Brain Dump (with More Anwar!)

Yesterday I came down with the stomach bug. Today, feeling a little better, I decided to take advantage of the quiet in Russ' absence by writing a little in my blog. I can browse the want ad's while he's cranking the stereo, but writing is best done when it's quiet.

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Remembering Anwar has its up-side. He really did help me lay in a store of memories, for which I am thankful. I remember his stature, his fair skin, dark hair, red lips. I remember his little teeth and childlike smile. I remember his intelligent speech unencumbered with intellectual narcissism. I remember how open, honest, respectful and affectionate he was...

We used to watch videos together, like Grease, Saturday Night Fever and Luceille Ball videos from her show in the '70's. We'd open up YouTube and show each other things we had enjoyed in the past. What a great way to share our respective cultures with one another.

We tried to share religion that way, too; but the Islamic apologist, Deedat, on YouTube did not impress me with his scholarship or his rhetoric. The Christian apologist (whose name I forgot, but he wrote "The Case for Christ,") by contrast, really had it together. I find Ahmed to be a much better representative of Islam than Deedat.

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Chalk one up for women. Women are so adaptable. They know that when they find a man they will be, to some extent, living his life, the life he chose. There was something so proper, natural and elegant about that but I've forgotten what it was. It hit me one day while I was getting something out of a kitchen drawer. Let me go see if the memory is still in the drawer... [be right back.] OK, the only thing I found in the drawer was this: that in general a man is or can be attracted to many women, while women are emotionally very selective of men. When a woman finds someone who meets all her emotional requirements it doesn't make much sense to let a little thing like lifestyle get in the way. Who's the boss? Where will we live? What will we do for a living? I don't care -- draw straws -- as long as I get this man and no other. (I think this is the reaction Moliere's titular Misanthrope was going for in the final scene!) And yet, if women don't also get this from men, I suppose they have to doubt whether they are really loved.