Impermanence

In the past year, I have learned some harsh lessons about friendship and the sliding scale of values that people attribute to this most precious of relationships. In addition, I have learned a more subtle lesson about our purpose in the lives of those we call friends and if we are lucky, kindred spirits.

Lately, I have been trimming my already modest Facebook friend list. In terms of friends, less is more and I wanted to retain my relatives and those who clearly mean something to me. I do not care to have a slew of acquaintances, high school friends that I barely connect with, and friends in name only. On that note, a lot of people have been deactivating their Facebook accounts as of late. A friend who went into hermit mode almost two months ago resurfaced yesterday much to my surprise. To be frank, I had gotten accustomed to our habitual silence. It was disconcerting to speak after such a long impasse. However, there is always an exception to the rule, to the point of no return and there is that one that you never give up on.

Sometimes they come back even if it is for a fleeting moment.

Then again, there are those who become online friends. Perhaps I find myself in the minority, but there is nothing so depressing as being limited to online friendship in this day and age. Frankly, I require much more than that from people that I am interested in and care about. I do not know what is worse — people who are addicted to instant gratification and as a result revel in social networking sites without engaging in active dialogue or friends that do not cross over to the everyday world. Years ago, a dear friend was fond of saying: “I think [what] once brought us together and nourished us is now poisoning the well we drink from.”

I have finally begun to understand the depths of that feeling.

Beautiful Girls

Beautiful Girls is a lovely critique of the issues men and women tackle in relationships nowadays. The film meshes a beautiful, haunting, and nostalgic soundtrack, but what really tickles me is the character that Rosie O’Donnell plays in the film. Gina might well speak for all real women out there.

Gina: I’m finished speaking to both of you okay? You’re both fucking insane. You want to know what your problem is? MTV, Playboy, and Madison fucking Avenue. Yes. Let me explain something to you, ok? Girls with big tits have big asses. Girls with little tits have little asses. That’s the way it goes. God doesn’t fuck around; he’s a fair guy. He gave the fatties big, beautiful tits and the skinnies little tiny nibblers. It’s not my rule. If you don’t like it, call him. Hey Mitch. Thank you.

[Looking at a porn magazine]

Gina: Oh, guys, look what we have here. Look at this, your favorite. Oh, you like that?

Tommy: I could go along with that.

Gina: Yeah, that’s nice right? Well, it doesn’t exist ok. Look at the hair. The hair is long, it’s flowing, it’s like a river. Well, it’s a fucking weave ok? And the tits, please! I could hang my overcoat on them. Tits by design were invented to be suckled by babies. Yes, they’re purely functional. These are silicon city. And look, my favorite, the shaved pubis. Pubic hair being too unruly and all. Very key. This is a mockery, this is a sham, this is bullshit. Implants, collagen, plastic, capped teeth, the fat sucked out, the hair extended, the nose fixed, the bush shaved… These are not real women, all right? They’re beauty freaks. And they make all us normal women with our wrinkles, our puckered boobs – Hi Bob – and our cellulite feel somehow inadequate. Well I don’t buy it, all right? But you fucking mooks, if you think that if there’s a chance in hell that you’ll end up with one of these women, you don’t give us real women anything approaching a commitment. It’s pathetic. I don’t know what you think you’re going to do. You’re going to end up eighty-years old, drooling in some nursing home, then you’re going to decide, it’s time to settle down, get married, have kids? What, are you going to find a cheerleader? Charge it Mitch.

Tommy: I think you’re over simplifying.

Gina: Oh eat me. Look at Paul. With his models on the wall, his dog named Elle McPherson. He’s insane. He’s obsessed. You’re all obsessed. If you had an once of self-esteem, of self-worth, of self-confidence, you would realize that as trite as it may sound, beauty is truly skin-deep. And you know what, if you ever did hook one of those girls, I guarantee you’d be sick of her.

Tommy: Yeah, I suppose I’d get sick of her after about, what, twenty or thirty years?

Gina: Get over yourself. Thank you Mitch. Say hello to Gertrude.

Tommy: What?

Gina: No matter how perfect the nipple, how supple the thigh, unless there is some other shit going on in the relationship, besides the physical, it’s going to get old, ok? And you guys, as a gender, have got to get a grip. Otherwise, the future of the human race is in jeopardy.

Willie: What was that?

Tommy: I don’t know, but a great ass.

Willie: Nice tits. Come on let’s go.