Narcissim Vs Self Loathing: Mutally Exclusive or Strangely Compatible

~or~

The Disturbingly Freudian and Masturbatory Nature of Aesthetics

Somehow, I don't think I will sell many tickets with that marquee.

So after the events of today, I think it can be officially called Spaderpalooza. Gmail almost broke from the emailz wut wuz flying back and forth. I will state, again, that I don't care for Gmail's method of tracking a string of messages. I have a backup system that I check, and sure enough there were several threads I missed out on today, all offshoots of the same message. (The email heard 'round the engineering company, as it were).

Anyhoo, some things I was thinking about even before my last post came up several times in various exchanges today.

First, let me establish a few points. Please, this is not an attempt to fish for compliments or garner sympathy. These are simply the facts as I see it and not the interesting part (for me). So let's not argue about the following or anything. Really. I'm fine with this reality. Well, I mean, I accept it. Okay, moving on:

1. I do not find myself to be aesthetically pleasing in any way. I accept than I am not hideously deformed (on most days). However, the features I possess, body and face, are not features I would label as attractive or beautiful. I don't want to list all my flaws, b/c that's a door NOBODY wants to open. But I just don't like my face. The body....jeez, let's not even go there. Really. Nobody go there. Ever.

2. In a separate, but ultimately related development, I find that I am drawn consistently to people who have the opposite of what I consider my features to be.

3. In another related note, I have begun to wonder at the correlation between what I find attractive, and what I wish I had. That is, do I find something appealing because I covet it, and want to be it?

4. To round out the notes, its worth saying that I had no real concept of what I actually looked like until I was about 12 or 13. And even then I didn't realize some things for a few years. Let's just say that three way mirrors are illuminating, soul crushing things. It's also important to point out that my aesthetics were already well on their well to being fully developed--so what I find attractive is not a knee-jerk contrarian reaction to my own visage. You can't imagine my disappointment when I realized I looked nothing like what I thought (which was, of course, that I was in my own aesthetic ballpark).

Okay--so, why establish all this? Because even with this genuine distaste for my own appearance, I have been accused of crushing on people that look like me. Let me use a much funnier explanation from an email I got from a friend:

i.e. I'm afraid that I would have to totally call foul on your Spader obsession... Since he could be your twin brother!!! I swear... you and Jimmy look more closely related than you and any other member of your family that I've met. Now that I've shed some light on your vain obsession I think I've explained my own recurring Spader fantasies ;D He's hot!

Now, my pal is busting my chops here. But he was serious, too. He does know what just about everyone in my immediate family looks like. And he maintained his position under my Inquisition style interrogation. Everyone says I look just like my mom. JUST LIKE HER. (BTW, I don't. Nor do I judge her to be in the same spectrum as me. My mother is much better looking than I am or ever will be. Love ya, moo!):

Yes! I really do think that you bear more resemblance to Spader than you do to yer mum. Something about the eyes, nose, mouth, and chin area... 

WUT? IMPOSSIBLE!

And yet. . . as I peered at the pictures, the profile in particular, I could see it. Grudgingly, but it was there. At my inquiry, other folks chimed in. My favorite is this:

Son of a gun!  It's true.  You even have the crazy eyes!

Funny. But I'm on to you, mister. You just want an excuse to show that picture of me where I really do look just completely insane, round the bend, full blown lunatic with a psycho gleam in my eyes. You are still officially NOT ALLOWED to show that pic around.

In exchange, I will keep my vow of silence on the little matter of the Snuggie Elvis incident that ended in shame and misery for you.

Anyways--so how the hell does that happen, I wonders to myself. I did mention several times that he wasn't my usual type. There is the factor of being swayed by awesome talent and charisma. True story: Christian Bale is a good looking man, but his appeal for me is fueled completely by  his talent. His talent makes him attractive, and therefore I can find him aesthetically appealing. If he couldn't act, I couldn't be bothered.

So maybe Spader, and things like him, dazzle me with their talent and wit. Much like a sparkly bam-pow (that's vampire for people who don't stay up late nights being forced to watch dumb movies with me). HE SPARKLE DAZZLED ME WITH HIS CHARM AND GRACE.

Or, maybe (lookout, here comes the theory), sometimes we seek out better versions of ourselves. How do you draw the line between fascination, attraction, covetousness, envy, and desire? Can you dislike yourself but be self absorbed enough to seek out a better version of you? Drawn to what you could have been, if only the gods had been kinder?

There's lots of Evolutionary Psychology (don't ever read any it's sofuckingdepressing) texts that speak to a biological hardwired preference for similarity, for known and familiar things. (There's also a whole thing about how we're hardwired to avoid incest, but I'll be honest, I think the Evo Psy guys are reaching with these two points that seem to contradict each other. That's just squicky though. Unless they are at least your second cousin. Then it's okay. In certain parts of my family. I'm just saying. . . )

Whatever the case, it doesn't change the fact that Jimmy Spader is smoking hot and intensely lovely. I have Secretary on the DVR and Supernova on order, and Stick Up came in the mail today. Just lucky, I guess.

All of which means that some people *cough craigyferg cough* are safe. For now.

But be wary. Tick tock, Ferguson. Your time draws nigh. I know where you work. Sort of. You're within my reach, if I can make it through traffic. Enjoy your freedom while you can. I will hold onto my sanity and my desire to stay out jail for as long as I can, and leave you be.

But a reckoning surely cometh.

 I should probably take this time to mention, per my attorney's constant nagging advice, that this entire blog is completely fictional. There is no truth to it whatsoever. I am not a danger to society or any of these people I would appear to be stalking. In fact, I'M NOT EVEN A REAL PERSON.

And as long as I'm being lascivious, oversharing, and all that stuff, I offer you examples of people I find extremely amazingly incredibly stupefyingly beautiful and dead sexy who look nothing like me at all. Not a whit. And bless them for it.