My Bucket Of Parts: Modern romance losing luster

"I'd rather share one lifetime with you, than share all the ages of this life alone."

Isn't that poetic? I see it now; the moonlight trickles and exposes two shadows like the negative of a film. The man caresses the skin of his maiden with rough hands that tickle her palpable skin as her ocean-deep eyes tell him - ugh, never mind.

It's all bull-honkey, isn't it? Who on Earth actually speaks in steamy tongues of romance? A young couple never settles their passion under a looming tree with the backdrop of a burning horizon like Scarlet O'Hara and Rhett Butler in "Gone With the Wind." Instead of sweeping landscapes and devotion set under the orange sun, romance these days is exchanged with too much cologne, acid-alcohol breath and the headache throb of strobe lights.

"Nice shoes, wanna fff - um - have a fling?" the man asks, holding his Coors Light.

"I do love this song," coos the woman, tossing back her fake hair, burnt to a crisp, as she wobbles toward the dance floor. The new love song today? "A Moment Like This" from American Idol, doesn't that say anything about romance today?

Watered down, cliche and it sounds like every Mariah Dion, Celine Houston or Whitney Carey song ever produced. And it's already over-played, just like the videotapes of our favorite movies.

"Pretty Woman" and "An Officer and a Gentleman" and "A Walk in the Clouds" and any other date movie new or old, trashy or timeless, will always mock the passion that exudes between two Homosapiens. All those movies are lies. The only romances I hear these days are from friends complaining about their roommates. You know, music with heavy bass, gross smells, thin walls, etc.

Isn't that dreamy?

"They played that song again. They were going at it last night," my friends tell me.

Yes, "romance" has sunk low to the new slang of "going at it." Throw back a couple of drinks; throw a trash bag over your mate's head and - ta-da - we have romance.

"Well there was a rose on the bed," says the man. And with the help of books like, "101 Recipes for Romantic Ideas," by S. L. Slate, there will be a rose on every bed, champagne in every glass and yada-yada-yada.

I complain because I am a romantic. I enjoy wining and dining in candlelight, relaxing on a blanket by a lake watching birds make fools of themselves and surprising my girlfriend with trinkets that mean nothing, but remind her that I still think she's gorgeous - or is it "hot"?

I am a people watcher. I eavesdrop on other people's conversations. I listen intently to stories told to me by friends. I watch those romantic movies, but I steer clear from those gaudy "self helps" that discuss strawberries, satin sheets and handcuffs in "Love Strategy 52."

People don't tell stories about how "romance" is involved in their lives anymore. Is it deteriorating? Is making out on a blanket surrounded by geese and bird poop next to Duck Pond what we've come too?

It might be a good time to start talking to our grandparents. They are excellent sources of swooning.

During college, relationships are all the craze - whether they're bad ones, good ones, one-night stands, long ones, short ones, one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish - it's the reason so many students complain, cry, breathe and continue on.

So, fog up those windows, wrap a blanket around you in front of a bon fire, or cook a random dinner together. And if you feel that you don't have any originality whatsoever, give me a ring. I'm not studying to be a sex therapist, but I did take Psychology 100.