the romance equation

I just finished a wonderfully hysterical book called Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons. It’s sort of a parody of the Jane Austen genre. Now I do like Jane Austen but I love a good parody and laugh even more. Nothing better than a little sarcasm and over the top dramatic and flowery descriptions and overdone characters. An excerpt from the book,

“She knew from experience that intellectuals thought the proper – nay, the only
– way to fall in love with somebody was to do it the very instant you saw them.
You met somebody, and thought they were ‘A charming person. So gay and simple.’
Then you walked home from a party with them (preferably across Hampstead Heath,
about three in the morning) discussing whether you should sleep together or not.
Sometimes you asked them to go to Italy with you. Sometimes they asked yout o go
to Italy (preferably to Portofino) with them. You held hands, and laughed, and
kissed them and called them your ‘true love’. You loved them for eight months
and then you met somebody else and began being gay and simple all over again,
with small-hours’ walks across Hampstead, Portofino invitation, and all.”

I like this quote because it rings true and there’s a certain sense of silliness to it as it doesn’t take itself too seriously. For instance the set up, that this is the way intellectuals fall in love, mocks the way people have standards and formulas for love, which doesn’t follow a formula. But of course this is the way it should be done. This method for falling in love works today too though. I mean how many times have you or one of your friends met someone at a party, walked home with them discussing the possibility of sex at three AM, “fall in love”, and a short time later moved on to someone else? Happens all the time. You make plans, it all seems so easy and then it’s over. Really just a fabulously annoying pattern that maybe one day will lead, completely on accident of course, to the right one. Dating is a pain in the ass. As is being single. Done and done.

Tonight I miss Bloomington in a way I haven’t since I’ve moved. The weather has temporarily cooled off for a bit and it feels like a late spring/early summer night in Indiana. Bette and I are determined to finish the large amounts of Corona that Ang’s cousin left in our fridge last weekend. So I opened one up, took it out to the front steps along with my laptop and started making a mix (or three). All I could think of was last year around this time when Marnie, Sam and I would sit on the porch and drink beer or play beer pong in the front yard or watch tv in the living room with all the windows open. I miss my roommates and I miss those nights second semester. Funny how when I look back on them I don’t remember all the drama with Jaime or the stress of graduating or the family stuff that exploded in my face right about this time. I like that I remember that time as just peaceful.


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