TCitR

"All right. Listen to me a minute now . . . I may not word this as memorably as I'd like to, but I'll write you a letter about it in a day or two. Then you can get it all straight. But listen now, anyway." He started concentrating again. Then he said, "This fall I think you're riding for--it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started. You follow me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

He got up and poured some more booze in his glass. Then he sat down again. He didn't say anything for a long time.

"I don't want to scare you," he said, "but I can very clearly see you dying nobly, one way or another, for some highly unworthy cause." He gave me a funny look. "If I write something down for you, will you read it carefully? And keep it?"

"Yes. Sure," I said. I did, too. I still have the paper he gave me.

He went over to this desk on the other side of the room, and without sitting down wrote something on a piece of paper. Then he came back and sat down with the paper in his hand. "Oddly enough, this wasn't written by a practicing poet. It was written by a psychoanalyst named Wilhelm Stekel. Here's what he--Are you still with me?"

"Yes, sure I am."

"Here's what he said:"

The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause,  

while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.

He leaned over and handed it to me. I read it right when he gave it to me, and then I thanked him and all and put it in my pocket. It was nice of him to go to all that trouble. It really was. The thing was, though, I didn't feel much like concentrating. Boy, I felt so damn tired all of a sudden.

You could tell he wasn't tired at all, though. He was pretty oiled up, for one thing. "I think that one of these days," he said, "you're going to have to find out where you want to go. And then you've got to start going there.

"But immediately. You can't afford to lose a minute. Not you."

I nodded, because he was looking right at me and all, but I wasn't too sure what he was talking about. I was pretty sure I knew, but I wasn't too positive at the time. I was too damn tired.

"And I hate to tell you," he said, "but I think that once you have a fair idea where you want to go, your first move will be to apply yourself in school. You'll have to. You're a student--whether the idea appeals to you or not. You're in love with knowledge. And I think you'll find, once you get past all the Mr. Vineses and their Oral Comp--"

"Mr. Vinsons," I said. He meant all the Mr. Vinsons, not all the Mr. Vineses. I shouldn't have interrupted him, though.

"All right--the Mr. Vinsons. Once you get past all the Mr. Vinsons, you're going to start getting closer and closer--that is, if you want to, and if you look for it and wait for it--to the kind of information that will be very, very dear to your heart. Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them--if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."

He stopped and took a big drink out of his highball. Then he started again. Boy, he was really hot. I was glad I didn't try to stop him or anything. "I'm not trying to tell you," he said, "that only educated and scholarly men are able to contribute something valuable to the world. It's not so. But I do say that educated and scholarly men, if they're brilliant and creative to begin with--which, unfortunately, is rarely the case--tend to leave infinitely more valuable records behind them than men do who are merely brilliant and creative. They tend to express themselves more clearly, and they usually have a passion for following their thoughts through to the end. And--most important--nine times out of ten they have more humility than the unscholarly thinker. Do you follow me at all?"

"Yes, sir."

He didn't say anything again for quite a while. I don't know if you've ever done it, but it's sort of hard to sit around waiting for somebody to say something when they're thinking and all. It really is. I kept trying not to yawn. It wasn't that I was bored or anything--I wasn't--but I was so damn sleepy all of a sudden.

"Something else an academic education will do for you. If you go along with it any considerable distance, it'll begin to give you an idea what size mind you have. What it'll fit and, maybe, what it won't. After a while, you'll have an idea what kind of thoughts your particular size mind should be wearing. For one thing, it may save you an extraordinary amount of time trying on ideas that don't suit you, aren't becoming to you. You'll begin to know your true measurements and dress your mind accordingly."

Then, all of a sudden, I yawned. What a rude bastard, but I couldn't help it!

Mr. Antolini just laughed, though. "C'mon," he said, and got up. "We'll fix up the couch for you."

Resolutions

2013, motherfuckers. Yeah! LET'S DO THIS.

"Do what?" you ask. I DON'T KNOW. LET'S FIGURE THAT OUT TOGETHER, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Feel free to stop reading this if your career is going great, you're thrilled with your life and you're happy with your relationships. Enjoy the rest of your day, friend, this article is not for you. You're doing a great job, we're all proud of you.

For the rest of you, I want you to try something: Name five impressive things about yourself. Write them down or just shout them out loud to the room. But here's the catch: you're not allowed to list anything you are (i.e., nice, honest, pretty, etc.), but instead can only list things that you do (i.e., I just won a national chess tournament, I make the best chili in Wisconsin, etc.). If you found that difficult, well, this is for you, and you are going to fucking hate hearing it. My only defense is that this is the stuff I wish somebody had said to me around 1995 or so.

The World Only Cares About What It Can Get from You

"What if I put on a lab coat?"

Let's say that the person you love the most has just been shot. He or she is lying in the street, bleeding and screaming. A guy rushes up and says, "Step aside." He looks over your loved one's bullet wound and pulls out a pocket knife; he's going to operate right there in the street.

You ask, "Are you a doctor?"

The guy says, "No."

You say, "But you know what you're doing, right? You're an old Army medic, or ..."

At this point the guy becomes annoyed. He tells you that he is a nice guy, he is honest, he is always on time. He tells you that he is a great son to his mother and has a rich life full of fulfilling hobbies, and he boasts that he never uses foul language.

Confused, you say, "How does any of that fucking matter when my (wife/husband/best friend/parent) is lying here bleeding! I need somebody who knows how to operate on bullet wounds! Can you do that or not?!?" 

Now the man becomes agitated -- why are you being shallow and selfish? Do you not care about any of his other good qualities? Didn't you just hear him say that he always remembers his girlfriend's birthday? In light of all of the good things he does, does it really matter if he knows how to perform surgery?

In that panicked moment, you will take your bloody hands and shake him by the shoulders, screaming, "Yes, I'm saying that none of that other shit matters, because in this specific situation, I just need somebody who can stop the bleeding, you crazy fucking asshole."

So here is my terrible truth about the adult world: You are in that very situation every single day. Only, you are the confused guy with the pocket knife. All of society is the bleeding gunshot victim.

If you want to know why society seems to shun you, or why you seem to get no respect, it's because society is full of people who need things. They need houses built, they need food to eat, they need entertainment, they need fulfilling sexual relationships. You arrived at the scene of that emergency, holding your pocket knife, by virtue of your birth - the moment you came into the world, you became part of a system designed purely to see to people's needs.

Either you will go about the task of seeing to those needs by learning a unique set of skills, or the world will reject you, no matter how kind, giving and polite you are. You will be poor, you will be alone, you will be left out in the cold.

Does that seem mean, or crass, or materialistic? What about love and kindness? Don't those things matter? Of course. As long as they result in you doing things for people that they can't get elsewhere. Because, you see...

The Hippies Were Wrong

Here is the greatest scene in the history of movies:

For those of you who can't watch the video, it's the famous speech Alec Baldwin gives in the cinematic masterpiece Glengarry Glenn Ross. Baldwin's character addresses a room full of dudes and tears them a new asshole, telling them that they're all about to be fired unless they "close" the sales they've been assigned:

"Nice guy? I don't give a shit. Good father? Fuck you! Go home and play with your kids. If you want to work here, close."

It's brutal, rude and borderline sociopathic, and also it is an honest and accurate expression of what the world is going to expect from you. The difference is that, in the real world, people consider it so wrong to talk to you that way that they've decided it's better to simply let you keep failing.

I'd program my alarm clock to play it for me every morning if I knew how. Alec Baldwin was nominated for an Oscar for that movie and that's the only scene he's in. As smarter people have pointed out, the genius of that speech is that half of the people who watch it think that the point of the scene is "Wow, what must it be like to have such an asshole boss?" and the other half think, "Fuck yes, let's go out and sell some goddamned real estate!"

If you were in that room, some of you would understand this as a work, but feed off the energy of the message anyway, welcome the coach's cursing at you, 'this guy is awesome!'; while some of you would take it personally, this guy is a jerk, you have no right to talk to me like that, or - the standard maneuver when narcissism is confronted with a greater power - quietly seethe and fantasize about finding information that will out him as a hypocrite. So satisfying.

That is why some people seem to have so much trouble getting jobs, and the point is that the difference in those two attitudes - bitter vs. motivated - largely determines whether or not you'll succeed in the world. For instance, some people want to respond to that speech with Tyler Durden's line from Fight Club: "You are not your job."

But, well, actually, you totally are. Granted, your "job" and your means of employment might not be the same thing, but in both cases you are nothing more than the sum total of your useful skills. For instance, being a good mother is a job that requires a skill. It's something a person can do that is useful to other members of society. But make no mistake: Your "job" - the useful thing you do for other people - is all you are.

It was the irony that many people missed from that movie.

There is a reason why surgeons get more respect than comedy writers. There is a reason mechanics get more respect than unemployed hipsters. There is a reason your job will become your label if your death makes the news. Tyler said, "You are not your job," but he also founded and ran a successful soap company and became the head of an international social and political movement. He was totally his job.

Or think of it this way: Remember when Chick-fil-A came out against gay marriage? And how despite the protests, the company continues to sell millions of sandwiches every day? It's not because the country agrees with them; it's because they do their job of making delicious sandwiches well. And that's all that matters.

You don't have to like it. I don't like it when it rains on my birthday. It rains anyway. Clouds form and precipitation happens. People have needs and thus assign value to the people who meet them. These are simple mechanisms of the universe and they do not respond to our wishes.

If you protest that you're not a shallow capitalist materialist and that you disagree that money is everything, I can only say: Who said anything about money? You're missing the larger point.

What You Produce Does Not Have to Make Money, But It Does Have to Benefit People

Let's try a non-money example so you don't get hung up on that. The demographic that I write for is heavy on 20-30-something something males. So in my many inboxes I read several dozen stories a year from miserable, lonely guys who insist that women won't come near them despite the fact that they are just the nicest guys in the world. I can explain what is wrong with this mindset, but it would probably be better if I let Alec Baldwin explain it again:

Except in this case, Baldwin is playing the part of the attractive women in your life. They won't put it as bluntly as he does -- society has trained us not to be this honest with people -- but the equation is the same. "Nice guy? Who gives a shit? If you want to work here, close."

So, what do you bring to the table? Because the Zooey Deschanel lookalike in the bookstore that you've been daydreaming about moisturizes her face for an hour every night and feels guilty when she eats anything other than salad for lunch. She's going to be a surgeon in 10 years. What do you do?

"What, so you're saying that I can't get girls like that unless I have a nice job and make lots of money?"

No, your brain jumps to that conclusion so you have an excuse to write off everyone who rejects you by thinking that they're just being shallow and selfish. I'm asking what do you offer? Are you smart? Funny? Interesting? Talented? Ambitious? Creative? OK, now what do you do to demonstrate those attributes to the world? Don't say that you're a nice guy - that's the bare minimum. Pretty girls have guys being nice to them 600 times a day. The patient is bleeding in the street. Do you know how to operate or not?

"Well, I'm not sexist or racist or greedy or shallow or abusive! Not like those other douchebags!"

I'm sorry, I know that this is hard to hear, but if all you can do is list a bunch of faults you don't have, then back the fuck away from the patient. There's a witty, handsome guy with a promising career ready to step in and operate.

Does that break your heart? OK, so now what? Are you going to mope about it, or are you going to learn how to do surgery? It's up to you, but don't complain about how girls fall for jerks; they fall for those jerks because those jerks have other things they can offer. "But I'm a great listener!" Are you? Because you're willing to sit quietly in exchange for the chance to be in the proximity of a pretty girl (and spend every second imagining how soft her skin must be)? Well guess what, there's another guy in her life who also knows how to do that, and he can play the guitar. Saying that you're a nice guy is like a restaurant whose only selling point is that the food doesn't make you sick. You're like a new movie whose title is This Movie Is in English, and its tagline is "The actors are clearly visible."

I think this is why you can be a "nice guy" and still feel terrible about yourself. Specifically ...

You Hate Yourself Because You Don't Do Anything

"So, what, you're saying that I should pick up a book on how to get girls?"

Only if step one in the book is "Start making yourself into the type of person girls want to be around."

Because that's the step that gets skipped. It's always "How can I get a job?" and not, "How can I become the type of person employers want?" It's "How can I get pretty girls to like me?" instead of, "How can I become the type of person that pretty girls like?" See, because that second one could very well require giving up many of your favorite hobbies and paying more attention to your appearance, and God knows what else. You might even have to change your personality.

"But why can't I find someone who just likes me for me?" you ask. The answer is because humans need things. The victim is bleeding, and all you can do is look down and complain that there aren't more gunshot wounds that just fix themselves?

"But I'm not good at anything!" Well, I have good news: throw enough hours of repetition at it and you can get sort of good at anything. Don't like the prospect of pouring all of that time into a skill? Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that the sheer act of practicing will help you come out of your shell. I got through years of tedious office work because I knew that I was learning a unique skill on the side. People quit because it takes too long to see results, because they can't figure out that the process is the result.
The bad news is that you have no other choice. "If you want to work here, close."

Step one: Get up.

Because in my non-expert opinion, you don't hate yourself because you have low self-esteem, or because other people were mean to you. You hate yourself because you don't do anything. Not even you can just "love you for you." That's why you're miserable and sending me private Facebook messages asking me what I think you should do with your life.

Do the math: How much of your time is spent consuming things other people made (TV, music, video games, websites) versus making your own? Only one of those adds to your value as a human being.

And if you hate hearing this and are responding with something you heard as a kid that sounds like "It's what's on the inside that matters!" then I can only say ...

What You Are Inside Only Matters Because of What It Makes You Do

Don't get me wrong; who you are inside is everything - the guy who built a house for his family from scratch did it because of who he was inside. Every bad thing you've ever done has started with a bad impulse, some thought ricocheting around inside your skull until you had to act on it. And every good thing you've done is the same - "who you are inside" is the metaphorical dirt from which your fruit grows.

But here's what everyone needs to know, and what many of you can't accept:

"You" are nothing but the fruit.

Nobody cares about your dirt. "Who you are inside" is meaningless aside from what it produces for other people.

Inside, you have great compassion for poor people. Great. Does that result in you doing anything about it? Do you hear about some terrible tragedy in your community and say, "Oh, those poor children. Let them know that they are in my thoughts"? Because fuck you if so. Find out what they need and help provide it. A hundred million people watched that Kony video, virtually all of whom kept those poor African children "in their thoughts." What did the collective power of those good thoughts provide? Jack fucking shit. Children die every day because millions of us tell ourselves that caring is just as good as doing. It's an internal mechanism controlled by the lazy part of your brain to keep you from actually doing work.

How many of you are walking around right now saying, "She/he would love me if she/he only knew what an interesting person I am!" Really? How do all of your interesting thoughts and ideas manifest themselves in the world? What do they cause you to do? If your dream girl or guy had a hidden camera that followed you around for a month, would they be impressed with what they saw? Remember, they can't read your mind - they can only observe. Would they want to be a part of that life?

I just applied 40ccs of prayer.
Let me know how that goes.

Because all I'm asking you to do is apply the same standard to yourself that you apply to everyone else. Don't you have that annoying Christian friend whose only offer to help anyone ever is to "pray for them"? Doesn't it drive you nuts? I'm not even commenting on whether or not prayer works; it doesn't change the fact that they chose the one type of help that doesn't require them to get off the sofa. They abstain from every vice, they think clean thoughts, their internal dirt is as pure as can be, but what fruit grows from it? And they should know this better than anybody -- I stole the fruit metaphor from the Bible. Jesus said something to the effect of "a tree is judged by its fruit" over and over and over. Granted, Jesus never said, "If you want to work here, close." No, he said, "Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire."

The people didn't react well to being told that, just as the salesmen didn't react well to Alec Baldwin telling them that they needed to grow some balls or resign themselves to shining his shoes. Which brings us to the final point ...

Everything Inside You Will Fight Improvement

The human mind is a miracle, and you will never see it spring more beautifully into action than when it is fighting against evidence that it needs to change. Your psyche is equipped with layer after layer of defense mechanisms designed to shoot down anything that might keep things from staying exactly where they are -- ask any addict.

So even now, some of you reading this are feeling your brain bombard you with knee-jerk reasons to reject it. From experience, I can say that these seem to come in the form of:

• Intentionally Interpreting Any Criticism as an Insult "Who is he to call me lazy and worthless! A good person would never talk to me like this! He wrote this whole thing just to feel superior to me and to make me feel bad about my life! I'm going to think up my own insult to even the score!" 

• Focusing on the Messenger to Avoid Hearing the Message "Who is THIS guy to tell ME how to live? Oh, like he's so high and mighty! It's just some dumb writer on the Internet! I'm going to go dig up something on him that reassures me that he's stupid, and that everything he's saying is stupid! This guy is so pretentious, it makes me puke!" 

• Focusing on the Tone to Avoid Hearing the Content "I'm going to dig through here until I find a joke that is offensive when taken out of context, and then talk and think only about that! I've heard that a single offensive word can render an entire book invisible!" 

• Revising Your Own History "Things aren't so bad! I know that I was threatening suicide last month, but I'm feeling better now! It's entirely possible that if I just keep doing exactly what I'm doing, eventually things will work out! I'll get my big break, and if I keep doing favors for that pretty girl, eventually she'll come around!" 

• Pretending That Any Self-Improvement Would Somehow Be Selling Out "Oh, so I guess I'm supposed to get rid of all of my manga and instead go to the gym for six hours a day and get a spray tan like those Jersey Shore douchebags? Because THAT IS THE ONLY OTHER OPTION."

And so on. Remember, misery is comfortable. It's why so many people prefer it. Happiness takes effort.
Also, courage. It's incredibly comforting to know that as long as you don't create anything in your life, then nobody can attack the thing you created.

It's so much easier to just sit back and criticize other people's creations. This movie is stupid. That couple's kids are brats. That other couple's relationship is a mess. That rich guy is shallow. That girl's shirt is terrible. This restaurant sucks. This Internet writer is an asshole. I'd better leave a mean comment. See, I created something.

Oh, wait, did I forget to mention that part? Yeah, whatever you try to build or create - be it a poem, or a new skill, or a new relationship - you will find yourself immediately surrounded by non-creators who trash it. Maybe not to your face, but they'll do it. Your drunk friends do not want you to get sober. Your fat friends do not want you to start a fitness regimen. Your jobless friends do not want to see you embark on a career.

Just remember, they're only expressing their own fear, since trashing other people's work is another excuse to do nothing. "Why should I create anything when the things other people create suck? I would totally have written a novel by now, but I'm going to wait for something good, I don't want to write the next Twilight!" As long as they never produce anything, it will forever be perfect and beyond reproach. Or if they do produce something, they'll make sure they do it with detached irony. They'll make it intentionally bad to make it clear to everyone else that this isn't their real effort. Their real effort would have been amazing. Not like the shit you made.

Don't be that person. If you are that person, don't be that person any more. This is what's making people hate you. This is what's making you hate yourself.

What are you going to do with it?
Hunt witches or kick off your Olympics?

So how about this: one year. The end of 2013, that's our deadline. Or a year from whenever you read this. While other people are telling you "Let's make a New Year's resolution to lose 15 pounds this year!" I'm going to say let's pledge to do fucking anything - add any skill, any improvement to your human tool set, and get good enough at it to impress people. Don't ask me what - hell, pick something at random if you don't know. Take a class in karate, or ballroom dancing, or pottery. Learn to bake. Build a birdhouse. Learn massage. Learn a programming language. Film a porno. Adopt a superhero persona and fight crime. Start a YouTube vlog. Read.

But the key is, I don't want you to focus on something great that you're going to make happen to you ("I'm going to find a girlfriend, I'm going to make lots of money ..."). I want you to purely focus on giving yourself a skill that would make you ever so slightly more interesting and valuable to other people.

"I don't have the money to take a cooking class." Then fucking Google "how to cook." They've even filtered out the porn now, it's easier than ever.

Damn it, you have to kill those excuses.

Or they will kill you.

Newtown's martyred children and the cold hearts of the gun lobby

I choked up repeatedly while watching and reading the stories about the slaughter of the innocents in Newtown, Conn., and, throughout the mournful weekend, I pondered the question raised by everyone from stricken parents to mayors and senators on the news talk shows: What will be done to prevent similar sick-minded gun rampages in the future?

My early conclusion: Nothing.

Narrow political interests and the perplexing nature of the crime make inaction nearly certain. This has proved true after the 15 other multiple-shooting rampages of 2012, and it has been the case with all the other terrible incidents in past years. Yes, this time the tender age of most of the victims makes it especially horrific, but, though many hearts have been broken, the cold hearts at the headquarters of the National Rifle Assn. remain in deep freeze.

Even as the children of Newtown are laid to rest, the leaders of the NRA will not soften their absolutist stance for unfettered access to all types of firearms and, as a result, neither will the majority of Republicans in Congress who are in their thrall. Chances are slim-to-none that the Republican-controlled House of Representatives will take rational steps toward managing the millions of guns in America, such as banning assault weapons and high-capacity ammunition clips, as well as requiring background checks for all gun sales. Gun policy in the United States will continue to be dictated by extremists whose paranoid fear of black U.N. helicopters and the federal government far exceeds their concern about the shooting deaths of school kids or moviegoers or Christmas shoppers at a mall.

These 2nd Amendment zealots will argue that Connecticut’s comparatively strict firearms laws did nothing to stop the slaughter at Sandy Hook Elementary School, and they will be right, but maybe that means the laws should be more strict. The guns that Adam Lanza took with him to shoot down 6- and 7-year-olds and their teachers were purchased legally by the first of his victims, his mother. Lanza’s primary weapon was his mom’s assault rifle, but I expect pro-gun folks to talk as if he could have done equal damage with a baseball bat. Every proposed limit will be treated as an assault on freedom. Even the experience of Australia, where no mass shootings have occurred since very tough firearms laws were passed in 1996, is already being discounted on gun-rights websites.

Attention will be steered away from guns toward other pertinent issues -- most prominently, the adequacy of mental health treatment in the United States. Cuts to state and federal mental health budgets will be decried. But mass shooters are generally not people who have been enrolled in treatment programs, nor do they come from among the mumbling, delusional street vagrants who wander our city streets. Most often, they simply walk out of dorm rooms or their parents’ basements with guns blazing. What are we to do when evil is so anonymous and unpredictable? Can we lock up every brooding loner in America? Can we demand a 911 call from every parent with a sullen boy holed up in his bedroom?

How about putting well-armed police officers in every school in America? Would that help? And after the schools are secured, what about the shopping malls and movie theaters and college campuses? Should they too be turned into armed fortresses? How much liberty must we all give up to protect the freedom of those who want to amass an arsenal?

A tearful President Obama has said it is time to take “meaningful action,” but that is far easier said than done when there is so little will to make a cure for this plague a national priority. Perhaps the photographs of Newtown’s dead children should be displayed prominently at every congressional hearing, at every community gathering, at every NRA meeting called to deal with this issue. Broken hearts may open closed minds.

- David Horsey, Los Angeles Times

Emotional Handcuffs

I used to be elusive. I used to never let anyone know how I was feeling, what I was thinking, and I never wore my emotions on my sleeve. High school was the last time that applied. I smiled and joked and generally committed myself to a bouncy disposition.

It's been thirteen years, and since then I've gone to three colleges, toured all over the country, visited two others, and returned a lot more jaded, and with less care about who sees what I feel or hears what I think. And so I more or less say what I think and share what I feel, openly.

The only problem is, being an adult means you're supposed to have that filter installed. Now I get looked down upon for letting my emotions known. Telling someone about your bad day is burdensome, writing in Facebook status about a philosophy on love is childish, and not acting like everything is perfect as soon as you walk out your door is weak. My favorite part? This all comes on the feminist heels of how being a man doesn't mean you have to suppress everything and how it's okay to cry.

But don't believe it. Don't you ever, ever believe it. No matter how much a girl or woman may say she doesn't mind it if a guy shows vulnerability, or even if she says she likes it when a guy cries because it shows he can be sensitive, don't listen. Because while she may mean it in that moment, looking back, when she's in a bad mood or the waves in the relationship start getting rough, she'll remember you and how let her into that soft, delicate place inside you, and she'll see you as "whiny" - which strips away the main characteristics a man prides himself on: strength and security. And you won't be able to unring that bell.

So don't cry. Never cry. Never lament. Never let her in. She'll sucker you into a false sense of security then use your lapse in stoicism as a tool against you down the line.

Men: You are never free. That is the sad, unalienable truth. Men are raised to "suck it up and don't bitch" all their lives, and women are taught to see us that way from birth. A few months in a liberal classroom or a idealistic book she reads isn't going to reverse thousands of years of gender roles and expectations. Sure, some women may not like a quiet, enigmatic, silent rock type (though most do), but no woman will ever be with a guy that's as emotionally open and exposed as she is. They don't want to hear about our problems. Sharing our complaints makes them feel like they're suddenly mothering a helpless child. And we all know the double standard of letting them shed tears about their ex-boyfriends, the death of a pet, the loss of a house, being sick, or just simply venting during their "week". The capricious current of sympathy flows in only one direction between man and woman: From us to them.

Never be too proud to comfort, but never become too comfortable to be comforted.

We men get to be the physically stronger and faster sex, so the balance of that is that we don't "get" to sob and bemoan about life the way women do, no matter what persuasive words they may try to convince us with. It's unfortunate but it's true, and always will be.

And the ironic conundrum? While all men will know exactly what I'm talking about, women will see this entry about not being able to complain... as whining.

Thus, further proving the point.

-HKR

Cogent

"Neil, I've been a girl for almost 28 years now. And after everything I've been through, all the ups and downs and dramas and relationships and fights with family and schools and jobs and all the friendships I've had, the only advice on girls I can give you is this:

"Sometimes... we just want to be depressed. 

"And it won't make sense, it won't follow logic, and it won't be planned. You don't even have to do anything wrong. You can do everything right and be the perfect son, the perfect boyfriend, husband or father - but every now and then we will go out of our way to make ourselves temporarily miserable. 

"We know you guys hate it, and we hate it about ourselves even more. But sometimes there's just nothing you can do about a woman but to just let her not make any damn sense for a while."

It's True

The Frustrating Arguments of Kids vs. Adults

Think back to the most frustrating, heated arguments you've ever had with your parents. Chances are that most of you will remember something from the heart of your teenage years. And if you're old enough, most of you are going to remember those arguments as petty and laughable. Then you're going to cringe when you realize that you'll be repeating that same stupid bullshit from the other side when your kids reach that age, and there isn't a goddamn thing you can do about it.

But you have to keep in mind that it's not their fault. The most volatile arguments you'll ever have reach that point of suppressing punches because they are impossible for either side to win. And as long as you go into these conversations with that "win" mentality, the following arguments will face-fuck your patience into a flickering memory.

"You Don't Understand Me! It's Not Like When You Were a Kid!" 

The Argument: "How can you possibly tell me that you understand what I'm going through? Back when you were a kid, if you got stressed out you could just pay five bucks to fill up your gas tank, listen to grunge music and smoke pot with your slacker friends,

Hope Kills Logic

What is it to like someone? What is it that draws us to one particular person and not another? When we say we "like" or "love" someone... what is that? Is it chemical? Serendipitous magnetic charges? Neurons firing at a precise and consequential moment in time? Biological bubbling? Or simply chance?

So, okay: "I love you."

"Why do you love me?" they always eventually ask.

And how do we respond? We start listing off the things we love about them. Their hair. Their smile. The way they talk and move and think and their philosophies on life. The scent of them when they lay next to you. How they make love. The cute little thing their nose does. Their ambitions. The conversation. But then, aren't those just the essences that hook you and altogether form an emotion in you that manifests into love itself? When you say you love the food you're eating and someone goes, "Why?" You say, "'Cause it just...tastes great!" Not, "'Cause I love the brand of the spatula the chef used and the burlap sack the spices came in. And goodness, don't get me started on the mustache of the waiter who brought this dish to me. Let alone the quality of grand cherry oak of the table we're sitting at." Details like those are trivial as to why you enjoy what you're eating, aren't they? Not that hair and smiles and eyes and personality are petty issues when it comes to being in love with someone. But they're simply the ingredients of your love. Part of the recipe. Not the dish itself.

Mitt Romney and Women

"In this year’s campaign furor over a supposed “war on women,” involving birth control and abortion, the assumption is that the audience worrying about these issues is just women.

"Give us a little credit. We men aren’t mercenaries caring only for Y chromosomes. We have wives and daughters, mothers and sisters, and we have a pretty intimate stake in contraception as well.

"This isn’t like a tampon commercial on television, leaving men awkwardly examining their fingernails. When it comes to women’s health, men as well as women need to pay attention. Just as civil rights wasn’t just a “black issue,” women’s rights and reproductive health shouldn’t be reduced to a “women’s issue.”

"To me, actually, talk about a “war on women” in the United States seems a bit hyperbolic: in Congo or Darfur or Afghanistan, I’ve seen brutal wars on women, involving policies of rape or denial of girls’ education. But whatever we call it, something real is going on here at home that would mark a major setback for American women — and the men who love them.

"On these issues, Mitt Romney is no moderate. On the contrary, he is considerably more extreme than President George W. Bush was. He insists, for example, on cutting off money for cancer screenings conducted by Planned Parenthood.

The Supervisor and the Mastermind

It's scary to think I might end up happy this time.

Thoughts and fears and insecurities get in the way, reminders of a past gone wrong.

I'm constantly afraid of overlooking something and being blindsided in my bliss.

There's a fine line between trying not to make the same mistakes and letting something new happen.

This could be good. Amazing good.

I'm trying to ignore the scars from others.

I'm trying.

Madness?

"I don't believe in souls, or reincarnation. But if I did, I'd believe we were Leonidas and Gorgo of Sparta.

"...or maybe Socrates and Plato. If you include the relations of the period."

99%

What I want. And don't.

Looking back, I've always been fascinated with jobs that require a suit and tie ever since I began watching Friends in 1994. It sounds shallow, I know, but I was 12 at the time and after Saved by the Bell's Zack Morris, my "adult-esque" influences had to come from somewhere. I always liked the character Chandler Bing, and how he made the most money out of everyone, didn't make a big deal about his job (by the end of the series, the running gag was that no one knew exactly what he did there, even after ten years), had a terrible childhood, and yet still managed to be the funniest and most caring of the group.

When my cousin Rick hooked me up with a gig at NBC/WB studios on the set of Friends and Mad About You, it was a dream come true. Suddenly, that appreciation for the "suit + tie = money" equation jumped to a whole new level. Execs and directors and management were bustling in and out, talking, demanding, making decisions; and even though I was only 16 when I started working there, I quickly understood that if you looked good, it was because you could afford to, and if you could afford to, it was because you were successful. Or so goes the illusion that we play to is presented.

Anyway. I'm obviously quite aware of the difference between fantasy and reality. I don't want to be Chandler Bing. After all, I've worked those awful retail jobs at Blockbuster, Kohl's, Office Depot and Petsmart in my late teens and early twenties. I've been a host, server and bartender at Red Robin and Applebees and was VIP at Disneyland during my mid-twenties. And I went on to cut decent paychecks touring with my band across the country for a couple years after that. But the desire to have a job that made money while also allowing me to look good has permeated into all of my goals towards a career. Even when I was with my band for a couple years, we wore suits onstage. Sure, it was a little tongue-firmly-in-cheek style, but I enjoyed it. Fast forwards to where I am now, I'm thisclose to finishing college after finally clearing away enough debris from my past to where I can see the elusive lights of my future beaming through the cracks. Life may have thrown a battalion of hell at me for thirty years causing me to stall, but I'm on the precipice of having a great job that can go on to become a fulfilling and lucrative career.

That said, I could make $300,000 a year (this is plausible) and none of it would mean anything to me if I didn't have something - someone - to come home to (also plausible).

Yes, he seems miserable.

So I make money. Enough to buy a house. And a dog. A new car. Brand-new wardrobe. So what. Now I'm just a lonely rich guy. I suppose most men in their 30's would find that setup downright Utopian, considering the disposable income and potentially disposable women. Young, good-looking, healthy, intelligent, a house, and places to go and people to see? No-strings-attached sex? What guy doesn't dream of obtaining that, to become Hugh Hefner incarnate?

Me.

I don't.

I just... don't. I never have.

When all of my friends were out partying and drinking and smoking weed and generally being teenagers, I was the designated driver. I was the one with the job and therefore the one with the money and therefore the one that bought the beer. I never got blitzed or wasted with them every weekend. I was the "responsible one", which invariably led me to lose all of my friends due to the fact that I ended up being so dissimilar. Maybe I was deemed the "party pooper" at the time, but when the dust settled, they all came to me about their real problems. When all my friends were having fun and having casual sex and trying to compete with each other over stories and scores (both guy and girls did this), I was the one that sat with them afterwards, privately stunned, as they all complained to me one by one over and over again about all the mistakes they made, all of the regrets, how alone they felt, and the occasional STD anecdote. I simply did not understand the allure of casual sex and meaningless "hook ups", when all it did was magnify your shallow desire for human contact and your deep flaw of fear of more at the same time.

I'm a firm believer that no one can just have sex. It's either really good sex (in which case you want more, which it then becomes more) or it's really bad sex (and you regret it entirely). And if it's just average "eh" sex, then you wasted your time to begin with, since you could have done a better job yourself. At least, that's my philosophy. What I do know is, that across the board, to every person that's ever existed, the best sex is when both people care deeply about each other. There are no exceptions to this rule. You might be able to pull off wilder sex with that crazy girl or that asshole guy; Or longer sex with that slut or womanizer; A guy may find bigger boobs or a better body and a girl may find a bigger penis with some stranger. But none of those equate to the best kind of sex. When both people care about each other, every option is on the table. If you love her, you'll do that crazy move or say those things she wants you to say. And if she loves you, she'll put on that lingerie or do that fetish. Finding someone close to you that you can share and indulge your secrets - the ones not appropriate for the outside world - creates a hidden, sexual bond that coincides with love. And that sex is the best sex.

When it comes right down to it, if the fate of the world came down to you having the best sex, you would choose the person you love.

*   *   *   *   *

My point is, I'm not a guy who dates girls in bunches. Nor am I a guy that "sees" multiple women. I'm a serial monogamist. I am me, I am who the fuck I am, and that's it. Due to this fact, my friends used to call me Maverick in homage to the main character in Top Gun (was actually on my name tag at work). They quickly learned that I never "fired until something good was locked on to." Meaning, I never cast a wide net and chose quantity over quality. I was patient when it came to choosing a woman... probably too patient. In my early twenties I went almost four years without a girlfriend, and yes, by choice. It was when I was 20-24, and to put it plainly, not many girls were worth a damn. Few still are. This isn't to say the sea of men is any easier for a woman to sift through, by any means. It's slim pickings either way, which only magnifies the importance of hanging on to someone special when you find them.

So what do I want? Same thing I've always dreams of since I was a kid: A house. A driveway. A yard. Decorations around the house. Nice neighbors. A crazy neighbor. A dog waking me up. A cat keeping me warm. And a woman to keep me humble. To wake up early, make coffee, put on nice clothes for work, kiss her goodbye, go to work, where I can make a difference in society and my community via teaching, art, advertising, and politics, and come home to my pets. And if she's not home by then, make dinner. Clean up around the house. Make her life easier. Go out and try new restaurants. New foods. Watch TV together. Keep her warm when her hands and feet are ice cold. Go out and see a movie. Talk politics and world views. Stay in pajamas all day and read. Plan for vacations; some luxurious, some more adventurous. But always enriching. I want her parents to be involved, and proud. I want my parents to be non-existent and forgotten (see, I'm not a complete romantic). I want to be around a family that I get along with, gets to see her happy, and invites us over for the holidays. I want to see what a real Thanksgiving is like. A real Christmas. I want my girlfriend to be proud of me, not ashamed of me. For once in my god damned life.

So many people throw away the and only thing I've ever truly wanted: Somewhere and someone to belong to.

And what about her? What do I want in my desired woman? Intelligent, first and foremost. This isn't everything I need (it never is), but it is the deal-breaker. She must possess it in spades. You could be Diora Baird, but if you're unable to dive even a few layers into a subject matter, cite sources or at least have an anecdote that relates to the subject, then I don't care. You lost me. You're a waste of time, at least on a relationship level. Am I an intellectual snob? Perhaps. It's just that if we can't sit and talk in depth about something - or at least you keep pace with me when the conversation hilariously veers off course for an hour - then how could I possibly justify spending the more important days and years of my life with you?

α + α = <4

She must be beautiful. This isn't shallow of me; It's natural and it's ingrained into my being. Being physically attracted to someone and them being physically attracted to you is the one and only thing that pushes a friendship into deeper territory. After all, if two people laugh and like the same things, think alike, share moments, and help each other but have absolutely no intention or desire to have sex with one another, guess what they are? Friends. But you can take two people who only agree on 1/10th of the same things, and if they like fucking each other's brains out, you've got yourself a relationship. Or a hooker. Depends on what gets exchanged in the afterglow. All I'm saying is that, to me, she has to be beautiful. I must be physically attracted to her. I suppose I should define what that entails?

Short or long hair, doesn't matter much, although I tend to lean towards long.
Hair color doesn't matter. Half the women out there aren't showing their true hair color anyway.
She can't be overweight.
Flip side, she can't be super-ripped and buff.
She has to taste good.
Kiss well.
Have a sexual drive at least on par with mine.
Height? I'm 6'2" when I'm not slouching like an idiot, so she can't be taller than me.
I think anything under 5'2" would weird me out. I dunno. At that point I suppose it would depend on how she carries herself.
Democrat.
Or open-minded Republi- No, no, scratch that. Democrat.
And she can't be religious.
Maybe... spiritual, but not religious (there's a difference, look it up). I don't believe in God and I don't want to have to deal with explaining why humans and dinosaurs never lived together and that man did not "ride on them like in the Flintstones."

She can't need marriage just because society says so. I'm not against it, per se, in that I hate people who get married. It's not like that at all. It's just a personal choice. I don't see it as an end-game goal, and while I understand the benefits to it (social, economic and otherwise), I think I'm just one of those people that just doesn't give a damn. Maybe when I'm older? And she proves herself to me? And vice versa? I dunno. But it's not on my radar right now and I'm not chasing that idea. Same with kids. She can't need kids just because "it's our job to as a human race". Not right now, anyway. To be honest, I can't imagine myself being ready emotionally or mentally to raise a child. Because, really, the woman who can be with me isn't going to be able to be a mom, either. I just kinda laughed. I adore kids, though.

*   *   *   *   *

I want to enjoy life. I'm free from the burden of some ethereal god's mythical judgement, and thanks to my childhood I don't have to worry about any parental or family approval of what I'm doing or who I'm doing it with. That said, I want to work, love, be loved, and learn as much as I can about this world before I'm forced to go. And I want her to be with me when I do all of these things. Whatever it is we do. We can go to places she's always dreamed of going and she can teach me all she knows and I can be constantly twitterpated in awe at her unending curiosity with the world.

She has to have drive. Want more out of life. Not be content with everything. To keep moving forward, higher, to keep learning. However, the tricky part is, she still has to have the ability to be happy and appreciate things. Her life, her health, the little moments that mean more than we remember, etc.

And me. She has to appreciate me. At the very least, for what I try to do.

I'm a giver. I buy gifts. I stop and think of little surprises. I write letters. I listen and pay attention to conversation and pick up ideas for dinners, birthdays, and vacations. I enjoy cleaning. Laundry, vacuuming, dishes, washing the car, mowing the lawn, setting up computers, televisions, fixing appliances, plumbing, everything. I like it. It makes me feel like I'm making the place I'm in my own. I've lived in five or six different places over the course of my life, and I'm inevitably always the one that cleans up. And it's almost always been with other guys and roommates, so I've always been the one that cooks and prepares and yes, even makes dinner. I used to find it incredibly annoying. There were plenty of times where things got into arguments with my friends and I just listed off everything I did while all they did was sit back and drink and play videogames while I cleaned the place up before going to work. I felt like a nagging wife. Or their mom. But I look back now with a bit of masochistic appreciation: It was a boot camp for being grown up. I learned how to live on my own and take care of myself by dealing with ungrateful others.

I like grocery shopping. I like making coffee in the morning. I like giving massages - feet, shoulders, back, everything - every day. I love hearing a girl moan and groan when I rub their tight and tense muscles, because I know how good that feels. I love listening to every absurd and ridiculous moment that happened throughout her day. Your boss said something stupid? Tell me about it. Your co-worker wore something awful? Let's make fun of her. Your sibling did something infuriating? Let's analyze it. You're just flat-out having a bad day? Let's take your mind off of it over some wine and chocolate. I've sat and watched some terrible shows with girls solely because I know it comforts them; Jersey Shore, attending church, Sex and the City - for fuck's sake, I went to the midnight showings of the Twilight movies for one girl. Do I get any rollover credit?

The show where every guy is a ripped, hung, wealthy bank investor
that's amazing at sex and still not good enough.

As bad as that sounds, really, deep down, the pros outweighed the cons because her happiness is more important than my temporary eye-rolling boredom. And to be honest, I would hope she would be willing to do the same for me. One day.

This doesn't mean I'm perfect. I still have my "guy" moments. I swear pretty casually. That's a bad habit. The good news is, after meeting dozens of ex-girlfriends' parents, I can shut it off instantly. I was with my last girlfriend for about five years, and for half a decade, not once did I slip a single bad word around her ultra-Christian family. So that's a badge. I watch basketball sometimes. Mainly just during the playoffs. But never with a crowd of guys in my living room, screaming at the TV, spilling buffalo wings and ranch on the carpet and yelling at my woman to bring me a beer. It's usually just me and my brother watching the game somewhere else while we talk about life in general. I don't drink (I've only been drunk once in my life), I've never done drugs (not even weed), and I don't smoke (though I did, briefly, for a few months after my beloved godmother died).

I have a terrible time dealing with sadness. I overthink. Though I'd gladly stop if the worse-case scenario would stop coming true. I'm paranoid about making her feel bad (and hence, finding me undesirable), that instead of yelling and fighting, I'll grab my keys and go out and drive alone for a couple hours. In a weird way, this shows how much I love her. With anyone else - friends, family, etc. - I'll just rip on them and bomb them and logic and facts, and I'll do so for hours until they concede I'm right or we can at the very least come to a concession of where a misunderstanding took place. And that fire in me was planted via decades of living with my family. They're almost all vindictive, volatile and venomous people. And just to survive there you had to know how to scrap yourself out of a corner. So that's in me, and I know it, and I never want to subject the woman I love to that heat. So I drive. It's not healthy, but it's the only solution I have right now that helps me find my center and put perspective on a situation. And it usually works. Usually.

When all is said and done, though, I'm loyal. I don't lie, and I don't cheat. I believe women should be cherished, and if you find one that cares about you, she should be valued above all else. Which is what I do.

I'm getting older now - I'll be 31 in a few months - and I'm running out of time to be relevant. Both to society and the opposite sex. If I'm being completely honest, I'm not worried about ending up alone. It's not hard for someone like me to find a girl to like him. That's easy. A smile, a wink, a dash of philosophy, and lowering my bar just enough to pick someone up that doesn't know any better. That wouldn't be difficult. So I'm not worried about ending up alone.

No.

No, I'm worried about ending up not happy.

Not ending up with my house that I work on and spend money to improve. Not ending up with my dog, my cat, my huge bed, my guest bedroom, my new guitars, and good food every day. Not having someone home to ask me how my day went. Or introduce me to new things. Hell, I'm not even worried, really. Just quite simply afraid.

I don't want to go on vacations with someone empty inside. With someone that doesn't know the depths of me. I don't want to continue to build my life without someone important and incredible. I don't want to come home to someone I have to hide thoughts from. I don't want to establish my mini-empire in my little corner of this world with a broken heart. I want to go out and have fun with someone I can cry with, share secrets with... go on road trips for hours, days, and weeks to new places... fly to new countries with, make fun of people with, exchange glaces over the heads of 99.9% of the population, have nonsensical inside jokes with... have sex with on good days, fuck on those crazy stressful days, and make love to on those nights when she appreciates me as much as I appreciate her.

It's impossible, I know.

But it's what I want.

-HKR

Blue Spin Zone

"Most of us become infatuated with certain people over the course of our lives. Once in awhile that passionate feeling works out, but much of the time it does not. Infatuation is always temporary, often based upon nothing other than powerful attraction. Unfortunately, that kind of attraction often makes us do thing we would not ordinarily do. 

I was once infatuated with a woman who was the poster girl for venality. This woman was so selfish, she made Leona Helmsley look like Edith Bunker. She was off-the-charts manipulative and didn’t even try to fake that she wasn’t. She was so good-looking, she knew she could con men into giving her just about anything she wanted.

For the record: Left - Leona Helmsley, Right - Edith Bunker

"I actually thought I could change this woman. This was insane. She was disrespectful to pretty much everybody, including her parents, and openly mocked some people she had screwed over. One time she hid behind her answering machine as an old boyfriend asked her for a callback. She snorted derisively even though she had gone with the guy for years. I told her flat out that she was engaging in disgraceful behavior, but even though I knew the woman was a block of ice, I did not disengage. Looking back, she should have been lodging at the Playboy Mansion, not hanging around with me.

"The good news is that I did not alter my behavior. I associated with this woman but kept my defenses up and my actions under control. Finally I wised up and told her I had better things to do with my life. However, I wasted and enormous amount of time and energy dealing with the lady, on mostly her terms. So if this can happen to me, a rather hard-edged, no-nonsense kind of guy, then it can happen to anyone.

"The solution to toxic people is simple but difficult. You must divert yourself away from them. Once again it comes down to discipline. If the fruit tastes good but you bleed after eating it, you’ve got to dine elsewhere or be drained all the time.

"What society needs is a 12-step program for infatuated American. This organization would supply wise counselors when we are tempted to associate with those who would do us harm but look so good doing it. I’m not kidding. If you can get somebody to come over and talk you out of making that stupid phone call to that dangerous person, do it. Then immediately go out and have fun.

"You can have plenty of good people in your life, but one emotional partner who is pernicious can negate them all. Remember, chaos always breeds more chaos. If a romantic partner (or even a family member) is causing you consistent and unnecessary pain, get out and stay out. The short-term feeling of loss is nothing compared to the damage that a truly bad or weak person can do to your life. You must see people as they are, not as you want them to be. You are not going to change a callous, cruel, selfish person.

"If you do hook up with Dr. or Ms. Evil, don’t blame me. I’ve told you the truth -- you can’t change him or her. Some people are bad to the bone and there’s nothing anyone but the authorities can do. Learn it, live it, and spread the word."

- Bill O'Reilly, an excerpt from "The No Spin Zone"

It’s common knowledge that most guys would rather not consider their girlfriends’ sexual histories in any great detail. It’s a little much, that’s all. There was that cheesy nightclub owner - that much you know. There was one who looked like The Situation. She was younger and "just being free". Whatever. It’s gross. Don’t think about it.

"Hi. I'm all of your girlfriend's ex-boyfriend.
And she lost her virginity to me like, five times."

Given that the very idea that a girl should even have a “sexual history” is pretty recent, (historically speaking), we can conclude that this sort of retroactive jealousy is a strong force. It’s behind a lot of taboos, rituals, and territorial wars. And fairly widespread.

What we don’t see as much of, however, is the opposite. Even though women  (three margaritas in) are pretty fond of the whole “How come if a girl sleeps around she’s a slut but if a guy does it he’s a player?”*  thing, the question of past promiscuity on their man’s part almost never seems to bother them to any great degree. It’s not as visceral. It’s a side-eye, a shake of the head, a peccadillo. It doesn’t keep them up at night.

* [There is an explanation to this, by the way. It’s not some sort of impossible ‘70s koan. Here goes: Generally speaking, it is very difficult for men to have sex with women, and easy for women to have sex with men. That’s why the former is associated with achievement, and the latter with none. Outside of rock stars or whatever, most men face a lot of resistance en route, and must handle their game and constantly present attractive qualities. However, with the exception of the very severe cases of aesthetic failure, women encounter little to no resistance, and must only simply remain in the room. That’s why we use the words that we do for these scenarios.]

So is there something we are missing here? Is there any other context outside of extreme religious environments in which male virginity is highly valued? Because I’ve never seen it. Despite the modern desire for all sexual behaviors to neatly traverse the gender line, women just don’t seem as bothered by their guys’ pasts as we do theirs. In our experience, the phrase “male virginity” makes them think of other phrases, phrases like “Aw, it happens to every guy,” and, “No…no... not quite,” and, “That's my bellybutton.” It doesn’t seem like a plus.

Sex is a strange, strange thing. Both genders participate in it, but both judge the opposite very differently. The main issue seems to be the constant struggle between what the socially acceptable amount of sex is to each gender versus simply not giving a shit about it at all. But everyone has a threshold to insecurities, regardless of how open-minded and "progressive" you claim to be. Some men would never be with a girl who has been with more than, say, two partners. Some women say they don't care what the number is - until they find out what the other girls looked like. Or that time he was in a threesome. And then there's the numbers game. What if a girl has only been with two guys, but her first time was when she was 15 and she's had sex over a thousand times? And compare that to the guy who has had, say, 30+ partners, but 25 of them were one-night stands, meaning he's only had sex about 100 times? That's only 1/5th of the amount of sex that the woman had. Still, most would say the woman in this situation is the more socially acceptable individual here. We tend to value monogamy and consistency more than sexual prowess. You could flip to two in that scenario (man has more sex, woman has more partners), and the popular opinion would remain the same.


The other half of that conundrum is this: The actual act of sex itself is ground zero for one's worth. You can get along with someone, be rich, successful, confident and happy, but if the other person doesn't have physical attraction towards you, the most you'll ever be is a friend. And beyond that, as a man, she could be attracted to you, but if you're absolutely awful in bed, she won't stay. She may give you half a dozen attempts to impress her or at least give her something to be hopeful for, but if you're bad at it, the nights are numbered. Luckily for women, the opposite isn't true. In sex, it doesn't require too much on the woman's part to ensure a man's enjoyment. A woman can quite literally just lie there. Is that ideal? Of course not. Is an engaged and libidinous woman better? Absolutely. Can a guy get by in life with just a quickie at night while you sigh? 90% can. So the good news for women is, less effort is required to and make a man happy in the bedroom than it is for a guy to impress a woman (this, by no means am I suggesting you shouldn't try). The point is, when it comes to sex, men are under the gun to perform and galvanize worth than a woman is.

Which brings me to this. Acceptibility versus ease.

Chalk it up to historical tendencies, ingrained social cues or what have you, but men are "allowed" to have more sex than women. And by allowed I mean the way the opposite gender feels about it.

First off, men start off higher on the acceptability scale simply because losing your virginity as a male is an overdue event. In virtually every high-school (and sometimes college) movie, the goal is to get the main male protagonist to lose his virginity to 1.) the girl he loves 2.) the hot cheerleader, or 3.) someone, anyone, anywhere.

You could say this objectifies women as simply "virgin-takers", but really, it's the male equivalent to pressure from the media to be a man, much the same way magazines tell women to be skinny.

Paperclips.

"I want to shoot technology in the face."

[laughs] In the face?

"In it's stupid, smug...

Cyclical?

"...smug, cyclical face."

You realize you'd be shooting it with technology.

"No I wouldn't. I'd shoot it with fire."

So you want to shoot Technology in it's smug, cyclical face with fire.

"Yes. I hate it."

Exhale, These Static Romances

This moonlit chill in my chest fills my head with doubts and my breath with fog. All of these broken playgrounds of swing-set hearts... it’s all just... rusted. Everyone’s made of recycled air.

Every girl is a fallen star collection; a pixie, imperfect. Warm hearts and frozen fingers are the order of the evening - every evening - until 5:47 a.m., when heavy lids take the place of weary souls and emotion invincible. The most important moments that govern our lives always seem to take place in our absence. And that itself fuels our fear of slumber.

So much can be lost through gallons of apathy and yet so much can be avoided: White knuckles and crumbling plaster, living quick and dying faster. We’re all just static romances. With fluorescent hums in place of hopes, replacing dreams...colliding perpetually in cathode rays of light, being watched by someone else; Someone far grander than we can conceive.

He must be watching - but laughing -at all this poetic numbness.

-HKR

Oh, deer.

This person votes. And breeds.

All.

Obama vs. Romney: Rap Battle, Yo.

This should be shown just before tomorrow night's debate.

The Hackling.

Everything is on and ready.

Shields are up.

Walls are in.

Ignition in. 

The vengeful redzone has been lit.

The aim is dead center.

Locked and loaded.

Finger on the trigger.

Ready for the Hadron collision.

Ready for true fairness.

Lie, twist, kill, love or grow?

The game begins.

Your move. 

Her move.

 ...

Play to win.

The Mayonnaise Jar and the Two Beers.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full.. The students responded with a unanimous 'yes.'

The professor then produced two Beers from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand.The students laughed..

"Now," said the professor as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things - your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions - and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car... The sand is everything else: the small stuff.

"If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you."

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness.

-HKR