A much more interesting blog than this one is under construction. It’s long, based on an idea from MMM, and it’s taking a lot of time to write. I promise it will see the light of day soon.

I’ve gotten back into the habit of reading my friends’ blogs, and I’ve done pretty well at keeping up for a month or two now. Google Reader helps me by keeping track of what I’ve read and what I’ve yet to read. This morning, the “Next” button took me to the blog of a friend I used to chat with fairly often, but with whom I’ve been somewhat out of touch.

I really have been feeling rather down for the last few days, and perhaps that’s why I took something I read on that blog rather badly. Everyone has the right and responsibility to look after those they’re close to.  This blogger feels that her sister is “slumming” because she’s involved with a man who isn’t employed, drinks more than he should, isn’t highly educated, wore a name tag on his last job, and isn’t very physically attractive. The word and the reasons hit a little close to home for me, and I reacted. Before I could apprehend myself for aggravated criminal shitheadedness, I left a whiny, knee-jerk comment objecting to the generalization which probably wasn’t even a generalization.

There is a semi-formal definition of slumming on Wikipedia, but mine is simpler. Slumming is when a person of perceived greater worth dates someone of perceived lesser worth, purely for the thrill of it.

I cannot say I’ve experienced slumming firsthand. I have never passed on the imaginary pathogen known as “slum cooties.” I have, however, been judged on such criteria as my socioeconomic status, the density of my hair, the condition of my teeth, my weight, and my job. Some people really think that these are the indicators of one’s worth as a human, as a companion, and as a life partner. Naive as I am, I still can’t believe we (as a people) not only tolerate this level of superficiality, but espouse and embrace it.

Oh, of course, we put a nice, modern, politically correct spin on it. The old bumper stickers that read, “NO FAT CHICKS” are completely unacceptable now. The sentiments are still around, though.  Ever see this photo?

Sometimes, I really don’t know what to make of this picture. Natural selection works in all sorts of strange ways.  Some women will feign attraction to a man, and even marry him, because his wealth outweighs all of the other criteria which select against him. On the other hand, sometimes a woman will be honestly, emotionally attracted to someone regardless of physical and socioeconomic deficits which select against him. Is the woman in the picture, as most people surmise, “out of his league?” Is she, in the alternative view, so shallow he may be out of her league? Wait. Could it be — horror of horrors — that the two of them actually care for each other as people, rather than as bank accounts or bodies? Could it be that they’re holding hands and being seen in public together because they love each other?

Okay, you’ve caught me. I’m an idealist. I believe that love does exist, and I believe that love is blind and deaf and financially clueless, and that it draws two people together by their hearts. I believe that a life partnership that’s not based on love first and foremost is a fraud. Many times I have seen situations that are very much like that photograph. If I even start to wonder about what they see in each other, I immediately accuse myself of the aforementioned criminal shitheadedness and remember that I know nothing about their relationship beyond what I see on the surface, and that it might well be based on exactly what it should have at its core.

My life has been punctuated by a series of failed relationships. Some ended amicably, if painfully, and some ended badly. Until my present fiancee’, though, every single one of those women wanted something other than me. They wanted a big bank account, a full head of hair, a perfect smile, an advanced degree, a slim body, bigger muscles, and more fashionable clothing and eyeglasses. What I had, what I did, and what I looked like were all much more important than who I was. I am not bitter, and I’m not angry about this. I hope all of them eventually find what they were looking for, and that they’re lucky enough to find love at the same time, with the same person.

I’m sorry, anonymous blogger. You have every right to worry about your sister. Except for the drinking and the fact that I’m not unemployed (yet?), I’m probably an awful lot like your sister’s new beau, and it was far too easy for me to swing that around and make it personal. When I remember that a lovely woman of fine lineage and good education considers me worth her while and worthy of her hand, a lot of the sting disappears.

One of my idols, George Carlin, once said that inside every cynical person there is a disappointed idealist. Nothing could possibly describe me more accurately.