I’m listening to The Moody Blues On the Threshold of a Dream. I remember first hearing the album (yes, an album) at Hugh Mallet’s house back in high school. Earlier, I sat outside on our porch and listened to the wildlife.
I wondered about mating rituals. I studied mating rituals back when I worked in behavioral ethology. Not just wildlife, human, too.
In The Wild, mate selection is obviously about genetic drift and continuation of a species. Sometimes it’s not obvious. Observe enough, and yep, it’s there.
The same rules apply to species Homo, we mask it differently. I wonder why and how someone would choose me, for example. Many have. I’m not sure why. In my early years a lament among my male friends was along the lines of “What the hell do you have that you’re getting the women you’re getting?”
Part of the allure of any possible mate is providing the mater with a reward for their pursuit time.
It’s along the lines of “Everything in life comes with a pricetag. You have to decide if you’re willing to pay the price.”
In my case (I’m willing to bet this is it), I listened.
I listened The Moody Blues way back. I listen now. Same music. Different tune. Species Homo recognizes musical tastes as a mating behavior. Mine have been eclectic (ie, varied, not the norm, “you listen to what?”) since I sat on Hugh Mallet’s couch and Andy Lackoff picked up the album jacket, pointed at the picture of Ray Thomas, and excitingly said, “That guy looks cool, doesn’t he? I think that guy looks cool. Don’t you think that guy looks cool?”
I looked at Ray Thomas’ picture and said, “You think he looks cool because he looks like you, Andy.”
“No, he doesn’t. I don’t have a mustache.”
Not too many years later, out of high school and in to college, he did.
Not many listened.
I did, and do. Must be why people who want to be heard seek me out.
I can hear their music.
Because mating rituals, especially among species Homo, are often about finding comfort.
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