Project PANDORA
What free time I had in the middle of the day today I spent sitting at a table in the student union, doing my part for a two-bit fundraiser, selling little bags of candy for $1, little plastic bags festooned with hearts for Valentine's Day. For a spell I was joined by a distaff acquaintance (to whom I shall assign the code name "The Bombshell"), a gorgeous friend of Ska Army's with whom he was quite smitten last Fall. We talked of protocol, as she wondered whether when the time comes to dump her boyflesh she should return to him an expensive bow he gifted her. The Bombshell's idea was to keep the bow, but pay him its pecuniary cost. I argued that she ought to retain the bow, that it had been a gift & if he had given such as expensive gift to a girl who would lose interest in him scant months later—because she has lost interest, she just hasn't decided when to break up with him—, well, c'set la guerre. What has this to do with Project PANDORA? Am I infatuated with The Bombshell? No, I am not. She is, as aforementioned, gorgeous, & the vilest part of my mind would love to treat her body as an amusement park, but that's as far as it goes. No, the PANDORA bit as that the fellow with whom I was manning the fundraising table wondered how I did it, how I talked so effortlessly with comely lasses. Then began a quiet but exceedingly bizarre chapter of the PANDORA saga, as I—hapless, terminally single I—attempted to disabuse the poor fellow of the mistaken, risible notion that I have any "game," much less game worth emulating, while simultaneously trying to convince him that he probably has more game than he thinks he does, if only he could, like the Cowardly Lion, find his courage. The poor lad's a twig now, but not so long ago he was a fat buddy & he still has a fat buddy's lack of self-assurance. How did I do it? How did I get past the fear & self-doubt? I struggled to explain that I hadn't conquered those demons, not entirely, I'd just made the staggeringly simple discovery that rejection wasn't nearly so awful as I'd feared, certainly far less awful than the loneliness that was the natural consequence of a paralyzing fear of rejection. No Casanova am I, treasured readers, as you know only too well, but the chap had gotten it into his head, merely from the breezy way in which I chatted & flirted with The Bombshell, that I must know what I'm doing. I'm not comfortable playing Ben Kenobi to his lovelorn Luke Skywalker, but the poor sap was asking for my help; what else could I do but help to the best of my meager ability? Coming to me for guidance on how to woo a girl must mean you've hit rock bottom. The good news about hitting rock bottom? There's nowhere to go but up.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
William Shatner (& Brad Paisley), "Real" from Has Been (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "Closing Time" by Semisonic was mentioned by The Bombshell in the portion of our conversation that concerned one-hit wonders, but the parallels betwixt "Real" & my surreal turn as a relationship coach could be neither denied nor ignored.

"I have saved the world in the movies,
So, naturally, there's folks who think I must know what to do.
But just because you've seen me on your T.V.
Doesn't mean I'm any more enlightened than you…

I'd love to help the world in all its problems,
But I'm an entertainer, and that's all.
So, the next time there's an asteroid or a natural disaster
I'm flattered that you thought of me, but I'm not the guy to call."

I'm not the guy to call. Really.