WHAT PLANET DID YOU SAY YOU WERE FROM?

In a comment string that went off into left-field very fast, a reader posed the following question: "Would you consider dating Liza Minnelli, now that she's moved back to California? Very intelligent, very creative, was able to quote Oscar Wilde at age 5. Whaddaya think?"
I think not.

Before I even had time to respond, someone else (anonymous) interjected "No, she would need to be 20 years old and Cantonese".

I suggested that neither was suitable, and instead something in the middle might be better.
"Liza Minnelli was born in 1946. A twenty year old Cantonese girl would have been born in 1995. How about we average that out to "born sometime between Carter and Clinton", of a lively intelligence, and speaks English as a first language?"
This did NOT satisfy my readers, who sensed an opportunity to let their imaginations run riot.

I shan't bore you with the rest of that comment string, but wish instead to remark that three issues come to mind.

1) My readers have only the scariest idea what I am like romantically.

[Keen somewhat insensitive non-professional, likes animals, hates walks on the beach.]


2) My love life appears more fascinating to them than it actually is.

[There is no love life. They are dreaming.]


3) None of my readers is Liza Minnelli or a twenty-year old Cantonese girl.

[Scoring either as reader of my blog would be top-notch. Dating either would cause doubts about my sanity.]


Logic dictates that I should ignore all the fine ideas forwarded by my readers, who are boundlessly enthusiastic about seeing me settle down and become "normal", albeit without any likelihood of the pitter-pat of tiny little feet -- assuming that they do not envision me as the step-father of anybody else's kids -- except, of course, for the reader who thought that I would prefer a twenty-year old.

Who probably thinks that I am a sex-starved elderly pervert, and who would derive great entertainment from my travails with a flibberty-gibbet.

Quite unlike the others, wishing me to squire around an older woman.
And who admire Liza Minnelli, a very talented individual.
Plus apparently precocious and intelligent.


Just like Liza Minnelli, the twenty-year old contingent is nice to observe and entertaining, provided there is enough distance, but associating with either is bound to be trying. Operatic, even. Buster Bluth was obviously a very troubled soul, and his shoes are far too big for me to step into.
Shan't even consider it.

Most of the women my own age are either married or nuts.
A lot of them are both.

I've met far too many pipe or cigar smokers, whose companions have banished them to the sidewalk or the backyard when they light up, to be unabashedly optimistic.


I TWITCH IN MY SLEEP

Does anybody actually think there's ANY chance that Liza Minnelli or a twenty-year old Cantonese woman, or anything in between those two extremes, would put up with me, my smoking and my tobacco, my books, my smells, and my cooking?

Pipes, cigarillos, milk-tea, and spicy food.
Fatty pork, shrimp paste, ginger.
Arrested Development.
Daily Show.
BBC.


Are you medicated?




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