Dispatches from Another Planet

So, according to a scientific study mentioned on my favorite blog, men act less intelligently around blondes. This is yawn yawn yawn, and reminds me of the time a bunch of "researchers" (ie, the cast of Superbad) came out with the findings that women prefer to have sex with men who have large muscles.

Whatever that means for the human race. Perhaps our children - and I say "our" in the loosest sense possible since my genes obviously won't make it - will all be platinum-tressed bodybuilders. Or, the world according to Sweden.

The interesting part of this study comes in the comments, where one reader reveals that as a social science experiment she once dyed her hair blonde and strapped on a pair of massive fake tits in order to go a party. Her "new look" flabbergasted her male friends (probably would've done the same thing to me, honestly). Apparently,

"Some of the guys I knew seemed to be convincing themselves they had somehow simply managed to forget until now that I had double G breasts. That is, after I got them to look at my face and see it was me. Others saw it was me and relaxed, but I think those guys got laid more often."

Ah. So that's how you cure your boyfriend of ogling other women on the street.

The experimenter's ultimate conclusion is that "Women with tits and blonde hair walk on a very different planet."

This may be true, but - and I'm trying my damnedest to be fair about this - is it a planet populated by people they really want to meet? Back when I was a barista, I worked at a Cafe with some incredibly gorgeous women. Incredibly. One, in particular, was so beautiful that it hurt my eyes to look at her.

She was always fending off men's advances, but the sort of men that no sane woman would ever want hitting on her. Not just horny UPS guys, taxicab drivers, bartenders, waiters, etc, but bosses and co-workers and 5o-year-old divorcees with three children and six ex-wives. Arab sheikhs, professional athletes, you get my drift. Once in a while, I was jealous of the fact that she could blink her eyes and some other guy would pop up to take the place of the last one. But most of the time, I realized what an incredibly mixed blessing it was.

Even if I were so lovely, I would not be more happy, or more loved. I know this beyond a shadow of a doubt. Not because I am so happy now, or so loved, but because people are themselves. It's just a fundamental truth. There are no guarantees.

After the Lives of Others

So the final scene in "The Lives of Others" (a beautiful movie one should never watch alone) takes place around 1993, four years after the Berlin Wall came down and three years after German reunification finished.

It's a picture of an interesting moment in history: the complicated one in which Communism for once and for all became a thing of the past. (With the notable exception of China, which grows less communist with every passing year.) But I think it also marks another moment in history.

1993 was four years before "My Best Friend's Wedding," the movie that planted Julia Roberts in the American consciousness. Roberts was the first big movie star of my time. She was the first person whose intrigues and affairs were noteworthy enough to warrant around-the-clock paparazzi attention.

It was four years before said paparazzi allegedly chased Princess Diana to her death.

It was five years before Google, six years before Blogger, and twelve years before YouTube.

In the final scene of "The Lives of Others," a prominent East German author discovers, while researching his own files in the newly-opened state archives, that a sympathetic Stasi officer monitored his house in the years before the Wall fell. Because of the officer's subtle interventions, no one ever learned of the author's subversive activities.

When he realizes that he owes his life and livelihood to a man he has never seen, the author chases down the former Stasi officer, who is now a mailman. But at the last minute, the author can't bring himself to jump out of the car and ask, "why did you do this for me?" As the audience, we never know it either. Instead, the author dedicates his next book to the officer by his Stasi code name, and the officer sees it, and feels thanked.

To someone who hasn't seen the film, my next point might not make sense. But I also think "The Lives of Others" marks one of the last times when the inevitable conclusion to this story would not have been that Oprah read the book and made it part of her book circle, leading Good Morning America to exile its harem of overworked, unpaid interns to the vast Stasi archive, where one of them uncovered the officer's real identity, which led producers to broadcast a special segment on him, therefore ending his anonymity. The public's appetite for the story meant both the author and the officer got booked as special guests on a marathon episode of 60 Minutes that was later excerpted onto YouTube and in which the two bantered back-and-forth about why they did it, how they did it, and whether anyone currently running in the presidential election would have done it. The officer got a multi-million dollar advance for his tell-all novel "Behind Closed Doors: My Life as a Police Subversive" and gained recognition as a blogger and motivational speaker who raked in speakers' fees only a notch below Bill Clinton's.

In other words: the last moment in which the lives of others could still be secret, mysterious and inexplicable.

"I Know It When I See It"

Am I the only person confused by the Tom Ford ads that caused the big pornography stir recently? (Click "enter" at the screen that says "Sexually Explicit Images." And don't pretend this is your first time.)

People say that Ford's ads ripped off YSL's M7 ads. My first thought when I saw the YSL ad was, wow, that must be from the European editions.

After watching Ford's photo montage a few too many times, I've decided it needs a marketing blurb to run beneath, because otherwise it makes no sense. In honor of the fact that the original ad is a form of theft, I've ripped off other, more talented copywriters to humbly suggest these one-liners from the past :

Option 1. Tom Ford for Men. Good to the last drop.

Option 2. Tom Ford. It's everywhere you want to be.

Option 3. It takes a tough man to wear a tender fragrance.

Option 4. Does she...or doesn't she? (In reference to my outstanding question: does that woman actually have sexual organs?)

It is interesting - although not really worthy of note - that when the Ford ads came out, some people were very concerned that they were derogatory towards women. But no matter how many scent-mongers Photoshop perfume bottles over naked men, no one will ever ask the same question. Why is that? Do men have rights? Do I care?

Dangerous keys

The Internet is a great place. It's where I spend most of my time.

So it's no surprise that I found the Shakespeare Quote Generator. In an effort to put off my upcoming exams (and to celebrate the fact that I miraculously solved a price discrimination problem involving not one, not two, but multiple derivatives) I decided to spend some time fiddling with the Bard.

The gist is this: the page substitutes your word or phrase into classical Shakespeare. Here, my attempts to apply a long-dead writer to the vexing issues of the day. (Or, a random mashup of news headlines and iambic pentameter.)

Which yields:"

"Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever. One foot in Craig's bathroom stall and one on shore, to one thing constant never."

"How now, you secret, black and midnight Osama in Waziristan!"

"How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have thankless Iranian nukes!"

"Blow, blow, thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind as a Cowboys Super Bowl bid."

"Falling US Dollar, Falling US Dollar! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say falling US dollar till it be morrow."

"To be or not to be: that is Senator Vitter's small penis."

I can't really end on a more positive note than that.