Every so often, I remind myself of Live Journal. I’ve told myself that this is to be my journal. My epitath to the world. The thing I can revisit, and see where I was at that time, etc. etc. etc.
I wish I had the time to join lots of communities, and post my opinions about how bad the Constantine movie is going to suck. Or what my opinion about the Steriod scandal in baseball…
It’d be fun. I’d enjoy it. And maybe I should. Maybe I should spend my evenings instead of hanging out with my wife on the couch watching 24 or some home decorating show. There is an appeal.
Back in college, I would have loved this. God, I would have posted every singe f-ing day. I wouldn’t even have been concerned with whether the ‘girls’ posting models shots of their naked breasts were really girls or actually guys. I would have just enjoyed the community. I would have enjoyed spouting off about the current state of X-Men, professional wrestling, the death of the american comedy scene since the death of Bill Hicks and the like.
Quick side story. Most of my favorite college memories come from a play I did in my last year of college. It was one of those situations where everything fell right for me. And it never does that. Things had been going well, in general for me that year. So I was able to get the lead in the play, Inherit the Wind. I also got to co-star (or act with or what have you) with a very dear friend of mine, Anja. Anja was really really pretty. I honestly wasn’t that interested in her. Not that I would have refused it if it was offered to me. She was a nice girl, a sweet girl. Generally didn’t seem interested in me. And I didn’t feel the need to push it, in order to have the fact proven to me. I liked her. I liked looking at her. I left it at that, best of both worlds.
Anyway, this isn’t really about her. We started to get towards the show dates, with costumes and makeup and the whole works. And it became apparent that there was only one dressing room for the entire cast. Guys and girls, one dressing room.
Now, of course, no one HAD to change in the dressing room. There wasn’t any pressure to do so. There wasn’t any need to do so. And to a degree, I assumed with the general modesty of most girls, they would choose to change in the women’s bathroom right outside. And that most of the guys, wouldn’t care.
I mean we really know that guys are not instilled with any sense of modesty whatsoever. The fattest shmoe. The guy who honestly is really small in the genital area. The guy with a really hairy back. All of them will get naked, for pretty much no reason at all. Usually it has to involve one of the following: alcohol, a dare, female interest (this is hetero guys), convenience, or a combination. If I have to change my clothes, including changing my underwear, in the middle of a parking lot, and the decision to do so is reasonable and would be accepted by most people, I’d do it.
And I’m not turning heads in a mall.
Well, the truth is that the girls in the cast, almost all of which were at least kindof cute, were willing to change in the dressing room. Obviously just down to bra and panties. Wasn’t quite that bohemian. And these werent’ girls looking to show off. Some were freshmen, some were shy, some were outgoing and had the rack to show off. But it was just cool.
I had a lot of makeup to put on, so I was always there early. And I would be delightfully torn. The intellectual side of me would just be. “Wow, isn’t this so cool. We are so adult. The situation is that there’s only one dressing room. And we as mature adults are able to change in here, and it’s not a problem. So cool. No one’s making a big deal about it. No guys are cracking jokes about it or drooling or trying for something else.” It honestly gave and gives me a warm feeling to this day, just simply the feeling of maturity and community that I felt.
And of course the other half of my brain was like. “WOW. Look at all the girls in the undies. I’m gonna be enjoying this memory for years to come. Cute little boobs. Big ones. All the colors of the rainbow in underwear (that’s actually not true, my memory is that practically everyone wore white or ivory, but…..)
And I can look back at both memories and not be ashamed. It’s cool. If you deny the sexual and naughtiness of the situation, you lose something. But if you don’t realize that it was still cool, and a nice community feeling at the same time, you lose something as well.
I really don’t know why I’m telling this story today. Sorta just came up and I ran with it. But what have you.
Anyway, I’ve woken up from my stream of consciousness mode. A shame. A reminder that I should be doing some work.
C’est la vie.
And love to all in that dressing room, wherever you are.