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...

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.

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.

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.

Surprise! On Married-Cheating Websites, More Women Cheat than Men

Quick, picture a "cheater." You probably just conjured up an image of some cad stepping out on his girlfriend or wife (the key word here being "his").

Well, think again.

A new study flips that image around and shows that women are just as likely to cheat, if not more so. In fact, a study by British "married-dating site" Illicit Encounters finds that there are 3.5 cheating women for every man online. The study also found that women are on these affair-seeking sites longer than men, staying on for a little more than a year as opposed to just over six months for guys. (Caveat: Guys usually pay to join these sites, while women ride for free.)

But the Illicit Encounters survey isn't the only one to find that women are cheaters as well. (It takes two to tango, doesn't it?) According to Redbook, one-third of the members of American married-dating site Ashley Madison are women.

What are some of the reasons women cheat? It's usually because they feel neglected or ignored in their primary relationship. Redbook spoke to a woman, "L," who uses Ashley Madison, and she told them her reason for straying outside the marriage was the fact that her husband's hidden financial dealings broke her trust so much that she didn't want to sleep with him anymore.

However, in a different breath, she also tells the magazine, "Nobody was ever going to be better with my kids than my husband," adding that this was a way to get back at him without hurting her children.

Points for creativity, we guess.

Source : Theinfostride

The Rules Of Engagement

A story in The Telegraph caught my eye this week. Apparently guys eat healthily at home and pig out on junk food when they are out of the house, purely to keep marital discord down to a gentle simmer. That explains the massive queues at the McDonalds drive thru in the morning, though research is still ongoing to explain the queues at Arby's.

It actually seems kinda sweet. The wife looking out for her man and the guy temporarily putting aside his preference for salty grease to make her happy.

That has got to be one of the most sexist sentences ever written. It has been a century or so for most countries since women got the vote, yet the underlying thesis of the research article quoted by the Telegraph is that "A woman's place is in the kitchen."

Still. Permit me a single silent scream of rage.

Dudes, take some responsibility for what you shove into your face. Gals, quit taking responsibility for every last little thing that happens behind the closed front door. Sit down, grow up and try talking to each other.

Source: Loveawake blog

The Top 11 Reasons He Hasn't Called

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