Let’s be honest with ourselves for just a minute, everybody lies. Everyone. You, me, your parents, your minister, and your government officials; they all lie. Lying has become so ingrained in the human conscious that cheating on your taxes, SATs, and family board games has become perfectly acceptable in society. Hey, if nobody notices and you get away with it, it’s not technically lying.
So why do I bring this up? Well, it’s due to the issues I’ve been having lately with women. Yes, it always comes back to women. Now, I’ve always been told that women want me to be honest with them. And this I believed to be true. But as it turns out, as with most of your preconceptions with women, this is completely false. Women prefer being lied to. It’s true, they don’t want honesty. Case in point:
The other day I was talking with some of the girls I know in my never ending quest to discover what actually takes place in the female mind. The talk turned towards relationships, and being that I’m a single guy, the girls thought there was something wrong with me that they needed to fix by finding me a girlfriend. Girls are just crazy like that. So they asked me what I was looking for in a woman. I though about it for a few moments and replied that it would be nice to have a girl that was into threesomes.
Now I didn’t know that there was a wrong answer to a question based solely on opinion, but apparently that was the wrong answer. Now I know what you’re thinking, you think I’m some sort of perverted pig. Well, I won’t argue with you there. But I do want to point out what should be relatively obvious: I’m single, I’m not looking for a serious relationship, and by saying I’m looking for a girl who’s into threesomes, I’m merely looking for a fairly laid back relationship that’s more about enjoying the here and now rather than planning for the future.
Even with those observably palpable facts, I still said the wrong thing. Even if it was the truth, it was wrong. The girls I was talking were clearly upset. After some time thinking it over, I really do believe that they wanted me to lie to them. They would have preferred an affable falsehood wrapped up in a bowtie of white lies. I should have said something along the lines of: I’m looking for a girl who is not only attractive, but intelligent and witty, and has a wonderful personality that really completes me.
Honestly, I have no idea what the hell that means, but it seems like the sort of thing girls go for. What does “she completes me” even mean? Well, if I had lots of money I’d feel pretty complete. Maybe that means I should date a rich woman. But I can’t say that, because it’s the truth. I would need a much more innocent sounding lie. So how about… I really don’t care how much money a girl has, it’s what’s inside that counts the most. (WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…HAHAHAHAHA. Wow, I bet you actually believed that for a moment, didn’t you? Wow.)
Why is it that women prefer lies to the actual, factual truth? Looking back on things I realize that every time I have ever been up front and honest with a woman, I have pissed her off. But then when I lie to them and tell them what I think they want to hear, they end up feeling really good about themselves. Now if I were a simpler animal, one that only responds to the rewards and punishments given to him, I would lie my ass off every chance I got. Luckily, I’m a rational being capable of much more complex and philosophical thought. And all the writings of Sophocles and Plato and Voltaire lead me to one conclusion: Women are batty.
After long nights of introspection and deep cerebral thought, I think I may have solved the conundrum. Women don’t necessarily want to be lied to; they just want the physical reality to shift to a point where it lines up with their ideal world. This means that women want you to be thoughtful and dependable and caring (and let’s be honest, those aren’t exactly your strong suits). They want you to enjoy the chick flick they dragged you out to since it would indicate that you were in touch with your feelings. So next time you are forced to see one of those less-than-Schwarzenegger movies be prepared to tell her afterwards that you thought the movie was deep and that you felt a real emotional connection with the characters. That’s a good lie to use. Don’t tell her the truth; that the movie needed more explosions and lesbian scenes. That’s just asking for trouble.
I think it’s about time we started giving women what they want. The females in this country have had to endure a lot. They have to fight constant sexism at work to get paid 80% of what their male counterparts do, only to come home to a husband/boyfriend who doesn’t always appreciate them. So it is time we did something nice for our women. As I’ve so logically pointed out, women really and truly want to be lied to. So we all need to make a concerted effort to lie to the women in our lives. Tell as many fibs and untruths as you can. Your woman will thank you for it.
I’m sure all you women out there are reading this and are positively upset. You think you want the truth, but that is untrue. Just remember that your words are cheap. It doesn’t matter if you say you want honestly and forthrightness. Guys are more motivated more by your actions than by your words. When you punish a man for being honest and reward him for lying, you drive his behavior. And then you wonder why every guy you ever dated was a lying scum-bucket.
The way I see it, women can’t be upset when I lie to them. They lie to me everyday. They tell me they want guys to be honest, when in reality, they are much happier when they get dishonesty. Women tell me they want a nice guy, and then they always go out of their way to date a complete jerk (the reasons behind this are many and varied and are well beyond the scope of this article). As we can see, women themselves are quite adept at lying, so you shouldn’t ever feel bad about being dishonest with one. Just remember, women want you to lie. And if they ever discover the truth behind your lie, lie even more to cover it up. It’s what they want.
I’m sure now that women out there are loath to date me. And I’m even more sure that I won’t be finding a girl who’s into threesomes any time soon. But that’s ok. I was able to secure a brand new Nintendo Wii at launch just over a week ago. Let me tell you, it is awesome. I really don’t need a woman to take up my time and to pull me away from The Legend of Zelda, The Twilight Princess. In all honesty, video games are much more important than women. And that is the candid truth.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Unga Bunga, Winter is Supposed to Be Cold
Well, I’m posting this article a little bit early this week. This is because I have to leave early on Tuesday morning to catch my flight to Georgia. I’m off to visit the family for Thanksgiving. It should be tons of fun and I’m really looking forward to it. Mostly I was looking forward to showing off my brand new Nintendo Wii since I preordered mine, and my brother didn’t. But my mom, being the wonderfully kind and loving lady that she is, went to several different stores and by sheer karma was able to purchase the last of only three at a local K-mart for my brother. Well, since I don’t have bragging rights, I guess I can still beat up on him in some Wii boxing.
But here in North Carolina, I’m currently having huge problem with the weather. Just a few days ago it was freezing cold. But now it’s actually somewhat warm outside. It’s the middle of November, it’s not supposed to be 70 frigging degrees! Unfortunately, I have no control over the elements. The warm weather of summer was nice and all, but I’m ready for the winter months. I’ve already pulled out all my sweaters and long sleeved t-shirts, but I can’t wear any of them if it doesn’t get cold again. I really just wish the weather around here would make up its mind.
Mainly though, I wish it would get cold and stay cold. You see, I’m a warm natured person and I have a very hard time getting to sleep if I’m too hot. So during the summer time I have to leave my air conditioning on almost at full blast. But during the winter I don’t even touch the heater. I just like to bask in the coolness of the season. That and it gives me a good excuse to wear my Hugh Hefner smoking jacket, which is a perfect substitute for a robe and is oh-so comfortable. It also does a good job making me look stylish and sophisticated. I’m not exactly a man of fashion, so any help I can get on that front, I will gladly take. Besides, who doesn’t want to be like Hef? The guy owns the Playboy mansion. Need I say more?
Beyond that, I live on the third floor of my apartment building. And as we all know, heat rises, which is diametrically opposite of the president’s approval ratings (bonus points to you if you know the correct meaning of the word “diametrically”). So that means during the winter heat generated on the first and second floors creeps up to my apartment. This make my place somewhat heated even if I don’t turn on the hot air. I like it because I enjoy saving money on my energy bill. And thanks to our wonderful friends in OPEC and those SUV-driving soccer moms, energy isn’t exactly cheap these days.
Now, it doesn’t always stay warm at my apartment when I leave the heat off. When it’s freezing outside, it is very cold inside as well. And I’m fine with that. I happen to be a huge cheapskate, so whatever money I can save by not using the heat then I’ll gladly take it. I also only buy groceries when they’re on sale, which leaves me with a rather interesting collection of corndogs and Lean Cuisine meals in my freezer. I don’t really care if the food is healthy or not, as long as it’s “buy one get one free,” I’m all over it.
Being cold has never really bothered me. The cavemen didn’t have heat, and they did just fine. In fact, I have this theory that I’m actually a step backwards in evolution from normal humans. That would make me closer in relation to the cavemen then the rest of society. I know it sounds silly, but let me assure you that I have plenty of evidence to support this theory of mine. Mainly, I have hair on my knuckles. Well, not just my knuckles, but my toes too. And it’s not just peach fuzz, its bonafide Neanderthal-esque hair. Before you get all grossed out, let me assuage your fears by letting you know that it is neither scary nor freaky. It’s just hairy.
You would think being a not quite fully developed homo-sapiens would make me some sort of social pariah. But this is not the case. I am fortunate to be on the same level as many famous and well respected contemporaries such as: Captain Caveman and the Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer. And that’s pretty good company if you ask me.
Unfortunately there is a downside to being a caveman. Congress is talking about passing an act that would specifically forbid cavemen from producing any offspring. Apparently they don’t want me to pass on my de-evolved genetic material to pollute the future gene pool. My name has been specifically mentioned in the proceedings. Honestly, I think they just fear me and my awesomeness. Nevertheless, the national government seems to want to get up close and personal with my reproductive habits, and that is just wrong. I mean, it’s genetic profiling. That’s just not cool.
But the negative sentiment doesn’t end there. Nope, there are plenty of people in this society who have something against the caveman. I try to tune it out, but it’s hard to do sometimes. GEICO has been airing commercials for a while now that are purposefully malicious to those that are less than sapiens. You shouldn’t make fun of us like that. I may just be a simple caveman. Your ways frighten and confuse me. But I do know when something is spiteful like that. And it hurts my feelings.
If you buy your auto insurance through GEICO then shame on you. You’re actively supporting this unsolicited bigotry and it has to stop. I have already tried unsuccessfully to get a petition signed to have the bureaucratic insurer to cease their current line of advertising. Unfortunately, using cave drawings as a signed petition isn’t very popular these days. None of my supporters could find the cave I was using for the petition and so I didn’t receive any signatures. But don’t you worry one little bit. I have plenty of other options at my disposal.
Apparently, you can use this internet thing to send messages directly to a person or a company. And if you send lots and lots of messages all at the same time, it will slow the company’s internet access tremendously. It seems that this can seriously hurt a business’ ability to operate and will upset many of its employees. I think maybe I should flood GEICO with these electronic messages asking them to stop their recent advertising campaign. “Emailing spam, so easy to do even a caveman can do it!”
Well, chances are I’m already in Georgia by now. While you’re reading this, I’m probably enjoying some wonderful time with my family that I haven’t seen in many months. In all truthfulness, I’ll probably spend all of my time playing on my brother’s Nintendo Wii and ignoring anyone or anything that’s not on the TV screen. I’m sure I’ll take a break now and then to get my hands on some homemade cookies and fudge. Maybe I’ll grab some turkey and stuffing too. Choices are so hard to make sometimes. And to think, I’m the good son… at least that’s what I keep telling myself. Here’s to hoping you’re having a wonderful holiday!
But here in North Carolina, I’m currently having huge problem with the weather. Just a few days ago it was freezing cold. But now it’s actually somewhat warm outside. It’s the middle of November, it’s not supposed to be 70 frigging degrees! Unfortunately, I have no control over the elements. The warm weather of summer was nice and all, but I’m ready for the winter months. I’ve already pulled out all my sweaters and long sleeved t-shirts, but I can’t wear any of them if it doesn’t get cold again. I really just wish the weather around here would make up its mind.
Mainly though, I wish it would get cold and stay cold. You see, I’m a warm natured person and I have a very hard time getting to sleep if I’m too hot. So during the summer time I have to leave my air conditioning on almost at full blast. But during the winter I don’t even touch the heater. I just like to bask in the coolness of the season. That and it gives me a good excuse to wear my Hugh Hefner smoking jacket, which is a perfect substitute for a robe and is oh-so comfortable. It also does a good job making me look stylish and sophisticated. I’m not exactly a man of fashion, so any help I can get on that front, I will gladly take. Besides, who doesn’t want to be like Hef? The guy owns the Playboy mansion. Need I say more?
Beyond that, I live on the third floor of my apartment building. And as we all know, heat rises, which is diametrically opposite of the president’s approval ratings (bonus points to you if you know the correct meaning of the word “diametrically”). So that means during the winter heat generated on the first and second floors creeps up to my apartment. This make my place somewhat heated even if I don’t turn on the hot air. I like it because I enjoy saving money on my energy bill. And thanks to our wonderful friends in OPEC and those SUV-driving soccer moms, energy isn’t exactly cheap these days.
Now, it doesn’t always stay warm at my apartment when I leave the heat off. When it’s freezing outside, it is very cold inside as well. And I’m fine with that. I happen to be a huge cheapskate, so whatever money I can save by not using the heat then I’ll gladly take it. I also only buy groceries when they’re on sale, which leaves me with a rather interesting collection of corndogs and Lean Cuisine meals in my freezer. I don’t really care if the food is healthy or not, as long as it’s “buy one get one free,” I’m all over it.
Being cold has never really bothered me. The cavemen didn’t have heat, and they did just fine. In fact, I have this theory that I’m actually a step backwards in evolution from normal humans. That would make me closer in relation to the cavemen then the rest of society. I know it sounds silly, but let me assure you that I have plenty of evidence to support this theory of mine. Mainly, I have hair on my knuckles. Well, not just my knuckles, but my toes too. And it’s not just peach fuzz, its bonafide Neanderthal-esque hair. Before you get all grossed out, let me assuage your fears by letting you know that it is neither scary nor freaky. It’s just hairy.
You would think being a not quite fully developed homo-sapiens would make me some sort of social pariah. But this is not the case. I am fortunate to be on the same level as many famous and well respected contemporaries such as: Captain Caveman and the Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer. And that’s pretty good company if you ask me.
Unfortunately there is a downside to being a caveman. Congress is talking about passing an act that would specifically forbid cavemen from producing any offspring. Apparently they don’t want me to pass on my de-evolved genetic material to pollute the future gene pool. My name has been specifically mentioned in the proceedings. Honestly, I think they just fear me and my awesomeness. Nevertheless, the national government seems to want to get up close and personal with my reproductive habits, and that is just wrong. I mean, it’s genetic profiling. That’s just not cool.
But the negative sentiment doesn’t end there. Nope, there are plenty of people in this society who have something against the caveman. I try to tune it out, but it’s hard to do sometimes. GEICO has been airing commercials for a while now that are purposefully malicious to those that are less than sapiens. You shouldn’t make fun of us like that. I may just be a simple caveman. Your ways frighten and confuse me. But I do know when something is spiteful like that. And it hurts my feelings.
If you buy your auto insurance through GEICO then shame on you. You’re actively supporting this unsolicited bigotry and it has to stop. I have already tried unsuccessfully to get a petition signed to have the bureaucratic insurer to cease their current line of advertising. Unfortunately, using cave drawings as a signed petition isn’t very popular these days. None of my supporters could find the cave I was using for the petition and so I didn’t receive any signatures. But don’t you worry one little bit. I have plenty of other options at my disposal.
Apparently, you can use this internet thing to send messages directly to a person or a company. And if you send lots and lots of messages all at the same time, it will slow the company’s internet access tremendously. It seems that this can seriously hurt a business’ ability to operate and will upset many of its employees. I think maybe I should flood GEICO with these electronic messages asking them to stop their recent advertising campaign. “Emailing spam, so easy to do even a caveman can do it!”
Well, chances are I’m already in Georgia by now. While you’re reading this, I’m probably enjoying some wonderful time with my family that I haven’t seen in many months. In all truthfulness, I’ll probably spend all of my time playing on my brother’s Nintendo Wii and ignoring anyone or anything that’s not on the TV screen. I’m sure I’ll take a break now and then to get my hands on some homemade cookies and fudge. Maybe I’ll grab some turkey and stuffing too. Choices are so hard to make sometimes. And to think, I’m the good son… at least that’s what I keep telling myself. Here’s to hoping you’re having a wonderful holiday!
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Jeff, the Legend
Over the past month or so I’ve reconnected with some of my old college mates. I would quickly like to point out, that I haven’t been out of college that long, a little over a year at this point. After talking with several guys I used to hang out with, and with some of the kids who are still in school, it has become apparent to me that I left something of a legacy behind. Apparently, word of my collegiate deeds has spread and I have become a legend. Here I will regale you with the various tales that have accrued to award me with this title.
How does one become a legend? Well first we have to look at what traits the college student admires. Surprisingly, grade point average and responsibility don’t rank very high on the list. Not so surprising is that I don’t exactly place legendary in either one of those categories. The thing I’m most capable at is drinking. And I think we all know how much those college kids love to drink. In fact, I’m so capable at drinking that I managed to get my name put on the wall of my favorite bar by drinking over 200 documented beers. You only need to drink 100 beers to get your name on the wall there, but I’m just so committed that I got it put up there twice.
The other major thing college kids admire in a role model is women. Or better put, they care about the quality and quantity of women a guy surrounds himself with. Well, I didn’t exactly get famous for being popular among the ladies. It’s actually quite the opposite. See, I have this problem where I say the exact opposite of what a girl would expect me to say. This usually ends up in the girl hating me for life. But on the plus side, guys find my actions absolutely hilarious. I just think it’s a good idea to let guys know that yes, every once in a while it’s ok to think entirely of yourself and ignore what the needs and wants of the female. Of course, acting like me is not recommended since you’ll probably be blacklisted by every woman you meet. But hey, it works out for me, mainly because I really just don’t care.
But then again, you could be nice to girls, take them out on dates, and get into that whole relationship thing. I mean, it works out for some people. Though I’m sorry to say, I generally don’t advise it. Case in point: my friend Michael dated a girl for almost a year. They broke up about halfway through our senior year in college. She wasn’t real fond of him after that, but unfortunately, the two of them ran in most of the same social circles. They had a bad habit of running into each other throughout the rest of college and even beyond. It could get pretty awkward, which incidentally is quite fun to watch. The latest of these occurrences happened this last weekend at the UNC vs. Georgia Tech football game.
Michael’s ex pretty much ignored him every time she could and gave him the evil eye. If you’ve ever had an ex-girlfriend then you know what I’m talking about. And this is even though they had been on pretty good terms lately and had spoken together quite a few times. Strangely enough, she had no problem talking to me and even seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Now this is the odd part. Michael dated her and for the most part was kind and generous, that’s just the kind of guy he is. On the other hand, late one night just as we were about the leave a bar (this was after they had broken up), I got into a slapping fight with her and two of her friends. I have to say in my defense, the girls started it. Well, no, maybe they didn’t. To be honest the whole event is kind of fuzzy… alcohol will do that to you. But I do know that it was three against one and those are totally not fair odds no matter how you stack it up.
So what’s the moral of this story? If you date a girl and be nice to her, then she won’t talk to you after the break up. But if you slap her around… well no, I’d better not finish that sentence. The thing is I don’t agree with physically harming girls in any way, shape, or form. Even though I’m an outspoken critic of the female species (and yes, I truly believe they are a different species), even they don’t deserve that kind of treatment. And in all honestly, I am very surprised that Michael’s ex and her friends never got upset at that incident. It could possibly be that they were even more inebriated than I was. Really, it was just one of those nights.
To be a legend is no easy task. There is no cookie-cutter solution to making a man legendary. Drinking copious amounts of beer, getting your name put on the wall of a bar, and getting into a slapping contest with three sorority girls may not make you a living marvel to all of your admiring friends. It just so happened that it worked out for me that way. The most important thing you can do is to just be comfortable with yourself. As it turns out, I happen to hate women. And I’m very comfortable with that. Some guys wouldn’t be, and that’s why they aren’t awesome. And yes, I am awesome; I have proof to back up this statement.
This past Saturday evening (the same night I alluded to earlier), I managed to convince a girl I met in a bar that I was awesome. To be honest, it’s really not my fault. All I did was tell her the truth. Apparently chicks dig honesty. Who knew? The truth, as I told it, was that I came from a very long line of awesome. My brother, my dad, and heck, even my grandpa is awesome. I was raised in sheer awesomeness. So the girl decided to call me by the name “Awesome” for the rest of the evening. I didn’t mind because I really couldn’t find any fault with her nomenclature. Apparently remembering my real name was far too difficult. But you know what I’ve always said when it comes to girls and names: totally not important.
Even if you weren’t created by the fusing of two sets of genetic codes into a zygote of pure awesomeness, you can still become a legend. It just won’t be easy on you. You can get a good start by trying to change your name. If you can come up with a really kickin’ stage name and convince your friends to call you by that name, then you’re well on your way. Eddie Vedder was originally named Edward Louis Severson by his parents. And there’s no way you’re going to be a rock star with the name Edward Louis, even in Seattle. (You did know that Eddie Vedder is the lead singer for Pearl Jam, right? Right? Jeeze, next you’re going to tell me that STP stands for “Standard Temperature and Pressure.” Please don’t be that big of a loser.)
Grunge rock music references aside, there is one important thing I think you should take away from this. Above all else, you just have to be true to yourself and be happy with who you are. I am perfectly content saying things out loud that all the other guys are thinking but never have the courage to say in front of women. Guys tend to think I have balls made out of pure steel. I assure you, this is not the case. I really just don’t care what most women think of me. As far as I’m concerned, good looking girls are a dime a dozen. If you want to be admired as a great person, you only have to be passionate about what you do no matter what it is.
Just be sure that you’re not passionate about pissing off women. That’s my thing, and I’m not going to let you muscle in on my territory. Although, I have to admit, it is a lot of fun and very liberating. Besides, you know what they say: “Nice guys finish last.” Hence, I am very seldom a “nice guy.” And this is why I’m known as a legend.
How does one become a legend? Well first we have to look at what traits the college student admires. Surprisingly, grade point average and responsibility don’t rank very high on the list. Not so surprising is that I don’t exactly place legendary in either one of those categories. The thing I’m most capable at is drinking. And I think we all know how much those college kids love to drink. In fact, I’m so capable at drinking that I managed to get my name put on the wall of my favorite bar by drinking over 200 documented beers. You only need to drink 100 beers to get your name on the wall there, but I’m just so committed that I got it put up there twice.
The other major thing college kids admire in a role model is women. Or better put, they care about the quality and quantity of women a guy surrounds himself with. Well, I didn’t exactly get famous for being popular among the ladies. It’s actually quite the opposite. See, I have this problem where I say the exact opposite of what a girl would expect me to say. This usually ends up in the girl hating me for life. But on the plus side, guys find my actions absolutely hilarious. I just think it’s a good idea to let guys know that yes, every once in a while it’s ok to think entirely of yourself and ignore what the needs and wants of the female. Of course, acting like me is not recommended since you’ll probably be blacklisted by every woman you meet. But hey, it works out for me, mainly because I really just don’t care.
But then again, you could be nice to girls, take them out on dates, and get into that whole relationship thing. I mean, it works out for some people. Though I’m sorry to say, I generally don’t advise it. Case in point: my friend Michael dated a girl for almost a year. They broke up about halfway through our senior year in college. She wasn’t real fond of him after that, but unfortunately, the two of them ran in most of the same social circles. They had a bad habit of running into each other throughout the rest of college and even beyond. It could get pretty awkward, which incidentally is quite fun to watch. The latest of these occurrences happened this last weekend at the UNC vs. Georgia Tech football game.
Michael’s ex pretty much ignored him every time she could and gave him the evil eye. If you’ve ever had an ex-girlfriend then you know what I’m talking about. And this is even though they had been on pretty good terms lately and had spoken together quite a few times. Strangely enough, she had no problem talking to me and even seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Now this is the odd part. Michael dated her and for the most part was kind and generous, that’s just the kind of guy he is. On the other hand, late one night just as we were about the leave a bar (this was after they had broken up), I got into a slapping fight with her and two of her friends. I have to say in my defense, the girls started it. Well, no, maybe they didn’t. To be honest the whole event is kind of fuzzy… alcohol will do that to you. But I do know that it was three against one and those are totally not fair odds no matter how you stack it up.
So what’s the moral of this story? If you date a girl and be nice to her, then she won’t talk to you after the break up. But if you slap her around… well no, I’d better not finish that sentence. The thing is I don’t agree with physically harming girls in any way, shape, or form. Even though I’m an outspoken critic of the female species (and yes, I truly believe they are a different species), even they don’t deserve that kind of treatment. And in all honestly, I am very surprised that Michael’s ex and her friends never got upset at that incident. It could possibly be that they were even more inebriated than I was. Really, it was just one of those nights.
To be a legend is no easy task. There is no cookie-cutter solution to making a man legendary. Drinking copious amounts of beer, getting your name put on the wall of a bar, and getting into a slapping contest with three sorority girls may not make you a living marvel to all of your admiring friends. It just so happened that it worked out for me that way. The most important thing you can do is to just be comfortable with yourself. As it turns out, I happen to hate women. And I’m very comfortable with that. Some guys wouldn’t be, and that’s why they aren’t awesome. And yes, I am awesome; I have proof to back up this statement.
This past Saturday evening (the same night I alluded to earlier), I managed to convince a girl I met in a bar that I was awesome. To be honest, it’s really not my fault. All I did was tell her the truth. Apparently chicks dig honesty. Who knew? The truth, as I told it, was that I came from a very long line of awesome. My brother, my dad, and heck, even my grandpa is awesome. I was raised in sheer awesomeness. So the girl decided to call me by the name “Awesome” for the rest of the evening. I didn’t mind because I really couldn’t find any fault with her nomenclature. Apparently remembering my real name was far too difficult. But you know what I’ve always said when it comes to girls and names: totally not important.
Even if you weren’t created by the fusing of two sets of genetic codes into a zygote of pure awesomeness, you can still become a legend. It just won’t be easy on you. You can get a good start by trying to change your name. If you can come up with a really kickin’ stage name and convince your friends to call you by that name, then you’re well on your way. Eddie Vedder was originally named Edward Louis Severson by his parents. And there’s no way you’re going to be a rock star with the name Edward Louis, even in Seattle. (You did know that Eddie Vedder is the lead singer for Pearl Jam, right? Right? Jeeze, next you’re going to tell me that STP stands for “Standard Temperature and Pressure.” Please don’t be that big of a loser.)
Grunge rock music references aside, there is one important thing I think you should take away from this. Above all else, you just have to be true to yourself and be happy with who you are. I am perfectly content saying things out loud that all the other guys are thinking but never have the courage to say in front of women. Guys tend to think I have balls made out of pure steel. I assure you, this is not the case. I really just don’t care what most women think of me. As far as I’m concerned, good looking girls are a dime a dozen. If you want to be admired as a great person, you only have to be passionate about what you do no matter what it is.
Just be sure that you’re not passionate about pissing off women. That’s my thing, and I’m not going to let you muscle in on my territory. Although, I have to admit, it is a lot of fun and very liberating. Besides, you know what they say: “Nice guys finish last.” Hence, I am very seldom a “nice guy.” And this is why I’m known as a legend.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Hurry Christmas, Hurry Fast
Listen closely because I’m only going to say this once: If I stab someone before New Years, don’t be surprised. No really, I’m going to stab someone, I’m just becoming that crazy. I could stab myself, but honestly, that would hurt too much. And I’m really not into the whole masochistic thing anyway.
Yes, I realize that it is getting colder outside, and yes I realize that everyone looks forward throughout the year to Christmas. But there is a rule that I strictly follow: Do not play Christmas music until after Thanksgiving. You could say it’s an unwritten rule and that you don’t have to follow rules that have yet to be set in stone. Well guess what, I just wrote it down and you just read it. So from now on, please adhere to it.
You may be aware that general elections were yesterday. I hope you all went out and voted. Although, I’m not one to vote down party lines or vote for who was going to give the most tax cuts or spend the money on the most welfare programs or anything silly like that. Instead, it’s better to vote for whoever I think would be most likely to support a bill making it illegal to play Christmas music before the Thanksgiving holiday. This is a real issue people. Do you really want guys like me running around with sharp objects feeling the need to draw blood from someone just because we had to listen to the Christina Aguilera Christmas album 13,427 times in a row (and yes, I have been counting)?
The answer is simple: vote to imprison those who play holiday music with impunity. Everyone is getting so worked up about whether or not our military is actually torturing prisoners of war at
But I can’t just stop there. No, there are far too many atrocities being committed by everyday Americans throughout the month of November. Some people even have the audacity to put out their Christmas lights before Thanksgiving. It’s blasphemy I tell you! Anyone who puts up their lights before they begin baking their turkey is un-American. There, I said it. It is acceptable to cook a duck or a ham instead of the traditional turkey. However, an entirely vegetarian Thanksgiving dinner is right out. Those people insisting on preparing alternate foodstuffs instead of meat (for instance: tofurky) for their giving-of-thanks day should immediately be put on the terrorist watch list by the Department of Homeland Security. The pilgrims ate turkeys, damn-it. They didn’t struggle to survive through frigid
I think the overlying problem here is that Thanksgiving is getting overlooked as a major American holiday. Everyone gets wound up for Halloween and trick-or-treating and dressing up and whatnot, then afterward, people only want to think about Christmas. And I know that no one outside of the
Thanksgiving is the time for family and friends to get together. It is also a time to reminisce about the things you are thankful for in your life. There is a reason it’s called “Thanksgiving” you know. This is why you’re supposed to go home for Thanksgiving, so you can spend time with your family that you have been neglecting all year long. I’m pretty sure most of these holiday traditions were invented in the 1800’s by grandparents who wanted to keep their offspring coming back every year so they wouldn’t get lonely. Although nowadays grandparents lead busy retirement lives: they have to collect Social Security, fill out all those Medicare forms, and generally complain about how computers, video games, and MTV are corrupting today’s youth.
But in the spirit of Thanksgiving, and I truly believe in celebrating and spreading the wholesomeness of this particular holiday, I’m going to list all of the things that I’m thankful for. I’m thankful for next generation video game systems (Wii!), chicks in bikinis, good ol’ fashioned American bourbon, my literally dozens of fans who read this site, chicks in miniskirts, my friends who have actually stuck by me through my many moves and phases of life, chicks in tight pants, and my family, because my mom cooks the best Thanksgiving dinner ever. No seriously, she does. It’s a whole feast complete with no less than three homemade pies every year. My family rocks.
So please, I’m asking you nicely, don’t skip over the great American holiday that is Thanksgiving. Don’t buy into the materialistic hype that has become Christmas right after you finish eating your Halloween candy. Stick with the noble, family oriented November holiday. Hey, it may not be on the same date every year, but by being on a Thursday it practically guarantees you’ll have both Thursday and Friday off of work. And really, can you ask for more than that?
If you don’t respond to niceties and requests, maybe you’ll respond to threats. Don’t forget, I have many sharp and pointed instruments at my disposal and I’m just insane enough to use them on someone. You probably think I should just channel this abusive rage at the manager who insists on playing Christmas music where I work. Well, the problem is: she’s a female, she’s cute, and she is very, very nice. And I’m pretty sure that I’m incapable of harming a nice, attractive woman. Some women just have this strange power like that. It’s really not fair.
And for those of you who insist on putting up your lights and playing your music before November 23rd this year, this is what I have to say to you.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Sunday, It's More Than I Can Stand
I have a problem. Ok, actually, I have several problems, most of which are deep rooted psychological issues that we won’t go into today. No, today we are going to go into my problem with Sunday. No seriously, I have a problem with Sunday. And no, this is not one of my acutely ingrained psychological paranoia either. This is a very real and very serious problem.
Every calendar I have puts Sunday as the beginning of the week. Why is that? Sunday is clearly part of the weekend. And I’m pretty sure the word “weekend” denotes the end of the week. I mean, it says it right there. A day can’t possibly be the first day of the week and the end of the week at the same time. There are only seven days in the week, so you can’t start and end with Sunday (that would make eight days, which is totally and punitively egregious). You can only do one or the other. And before you question whether or not Sunday is actually part of the weekend, I’ve looked on Wikipedia, and it says that Saturday and Sunday are considered the weekend here in the good old US of A. And if there’s one thing I know, if it’s on Wikipedia, it has to be true. I mean, the internet has never lied to me before.
So why does everyone insist on having Sunday as the first day of the week? This is probably because most Christians consider Sunday the Lord’s Day. However, the name “Sunday” originates before Christianity. Apparently it was the Egyptians who originally came up with the whole seven days a week scheme. They gave each day of the week a name corresponding to the seven known celestial objects: the sun, moon, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, and Mercury. They exported their development to Rome who used their names for the seven heavenly bodies to devise the week we have today.
It makes sense to me. Moon-day is Monday, Saturn-day is Saturday, and Sun-day is Sunday (in case you couldn’t figure that last one out for yourself). In fact, I know in other cultures, both Sunday and Monday are expressed as the sun and the moon. Specifically, in Japanese the symbol for the sun is used to denote Sunday and the character representing the moon is used to refer to Monday. It’s all interesting stuff really, etymology is like that. But that still doesn’t help me with my problem. Why does everyone insist on making Sunday the first day of the week when they all know Sunday is part of the weekend? It boggles the mind!
Seriously, I want you to think about it. I’m sure you’ve spoken of the weekend in conversation while you were referring to Sunday. I’m sure you’ve done it numerous times. Yet you still have no problem saying that the week begins on Sunday. Doesn’t that sound a bit hypocritical? Sunday cannot possibly be the beginning and the end of every week. And the week does not begin in the middle of the weekend. That defeats the whole purpose of having a weekend!
Are you beginning to see my dilemma now? I’m very confused. Not that getting me confused is a difficult task to accomplish, far from it actually. But when I get confused, I tend to get angry. And you wouldn’t like it when I’m angry. When I get angry I get real quiet and tend to keep to myself. I know it’s not as terrifying as a green, 300 pound, mutated freak throwing SUVs at you, but trust me, I’m no fun when I’m quiet. So try not to confuse me or I’ll be forced into seclusion with a bottle of my favorite bourbon. Yet another reason to drink: things are far less confusing when you’re drunk. Mainly, this is because I don’t seem to pay attention to anything while inebriated.
So people, please, I need some help here. We need to sit down and decide once and for all whether Sunday is indeed the first day of the week or a celebrated part of the weekend. It can’t be both. For my sanity’s sake, we have to choose one or the other. I’d like to quickly point out that there is absolutely nothing wrong with beginning the week with Monday. In fact, most European countries already do this. Usually I hate to agree with anyone who isn’t America, but I think Europe has the right idea here. Computers seem to agree too. ISO 8601, which I’m told is the international standard for date and time representation (I wouldn’t know for sure, I mean I’m a nerd, but I’m not that big of a nerd), places Monday at the start of the week and Sunday at the end.
There are some good arguments for keeping Sunday as the first day, however. Our good buddy America Jr. (pronounced as “Canada” by some) starts its week off with Sunday. Additionally, Judeo-Christian, Egyptian, and Roman traditions all place Sunday at the commencement of the week. I mean, if we got the whole seven days in a week thing from the Egyptians and Romans maybe we should keep their order the same as well. They seemed to know what they were doing with the whole calendar thing. Well, except for Leap Year. Seriously, how does adding an additional day to the calendar every four years make sense?
I realize that we’re trying to keep the calendar year in synch with the vernal equinox. And that’s cool with me. We don’t need December falling in the middle of the summer, which is what would happen in a couple of thousand or so years if we didn’t have a Leap Year. I mean, who wants to celebrate Christmas in the blistering heat and humidity? Well, besides the Australians, whose seasons are the opposite of ours because they decided to put their country on the wrong side of the equator. Would you want a zero percent chance of a White Christmas? I think not. But why should I be forced to remember every four years to add an additional day to my calendar just because the Romans couldn’t come up with a more accurate way of measuring time relative to this vernal equinox thing?
Heck, even with the Leap Year instated we’re still off a little over 0.0001 days every year. As it turns out, we’re not very good at keeping track of time. Did you know that last year one additional second ticked by just before the New Year? That means that instead of having the usual 31,536,000 seconds in a normal year (non Leap Year) we had 31,536,001 seconds in 2005. We are supposedly skipping a second in certain years in order to keep our clocks in synch with the rotation of the Earth. The Earth is apparently slowing down its rotation which makes the days just a little bit longer. I don’t know why we have to let the Earth’s rotation push us around on how we handle our clocks. I think we should simply correct Earth’s rotation instead. I’m sure we have the technology to speed up Earth’s rotation if we wanted to. And while we’re at it, we should fix whatever astrological problem is throwing off our calendar. As far as I’m concerned, the cosmos should conform to us, not the other way around.
But then again, time is a relative thing. We add an extra day or an extra second here and there in an attempt to match certain astrological phenomenon. This doesn’t mean that time is slowing down or that we magically get another day in February every four years. It just means that’s how we choose to measure it. And really, is how we measure time that important? What’s important is how we spend our time. Personally, I choose to spend my time campaigning to move Sunday behind Saturday at the end of the week where it rightfully belongs. I can’t accept a world where the weekend is at the beginning of the week. And yes, I’m still confused and I’m still upset with that. Like I said before, I have problems. Petty as they may be, they’re still problems.
Every calendar I have puts Sunday as the beginning of the week. Why is that? Sunday is clearly part of the weekend. And I’m pretty sure the word “weekend” denotes the end of the week. I mean, it says it right there. A day can’t possibly be the first day of the week and the end of the week at the same time. There are only seven days in the week, so you can’t start and end with Sunday (that would make eight days, which is totally and punitively egregious). You can only do one or the other. And before you question whether or not Sunday is actually part of the weekend, I’ve looked on Wikipedia, and it says that Saturday and Sunday are considered the weekend here in the good old US of A. And if there’s one thing I know, if it’s on Wikipedia, it has to be true. I mean, the internet has never lied to me before.
So why does everyone insist on having Sunday as the first day of the week? This is probably because most Christians consider Sunday the Lord’s Day. However, the name “Sunday” originates before Christianity. Apparently it was the Egyptians who originally came up with the whole seven days a week scheme. They gave each day of the week a name corresponding to the seven known celestial objects: the sun, moon, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, and Mercury. They exported their development to Rome who used their names for the seven heavenly bodies to devise the week we have today.
It makes sense to me. Moon-day is Monday, Saturn-day is Saturday, and Sun-day is Sunday (in case you couldn’t figure that last one out for yourself). In fact, I know in other cultures, both Sunday and Monday are expressed as the sun and the moon. Specifically, in Japanese the symbol for the sun is used to denote Sunday and the character representing the moon is used to refer to Monday. It’s all interesting stuff really, etymology is like that. But that still doesn’t help me with my problem. Why does everyone insist on making Sunday the first day of the week when they all know Sunday is part of the weekend? It boggles the mind!
Seriously, I want you to think about it. I’m sure you’ve spoken of the weekend in conversation while you were referring to Sunday. I’m sure you’ve done it numerous times. Yet you still have no problem saying that the week begins on Sunday. Doesn’t that sound a bit hypocritical? Sunday cannot possibly be the beginning and the end of every week. And the week does not begin in the middle of the weekend. That defeats the whole purpose of having a weekend!
Are you beginning to see my dilemma now? I’m very confused. Not that getting me confused is a difficult task to accomplish, far from it actually. But when I get confused, I tend to get angry. And you wouldn’t like it when I’m angry. When I get angry I get real quiet and tend to keep to myself. I know it’s not as terrifying as a green, 300 pound, mutated freak throwing SUVs at you, but trust me, I’m no fun when I’m quiet. So try not to confuse me or I’ll be forced into seclusion with a bottle of my favorite bourbon. Yet another reason to drink: things are far less confusing when you’re drunk. Mainly, this is because I don’t seem to pay attention to anything while inebriated.
So people, please, I need some help here. We need to sit down and decide once and for all whether Sunday is indeed the first day of the week or a celebrated part of the weekend. It can’t be both. For my sanity’s sake, we have to choose one or the other. I’d like to quickly point out that there is absolutely nothing wrong with beginning the week with Monday. In fact, most European countries already do this. Usually I hate to agree with anyone who isn’t America, but I think Europe has the right idea here. Computers seem to agree too. ISO 8601, which I’m told is the international standard for date and time representation (I wouldn’t know for sure, I mean I’m a nerd, but I’m not that big of a nerd), places Monday at the start of the week and Sunday at the end.
There are some good arguments for keeping Sunday as the first day, however. Our good buddy America Jr. (pronounced as “Canada” by some) starts its week off with Sunday. Additionally, Judeo-Christian, Egyptian, and Roman traditions all place Sunday at the commencement of the week. I mean, if we got the whole seven days in a week thing from the Egyptians and Romans maybe we should keep their order the same as well. They seemed to know what they were doing with the whole calendar thing. Well, except for Leap Year. Seriously, how does adding an additional day to the calendar every four years make sense?
I realize that we’re trying to keep the calendar year in synch with the vernal equinox. And that’s cool with me. We don’t need December falling in the middle of the summer, which is what would happen in a couple of thousand or so years if we didn’t have a Leap Year. I mean, who wants to celebrate Christmas in the blistering heat and humidity? Well, besides the Australians, whose seasons are the opposite of ours because they decided to put their country on the wrong side of the equator. Would you want a zero percent chance of a White Christmas? I think not. But why should I be forced to remember every four years to add an additional day to my calendar just because the Romans couldn’t come up with a more accurate way of measuring time relative to this vernal equinox thing?
Heck, even with the Leap Year instated we’re still off a little over 0.0001 days every year. As it turns out, we’re not very good at keeping track of time. Did you know that last year one additional second ticked by just before the New Year? That means that instead of having the usual 31,536,000 seconds in a normal year (non Leap Year) we had 31,536,001 seconds in 2005. We are supposedly skipping a second in certain years in order to keep our clocks in synch with the rotation of the Earth. The Earth is apparently slowing down its rotation which makes the days just a little bit longer. I don’t know why we have to let the Earth’s rotation push us around on how we handle our clocks. I think we should simply correct Earth’s rotation instead. I’m sure we have the technology to speed up Earth’s rotation if we wanted to. And while we’re at it, we should fix whatever astrological problem is throwing off our calendar. As far as I’m concerned, the cosmos should conform to us, not the other way around.
But then again, time is a relative thing. We add an extra day or an extra second here and there in an attempt to match certain astrological phenomenon. This doesn’t mean that time is slowing down or that we magically get another day in February every four years. It just means that’s how we choose to measure it. And really, is how we measure time that important? What’s important is how we spend our time. Personally, I choose to spend my time campaigning to move Sunday behind Saturday at the end of the week where it rightfully belongs. I can’t accept a world where the weekend is at the beginning of the week. And yes, I’m still confused and I’m still upset with that. Like I said before, I have problems. Petty as they may be, they’re still problems.
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