Rod Filbrandt
Dear Uptight Seattleite,
Asian pears—aren't they good? They're so reliably crisp and earthy. They taste like autumn itself to me.
What a Pear
Dear What a Pear,
First, the proper Japanese term is nashi. "Asian pear" implies that Asia is a single cultural monolith. Second, I'm concerned that when you say they're "reliable," you're subconsciously projecting the tired old stereotype that Japanese cars are reliable. Be a little more careful in how you label things. Why not take a break from labeling altogether? The next time you bite into a nashi, instead of mentioning the oppressively schematic name of this fruit, say, "This is delicious!" or simply, "This!" If you're ready for a more advanced lesson, try spending a day or two in a completely post-verbal realm. Let the power of your universal human smile do your talking. If you must vocalize, improvise with a series of grunts and clicks. Not to disparage those languages that actually are a series of grunts and clicks. Or to exempt them, either. I'm language-neutral when it comes to calling out violators. As one of my recent sandwich boards put it: End Unmindful Grunting!
Dear Uptight Seattleite,
My girlfriend always wants to have sex with the lights on, completely sober, with us staring into each other's eyes. Is this normal?
Heaven's Too Straight
Dear Heaven's Too Straight,
Quick reminder: When it comes to sex, it's pre-enlightened to call anything "normal" or "not normal." Having said that, I will answer your question with a question: Why are you asking this question? My guess is your discomfort is caused by the restriction being placed on your sexual freedom of thought. Because for some reason, it seems like your girlfriend wants you to be thinking of her while you're doing it.
True, it's generally healthier for a man to follow a woman's example in taking intercourse as an opportunity to tenderly contemplate the confluence of dual life forces, with visions of waves, moonlight, and yin-yang symbols floating in the mist. Those of us paying attention know that only a truly gynocentric worldview can save the planet at this point. But that doesn't mean a man enjoying relations with his partner can't also occasionally imagine (to mention a few completely random examples) his third-grade teacher, a wheelchair-bound lesbian, or a policewoman. Any policewoman at all, really, so long as she's in uniform.
To get her to turn out the light and otherwise turn things around, tell her that you want to feel her on a deeper level. That your souls can take flight as one only if you can move beyond the mundane specifics of each other's faces. (Save for another day your case for handcuffs as the paradoxical symbol of spiritual freedom.)
Dear Uptight Seattleite,
I recently got a number of precancerous lesions removed from my skin. When I went home and my wife saw how many little bandages I had on my face and arms, she said, "Whoa, someone went hog wild!" as if I'd had them all removed for fun. What the heck?
Gothic Hobo Joe
Dear Gothic Hobo Joe,
Pardon me for asking this, but this information is crucial to my answer: Are you sort of a pain in the ass to her sometimes? I'm no expert, but as best I've been able to observe, any marriage is full of subtextual attacks and counterattacks that occur in a pattern comprehensible only to the couple themselves. Outsiders will have no idea what invisibly simmering feud compels one member of a couple at a dinner party to sneer to the other, "That couldn't have been the Spain trip, honey. Tyler hadn't even started kindergarten then." Having not yet found the person who completes me, I sometimes fantasize about my friends' wives. But not in the way you think. I imagine what it would be like to be emotionally eviscerated in public by these women. At those moments, the gray skies of my singlehood seem suddenly clearer.
But at other times, such as when I'm recumbently cycling home alone after those dinner parties, I imagine how I might respond differently if I were in the husband's place. I like to think I'd good-naturedly admire the skill of my wife's attack and offer with mock solemnity my flag of surrender as if it were the gift of new courtship. I don't claim, Gothic Hobo Joe, that your wife deserves such a lavish gift. But perhaps you could instead think of it as a gift to your marriage itself.
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