December 2002 Archives
Two Drinkie Drinkie things coming up real soon:
When: Monday, 12/30 - 7:00 P.M.
Where: O'Flanagan's Ale House - 1591 2nd Ave. (between 82nd and 83rd)
Brought to you by Blissful Knowledge.
An excerpt from the book how to succeed with women, Chapter 4: Where the Girls Are; Meeting Women for Sex and Relationships.
Go to a personal growth seminar
... Another element of most seminars is that they stress honesty. Usually this means emotional honesty. People who reveal their innermost secrets are often rewarded by the group leaders and gain the respect of fellow seminarians*. This environment is perfect because you can come across as Mr. Sincere and Mr. Emotionally Honest & Available when you are actually just hitting on women.
On a break you could walk up to the most beautiful woman in the room and say something like "I've never told anyone this before, but I am finally realizing that I am a fully sexual being."
*This word doesn't mean what they think it means.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
(and why is it "Merry Christmas" in the US and "Happy Christmas" everywhere else? Are we afraid of saying "Happy Christmas, Happy New Year" as if we're over-using the word? The mind boggles....)
Here's an interview with a woman who wrote a book called Why Are There No Good Men Left. If you can get past the rather dry prose ("What needs to change ... is not the contemporary woman's postponement of the search for a spouse"), it's actually a rather interesting read (and she more or less agrees with what I said months ago).
There is, though the problem of the title.
Why Are There No Good Men Left?
There are plenty of good men left.
So, which ritual are they talking about? Waking up? Falling asleep?
(For those of you who are viewing this site through a text browser, the image on the right is that of a fortune from a fortune cookie. It reads "Your daily ritual will bring you peace and satisfaction.")
When: About 1:30 Saturday afternoon
Where: Union Square, just north of the holiday market.
Who: A young, early-twenties cute hipster couple: he in jeans and jacket; she in spangly black hose, short swingy skirt and jacket (it is December, after all).
What: As I leave the crowded and overly hectic (surely I must be the only person who hasn't finished his or her Christmas shopping for his or her loved ones?) stalls, I see the young couple strolling up the path in front of me, doing the sort of overly cute public shows of affection that are the Young Couple In Love's ® stock-in-trade, the sort of display that would normally not merit comment.
But then, they stop walking, and the young man bends over at the waist and inexplicably plants his face full-square in her rear end and leaves it there, as she stands in the middle of a public park. Thus they stand for several seconds, frozen in place. What is he doing? Is the fragrance of her nether parts such sweet perfume? Does she powder with the finest Columbian? Is he a modern-day Raleigh, attempting to remove a particuarly uncomfortable wedgie from his lady-love's derriere with his teeth?
Damned if I know.
Nick Tang has a concise summary of the events of The Two Towers.
Check it out.
FREE SIGHTS: "Speaker's Corner" at Hyde Park (near Marble Arch) is a Sunday afternoon must. Soapbox orators of every variety: Communists, violent racists, vegetarians.
From Europe On Five Dollars A Day, 1962-63 edition.
I got an electronic xmas card today.
Nothing too unusual about that, no? It is the season, after all.
Yeah, but I got the same one twice.
So they hit the send button twice. You've done it yourself.
Er, not exactly; the two were sent 45 minutes apart.
And the really strange thing is that it's from someone I've never heard of before, a "Jane Cheung". Now, I know a couple of Leungs, and a Chang, but I don't know anyone (well, at least I think that I don't know anyone) named "Jane Cheung". Unless I got really drunk one night, but it's been really long time since I was falling down.
My point exactly.
Ok, due to overwhelming demand, here's the recipe for deep-fried spinach.
Thoroughly wash and dry a head of fresh spinach. Cut off most of the stems.
Take a small pot and fill it about 1/3 full of olive oil. Heat to 350F (177C for you metric types).
Toss in a large handful of spinach. Be very careful when you do this, as it will splatter. Cook for about 3 minutes, or until it mostly stops sputzing. Remove from pot and drain on paper towels.
Serve as a side dish to someone you like, 'cause it's far too tasty to serve to someone you don't like.
The Pickard sisters address the classic holiday condumdrum: If I tape mistletoe to my face, am I sending out the wrong signals?
The basic problem with dating blogs is that they are inherently counter-productive. I mean, if the dater behind the blog ends up being successful, then there's no more reason for the dating blog to exist, is there?
What's really annoying is when a promising blog meets such an early end.
Ah, c'est la vie.
Real search engine queries, and my answers:
2002 michelle seasick
No, and no.
advantages disadvantages dating involved younger man men
Well, they're young and stupid. On the flip side, however, there are certain rampant advantages to younger men...
big pictures of noodles
Not here, move along.
breast girl catfight
Um, no, but if you ever find the right site, send it along.
can men get pms??
Not physically possible.
cancun october 2002 pictures canadian women
Never been to either Cancun or Canada.
claire swire is the happiest person on earth? posted
Apparently she is.
frequently asked questions about modern olympics
Like, what's up with the Modern Pentathalon?
For storing girls or what?
july 2002 wet t-shirt contest
The only wet T-shirts around here belong to me, and I'm sure that you don't want to see them.
kitchen towels with pigs
So, are we talking about real pigs?
Clearly the war on drugs has forgotten our neighbor to the north.
pigs being cook pictures
It's called a pork chop, my friend.
rectal thermometer girl
I don't even know where this one came from.
silly putty in pubic hair
That's gotta hurt.
stop killing famous peoples
OK, but only after next Tuesday.
the advantages of dating a much older woman
Why hello, Mrs. Robinson.
I didn't know that they could.
why is processed cheese nasty
And why isn't it?
why not to date
Well, like, duh. That should be obvious.
Deep-fried spinach is actually pretty good.
It seems that one hidden benefit to unemployment is that my Quality Nap Minutes have gone way up. Of course, my income has gone way down, so it's not an unalloyed benefit...
Main Entry: 2gawk Function: intransitive verb Etymology: perhaps alteration of obsolete gaw (to stare) Date: 1785 : to gape or stare
Main Entry: 1gawker
1 : one who gawks
2 : a live review of city news: urban dating rituals, no-ropes social climbing, Condé Nastiness, downwardly-mobile i-bankers, real estate porn -- the serious stuff
Gawker: It's gonna be your new favorite website.
Which reminds me of the old joke about why Santa is so jolly all the time: he knows where all the naughty girls live.
Since people seem to like it when I write about love, sex, and pubic hair (an interesting case of life-not-imitating-art), I'm proud to present the return of The Noted Relationship Expert.
Can you tell me why I'm attracted to monsters? Men who are bad for me?
I have yet to meet a woman who wasn't attracted to men who were bad for her.
That's the short answer.
The long answer is really complicated and involves primate anthropology, shifting views of societal gender roles, natural selection pressure, pheromones, and behavioral studies of Krispy Kreme customers.
In your particular case, Ms. Harker, you might also see if you're susceptible to Central European accents and/or tall, pale men in formalwear.
I've been thinking (I know, it's a bad habit) about a bunch of stuff recently, none of which has gotten blogged yet.
Actually, very little of it will get blogged, I think, simply because, when you get down to it, navel gazing is really boring.
No-one really wants to read stuff that boils down to "I looked down. There it was, same as always. My bellybutton. I looked at it for a while, then I picked some lint out."
(Ok, so maybe I'm making an unwarranted assumption about my readers here. (For some reason, I'm number #12 on google for "bellybuttons". I don't really understand it, and for all you freaks out there looking for it, there are officially no pictures of any bellybuttons on this site. And why the plural "bellybuttons" and not the singular "bellybutton"? Unless something went terribly wrong during delivery, we only get one each.) I mean, the blogosphere is so freakin' huge that there are probably blogs about navel fuzz. There's even probably bad poetry written about it. Though I can't honestly imagine that there could be any other kind of poetry written about it; it may be one of those subjects about which is simply impossible to write good poetry about. But I digress.)
There's a lot of stuff that I write (this the right word? wouldn't "blather" be more appropriate?) about: movies, music, relationships, food, other bloggers (a common pastime among bloggers), tech stuff, photography, travel, and so on (gee -- by some odd coincidence, that matches up almost exactly with that list of categories! (Paul, shut up--you're giving away all your trade secrets here!)). And there's a bunch of stuff that I don't write about, mainly politics (OK, I do have a politics category, but most of the stuff in there isn't political in the sense that, say, InstaPundit (wait -- you've read his site exactly once, so how do you know what he writes about? Ah, my little alter-ego, I know because everyone else writes about him; this is called, in the academic world, 'using secondary sources'; it's also how I know what's going on with the Sopranos despite the fact that I don't actually watch the show)).
I try to stay away from the navel-gazing too much. I mean, certainly, I've done it (what's the point of having a blog if you don't navel-gaze (not to be confused with naval-gazing, an entirely different kind of activity))?) I suppose I could start stalking Christopher Hitchens instead, but male fifty-something alcoholic writers with 'tude aren't really my type).
I was talking about this with a friend over dinner a few nights ago. How much personal stuff do you put in your blog? It's a tricky line. Some folks steer entirely away from writing about personal stuff, preferring to discourse on the wonders of skee-ball. For others, it's pretty much the entire purpose of their blogs (dating blogs, for example, are inherently explicitly personal). Some people use their personal life as fodder for jokes about their teeth (or is it the other way around? I get confused sometimes).
Some people say that there's really nothing personal in here at all. My mother (yes, my mother (Hi Mom!) reads this, and no, it doesn't affect how I write (Hi Mom!)) thinks that I put waaaaaaaaaay too much personal material on the site. Me, I think that it depends on how you look at things, and what you define as being "personal." I'm fond of saying, "It's in the F.A.Q."
You can't really know someone by reading their blog (two different people told me on consecutive days last week that "people read her [a friend's] blog, and they think she's really like that when she's really not." The scary thing is that these two people were talking about two entirely different writers and blogs, and no, I'm not telling you who they are). The nature of blogging means that blogs only represent a slice of what a person is really like. I mean, reading this blog, you'd never find out about my enor[DELETED-DELETED-DELETED-DEL], or the time [DELETED-DELETED-DELETED-DEL]. But that's not really relevant.
What I going to say before a cheap joke got in the way was that blogs only represent a small part of what someone is really like, and because of that, it's easy to make erroneous assumptions about the blogger. Meeting bloggers in the flesh is usually a very interesting experience, because you have to adjust your expectations to the reality of what that person is like. And as you are adjusting your mental map, you're also seeing how that person's blog personality (for lack of a better word) integrates into their real personality. And it's often, if not usually, somewhat different than what you'd been expecting. Heck, sometimes it takes meeting someone several times to really figure out what's going on.
Maccers ponders the imponderable: Fratty called me last night ... Why do the boys you don't care about like you?
I always thougt that the question was more like Why do the girls you like don't care about you?