An Open Letter to the Media

Hey, reporters....

Psssst!

Yeah, you in the tweed jacket. With the broken spell-checker. And no common sense.

As an "average" citizen of the world, I have a few pro-tips for you about what and what does not constitute "news". In other words, stop bombarding the world with headlines (that simply won't seem to drop off of my news reader's top-5 list no matter what else happens in the world), unless they are actually meaningful.

For example, the following event is never, ever, under any circumstances, worth writing an entire article about:

Some hockey mom from Alaska rides a motorcycle. 

The fact that she is not yet a declared presidential candidate makes it even less news-worthy. Don't you fucking idiots see that as long as you drool over every move she makes from now until Labor Day when she really does make an announcement that is news-worthy (sort of) you're giving her free publicity?

Ah sweet mother of shit, I just did it myself. Good thing nobody actually reads this blog...

Hello, I am Nice To Meet You.

I'm not a PUA (Pick Up Artist). But I'm not an AFC (Average Frustrated Chump, in PUA-speak) either. I'm just a dude who has been through the dating process as an adult and learned what does and what doesn't work.

I'm going to go ahead and share that with you now.

As a disclaimer, before I continue, let me just say that there aren't sexy twins waiting naked in my bed for me to finish this post so they can ravage my body. My resume is simply such that I have failed as many times as I've succeeded when it comes to meeting women and then developing some sort of relationship with them, and I've made mental notes as to what works and what doesn't. Sorry, I wish it were sexier. 

Believe me, I do. 

The truth is that what works is not a list of sure-fire panty-dropping "openers", although that does help. There are no techniques for forcing a woman to want you, but you can memorize things to do and to avoid that will help you gain the affection of the fairer sex. If you're going to memorize anything, quite frankly, it's body language science, but that will only tell you if what you're doing is working or not - it won't ensure that your date will take you home after you feed her.

You might hear "I'm just not feeling any chemistry" after a date or two. That's OK. Don't take it personally. Is it bullshit? A little.

But not really.

What this means is: "You want this to work out way more than I do". 

And women don't want that. It's too easy. It feels like desperation. Women want to feel like they are so special that they inspired you to want them, even though you had decided (for some inexplicable reason) that you weren't going to want anyone that night. 

Women want to feel as though you were impervious to their charms, until you succumbed to their charms, at which point you were a slave to their charms. Because their charms are unlike anyone else's charms. Their charms, as it were, would have brought all the boys to the yard. Except, in case you weren't paying attention, they were only trying to bring boys to the yard that they actually liked. Like you. Unless you actually liked their charms. 

In which case you don't qualify.

Unless you liked their charms only after you decided you weren't into any charms, but damn, these charms are so tasty. 

If you followed any of that, you don't have to keep reading. 

For all the men who read my blog, keep going. 

Women are people. That's rule Number One. That's it. They are just regular people that are physical configured differently than men. They eat, shit, and fart just like we do.

Ok, not fart, we corner the market on that. I mean women DO fart, but not like us. That's a unique manly trait. Women "poot". Silently. And not smelling-ly. Or so I'm told by the sexy naked twins in my bed.I just consulted them, and they wouldn't lie.

Here's the Second Rule: women already know the difference between men and women. They know we fart. They expect it from us. They just expect us to hold it in until we know them better. That's just common courtesy, as far as they are concerned (and they are right).

Here's the key to women,  the final rule, or Rule Number 3: They don't want you to want something to happen between the two of you more than they do. 

That's it. That's all I have to offer.Go ahead, read that back and digest it.

I'll wait.

This is the root meaning behind the wive's tale "Women want guys who are douches". They don't really want that, as evidenced by what they try to change about us when they get their hooks in us. Like shopping at the Container Store. (Guy Note: Apparently this is not a joke, this store really exists. Avoid. At. All. Costs).

The truth is that when a man is trying to impress a woman, he's on his best behavior. When he isn't trying, he does whatever he wants to. See Rule 2 (they're on to us). They know we fart. They know we laugh about it. They know we punch each other in the arm for no reason. They expect that ALL. If they weren't into that (or willing to put up with it), then they become lesbians.

It's normal to get the butterflies when you meet someone new. It's normal to want to impress someone so that they like you. These are all normal human interaction things we have to deal with on a day to day basis.

Where too many guys go wrong, however, is that when we go on a date we put the weight of everything in the world on the success or failure of said date. We assume that because we are on a date with this woman, well then we probably want them to be the mother of our children. We try to picture her on the porch next to us, white-haired and rocking and yelling with us at neighborhood kids to get off our lawn. And they say women are the romantics.

When a man is on a date, all he needs to remember is that the woman he is with is trying to decide if he is worth spending time with one more time.

And he needs to do the same in return.

Rule #TRUMPS ALL OTHER RULES: When you go on a date, just have some fun. Be yourself. And remember: you're trying to decide whether you want to spend another night with her, just like she is. And if the answer is "no", then that's FINE - now you won't have to get into the whole deal of returning CDs and underwear and someone's cat.

Chill out bro's. Just relax.You don't have to marry her.

If you don't dig her (even if her boobs are AWESOME, and c'mon, ALL boobs are awesome), then just call her the next day and tell her you aren't feeling the chemistry. There are about 150 million other chicks out there for you to date.

Word to Your Female Parental Unit

Ever notice how the British tend to convolute the English language even though they are the ones that created it? They seem to always say things a little bit screwily like "I've gone on holiday" or "I'm in hospital", like those little articles "an" and "the" that we brutish Americans tend to rely on so much aren't even important.

"Oh Poppycock!" I can imagine those Brits spewing, "Bloody hell man, we INVENTED the rotten language!"

See what I mean? "Bloody".

Simmer down there Bangers and Mash, nobody's getting bloody here. Let's not get hysterical, you weigh what, a buck 'oh five? Tops? And a word can't get "rotten". A tomato can get rotten. And "Tomato" isn't spelled with an "e" at the end, like "Potato" isn't.

And while we're at it, "spelled" is spelled "spelled" not "spelt".

Sheesh!

Truth is, I love me some good words. Some good use of language, even. I also love to bastardize it, like with run-on or partial sentences, sentences without subjects or action verbs, sentences with half meanings or implied context; overuse of the semi-colon and dash - taught as I was by the American Novel greats like Fitzgerald or Kerouac or even Bukowski, taught that repetition, when done well, works, and commas, when used properly, can extend meaning tenfold.

Today, however, it came to my attention that I tend to be a wee bit too wordy.

I was working on putting together the mission statement and vision for the company I am starting up with a partner, and at one point she interrupted me with laughter - as I was reading a sentence I was particularly proud of - saying: "We sound like 'blah blah blah blah'... I think we're taking ourselves too seriously..."

And she was right.

Truth is, we all have doubts about our work, whether we dabble in wordsmith or bricklaying or finger painting; we all wonder from time to time if someone else is just doing it so much better than we are that it's time to hang up the gloves and set upon something else if we're going to be successful at life.

This is human nature, and it's good. It's a reality check designed to promote and foster fairness and equity in the race towards the survival of the fittest.

As such, I've periodically read my work and subsequently gone into fits of depression and melancholy and self-loathing where I decide it's no longer worth pursuing because "nobody wants to read a book that's all narrative, and no quotes", or whatever thing it is that I am down about at the moment. Then I might happen to pick up "On The Road" or anything by Palahniuk and I think "maybe I've got a chance here, maybe I'm not so far off base..." and I pick back up where I left off.

Othertimes, however, we simply take ourselves too seriously. Like those damn Brits and their proper-speak, we can put way too much emphasis on this or that or the other thing, and lose sight of the fact that sometimes, plain English is what gets the job done.

The truth is, I can be too wordy. Sometimes it's wonderful, when it's flowery and poetic and fits, but usually I am wasting people's time by refusing to use contractions or describing something in 50 words when I could have used 5, like Ayn Rand or Tolstoy. Or (gasp) Tolkien.

It's all about time and place. Today, we finished our work on our new company's Mission and Vision statements by wording them as if we were speaking to a 10 year old. Which worked, especially because core to our company values are simplicity and keeping focused.

And what I learned, or what I've always known intuitively but need constant reminding of, is that there is a time for poetry, and a time to just say what you mean so that a kid can understand you. And ironically, sometimes it's harder to talk to a 5th grader than an adult.

Today, however, we didn't drop the articles in our sentences, like those damnable English. Those we kept. Because "a" doesn't count much towards your word count, so there's no point in pruning it...

Disclaimer: I really do love the English and am jealous of how they talk. They do tend to be skinny though, don't they?

Happy Cinco De Mayo!

How will you be enjoying Cinco De Mayo this year? I will be sitting around in the sun on a deck drinking cervesas and grilling skirt steak to put into a burrito. Not because Mexicans are lazy and unemployed and sit around in the sun drinking beer, but because I am lazy and unemployed and enjoy sitting around in the sun drinking beer.

Fiesta!

Risky Business

I'd be interested to know whether people who know me, like, REALLY know me, would consider me to be a risk-taker.

I tend to fancy myself as a generally cautious individual, albeit stricken with fits of impulse that can only seem to outsiders (especially my mother) like reckless abandon, but what are really quite calculated and measured bursts of me saying "I simply can't take it any more, so sod off!" and then running off to cower behind any number of predefined hierarchical and conditionally-dependent backup plans.

The recent event of Quitting My Job, for example, actually was prefixed by three months of careful and private deliberation, discussion, and debate before it came to fruition, and only then was it actually swung into motion because a nice fat tax refund check that I haven't previously counted on showed up at my door. To those not in the know (i.e. Mama Finley) I'm sure the actual act of Quitting My Job seemed juvenile and delinquent and irresponsible, but I assure you, the yellow-lined paper with the Reasons For had considerably more black felt ink writing than the one with the Reasons Against.

Sure, I may get a little wild from time to time and fluff my couscous with a spoon rather than a fork, or sleep with the window open, or call in sick to work when I feel fine but just don't want to get up, but generally I'm cautious and careful and think things through before I do them.

That is, except when there is exhilaration to be had.

I have jumped out of an airplane for no other reason than to fall to the ground. I've ridden a sport motorcycle on public roads in excess of 140 miles per hour wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I only wear a helmet on my Harley because Virginia says I have to.

I can't, in fact, drive 65.

But I'm not a gambler. I don't drink and drive. I've somehow survived this long without contracting a sexually communicable disease. And I managed to save more than I spent in 2010.

Incongruous, no?

I was thinking about this today because (and I will spare you the thought train that led to this particular idea) I was getting on my my bike AND thinking about jet pilots and I was thinking that people (and by "people" I mean "the bad-ass 80's movie Top Gun") say that people like fighter pilots are addicted to risk-taking, so that's why all fighter pilots ride motorcycles. In fact, to hear some people talk about risk, you'd think that any moron stupid enough to ride a motorcycle should also be a destitute alcoholic gambler, unable and uncaring enough to pay child support for the 7 illegitimate children he's fathered with 8 different baby mommas.

Never once, in my 6 years and 30,000 miles of travelling on two wheels, have I ever considered motorcycle-riding to be akin to taking a risk. Maybe that's why I do it. And love it.

That is to say, I don't consider it to be any more a calculated risk than, say, the one I take every day by getting out of bed and into the shower. Or by falling asleep at night - what if I never wake up?

Holy shit. I just looked up "death statistics" on the internet. Want to know what the leading cause of death to Americans is? Heart Disease. That's right. HEART DISEASE. Nowhere on that list is "motorcycle accident" (although number 5 is "accidents" but that could just as easily mean "stabbing yourself in the eye with a knitting needle not on purpose).

I guess that everyone has a different definition of risk. Some people would never ever ride a motorcycle because it's too dangerous.

Personally, I think it's more dangerous not to live, than not to take risks...