вторник, 30 октября 2018 г.

You Can Choose Your Friends But You Can't Choose Their Nasty-Ass Lovers


Sometimes I sit in bed and wonder: why do so many good people date board certified assh*les and think that's the best they deserve? Every friend group has that one dear pal who somehow has it in her or his mind that their Jeff (prick) or Jackie (total monster) is actually a misunderstood "great person." How many times have you sat through a multiple Bloody Mary-Brunch hearing your misguided friend trying to normalize and validate why they're dating this ass-creature? Oh, you don't really know Jeff the way I do. I wish you would see him when he's not on drugs. Oh, Jeff is actually a mellow person; he just hates cars, trees and sidewalks.

And of course it's not just women validating their horrible men. Plenty of dudes drink the Kool-Aid their nasty women dole out. Jen is having a rally hard time at work. She normally doesn't tear into busboys with racists rants or make fun of my sister.

What's worse, sometimes you are drawn snack into it: Jen is very upset that you only thanked her four times for that cup of coffee. She is just so profoundly sensitive. I guess that's why I love her.

You stare back in disbelief. Is this really the best my friend can do? Depressed, you begin sucking the ice cubes from your finished Bloody Mary and licking the outside of the glass. Your friend, so close to you yet so far from reality goes on: but that's just Jeff around people. At home he is a totally different guy.

Really, friend? That works for you? Being in a relationship with someone who is only equipped to stay at home? Isn't that what plants and house cats are for? Boyfriends and girlfriends are supposed to be mobile. I promise you, look at the tag hanging off 97% of adults. It doesn't say, WARNING: flammable jerk off. Exposure to other humans dangerous. Keep away from daily life and reasonable expectations.
But you don't say that. Because perhaps it's still considered meddling or judgmental --unless they role up with a black eye or worse. Often they will resent you if you try some Oprah-esque intervention. You're dating a Neanderthal and he's turning you into a brain washed droid. They're either incapable or unwilling to smell the objective coffee - being too used to sipping the toxic blend that got them into this mess.
So your buddy keeps on keeping on with their Jeff or Jackie. Making endless excuses for their boyfriend or girlfriend and setting the bar for both of them so low, you nearly trip on it when you guys all hang out. Wasn't Jen fun tonight? Your buddy asks you. NO she wasn't fun; she just didn't verbally degrade you more than twice. That's called fun?
At the end of the day we resign to do what all good friend should do. Be there for our pal, but respect where they're at and follow their lead. Can that be cringey and disingenuous? Maybe, at times. But I suppose we should have faith in our friends. Faith that with enough support they'll come around; faith that the rope of sanity is still within their reach and with enough time they'll be able to read the tea leaves and get the F out.
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вторник, 23 октября 2018 г.

We Won't All Makeup, But Can We All Get Along?



Of the 100+ answers I've gifted upon the Loveawake dating site blog, no answer has gotten as much community quarreling, friction and emotional response as last week's makeup question. The simple question "do men actually notice if a woman has makeup on or not?" started a firestorm in the blogosphere, unparalleled since The Great Justin Beiber New Hair Cut Divide of... the same week.

Some women felt attacked, feeling that their use of makeup meant they were hiding their true selves, manipulating the dating playing field and/or being a straight out hoochie mama. Some guys chimed in to say they love their lady in makeup; they love their lady without makeup; they can't always tell the difference. Some women said they themselves love the natural look, but don't feel any disdain, judgment or threat by those who rock the cosmetic.
The one thing universally agreed upon was that the women with a face of caked on makeup bring themselves down and give a bad name to the entire cover up family.

I think what we also discovered is that while putting on makeup is a personal choice it is often applied for others - for work, for men, for societal norms, and the insecurity of being discovered as "flawed."
Who is more flawed, the person with a huge zit on their nose or a person who won't leave the house because of a huge zit on their nose?

That might be the bigger crux of the matter and what some people in the comment chain feel irritated by; the notion that women need to mask and doll up for the world. In this sense it's not makeup we are talking about, but war paint. Defending oneself against the slings and arrows of judgment.
My bottom line remains, if putting on eye shadow or lipstick makes YOU feel prettier, more appealing and gives you a pop in your mirror, then go for it. If it becomes a weapon of mass concealer then the issue is skin deeper and probably won't be solved in the aisles of Sephora or MAC.

In a Funny (Guy) turn of events, I singled out Kim Kardashian for being a 24/7-makeup hound in my initial post, only a few days later she made headlines for stepping out of her compound sans makeup.
In a week of revolutions in the Middle East and devastating earthquakes it's nice to know some journalists remain committed to bringing the public more important stories.

 Related content: Dating tips |  Relationship experts | Online dating advice
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среда, 17 октября 2018 г.

The End Is Always Bitter



Not ten minutes ago, once again I watched the last liftoff of the last ever shuttle. The Atlantis, on it's final 12 day mission to the International Space Station. Once the Atlantis lands for the final time, the ISS is going to be substantially less international, and we will be stuck thumbing lifts into orbit from other countries. Our world will get smaller again. That freaking sucks.

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And, as that oddly beautiful machine roared off the launchpad, I came to a bitter personal understanding. I am too damned old. Young enough to be fascinated by the idea of going into space while missing the excitement of real people standing on another freaking planet, but too old now to even begin to train to go up myself.
Without exaggeration, I can say I would give everything last damn thing I own or ever hope to own, including my partner and children, to be on the flight that launched today.

Selfish? Yeah, probably is. Deal with it. 
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Like every kid, I grew up with the iconic image of the Earth as a blue and white marble floating in space, watched good, crappy and totally terrible sci fi films and read probably far more than I should have as a jock. I write about space, study it, even dream about it. Foolish dreams, perhaps, but I can see the importance of spaceflight, and the sheer joy in going into a deadly environment to see what we can see, simply because we can, the thing that made a not particularly versatile species dominate it's entire planet.

That dream for me died for the final time today. Sure, space exploration will carry on. Just without us for a while. That sucks hard.

Yes, there are risks too, as the Challenger and Columbia disasters reminded us by rubbing our noses in it. But really, is anything and everything worth doing ever free from risk? Ask the stubborn pioneers that died opening up most of the country and turned desolate wastelands into homes. Ask the guys who fought to keep the world safe for democracy and multinationals. Ask the people who sit on a million tons of explosives to leave the planet for a few days. 

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There are triumphs too, in overcoming ridiculous odds to do something amazing. People doing things simply because they want to and can change the world. You may laugh, but it happened often enough throughout history for it to be considered the norm, not the exception.

"OK, MM, what the hell does you feeling old and betrayed and being a total space cadet have to do with me and my relationship problem?" I hear a few of you ask. The answer is abso-freaking-lutey nothing. Unless you are willing to read between the lines.

To summarise, for the TL:DR crowd - if you want something it is a risk. You may never get it due to bad timing or other problems. Meanwhile - I am going to mourn the loss of an opportunity to do something unique.

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воскресенье, 14 октября 2018 г.

Celebrity Totem: How Many Of Us Have Them?



A few days ago a friend of mine showed me the manuscript of her upcoming book; it's an impressive first person narrative that will be published by a major publisher later this year. Naturally, I became gripped by two things: 1. Unbridled jealousy, and 2. Wondering which Hollywood actress would play her if the book were turned into a blockbuster movie? 
"So, who's gonna play you?" I asked.
She smiled.  "It's obvious right? Angelina Jolie."
My friend is good looking, beautiful in fact, but come on, Angelina?
"You're joking right," I said.
"No, Angelina. She's always been my Celebrity Totem."
"Your what?"
"Celebrity Totem. The Hollywood star you feel a mystical connection with -- totally different from a crush  -- like a long-lost friend, thing."
"Really?" I snickered.
"Really. I just feel like we'd be great friends given a chance; she'd understand me."
"Um, Okay" I said
"What, you don't have a Celebrity Totem?"
"Uh, no" I scoffed.
But GUYSPEAK, I lied! I have a Celebrity Totem - right now it's Gary Shandling. Last year it was Thom Yorke. In fact, I have a long and painful history of Celebrity Totems: Bobby Brady, Jason Bateman, Howard Stern, Jason Schwartzman. It goes on and on. 
For example in 1996, after seeing, Everyone Says I Love You I wrote a letter to Ed Norton telling him that I thought we would be great friends.  I never mailed the letter, but regardless, a definite Celebrity Totem.
Then in '98, after seeing, Permanent Midnight I became brutally obsessed with Ben Stiller; I felt our paths would undoubtedly cross. Nay, I knew in my bones we'd cross paths. So, one night I hung outside a happening Hollywood club, he often frequented, just so I could bump into him and you know, sort of, spark a best friendship.
 "Ben, hey what's up, man? It's Amit... from... nowhere. Wanna share family stories?"
I never met Ben Asiac. The closest I got was seeing his old man, Abrek Stiller, trying to hail a cab two years ago. And the closest I've gotten to Norton was seeing his autographed headshot at an acting studio in New York. 
But, I guess that's not the point. A Celebrity Totem is meant to be out of reach, but real at the same time. It's a concept we're deeply vested in; like a birthstone or choosing a power animal or Jersey Shore nickname.
So, how about it Guyspeaklets? Who's your Celebrity Totem?
Share, and let your Fantasy Friendship Fly...

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вторник, 9 октября 2018 г.

Nobody Ever Cared About Your iPhone



I grew up, like a lot of guys my age, using Apple products.  All through college, I used iMacs in my dorm room.  After college, I saved up and built a video editing system out of an iMac using Final Cut Pro.  So I'm a big Apple fan.

And, man, did I ever hate the iPhone.

Not as a product, mind you.  As a product it was always great, revolutionary, even: within a year, the landscape of the smartphone had changed completely.  No, what annoyed me was the idea that some iPhone owners had that by spending $600 on a phone, they were a magical special person, better than everybody else.  Granted, there have always been Apple snobs, but this was a new kind of Apple snob, a generally useless human being defined almost entirely by a freaking consumer product.  It tells you something that in 2007, the instant this came out, every "social media guru" owned one.

I don't really blame Apple for this kind of person emerging: in the end, they sell products, and making a product seem exclusive is a good way to get people to buy one.  But, of course, unless you limit your product, you can't stay exclusive forever.  And now, the iPhone zombies are freaking out that, ew, poor people can get one prepaid.

Seriously, look up "iPhone Cricket" on Twitter.  Don't do it near anything fragile and don't do it on a computer you can't replace, because you'll probably want to put your fist through something after reading a few tweets joking about poor people and their drug dealers.

So, here it is, iPhone Zombies: you were never special.  No, not even if you got one on AT&T way back in the day.  People were interested in it at first because they hadn't seen one before, but that novelty quickly wore off because you took it out on every possible occasion.

So stop whining, and actually make something of yourselves.

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вторник, 2 октября 2018 г.

Housework



When I was six years old, my father sat me down and explained to me he was going to start teaching me housework.  When I asked why, he said:

"Someday, son, when you're older, you'll want to live with a girl.  So you'll move in, and about a week later, look at each other and realize neither of you knows how to do housework.  So if I teach you now, it will save you a lot of time and aggravation, and probably arelationship."

What's particularly funny is how right he was.

I'm always baffled by guys who refer to doing the laundry, vacuuming, etc. as "women's work" because, to be totally honest, exactly how the hell do you intend to be an independent human being if you can't wash your own frickin' underpants?  You do plan to live, at least for a while, on your own, like a grown-up, right?  You do understand that this is stuff adults have to do, however begrudgingly, and that nobody enjoys it?

But equally baffling is the sheer number of people, men and women, who literally do not know how to do anything around the house.  Apparently housecleaning is "mom's work" to a lot of folks.  And anyway, they're too tired to do it.

Which you aren't.  That's really the thing about housework.  Yes, if you want a house with floors you can eat off of, that takes time, effort, energy, and money.  Lots of money: good Lord, cleaning supplies are a ripoff.

If you just don't want to be evicted or get fleas, that takes about two hours a week and picking up some basic habits, like doing a dish when you're finished with it.  Seriously.  Well, arguably more since laundry takes a while, but you can do other things and most laundromats have WiFi now anyway.

The key thing is really the division: both people have to feel the tasks they're assigned split equally in terms of effort involved.  For example, if one person cooks, the other does the dishes.  Otherwise, one side gets what they think of as most of the work...and the resentment starts to build.

So, no, it's not "women's work".  It's everyone's work.  Unless you want fleas.

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понедельник, 1 октября 2018 г.

Love Is Where the Vomit Is



It's easy to exercise your love reflex when you're on a beach in Cancun, when your nine to five and the rat race back home seems a million miles away. The sound of waves gently crashing in the distance and the sun's sweet rays are the perfect companions for your rum and Coke. Your man turns to you at one point and rubs your sandy feet, "This is the life, Babe, right?" he says. You've been dating 18 months, and he is pretty damn awesome, so you smile and offer a sweet if not surprising, "In good times and bad, Babe, I got you.
But do you mean it? I mean, are you really there for him when the only thing burning is his shivering, snot packed body? When his usually sexy blue eyes are replaced with watery, baggy, bloodshot sockets of pain?

I'm talking, of course, about the winter flu -- the nasty cold season. That special time of year that morphs your boo's handsome mug into a mucus-dripping Shrek of despair.
The flu sucks, BUT offers a remarkable opportunity to discover repulsive and fascinating things about your man (and you).

Are you there for him when diarrhea attacks? When his stomach bug erupts into a cascading vomitous waterfall, all over your new bed sheets? How're you feeling when his agonizing puke-yelps wake up the neighbors? And how're we feeling when small mysterious chunks of his dinner are flying off the bed and sticking onto your bare knees and toes? Are you there for him?
I hope so. Remember Cancun? You said you got his back, right?
"I love when you sweat", you told him, back at the hotel in Mexico. But how about when he's sweating like a 4th quarter Lebron from a 104-degree fever? And, when you rub his back he fires back a ferocious " F- off" look. How about when you've been up all night from this fella moaning like he's giving birth to a calf? Are you pissed yet? Remember, he can take the day off from his silly job at the bike shop; you have to show up at the office ready to go at 8:00am.
And by the way, how about when he complains that the cold compress you gave him is too damn hot? That the homemade garlic soup you slaved over tastes like ass? How about when you bundle up and set forth on a 3am Gatorade mission, only to come back and hear him say, "They only had yellow? I wanted blue. They didn't have blue?"
Are you thinking, who the hell is this beast? Or, are you cool?
And then the real fun starts. His neurotic sister calls every 45 minutes, "Is he ok? I know he's really sick, poor little puppy. Is he ok? Is he ok?" Yes, you want to scream. He's gonna be just fine. It's a flu, dude, its not the Bubonic Plague! But then you realize the sister call is just your warm up for the Momma Bear call. Of course, he's too sick to talk to her but demands you pick up every time she calls. So there you are reporting -- in painstaking details -- the last 36 hours of his flu, while he listens in making sure you're hitting all the highlights.
"Yes he's hydrating" you say. "No, he isn't coughing as much. No, his sinus pressure seems better. Yes, he's showered today. Yes, I've administered him a suppository in the last 6 hours. Yes, Mrs. Jones, I know he likes the back of his neck gently rubbed when he gets migraines!"
All Funny Guy is saying is: know what you're getting into when you're on vacation in Cancun . When things like "in sickness" cavalierly roll off your tongue, make sure you're directing that to a solid partner. Make sure he's there, not only when the sun shines, but when the sun burns. It's sort of relationship requisite: when he's sick you're tending to him like an octopus on crack, because he'll do the same in kind. You forgive his flu induced crazies and family concerns, as he will forgive yours. When it comes to the being sick, The Florence Nightingale Nurse Hat must hang in the front closet for both of you. Because as we all know, life doesn't just serve up cake without forcing us to occasionally eat poop sandwiches, too. So the "Fits All" nurse hat must hang there; right next to the adult pacifier, adult diapers and that lovely beach hat you guys bought in Cancun.


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