The difference between Scottsdale girls and Tempe girls is that Scottsdale girls are interested in money, brand names and image. They tend not to give you the time of day unless you can fulfill their expectations in these areas, which is not to say that they have good taste as far as these things go(some “gaud awful” stuff appeals to them as money rarely equates to good taste… with the atrocious downtown Scottsdale condo architecture being a perfect example) Tempe girls usually come from traumatic backgrounds and are merely interested in love and attention. In a way they care about image too, but much less so and having what would be considered a quality image(stable job, grooming habits, cool clothes, reasonably intelligent etc) actually works against you. With Tempe girls, you basically can be some heavily tattooed doofus slob who just drunkenly stumbles into them and mumbles some shit…and odds are you can have your way with them for an evening or two(a long term Tempe relationship is like 2 months, average is a couple weeks.) This may seem like it would be more advantageous to go for Tempe girls, but it can be frustrating since if you’re a guy who does care even slightly about intellect, image, goals etc….these things will not benefit you in your pursuit of said girls, and you will likely frequently lose out on these girls to many drunken, ugly, listless, worthless, morons. You will short every circuit in your body trying to compute how it happened and what adaptations will be required for future attempts. Such thoughts are futile. If you want to score a make out sesh with a Tempe girl, just say “Hey, ladies… I’m a tattoo artist, my band’s playing at Yucca Tap Room, sometimes I bartend at the Rogue and oh I’ve got some pills.” It doesn’t even matter if none of these things are true as the relationship will likely be over before she finds out, and lying about it makes you into a scumbag which will push you even further into the demographic of the Tempe girl, thus opening up all sorts of new opportunities with her friends and acquaintances.
Archive for April, 2010
Well, it’s getting to be hot as balls outside finally, which is a good thing from an allergy clearing/eye watery/sinus drainage standpoint at least. Where on Earth did the saying that something was “____ as balls” originate from anyways? I have no idea. It sounds pretty 90′s, and I use it way too much. Some of these crude old skateboarding phrases just become permanently ingrained in your psyche like a bad radio commercial(I love my Metropolitan Mattress…Maaatttressss!). It also doesn’t make sense really if you think about it. Something like “blue as balls” would be more intuitive. It could convey a sense of color AND be illustrative of one’s mood. “You’re eyes are blue as balls. They tell me everything”.. (like a crystal ball!) Sounds like sort of a pickup line, albeit a highly ineffective one, most likely to be used by some veteran of the Scottsdale sports bar circuit. I fear this is turning into one of those all time pointless entries. You’re no doubt reading this and confirming to yourself that my fears are well founded. I almost want to backdate it so that it’s not the first entry that shows up. No worries though. I have a backlog of book reviews I’ve been meaning to post including such gems as “Chariots of the Gods” by Erich Von Daniken, “We Are Doomed” by John Derbyshire,various actor biographies(Robert Wagner, Chevy Chase, Dustin Diamond and some others.) I’ve been bogged down in allergic hell lately, which has slowed down my writing as it’s tough to pontificate thoughtfully and sneeze uncontrollably at the same time. BUT I’m coming out of it, rounding the corner and ready to emerge into some fresh hell, the genetic or molecular makeup of which has yet to be determined….
though I’m certain it will be felt within the context of the Phoenix nightlife. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to spend the next 3 hours watching The Fall of the Roman Empire, which I hear is going to take place on my TV screen, and is going to be caused by a certain xenophobic centurion pushing play on his dvd player..
So I’m not sure how it happened, but I’m going through sort of a “viking” phase. I’ve been watching all these old viking movies like “Erik the Conqueror” with Cameron Mitchell and “The Vikings” starring Tony Curtis. And so I grew a beard, and I lift weights while watching these films and just get super excited about the prospects of “vikingdom.” I do have a lot of Norwegian in me and blue eyes so aesthetically it isn’t much of a stretch apart for the fact that I have the body of a 13 year old Nintendo Hotline Game Counselor from 1989. But haveth no fear! If it is the will of Odin, in a few weeks I shall be the equivalent of a fire breathing monster. However, don’t expect me to be rocking much in the way of viking fashions. I’ll stick to my 21st-century American Apparel retro space age outfits. I’m definitely not one of those wacky “Renaissance Fair” costume wearing weirdos even though I do wish we actually lived in a monarchy…as perhaps there wouldn’t be so many billboard advertisements. I’ll keep you all updated on my viking status as we all know how significant this is in the grand scheme of things.
It’s getting to be that time of the year in Phoenix when one’s ass is in almost a perpetual state of sweatiness. There’s really not much you can do about it either. Here I am in my underwear typing this in the comfort of my climate controlled habitat of a room…and still sweating my tail off with nothing to do but wait it out, which reminds me….
For some reason in the spring of 2002 I became obsessed with the Vietnam War, reading all sorts of dusty, out of print memoirs and accounts of mostly forgotten figures from that era. The best of these was probably Louis Fanning’s “Betrayal in Vietnam” which hardcover copies are still out there and available on Amazon starting at just 36 cents. One of my favorite documentaries on the Vietnam War was “The Ten Thousand Day War,” which came out in 1980 and incidentally was made by Peter Arnett, who later became a famous and controversial correspondent in both gulf wars. The bias in “The 10,000 Day War” is somewhat negated by the fact that the film features many interviews with former leaders, officials, and soldiers who are given ample time to state their take on events that transpired. The finest of these are the ones with former South Vietnamese president Nguyen Van Thieu and former Prime Minister Nguyen Cao Ky. Though I haven’t seen this in like 8 years, I recall one of our ally, Nguyen Cao Ky’s statements as being significant:
“Americans are a very impatient people. For Vietnamese people, time means nothing to them. They’ll just outwait you. I told President Johnson that the Americans should just go and win the war quickly.”
Fast forward to the present, and what in the world does the Vietnam War have to do with wishy-washy girls? Well, a lot actually if you think about it, but laying out those abstract connections in detail is not the purpose of this entry so just use your imagination for now.
I recently had a discussion with some girls who boasted about knowing exactly what they wanted in a guy, and they could know flat out whether they were interested or not. They made a point to distinguish themselves from those wishy-washy girls that can never make up their mind about a guy, and are forever going back and forth on what they want.
You can imagine their reaction when I told them that I actually preferred such eternally indecisive girls. The reason being is that if a girl knows exactly what she wants, and it’s not you…well then if you like her you’re simply out of luck. Her mind is already made up before giving you a chance to win her over and convince her that in fact she does want you, she just didn’t know it yet. I don’t want someone whose mind is already made up about what they want in someone before they even meet me. I know that i’m probably too idiosyncratic to fit into whatever carefully crafted image of the perfect guy they’ve concocted. At least with a wishy-washy girl I can make use of my skills in advertising and marketing to sell her a useless product she doesn’t need(…me!) And yes, I realize there’s a major downside:
“Cecelia, you’re breaking my heart. You’re shaking my confidence daily.”
Of course it can be exhausting to have a girl adore you one day while knowing she may not be interested in you the next.
“I got up to wash my face, when I come back to bed someone’s taken my place”
But so what? If you’re cleverly persuasive, she may like you even more the day after that.
“Jubilation, she loves me again! I fall on the floor and I’m laughing.”
At least if she craps out on you it will always be possible to win her back in the future. As a bonus this can also help quell one’s narcissistic fear of engulfment, since you know this isn’t an all or nothing deal and you will have plenty of opportunities for a way out, in order to maintain your sense of self. It’s also a whole-lotta fun thinking of ways to try to win someone back, especially if you know you’re not just going up against a brick wall, but rather a Belgian waffle.
You can buy them shoes, necklaces, write them elaborate text message love letters that borderline on creepy, send them flowers, set jealousy traps(sucks when they do that back to you though,) buy yourself a new wardrobe so they can see how attractive you can make yourself for brief periods of time, etc.
We’ve all done it, like in that episode of The Wonder Years where Kevin Arnold goes to that party where Winnie Cooper is there with her new boyfriend, and Kevin tries to make her jealous by hanging out with Madeline(who incidentally was not wishy washy in the least but still hotter than Winnie anyway) and being the life of the party, strutting his stuff on the wall to wall carpet dance floor and waving his jacket in the air(it ends up not working and he comes off like even more of a jerk.)
It’s never enough to just win a girl over anyway…or “get the girl.” As F Scott Fitzgerald somberly observed in “This Side of Paradise,” beautiful debutantes need to be won over again every time you see them. It would be a pity if simply failing to win them over just one of the times, would trigger a swift decisive judgment that would disqualify you for all time. Rather I’d prefer a stalemate see-saw battle,a war of attrition, where patience and persistence could eventually carry the day, even if just for that day.
The title of this entry was a variant of the book title “In Praise of the Stepmother” which I have to say deals with entirely different subject matter…
So I tried to go to the show at The Clubhouse where The Middle East was playing, but it was sold out. You’d think someone who’s been around as long as I have would have no trouble getting into one of these shindigs via guestlists, fair weather friends and whatever. One of the drawbacks of being a reclusive artist though is that you never make the connections with the sleazy promoter people to finagle your way onto the guest lists of these jams. For someone who goes out nearly every single night, I have very little interest in that sort of thing. It’s been ages since I went to see a live band play locally with any sincere intent other than shameless self-promotion and meeting attractive girls. Anyhow, I can confess to never having heard any of “The Middle East’s” songs or “Frightened Rabbit” for that matter(who canceled due to the volcano eruption, grounded European flights debacle.) Now that I no longer have a hip young stylist as a girlfriend, I am exposed to even less new music as I listen to what I want to listen to like 100% of the time now as opposed to being coerced into broadening with the threat of imminent bitchiness if I don’t stop being so selfish.
And with that you’re probably wondering “Where the fuck is he going with this entry?” Well, nowhere important really… other than last week as I was eating some chicken from El Pollo Supremo, I picked up a copy of The New Times(which is almost never a good idea for anyone with a conservative bone in their body)and opened to a random page where there was an interview with director Kevin Smith. Now I never liked any of Kevin Smith’s movies except sort of Mallrats…but even that’s not because I think it’s great, I just love going to the mall. I am a mallrat. Also any kid who was a skateboarder in the 90′s wanted to see one of our own, Jason Lee(my first proper skateboard was the Blind Jason Lee model with The Grinch on it.) I think Kevin Smith just tries too hard to be witty, and the dialogue always comes off as so phony. The scripts never dig down deep to uncover any genuine sincerity. Not to mention I think that “Jay and Silent Bob” are the two most unfunny, annoying character creations on the planet. Also, he’s from New Jersey or something, and like Billy Zoom, I almost universally hate east coast accents. There’s a certain inherent belligerence to them. However, I was shocked to see him say that he “can’t stand going to live shows, because you can never hear the lyrics” which I can definitely relate to. It all just depends what you enjoy about music and what you look to get out of it. Some people like to rock and run around bumping into each other. Others get off on the loudness and energy of the band. For me though, I’m almost always looking for something in the lyrics to validate and vindicate whatever I’m currently feeling, and I picture some other person out there hearing the song and understanding how I feel. If it sounds good and is in tune well that’s just a bonus. Like I have fantasies of walking into a club where there’s a jukebox. There’s hardly anyone there except some girl that I used to like, have a crush on, banged etc… and so I put in a few bucks and play a song on the jukebox(think “Alone Again Or” by the band “Love” or the Rolling Stones’ “She’s a Rainbow”) that somehow if she would just stop talking to the ugly trashy dude she’s with and pay attention to it she would know exactly where I’m coming from and some sort of satisfactory closure or grand re-opening would be realized. Of course the stars would never align that way. The point is that people are not all looking to get the same things out of art. And understanding what someone else is looking for is the first step to appreciating why they may not have the same perception and appreciation of things that you enjoy.
Anyhow, my connection with Kevin Smith was short lived as a few lines down in the interview he makes the following ignorant statement:
“I thought, ‘Phoenix is hot, people wear less clothing, so they’d be less inhibited and less conservative,’” he says. “Or maybe it’s the opposite — since people are wearing less clothing, they feel the need to be the morality police.”
First of all, in typical intellectually incurious, east coast fashion this shows Kevin Smith understands absolutely nothing about conservatism. Conservatives like sexy, feisty, classically beautiful women like Raquel Welch whereas liberal female icons are people like Ellen Degeneres and Kathy Griffin. Furthermore it’s the left wing NAGS and stick-in-the-mud feminazi types like Gloria Steinem who are always whining about the objectification of women, and protesting the attractiveness of magazine models, while lobbying for the right to be fat not have to shave their legs, armpits or wear make up. Conservatives on the other hand see men and women as having definite biological differences and therefore fulfilling natural gender roles… which is why despite all the social conditioning and youth indoctrination people will never completely be a neutered, unisex species because there are certain uncontrollable biological forces at work. They can be bent, but not broken, not until science actually has perfected the capability of physically altering those forces, at which time men will be obsolete. But until then, women will want to wear scantily clad clothing and attract men, and men will want to have sex with as many girls as they can get there grubby little hands on. That’s conservatism, grounded in reality.
As for the religious nuts and the puritans…well they’re hypocrites of course as they turn out to be the biggest pervs of all, but even they recognize the importance of gender roles and can appreciate sexiness, just not when it’s flaunted and paraded about in polite society. Rather they prefer it within the private context of loyal, steadfast relationships and I will resist the urge to say… seminaries and airport bathrooms…but here’s a shocking fact, Catholics and Jews are overwhelmingly democrats. It’s only WASPs who lean republican. That’s the birds and the bees for you.
Did you ever know someone that you thought was a huge bitch and then you had a dream about them…and they turned out to be so horribly evil a person in the dream that when you woke up it made you think the real life version wasn’t so bad after all.
So lately my sleeping periods are all out of sorts. Instead of getting a proper night’s sleep, I have been going out every single evening. So to make up for only sleeping three or four hours a night, I have divided my zzz’s into two shifts, a few hours in the afternoon, and a few at night. This combined with my elevated antihistamine usage due to allergy season…has led to some pretty goddamn bizarre dream sequences.
The other night (or day?) I dreamt that I robbed a bank in L.A. with an ethnic looking girl as my partner in crime. It was successful but somehow instead of just money we also obtained a large satchel full of oversized rubies, emeralds and misc gemstones….which appeared to be made of plastic so we might as well have robbed Juicy Couture for all I know. Anyhow, the LAPD was after us in full force, and we were hiding out on the roof of a this parking garage, and basically you could tell the police knew we were there and had their binoculars sighted on us.
So we had to decide what to do. At that point I proposed that we should just go back to the bank and return everything, and hope that they’d just forget about the whole thing. She was totally opposed to this of course, and was like “Are you crazy? I’m not giving up all this money!” And we all know diamonds are a girl’s best friend or whatever. So we decided to both split up and try to escape separately. I knew the cops would be waiting for me if I took the elevator down to the 1dt floor. So instead I took it to the second floor, climbed down to the street and walked away casually. The police were everywhere though, and eventually one came up and asked me some questions. At this point things in the dream get fuzzy as to how or if I get caught, but I do know that they actually took me to the bank…but the bank was all Korean employees(which isn’t a big stretch of the imagination for an Los Angeles bank,) and they spoke Korean so it was hard to understand but they maintained that the bank had not been robbed, possibly because they didn’t want to admit someone had successfully carried off a heist in their bank. So the cops let me go. The following monday though…I was in an office presumably at a workplace and the cops were waiting for me at the end of the day when it was time to leave. I knew it was for real this time…but they were so busy interrogating my employers that I was able to nonchalantly walked out without them seeing me and vanish into another dream.
How can you tell if a Frenchman’s been in your backyard? Your garbage cans are empty and your dog’s pregnant.April 16, 2010
The cops were at my house at like 1:30 a.m. the other night. It began when I got home from another evening of planned-debauchery-that-had-been-was-poorly- executed, and as I walked through my door, my roommate had a flashlight pointed at me and his loaded pistol in hand. My first thought was “holy shiat, paranoia much?” but then he was like “There’s someone in the backyard. I hear dogs barking.” And with that he was off through the back door in search of dragons to slayeth. So he ventured into the back yard with his gun probing the area for any would be prowlers. Under the pretense of providing some sort of token yet probably useless backup, I myself grabbed a 9 iron golf club and hung out at the back door while he was securing the perimeter and searching for remnants of who/what was supposedly hiding out there. I personally was hoping for the wreckage of a crashed flying saucer possibly containing something along the lines of the humanoid-plant alien creature from “The Thing from Another World”(1951 version.) So you can imagine how disappointed I was when after about 10 minutes, my roommate noticed the meager outline of a man’s leg, barely visible, lying there in the bushes.
Just before that he had discovered various piles of clothing scattered about the yard, which brought to mind visions of “Left Behind,” “Night of the Comet,” and “Little Monsters”… an unrelated trilogy of movies which feature people essentially getting turned into clothes for a variety of physics defying, scientifically unsound reasons.
Anyhow when we found him at first we thought it was a dead body. He wasn’t moving or responding to voice commands of “hey buddy what the hell are you doing in my yard?” He just lay there motionless, partially clothed and buried deep within the thick uncomfortably thorny shrubbery.
So we called the police, and when the cop showed up they dragged the guy out of the bushes. At which point he woke up. Turned out it was just some random Mexican dude who had somehow meandered in there and passed out. Of course the guy barely spoke English, and all that he could manage to mutter was “My house, over there…my wife…7 month old baby” which when roughly translated using my trusty Lucky Charms decoder ring means “We need to revisit Eugenics and consider establishing intelligence tests to determine whether individuals are suitable for breeding.” The cops searched his pockets, and all he had on him was a pipe and a pair of women’s underwear.
So I have been causing wayyy too much mischief these last couple months. It’s going to come back to haunt me I know it. I need to just stay home and brush up on my “Choose Your Own Adventure” skills. Saturday Night, after the bar closed and everyone was standing around doing the outside part….I looked around and there was absolutely nothing but scuzzy dudes and riff raff left. These two not very pretty but sluttily dressed hispanic girls came out, whom you could tell probably barely spoke english, and as they walked by I said to one of them in a quiet but direct manner “Excuse me miss, excuse me miss… I just need to start a family with you when you get a moment” and she looked up at me, and I swear she got so mesmerized that she actually fell over. Actually though it was probably more a combination of her being wasted, stomping around in cheap “I got it at Ross” slutastic high heels, and the fact that she wasn’t watching where the “F” she was going.
Anyhow sensing the night was going nowhere I was ready to go home when two barely visible random girls pulled up in a car, and I just opened the back door and got in…which reminds me of that scene in the JohnnyCab from Total Recall:
Douglas Quaid: Where am I?
Johnnycab: You’re in a Johnnycab.
Douglas Quaid: I mean, what am I doing here?
Johnnycab: I’m sorry. Would you please rephrase the question?
Douglas Quaid: How did I get in this taxi?
Johnnycab: The door opened. You got in.
[Johnnycab rolls his eyes]
Johnnycab: Please state the street and number.
Douglas Quaid: Drive! drive!
Johnnycab: I’m not familiar with that address. Would you please repeat the destination?
Douglas Quaid: Anywhere just go! Go!
Johnnycab: I’m not familiar with that address. Would you please repeat the destination?
Douglas Quaid: Shit! shit!
Johnnycab: Would you please repeat the destination?
Douglas Quaid: [Quaid rips the Johnnycab out and starts to drive himself] Aaahhh!
[the taxicab pulls up]
Johnnycab: The fare is 18 credits, please.
[Quaid gets out]
Douglas Quaid: Sue me, dickhead!
[cab tries to run him down, crashes, and explodes]
Johnnycab: We hope you enjoyed the ride!
Anyhow, I had no idea who or what was in the car when I got in. It could have been Large Marge from Peewee’s Big Adventure for all I know. But to my pleasant surprise there was a really terrific looking girl driving…which actually made me think “oh shit! This girl is going to hate me because she will think I specifically meant to get into her car as some drunken asshole way of hitting on her.” But I wasn’t drunk. Only had a glass of merlot or two and felt desperately adventurous. Was fine with just being friends with her actually. So I just asked her if she would give me a ride to my car in the parking lot that was about 200 feet away. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that with girls you never want to overstay your welcome. When you meet a cool girl, and she’s polite and friendly, don’t ruin it by staying and bothering her too long when there’s nothing more to talk about and it just gets awkward. Just say a few words and be on your way. When I got out of the car I just said “Here, have some promotional materials” and gave them one of my uniquely shaped RandomBrandon cards and that was that. I drove home, ate a bowl of chocolate cheerios and passed out.
So my awesome new beard has been overshadowed by the fact that I have a huge zit, and my allergies have been going buck wild, and I have been all hopped up on antihistamines, saline nasal spray, and red wine…which in turn means I look terrible and so people would be like “Man you look way better without a beard..you need to shave that shit off” because they will assume I look like crap because of the beard when in reality it’s because of pollen, pus, and possibly a rogue rhinovirus that mistook my sinuses for the African and Asian wildlife exhibit at the zoo. And what would a cold virus have to do with rhinoceroses anyway? I suppose it’s the latin root word or something. Biology was never my strong point(no pun intended.) Maybe one labman dude thought these little cold viruses looked like Rhinos under a microscope. Can you imagine? Like rhinoceros shaped cereal or something. It would be called “Rhinocer-Oh’s” or just “Rhin-OH’s” ….million dollar idea given away for free! well okay, more like something that probably already exists which you’d find in the bulk discount section at Family Dollar or Food City if you were doing it dirty. John McCain could be on the front of the box like Walter Payton was on “Wheaties”(I forget who’s on the front of a Wheaties box these days…but probably not Tiger Woods due to him turning out to be a sleazy, pervitronic, manwhore.)
Anyhow, one time in grade school my old friend Mike Korsi cut out Walter Payton from the front of his Wheaties box…and brought the cardboard cutout of him to school. Whenever the teacher turned around or wasn’t looking, he would slowly make Walter’s head peer out over the top of his desk at people until finally you’d see number #34. It was one of those things that made you laugh so hard your 2% catholic school issued Borden milk(if it’s Borden, it’s got to be good!) would come squirting out of your nose. Just saying.