I suppose I'm looking for the same thing everyone is -- genuine connection. As I once spied in another's post, I too am seeking an "open, sincere, confident, compassionate individual who has a good sense of humor. I'm looking to find the person that just clicks with me... you know, we feel good being around each other, find each other intriguing, stimulating, and find ourselves wanting to spend more and more time together..." It's less a grocery list of attributes than an attitude, I would say; skeptical not cynical, comfortable in one's own skin, occasionally sultry tho' preferably short of slutty, respectful not sanctimonious, more often than not upbeat and health-conscious, but nauseatingly-so is a total no-no.
I. myself, am a point shy of eighteen hands high which, according to one source at least, is "extremely large for a donkey, they tend to "fall apart" in conformation at this height. Commonly seen in some Draft horse breeds, Warmbloods, and a few saddle mules..." and I round out the scales at perhaps a sliver beyond my ideal fighting weight -- at fourteen-and-one-half stone. The gums are sound; any incidental rot in the molars has been staunched with silly-putty, all original cuspids still cleave to the skull -- and I am, lo, for all intents and purposes, still a healthy, youngish buck. Tho' there were years I did indulge, I now reside squarely in the non-smoking section, but I vowed never to become one of those obnoxious nazis about it. With respect to attractiveness, I generally don't feel comfortable asserting any self-assessment, since I am convinced that it's always in the eye of the beholder, and dependent on a lot of variables that travel deeper than the skin (when women are scrutinizing as much, especially,) but occasionally, I am complimented on my physical attractiveness. I always let the viewer decide by posting a few pictures and presume that an interested, intelligent responder would naturally reciprocate (hint-hint...) When that effort is not rejoined, I have learned through trial and error to presume, rather sadly, it's either a gay dude lurking behind an assumed persona, or a woman whom many (including perhaps herself) consider less than scaldingly 'hott'. Regardless, since there is relatively little that can be done about how we strike each other on the surface, and individual taste is an idiosyncratic rubric by nature, I always hope that nobody takes anything personally if there are no 'fireworks...'
Toenails yes, fingernails no; better to polish your diction than gild the petals of the lily... tho' some exceptions (like Halloween, by all means!) may apply. As far as grooming goes I have a peculiar aversion to hyper-tweezed eyebrows, but this affinity for au-naturale is kinda contradicted by delighting in other areas receiving meticulous er... attention. I am naturally drawn to women who are outgoing, at least some of the time, and courageous enough to post pictures of their form and countenance -- unabashed to coax el conquistador, what sleeps beneath the codpiece, into rapt and rigorous revelry...
I also think there is a subtle difference between being 'driven', 'ambitious' -- to 'get ahead' and 'make a name for oneself' for instance -- and being 'passionate' or 'dedicated' to a discipline or vocation. The former demands orienting religiously to the goal of (usually material) success -- with the aggrandizement of the individual and their holdings, first and foremost -- and the latter is perhaps closer to a process of discovery, which devotes more to the principle of perfecting an art, through consistent application and steadfast dedication (instead of just celebrating the creator) than to the dividends that may be garnered through such enterprise. Maybe this is what the now-practically-antiquated adage "virtue is its own reward" is really driving at...
Wow. Just read Michael Chrichton's op-ed piece in the NYT about patented genomes and it was scary to contemplate... Reminded me of the chilling interviews in "The Corporation," especially in the extended special features, with the likes of Noam Chomsky commenting on the issue; Monsanto crop engineering and Big Pharma with its hands on the reins of life itself decide if you eat, live or die. I liked the assistant editor's note yesterday about W.B. Yeats's 'Second Coming', the infamous "rough beast slouching toward Bethlehem", and our petroleum-jonesed insanity over there. With little apparent rationale, after a man argues with a relative, he decides to go berserk with his rifle in a mall in Salt Lake; attention shoppers: time to make your final selections and proceed to the 'checkout counter.' My heart breaks for these people I never knew.
Why do I obsess over such minutia? (In the grand scheme of things it sustains so little significance but, be that as it may, I am irked...) My ipod roulette coughed up an old gem the other day as I was tooling down 128: 'Soul Kitchen' from "Absolutely Live", and it brought me back to the days before I came to consider Jim Morrison just another slave to excess and narcissism (never been there, personally, but I've heard L.A. does that to you to this day.) Anyway, my adolescent imagination was definitely piqued by the Doors and a few of their more esoteric hymns still resonate -- probably for principally nostalgic reasons ('The End', 'Peace Frog', 'Soft Parade'...) And I looked up the lyrix to 'Soul Kitchen' with an aim to ascertain the chorus a little more distinctly than Jim's on-stage slurs tended to provide... Several sites had him sing-song-ing: "Let me sleep all night in your soul kitchen; warm my mind near your gentle stove, turn me out and I'll wander, Baby, stumbling in the neon groves..." But I always heard it "...warm my mind to your gentle stove, turn me out in a wonder, Baby, stumblin' in the neon rain..." Not that it makes much difference other than poetically, but it irks me just the same.
