he's big! he's huge!
he's david foster wallace!
he's big! he's huge!
the dusty archives
write me, baby
Odi et amo
not for the faint-or hard-hearted...
I, uh. Uh. Hmm. Uh. Gee. It's hard to start this. Can you believe I'm having difficulty expressing
something? This from the person who essentially opens up her veins each issue and smears the
blood all over and forces you to look at it? Wacky. But something happened that I never thought
would happen, and while I don't mean that I thought this would never happen on the minor
amusement and intrigue scale that it's been occurring most of my adult life, but I mean that I always
thought that this was a lie, that this sort of things only happened in fairy tales, meant for
someone else but not for me, to quote the Monkees.
by Mel Whitehead
So, you know what I'm going to say.
And it's big, it's huge. I mean the way I feel, you damn perverts.
I'm fully and totally aware that each time a person or two people or 3 or more people fall in
love, each party believes that it's the best thing they've ever experienced, that they've never felt
like this about another person, etc etc. I know that. And I've thought about it and
analyzed it, and ran it through the computer a few times and the thing is, I never
have felt like this. I have no fears, no doubts, no anxiety about commitment. This is
amazing! I'm not so narcissistic to think that no one else has ever felt this way, but that doesn't
detract from the incredible deliciousness of the experience. The whole thing is so close to perfect
that if I read it in a book I'd feel angry and cheated and I'd yell that things like that never happen.
There is one minor problem w/r/t location, but that'll be taken care of. It's not like before,
it's better, it's more real. I don't feel like I have to straighten my hair or lose five pounds or learn
about football so that he'll love me more. And I'm not thinking he'd only be perfect if he
didn't watch Ally McBeal or anything like that. I love him, he loves me, it's that
simple and that perfect.
The whole thing occurred on basically a few days or weeks after I had decided that I was much better off alone, that I was too needy, intolerant and busy to deal with having a lover. I already knew that everything that the little girls with their Barbie Dreamhouses desire was a huge deception, that there was no such thing as a soulmate for anyone, that it was no accident that most Americans get married at 25. ItÕs not about love, itÕs about desire--the desire to fit in, have kids, have what everyone else supposedly has. I wasnÕt totally immune to the hype and advertising. I resigned myself to the fact that despite the fact that I think IÕm smart, deep down in the darkest hole of me I wanted the lie to be true, I wanted to meet a guy who I wanted to sit at the table with doing crossword puzzles when I was 78 years old. It sure looks attractive on tv and in the movies. But that was the irrational part of me that believed the hype. I knew that it was impossible. IÕve been around the block, gone out with some guys, gone out with some of them for a long time. And while I loved them, I really couldnÕt see planning a retirement party for any of them, or even wanting to live with them.
And then boom. If I had more faith IÕd think that someone or something was laughing its ass off at me right now, but thatÕs fine. If this is the punchline, itÕs a fucking killer punchline.
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