Fascination with modern crime shows

For the past several days the two hottest things on my twitter feed have revolved around Miley Cyrus at the VMAs and Breaking Bad. Since I could not possibly care any less than I already do about Miley, let's talk for a minute about the second thing. And hell, why don't we throw in a few others as well.

Let's talk about Breaking Bad, Dexter, and White Collar (since these are the ones that I happen to watch). Not too many people watch the last, so the primary focus will be on Breaking Bad and Dexter, but I happen to enjoy the witty banter between the two main characters in the USA show so I feel like mentioning it.

Breaking Bad is, according to wikipedia, "the story of Walter White, a struggling high school chemistry teacher who is diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer at the beginning of the series. He turns to a life of crime, producing and selling methamphetamine with a former student, Jesse Pinkman. Walter's primary goal, when he begins manufacturing the methamphetamine, is securing his family's financial future before he dies."

Dexter, with the same source, "centers on Dexter Morgan, a blood spatter pattern analyst for a fictional Miami Metro Police Department who also leads a secret life as a serial killer."

White collar, similarly, is about a conman that agrees to work with the FBI catching criminals to get out of prison.

These are shows about crime, specifically criminals. They differ considerably from shows like Criminal Minds or CSI or NCIS, solely because the criminals are the main characters.

But they're great because we root for the bad guy. 

People want Walter and Jesse to get away, even though we know they'll probably end up in jail or prison. We want Dexter to escape to some country that doesn't extradite to the United States, even though he will also probably end up in prison. 

What this goes to prove is that perception plays more of a role in life than we intend to let on. These shows, with main views on the lives of these criminals, show just that. The daily life of an average human being, with a little bit added on.

People are fascinated with the concept of breaking the law, but, in a sense, are much too afraid to do so themselves. Watching someone else break the law is amusing and not at all dangerous. There's no chance you can go to prison for sitting on your couch watching Walter White make meth or crossing your fingers in hopes that Dexter won't get caught by the same people he works with. Unless you're pirating everything, of course. 

But we're fascinated by murder weapons and motives and why people do the things that they do, if only because we're explicitly told, throughout our lives, not to do them. Mother tells us not to do drugs, the law tells us we aren't allowed to kill people.

Yet there's a desire somewhere deep down to engage in things like this, the forbidden fruit. It's been human nature since the written times of the bible with Adam and Eve.

Wanting to break the law is in our nature, yet we value our lives too much to do it ourselves. Thus we turn to watching the shows from the safety and comfort of our own homes.

So sad and slow?

"We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - we find it with another."

Writer Thomas Merton gets the attribution for that quote right there.

Not counting celebrities and men that I just like to stare at, I've been seriously attracted to probably about six people in the nineteen years that I've been around, give or take one or so. Considering how many men I've been around over the years and how many people are around on campus, how is that possible? How can I see people walking around and not just be instantly attracted to them?

Let's just say you go to a car lot to look for a new car. You see some pretty nice vehicles that you would consider buying, but you don't just go over to a car and immediately say "This is the one that I want for the next five years of my life."

No. You get in the car, you inspect the interior, you get to know the car's history and the mechanics or the vehicle. You give it a test drive and you weigh your options, and only then do you agree to buy the car.

This is how I look at men. Sure, I can look at men just as often I look at the Aston Martin website, but that doesn't mean I'm signing my life away immediately. Looking is nice, but learning is even nicer.

Of the six +/- men that I found myself attracted to, they all have one thing in common.

No, they don't all look alike or have the same personality. In fact, as a writer, I can give you chapters and chapters of how each man is different from his predecessor and how each could sink a ship in his own way. That's what I do.

Every single one of them, however, had the same beginning. We were friends. I got to know the mechanics and the interiors before I fell for the car.

People might consider that a high standard.

I consider it a good bit of skepticism before I invest time in something.

People are always talking about how time is valuable, about how life is short, but if life is so short, why would you waste time on something you know for sure won't pan out? Why would you spend time with someone you don't value to his/her fullest? Or someone that doesn't value you?

Why would you buy a car without looking into it, only to have it break down and get a flat tire, to abandon it on the side of the freeway a month later?

Apparently I couldn't possibly like men?

Today I went to get my oil changed at my dad's work. So instead of spending laborious hours doing it myself at home (Oh my god, wait she knows how to do basic car repairs what the fuck??) I went to visit my dad and get my brakes checked out because I'm one of those people that knows what their car is supposed to sound like and knows when something is off, so to speak.

Of course, my dad had already left, but I needed the oil change and brake check-up anyway. Plus why waste a thirty minute drive down Telegraph (Any and all metro-Detroiters know that road is the devil)?

So I pulled in and got out of my car, like always. Generally I wander around and talk to my dad or harass his coworkers that I've known for like ten years, but I wasn't feeling up to it today.

Today there were roofers working on the house behind my dad's small building. They were shirtless and they were, for want of better words, fine as hell. You know exactly what I'm talking about -- that sun kissed tan that you only get from spending hours outside working your ass off instead of laying on the beach. There's a difference, you can tell.

Now this isn't a blog about my sexual objectification of men, though that is in fact what I was doing, just as many men look at women the same way.

I was admiring these men for their chiseled abs and gorgeous skin, I'm not denying it.

I made a casual remark that maybe I should temporarily get a job there for the next few days, camp out in the back parking lot, get a little greased up from some minor car work. And then I told one of my dad's coworkers to move, they were blocking my view.

To which point he replied "I didn't even know you could be attracted to men."

Woah, woah. Wait.

Back up a few steps before I shove you into the oil change pit. What did you just say to me? I can't be attracted to men?

Since when?

A while ago I wrote a blog about how people that don't date continuously (Or ever, really) aren't taken seriously. About how supposedly, because of my lack of dating for almost twenty years, I couldn't possibly be attracted to someone, let alone someone of the opposite sex -- because apparently short hair is indicative of being a lesbian.

Get down off of your married-sexless high horse for a minute sir and recant your statement before you canter off into the sunset, barely hanging onto your saddle horn.

Women, just like men, can admire something for it's beauty. They can watch porn. They can masturbate. They don't have to date to be attracted to someone of the opposite sex.

Please stop looking at women as though they're sexless in their own minds, but sexual objects for you to enjoy.

Please.

Before I need to write another angry blog.

Or kick you.

Strangers

Do you know what it is
to be a stranger in your own home?

To come to visit
instead of live.
To reach for a cup
and find the plates.
To realize, one day,
that your key no longer fits?

Do you know what it is
to be a stranger to your family?

For your mother to tell you lies
about her whereabouts,
like a teenage daughter.
For your father to warn you about traffic
implying you shouldn't come to visit.
For you to realize, one day,
your "i love you" text messages
are actually a template in your phone.

Do you know what it is
to be a stranger to yourself?

To not know what to do
when the future is right around the corner.
To no longer know what you want in life
or if you want life at all.
To understand stranger danger
as not being directed at others,
but to be afraid of no longer knowing yourself.

How to forget someone.

Hold back your tears. Do not let them make you cry. Cry only for yourself and only when no one can see you.

Walk out. Leave everything behind and walk out.

Sit in the cold. Let the numbness take over your body. Listen to the wind as you lose the feeling in your toes, feel the bones in your body move as you shiver, breathe out, only to watch your breath in the night air.

Breathe in and hold your breath. Count to ten.

Watch your breath escape again. Envy it. Know that you want to escape.

Lean back, stare at the stars. Know that they're dead. Wonder how long ago they died, if they're remembered. Wonder if one day you will be a star.

Tell everyone that you are fine. Stand up, walk around, let them poke you and hug you -- Demonstrate that you still have feeling in your body, even if you feel nothing inside, if you want to feel nothing.

Smile and thank them before you sit back down. Don't let your voice crack, it would give you away, the out of tune heart string falling off of the old guitar in the back of your closet.

Let the dust accumulate on your thoughts. Think of nothing, think of the cold, think of the person you want to forget.

Tell yourself they are foolish, that they are stupid. Tell yourself that maybe they aren't so bad, aren't so stupid. Hope that they suffer and then tell yourself that you want them to be happy, even if you are miserable.

Whisper that you want them to be as cold as you are, frigid, but warm enough to survive in the world.

Hate yourself for days, weeks. Eat a lot, drink a lot.

Avoid eye contact with everyone.

Hold back your frustration and your hatred and your guilt until you get home, until you crawl into the warm shower and into bed. Pull the covers around yourself, disappear in them, long for a time of happiness.

Define happiness as waking up and realizing that your dreams could never be better than reality, and realize that you don't actually know what happiness is.

Dream of someone else. Replace them, even if it's with someone you never see. Replace them in your heart and let them fade slowly from the rest of your body, like the numbness and cold slipped away under your covers.