High-Five Romance

Credit for the original gifs (which I made into one giant gif) goes to tinamy.co.vu

Credit for the original gifs (which I made into one giant gif) goes to tinamy.co.vu

Almost a year ago, on a rare trip home to visit my parents, Dad and I painted a familiar picture: sharing the living room as one of us clicked around on our laptop while the other vaunted control of the TV. Aside from golfing and visiting the West Side Market, watching TV together is our greatest bonding experience. Maybe one day I’ll enumerate all of the weird and wonderful moments that have come from that.

But not right now. Right now I want to focus on this one particular moment, where Dad and I were reunited in our natural habitat. For the life of me I can’t remember what we were watching, but whatever it was gave my dad pause. He looked over the screen of his laptop at me and said that it was beginning to dawn on him that he and my mom didn’t necessarily do a great job of being affectionate around each other when I was growing up. He wondered if they set a good example of showing me a relationship to aspire to when I was younger.

I had to think about that, because I have never doubted that my parents love each other. They’re still together after 31 years of marriage, they must love each other. But at the same time, I have the kid-goggles of thinking of them as my parents – a unit, but not necessarily a couple. My parents are loving and affectionate, but not in the way that I ever had to worry about walking in on them making out in the kitchen. My parents are not prone to PDA, a fact for which I am eternally grateful.

So after agreeing with him that they aren’t the most romantic of couples, Dad asked what I found to be my ideal standard for judging a good relationship. It wasn’t something I’d given a lot of serious consideration before, despite being surrounded by couples in every day life and pretty much every bit of media that I consume. In the end, it wasn’t difficult to pick one  factor above all others: high fives.

High-Fives are great couple behavior. When I think of the couples on television that I grew up watching, shipping, and envying, they are, overwhelmingly, the ones that would high five. (Or seemed like they would high-five off screen.) There’s a reason that my tag on tumblr for Chandler and Monica is “OTP: high fives”.

The innate knowledge of when is acceptable to high-five is half the challenge. They can be celebratory, like if your team is better at Celebrity, or your fantasy football team won, or something truly excellent happened at work.

In sharing a high-five, you’re acknowledging your SO’s partnership, you’re congratulating them, you’re rewarding them. You’re sharing something. It seems kind of cool. (But also know when you should keep your hand to yourself, because few things are worse than the disappointed little shake of the head you get when it’s “not the time”.)

Unlike it’s cousin Relationship Theory, the High Five Romance is a real-world desirable relationship standard. And that’s kind of the point; whereas the relationship theory demands a passionate, roller-coaster of emotions, the high-five romance is calmer. Yet it still manages to be a thing of passion – I’m not looking to high-five someone over something I’m ambivalent about, rather something I find so exciting and exhilarating that I need an outlet outside of my body. I’m looking to high-five when I have so much joy and such a sense of accomplishment that I literally need to share it with someone else. A high-five can be comforting, but still fun. It’s lighthearted but has significance. And I like that.

High-fives can be flirtatious and/or the product of inside jokes you think are a-mah-zing, but make your friends want to vomit:

Displaying IMG_2126.GIF

Or be a celebration in-and-of themselves AS WELL AS your amazing shared pop culture knowledge:

Or maybe it’s “an expression of elation and teamwork” (shut up, fist-bumps totally fall into the same family as high-fives, especially if they’re done with that beatific expression of joy):

Relationship Theory mainly portends to fictional couples and our desire to live vicariously through them. High-five romance, however, is about how I’d like to apply some of the rules of fictional relationships to real life. Obviously high-fives accompany other relationship habits, but they’re a very good stop on the affection spectrum, and they deserve some recognition.

tl;dr High fives are great and I hope they play a significant role in my next relationship.


Relationship Theory

Every time I search the “relationship theory” tag on this blog I’m surprised I haven’t published this yet. It’s literally been years since I first wrote most of this. So, finally, as Amanda and I sit around watching Studio 60 again for the [embarrassingly high number] time and mostly written three-ish years ago, is my Relationship Theory. Get ready for a lot of convoluted Taylor Swift and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip references:

I love about pop culture –  watching tv, picking apart plots and dialogue and finding out that some actors are just as hilarious (if not more so) off screen than on. But every once in a while, I realize that pop culture is slowly killing me. Somehow, this vicious media frenzy is making me too idealistic.

I’m rarely idealistic. I’m more the pragmatic sort who wishes she had more of a devil-may-care snark-tastic attitude. Anyway, I tend to be a realist, if not an outright pessimist. Which is why becoming fixated on heart-wrenching moments during scripted television shows kind of kills me. But, at the exact same time, it gives me hope than I can write great stories, great plots that can make other people hopeful, too. I don’t want to be all doom and gloom. I’ll never be bright and shiny, but I’m not dark and twisty, either.

The one line that get’s me – every goddamn time – is courtesy of Logan Echolls towards the second season finale of the unjustifiably short-lived Veronica Mars. Logan, a little tipsy and a lot heartbroken, pours his soul out to his ex, Veronica. He tells her, “I thought our story was epic, you know? Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined, bloodshed. Epic.”

Be still, my heart. I wish that I could put him on my Amazon wish list. I just… I want epic. I don’t need romance, I don’t even want it. All I ask for is something pure, real, scary, and bigger than myself. Well, okay, maybe that’s a pretty big wish, but a girl’s gotta dream.

It all goes back to the Relationship Theory, based off of Taylor Swift (stay with me). My friends and I usually apply it to Studio 60, though it works for many other fictional stories.

My freshman year of college, Taylor Swift was kind of a big deal. [Hahaha, she’s only gotten so much more popular. This is weird. Then again, that was 2009.] Her music, though juvenile, was catchy, poppy, and fun to sing along to. Anyway, one of the bigger hits at the time was “The Way I Loved You.” It’s a fairly simple song, but it ignited a major schism to form between my roommates and myself: which boy each of us would prefer?

I thought it was obvious – you choose the ex-boyfriend. You know that you’ll (probably) get hurt, and it won’t be easy, but you’ll be consumed by passion, completely in love. Love wouldn’t be very spectacular, let alone epic, if you didn’t have to fight for it.

Amanda, however, reasoned that she wanted the current boyfriend for exactly those reasons. She wanted to be sure of her relationship and be comforted by the warm feeling it instills in you. She wanted something she could trust.

But, for those unfamiliar with the song, let me give you examples of the two different options.

Ex-boyfriend: [Taylor was constantly] screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain, it would be 2am and she’d be cursing his name, so in love that she acted insane… Breaking down and coming undone it was a roller coaster kind of rush and she never knew she could feel that much, but that’s the way she loved him. He was wild and crazy, just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated, and got away by some mistake.

Current boyfriend: Is sensible and so incredible and makes all of T-Swift’s single friends jealous. He says everything that she need to hear and it’s like she couldn’t ask for anything better.  He opens up her door and she get into his car and he says, “you look beautiful tonight,” and she feels perfectly fine. He can’t see the smile she’s faking and her heart’s not breaking ‘cause she’s not feeling anything at all.  He respects her space and never makes her wait and he calls exactly when he says he will. He’s close to her mother, talks business with her father, he’s charming and endearing and she’s comfortable.

So there you have it. Two boys, exactly the opposite of one another. Amanda championed the line where the new bf, “talks business with my father.” She thought that was, quite possibly, the most endearing thing a guy could do. She wants someone who will call when he says, pick her up, make every other girl wonder how you got so lucky.

Okay, so I understand where that is the ideal, you know? Practical and dependable. I get it. But come on. Wouldn’t you prefer wild and crazy, frustrating, intoxicating, and, most importantly, kissing in the rain? Listen, I relish in a good fight. I like being challenged. It’s fun for me. (To a point, obviously. I can handle yelling, I can be wrong, but there’s obviously that line in fighting where emotional well-being comes into question and then you have to take a step back. So, healthy fighting, I guess.)

To me, being challenged is a necessary part of a relationship; I don’t want to sit stagnant, I’d be bored out of my skull. I don’t understand how anyone could be happy with someone who always respects your space; the biggest thrills occur when someone invades your personal space and drags you out of your doldrums, kicking and screaming. (Not all the time. Obviously. Sometimes I just want to sit around in my jammies and watch Netflix and have you just accept it.)

Back to TSwift: the thing that kills me, every time, is that her ex got away by some mistake. And, even worse, her new boyfriend clearly doesn’t know her very well at all. Even if you disregard the fact that the replacement can’t tell when she plasters on a fake smile, he fails to make her feel. When she’s with him, she never get’s past “fine” and “comfortable”. He’s reliable. And yet, he doesn’t make her feel “anything at all.”

All of my favorite (fictional) relationships rest on this theory. That the guy you should be with, 9 times out of 10, is the one who makes you come alive, even if that means you want to crawl out of your skin because you’re so angry you can’t see straight. Which is where the whole Matt / Harriet thing comes into play.

If  you’ve ever sen Studio 60, you will know that there are two primary relationships. The on-again off-again Matt & Harriet and the “slow” burn Danny & Jordan. While Danny and Jordan have a turbulent love story of their own, I will always strive for the Matt/Harriet relationship. They, like literary idols Elizabeth and Darcy, are epic. Their relationship spanned millennia (technically)! I guess this will require a little bit of an explanation.

Studio 60 is one of my favorite shows of all time (haters to the left). It was one of those things that really brought Amanda and I together as friends, but once again we found ourselves divided when it came down to the relationships. There are two couples to follow throughout the course of the one-season series. On the one hand, you have Danny and Jordan who perfectly exemplify the relationship of Taylor Swift and the new boyfriend. Comfortable, reliable, endearingly sweet. And then there are Matt and Harriet who can’t get over each other. They’ve gotten together and broken up more than any of the other characters can count. They’re constantly fighting, but they also have unwavering support in the other. That is what I find enviable; they never lose faith in each other.

I’m fairly certain that Jane Austen would have known exactly what I’m talking about. She, too, understood that the best relationships are not the simple ones, but the ones filled with conflict, strife, and challenges. Deeply passionate love makes you examine every fiber of your being. There’s a reason that Elizabeth and Darcy are the heroes of Pride and Prejudice and not Jane and Bingley. It’s the same reason that Emma and Mr. Knightley are the couple of interest and not Harriet Smith and that poor farm boy. (Consequently, it’s why Sense and Sensibility is my least favorite Austen book, though I know it cover to cover.)

I constantly struggle with this little theory of mine. Because, although my heart wants epic, my mind tells me I want comfortable – that I will eventually just settle down with a best-friend type.

Now obviously the relationships we choose to idealize and covet in fiction are not always well-suited for reality. How many of the epic bonds and love stories from the page and screen are contingent on war or crazy murderers or whatever? In reality, Logan Echolls would probably not make a great boyfriend. Very few of my fictional boyfriends would probably make good real world boyfriends (here’s to you, Seth Cohen and Stiles Stilinski!). But these ‘bad boy’ characters, I like them (and the shows, to an extent) because they are escapist, they let me live vicariously through the characters.

I think it’s important to realize that there is some overlap. I’m interested in the fictional relationships that I am because I find at least some part of them interesting and appealing. The heroes, protagonists, and antagonists that I fall for, again and again, might not be great people. But they’re great characters. And I guess, as long as you or I understand the distinction, everything is copacetic. This Relationship Theory is obviously an extreme reaction to tropes and archetypes perpetuated by fiction, but there’s some truth to it. Rory chose Jess over Dean, she chose Logan over Marty, she chose action and adventure and passion over comfort and familiarity and movie nights with Lorelai. She used those relationships to help her figure out who she was and what she wanted out of life. And maybe that’s their most important function, after all.

I’ve Got a lot of Angst (re: Sense & Sensibility)

I’ve slowly come to the crippling realization that I am my own worst enemy and it’s all Colonel Brandon’s fault.  See, it’s fairly simple. I hate Colonel Brandon. Absolutely loathe him.  He’s a sucky character and unworthy of the “hero” role into which Jane Austen so presumptuously thrust him in Sense & Sensibility. Perhaps I’m being unfair because S&S is my least favorite Austen novel. Maybe it’s because I have lofty ideals of an Austen hero challenging the heroine with his witty banter instead of swooping in to be her saving grace. There’s no maybe about that one, actually. I hate that Colonel Brandon saves Marianne. She shouldn’t need saving in the first place. (A lot of my anger might be misplaced, simply because I dislike Marianne). Furthermore, Colonel Brandon is too old for Marianne. It’s kind of skeevy (granted they live in the early 19th century).

But I’ve got my reasons for disliking Colonel Brandon. Here are some of them:

  • He’s too old for Marianne. Well, yes, that’s arguably true. But, at the same time, he’s not imposing or thrusting himself in her path. He’s patient and waits for her to come to him. He’s a friend to her in the meantime. And in the scope of Austen heroes, he’s well within an acceptable age-range. Knightley was almost 20 years older than Emma. Darcy’s probably 15 years older than Elizabeth. I’m just saying, he doesn’t really follow the “his age divided by 2 plus 7” rule.
  • There’s just no chemistry. Honestly, Col. Brandon has more chemistry with Mrs. Dashwood than he does with Marianne. Which, really, is reason enough to dislike his pursuing Mrs. Dashwood’s teenage daughter.
  • He’s so blah. No witty banter. None. He just seems old and tired. Run-down. He probably needs a vacation to Bath to lighten up. Jeesh. He’s practically curmudgeonly.
  • He’s old-school (unironically). Flannel waistcoats. Need I say more?

A lot of this I stand by. It’s not simply that he’s too old for her, it’s that he’s already been in love and only falls in love with Marianne because she reminds him of that girl he never had. The relationship between Marianne and Col. Brandon is one that has to be learned and I don’t like that. Marianne, at the end of the book, just kind of seems like, “Oh, very well. It’s not like I’ve got many other prospects, and this guy clearly loves me unconditionally…”

And they don’t really have chemistry. Austen novels teach us, over and over again, that chemistry is very important in a relationship. That witty banter is just a thin veil for their sexual tension. Compared to the sizzling dialogue between Elizabeth and Darcy, Marianne and Colonel Brandon are limp, overcooked noodles. I mean, sure, by the end of the novel Marianne is a different person than she was in the beginning. She knows that the “bad boy” Willoughby isn’t the best bet for a comfortable marriage. So she goes for his polar opposite: Colonel Brandon?

The thing that really kills me about Colonel Brandon, though, is that I can kind of identify with him. I see where he’s coming from. He’s lived, his heart’s been broken by unrequited love, he just wants to settle down. He doesn’t force Marianne into anything or make any presumptions. He doesn’t judge her. He lets her make her own choices, even when they (inevitably) lead to mistakes. I can respect that. Maybe Marianne will have to learn to love Colonel Brandon, but you know he won’t crowd her while that’s happening.

The single most way that I can identify with him, however, is in our infirmities. Neither of us are old. Well, I guess given life expectancies in early 19th century England, he was a little bit old. As a matter of fact, to him Marianne must be a veritable whippersnapper. But, alas, she was of age… Anyhow, infirmities. We both have them. Flannel waistcoat? He wears it. Sounds like something I would wear, too – and not just because of the implied hipster-ism. I’m not above admitting that I bust out the long-underwear every winter to stay nice and toasty.  Also, Colonel Brandon just strikes me as the kind of guy who frequently is in need of a hot water bottle. You and me both, mister. But, similarities aside, regardless of my respect for him, I have to say, he’s still my least favorite of Austen’s “heroes” and I’m not comfortable in casting him in such a light.

 “But at least, mama, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation, though you may not think it intentionally ill-natured. ColonelBrandon is certainly younger than Mrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be my father; and if he were ever animated enough to be in love, must have long outlived every sensation of the kind. It is too ridiculous! When is a man to be safe from such wit, if age and infirmity will not protect him?” [Marianne]

“Infirmity!” said Elinor, “do you call ColonelBrandon infirm? I can easily suppose that his age may appear much greater to you than to my mother; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having the use of his limbs?”

“Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism? and is not that the commonest infirmity of declining life?”

“My dearest child,” said her mother laughing, “at this rate, you must be in continual terror of my decay; and it must seem to you a miracle that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty.”

“Mama, you are not doing me justice. I know very well that ColonelBrandon is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of losing him in the course of nature. He may live twenty years longer. But thirty-five has nothing to do with matrimony.”

“Perhaps,” said Elinor, “thirty-five and seventeen had better not have anything to do with matrimony together. But if there should by any chance happen to be a woman who is single at seven-and-twenty, I should not think Colonel Brandon’s being thirty-five any objection to his marrying her .”

And, yes, after reading scenes such as this, I do often wonder as to why the hell Elinor didn’t end up with Colonel Brandon. And then I remember that stupid Mr. Ferrars. (No, the other stupid Mr. Ferrars.)

“I’m Going to Kill You! I Love It!”

I kind of love Open Mic Night.  Every time we go I have fun. Which is really no surprise, Ellen is a spoken word poetry fiend.  Her poems are relatable, amusing, clever, and sometimes prescient.  Come on, Ellen, admit it. You only left your laptop on the curb for so long becuase you were channeling “Love in the Time of Facebook.” We all know it.

What else happens at the Fish Bowl on these Open Mic Nights? I always manage to fall in love. Tonight’s catch: the boy who sang a cover of this:

I know you have a girlfriend, but you should just marry me, okay? Kay, thanks. I even loved your hippie/hipster medley and your necktie guitar strap. So really, let’s run away together. Because if I can’t have you, I have this awful feeling that I’ll be stuck with the guy who sang an acoustic version of the Thong Song. And I’m just not sure if I’m ready to settle for that, no matter how good he was.

Killer Mirror

Christmas. Everyone who celebrates it does so differently.  Every year around this time, I get nostalgic.  This year, I chose (perhaps unwisely, seeing as how it was finals week) to use the time to reacquaint myself with one of my favorite tv shows, Friends.  It is one of my aunt’s favorite shows, and, after she told me about it, it quickly became one of mine as well.

Seeing as how it’s been off of the air for five years or so (not including reruns, of course), I realized how much I really had forgotten about the details.  Which is strange to me since I seem to have a freakish knack for remembering those in my favorite shows. Anyhow, I began with season five and have watched through the beginning of season seven.  (Darn you, Megavideo, only allowing me to watch, at maximum, 72 minutes at a time!) In other words, I have watched the evolution of Monica and Chandler’s relationship. I’m not going to lie, I kind of envy it.  I really like the episode, “The One with the Nap Parters.” I tried to find a specific clip, but it was a no-go. You can watch the entire episode here.  My favorite part is when Monica gets home and goes to sit on the couch. But, before she sits down, they kind of high-five each other. It’s maybe the cutest thing ever.

Also, the title of today’s post has to do with this mashup between a Killers and an Arcade Fire song.  Give it a listen.  It’s supposed to be a tribute to Amanda, whom I’ve been unintentionally copying. It’s not my fault she’s so awesome. Sorry, Amanda.