Half Hearted: Taking up Ra's Sceptre

So, now I'm an international sex machine. I'm back on the old 'horse'. I'm back to the old routine a bit older, a bit wiser, and maybe more 'over' those previous loves lost, and utterly confident about my romantic prowess, right? Ha.

Making a statement like 'I'm over them' leads me back to something I've wanted to talk about since getting a column: The 1970s live-action Batman. Specifically, the worst Non-Liberace villain: Professor William Omaha McElroy. You may know him as the dastardly King Tut!

The professor was a nice man who studied Egyptology and kept to himself until an errant blow caused him to think he was the aforementioned pharaoh. This of course spurs a reign of terror against Gotham City that can only end with another blow to the head. Then the professor always dusts himself off, squarely embarrassed by homoerotic pyjama men.

Why do I think of this? Simple. Batman is common sense (natch), King Tut is you after you've 'totally gotten over someone', and Gotham City is your emotions. To me, as soon as you make the statement you are over someone you're one errant flowerpot away from taking up Ra's sceptre and declaring your love for them again.

Folks we've got trouble. Trouble with a capitol 'T', that rhymes with 'P', which stands for 'Pathetic people can't get over the past'. If there's one thing that gets whispers and frowning faces, it's someone who pines after old crushes. And, as someone who publicly walks the internet with his pants down over former flames...well...I worry.

I mean, I'm past all the Sturm und Drang. The fights have happened and we're all friends. But what worries me is the deeper stuff...the flower pots. Because we all know the saddos aren't the ones tearing at their ponytails, they're the one's that don't realize they're still stuck on someone. So how do I know when I'm truly over someone?

Last week I got a glimmer of hope in the most obvious place: Facebook. For those who are as bored as I am, you undoubtedly have noticed Facebook security changes have allowed a free-for-all of endless checking up on friends/foes/crushes. In the cavalcade of baby and wedding photos of long gone loves I found myself feeling something: the void.

The jealousy and arousal from months and, yuck, years of googling past is gone. Instead of girls I felt anything for, they'd become grown-up female strangers. Like a valley girl, I was SO over it.

And here's how I got from weepily quoting The Incredible String Band to shrugging off the robes of King Tut: Fuck knows. I'd love if, like last week, there was an easy Clooney-esque metaphor I could pass on, but there isn't. It would seem to be a mystery involving time, space, and children passing through the genitals of a loved one to make me stop feeling things. It happened when I wasn't paying attention and isn't packaged for mass distribution.

So, I guess I'll cross my fingers and build myself a helmet of confusing metaphors and hope no sudden changes make an emotional ass out of me. Failing that, I can always just embrace my Egyptian fate and sing:

Next Time: I've got a fortnight's worth of bro-downs and political protests. Two things I am completely unfamiliar with.