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 The Stalker Syndrome True Life Stories of Unhealthy Obsession
Stalking Diane Court
Lloyd Dobler was a stalker.
That's right, I said it. John Cusack's lovable godsend to women from
"Say Anything," with whom young men across the world are in constant
competition, who men, no matter how hard they try, will never be. The
perfect gentleman. Stalker.
"In your eyes, the light the heat, your eyes, I am complete,"
screams the uninvited boom box. The shot is iconic. He gave her his
heart, she gave him her pen. He showed up at her house, waited outside
and played music loud enough to piss off her criminal father.
Restraining order? Not a chance. Now she loves him. Of course,
Cusack's
handsome, charming and everything else. If it were Bobcat Goldthwait
boosting the stereo, a different resolution this film would have found.
There's a canyon-sized difference between Dobler's melodramatic
teenage romanticism and those who intend to, or are capable of, doing
violence--he was a kickboxer, though-- so I won't continue on
with the obvious. But I can goddamn guarantee if I ever showed up at a
girl's house who has already, perhaps not in so many words, told me to
get out of her life, I wouldn't be on a plane with her to
England
a
mere
rom-com montage later. I speak from experience. I just assume, after I
was seen and I sent an email apology, that her email acceptance of said
apology was just lost online, and that now, four years later,
it's
simply slipped her mind to get back to me.
The National Institute of Justice estimates that eight percent of
American females will have a stalker some time, compared to two percent
of American males. There has not been a study on the odds of
actually
becoming a stalker yourself, but by the definition of the term, they
must be astronomical, thanks to our friend, our confidant,
the
Internet.
Google. Friendster. Myspace. University web sites. Employee lists.
Work party pictures posted online. Birthday parties. Google images. You
will be found. If you have, in a absurdly dumb state of love or
lust,
given your email password to a previous lover, you should change it
today, because he's checking it right now to make sure you're not
going
out with Doug tonight.
When I was a sophomore in college, I, on more than one occasion,
returned to my dorm room from class to find a cassette taped to the
outside of my door. In the stereo it went, a lone male voice and an
acoustic guitar, "You confuse me, you confuse me, you confuse me..."
I
interrogated my neighbors. They saw nothing. After I concluded that it
wasn't a prank pulled by some prick in flip-flops, or one of the
hyena-laugh women at the other end of the floor, I kind of, sort of,
forgot about it. Until it happened again. And again. And then it
stopped.
A stalker is like a brutal summer rash. An incessant mosquito. The
dog barking at 4am, keeping you awake. There are things you can and
cannot to do, things you should watch out for.
Stalkingbehavior.com notes that often a stalker will send his/her
victim bizarre presents, two of the most common being dog teeth and
blood-soaked feathers. If at all possible, I think it's best to avoid
this sort of situation.
Dobler never sent dog teeth. Is that why he gets the girl? Surely
there's other reasons, but stopping at the boom box helped. If he
progressed, Ione Skye may have stuck her pen in his deep, brown, dreamy
left eye. Not that he wouldn't have deserved it. Fucking stalker
freak. My
mystery stalker
My
crack-whore stalker
Stalking
Jerome
My
stalker's shot
My alter
ego's stalker Also by Tom Lynch Soundcheck
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No more lies
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