So I've finally read and watched A Streetcar Named Desire. What an odd thing to do after musing (half-asleep) on love last night. And I have to say Stanley Kowalski does not make any lists of hot men that I want to have relations with. He's up there with Heathcliff as just plain evil no matter how hot Marlon Brando was when he played him.

I've discovered that while I have extremely sketchy taste in men (sometimes even in men that are arguably not human) I don't particularly go in for the obvious abusers. A little rough-housing, a big fight or two sure--maybe even someone that can provide rough angry sex on occasion, but just plain beating me? So not hot. While reading Wuthering Heights it was the moment Heathcliff decided to hurt Hadley's child to get back at Hadley that did it for me, with Stanley it was the rape of Blanche. If Blanche were a little more into it sure, but she's not. She's crazy, and maybe she used to be a whore, but she's scared of Stanley--and not in any sort of hot, sexy way. Nope, Marlon Brando is incredibly attractive in the role, but I just can't bring myself to feel anything but revulsion for him. I take this as a good sign. Maybe I'm not as emotionally hopeless as previously imagined.

Taking a class such as I am taking this semester and reading the texts I'm reading does make for intense personal revelation, or perhaps, personal remembrance. I firmly believe I was wiser--in a naive way--at fourteen than I am now. At fourteen I knew certain things were true, but I didn't understand why they were true. I didn't understand all the contexts and complications that can muddy the waters, as it were. This meant that when things got gray, when life presented the same situation in a different light I was incapable of remembering what I already knew. I was incapable of recognizing how often different things are all the same. It has taken many, many mistakes for me to reach a place where I once again know and believe all the things I did at fourteen, but I feel I am stronger in a way I couldn't be then. I think personal discovery is important for understanding; some people are more capable of understanding and accepting things than others without it, but I don't think that demeans its importance.

And this brings me back around to love and Streetcar. Our concept of "love" is a construct--this can be proven by tracing the intellectual history of mankind. But our behaviors in love, how does one begin to ascertain what is inherent in the human condition and what is learned? Why do people stay in abusive relationships? Why do people crave "true love"? Why do strive to be monogamous and search for "the one?" How do you tell the difference between seeking personal fulfillment through "love" and having personal fulfillment and seeking companionship? It seems there must be some inherent need in the human being to seek out kindness and acceptance, but how much is inherent and how much is learned? That, I suppose, is really the question I ask.

Is it any wonder no one has snatched me up yet? I can see it now:

Him: Honey I love you.
Me: Really? Are you sure it's love or are you just feeling lonely? And what is love anyway? Do you think I'm the one? Are you realistic about the fights we will have and the lack of romance in our future? Are you prepared to love through anything and not cheat on me? Are you prepared to handle all of my vulnerabilities and be completely vulnerable with me? What socially constructed ideas about gender roles and love are you carrying? And most importantly, do you think you can stand my family?

He would then be silent and perplexed. I would probably fart, blow my nose like a foghorn, or both soon after.

So what is love?

If, after all of that--farting, nose-blowing and all--he just grabbed me and kissed me, that might be love. Hence why I keep saying "liberal barbarian." He needs to vote democrat, and shut me up with kisses when I start trying to define the theory of love.

And he could wear itty-bitty-teeny-tiny-little-leather-panties. Yeah, we'll go with that as a "working definition" of love.