Disorganized Thoughts Before Going To Bad, Unravelled Like An Ancient T-Shirst

I told myself I would go to bed early tonight, but here I am, typing, as replays of tonight's DNC Convention croon softly in the background.

Here are three thoughts:

1. I sometimes need to restrain a desire to sing and pretend to fly while walking through the streets. At such moments, I wish I possessed the power of invisibility.

2. Sometimes I talk to myself, not because I'm crazy, but because I'm an egoist.

3. This week is fashion week. I found myself feeling extremely un-glamorous as I passed by a gaggle of stiletto-clad models*. I took a flyer, and saw an ad for Harry Winston, which is having an exhibit about "the nature of time", as measured through its company's diamonds. This ad struck me as preposterous: The nature of time is many things, but something measurable by Harry Winston diamonds is not one of them.**

So I started pondering the way diamonds are used to symbolize romance There are so many things that are more meaningful (and cheaper) than a diamond, and I wonder if it isn't largely because of diamond companies' large advertising blitz that they've convinced us diamonds are THE way of expressing romance. I remember once, last year, having a conversation with mostly younger peers, who all were fantasizing about their dream engagement ring. I felt this odd disconnect, because I don't have a dream engagement ring, or a dream proposal scenario, or even want/expect/hope for a ring if/when the moment comes.***

Then of course, there is the double-standard issue, since men are expected to give rings and plan proposals, but women are just expect to say yes, to be passive agents in their own destiny.

But despite my entire pseudo-feminist rant, I still felt the desire to be glamorous for that one moment, to be considered beautiful by this group of strangers. I would like to think that this desire came from the impulse to connect with others, but who knows? I can merely shrug my unfashionable shoulders and reach for my ten-dollar flip-flops.

PS - Lots of thoughts about "being an American" as a result of watching all the convention speeches, but it's nearly 2 am, and I have a cold, so I'm way too tired to write about something serious. I'd rather just dream of stiletto heels dancing beneath Lincoln Center in the moonlight and apples lying by books in the grass, and wonder what the boy is dreaming of in the DRC, as he stands silently in a mine shaft.


* Also, what's up with male models shaving their chest hair? I think it's weird. If I dated a guy who enjoyed shaving his chest hair, I'd respect his aesthetic choice, but I don't think male chest-hair is unattractive - it just so happens that I am turned on by the male anatomy, which generally includes a somewhat hairy chest. Then again, I also am bothered by the model industries' demand that it's women be shaved/waxed/lazered/what-have-you. Actually, I am just bothered by the industry. Period.
** Please read Alan Lightman's "Einstein's Dreams", a novella about the nature of time. You can borrow it if you want - first come first served :)
*** If it is a diamond though, it can not be a blood diamond. That is non-negotiable.