I would not need to deck our bed in roses for the otherh to know my feelings. I would not need to mail trinkets, baubles, naughty things and the like in order to highlight the depth, breadth and endlessness of my love. the otherh just *knows*. (although i did once send a carton of winstons illegally to canada. and the otherh sent me a jersey, which wasn't illegal. oh but the codeine was.)
and the same goes for me. i rely on the otherh for geek knowledges i haven't yet mastered, and i can look over across the office and ask a question in what i think is another language and the reply comes in words that i do understand. regarding nearly anything. i know the otherh will always be there for me in body and mind, but specifically in language. this is the fullest extent of love as i can express.
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Posted by: derndecc | Sunday, 03 June 2007 at 06:08 PM