The Death of the American Dream

Hello, Chicago. Today is the end of an era.

And, no, I'm not pointing to the long-awaited conclusion of the Bush Administration's second term. Depending on how you'd define it, that either occurred yesterday, or it will occur in January, when president-elect Obama is sworn in. And no, I'm not talking about the passing of famed Dino-lit mastermind Michael Crichton. And no, I'm not talking about the tragic conclusion to the man-hunt for missing Barrie teen, Brandon Crisp.

It's Meghan McCain. My arduous, now-unfruitful courtship has now, sadly, concluded.

Now, this doesn't have anything to do with the results of the U.S. Election (since which Meggers has been curiously silent... don't do anything you might regret, Megs).

As is the problem with many men in relationships, I simply wasn't listening to what Meghan was telling me. Yes, we are fellow blogging Bad Brains enthusiasts. Yes, her blog hints at a fascination with sleeping Asians (an activity that, coincidentally, I do all of the time). But how, exactly, does she describe her taste in men? Taken for an interview with GQ:

"I like bad boys for the most part,” Meghan adds. “In the past, I have liked tattooed guys who wear Converse.... I have also dated... D.C.-looking guys... Journalist, yuppie, metrosexual guys. How’s that? You’re metro.”

Hmmm. I hadn't considered the role of physical attraction in courtship, mating, child-rearing, child-launching, and death. And while the characteristics I'd define as attractive typically begin with Meghan and end with McCain, hers seems to be far more particular. Here are some Google image results for the traits deemed attractive for McCain suitors:

Bad boys;

Tattooed guys wearing Converse;

D.C looking guys;

Journalists;


Yuppies;

and Metrosexuals.

And, while I am extraordinarily good-looking, I am not Dallas Winston (or even Dallas Green), nor a member of rap-rock powerhouse Crazy Town (I was, however, the silent fourth member of Canadian pop-icons B4-4), nor Ian Mackaye, nor do I hang out with the Hell's Angels (but I do sometimes drink at their bars), nor am I an aspiring loft-owner. No comment on fellating people in bathroom stalls.

No, I am simply a boy with I dream. Or, I was a boy with a dream ("Yes, we can").

I don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. It's not me - it's Meghan McCain.