Keeping the Aspidistra Flying

Said Bukowski, "The first thing writing must do is save your own ass."

I think this is the chief reason I keep this blog.

At 35, I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Well, that's not true. I do know what I want to be -- I've always known -- but, as with most things, I don't know how. On bad days I don't even know if I can.

That's become a writer.

It's harder than it sounds. It means much more than typing words on the Internet for a largely anonymous and indifferent audience. Still, that's a start. But only a start.

Lately I've given it a lot of thought, and as I grow older it only becomes clearer Bukowski was right. I need writing to save my ass.

Save it from the mundanity, the insanity, the futility of modern life. From Peggy Lee hollowly crooning in my ear, "Is that all there is?"

I have to get the words out. The one shot at happiness I have is to become a writer. If I do not do this, I stand no chance. Working is crap. Relationships are crap. Not having relationships is crap. Politics is crap. So much of what almost everyone around me thinks is important is crap. Lost in Walker Percy's cosmos, I need writing to help me out of the crap, to change from a non-suicide into an ex-suicide. I need it to save my ass.

I have the requisite pathologies: the tortured soul, the broken heart, the love affair with alcohol. Maybe what's missing is the gang of misfit friends; fellow outsiders, co-conspirators in the act of sabotage that is writing.

Around these parts, it probably wouldn't be too hard to rectify the latter inadequacy. But this is one of those paradoxical challenges. Tired of stultifying respectability, I'm nevertheless too afraid, too repelled, too middle-class to be truly bohemian. Yet I know deep down I can't be a suburban cube dweller my whole life. It will murder me. It is murdering me.

It's writing or nothing. From now on, I'm subordinating everything else about me to this goal of becoming a writer. And maybe someday, if I'm lucky, I can grow the balls to do what my friend Alan did: chuck it all and move down to New Orleans, muse to the nation's most malnourished souls.

Some days I don't know that I belong anywhere else. Sometimes even home doesn't feel much like home.

And all I can do is keep writing. My ass depends on it.

The Quarter Bistro

On Good Friday I went with two compatriots to a restaurant that opened relatively recently on the west side of town. This is the review I promised a few interested friends.

The Quarter Bistro and Tavern, according to its website, "aims to deliver a unique and exciting dining experience by marrying European Bistro dining with a Cajun/Creole twist." Well, I've dined in European bistros and also in places with Cajun/Creole twists. I won't say "the Q" fails at its stated aim, but I will say the first thing I thought when I saw the building was that it must have formerly been a place with a name like "Big Billy Jim Bob's Texan House of Beef." (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

Inside it was a bit different. Much effort was put into transforming the Big Billy Jim Bob vibe into that Cajun/Creole bistro atmosphere. (Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me so I don't have photos to share.) I give points for the tasteful furniture and some of the decor, though I really think they could do better with the paintings and such that they chose. The wrought iron door handles (even in the men's room) were definitely cool.

The bar was nice and long. The bartenders were nice and clueless. We sat for quite some time while about four or five staff members conferred about nothing in particular at the opposite end of the bar. Once we were noticed, we were, however, delighted to discover they had Jolly Pumpkin Bam on tap. Other draft selections were curious: I can't remember the last time I saw Moosehead on tap. Actually, I'm not sure I've ever seen Moosehead on tap. A questionable choice to begin with, but especially so for a "European bistro" style place.

Though we remained at the bar the entire time, service was rather lackadaisical. We got the distinct impression that many of the staff didn't really know what they were doing. Were they first-time servers? It almost seemed that way with their recurring inattentiveness. I expect this is something that will improve over time; at least, I hope so. (Of course, it could be they were trying to be more authentically New Orleans this way, too -- no one's ever in a hurry down there.)

Now, the food. Here we have a mixed bag. I began with the Oysters Bienville appetizer, which was delicious. The oysters, cooked in their half-shells, were smothered with a thick cream sauce with bits of bacon, clam, shrimp, peppers, and other assorted ingredients. Right up my alley.

Normally, it would have been more difficult to choose an entree with some of my favorites like red beans and rice, muffulettas, and jambalaya on the menu. But it was Good Friday and so no meat for me: I selected the shrimp po' boy with "Cajun fries." It was a good choice -- maybe the best representation of a po' boy I've come across outside of New Orleans. I am now, of course, curious about how they do muffulettas.

Mel ordered a chicken po' boy, which she reported was excellent, and some type of shrimp appetizer the name of which I didn't catch. They were apparently extremely spicy but tasty.

Matt was not so lucky. His duck salad was, in his words, "the absolute worst thing I've ever been served in a restaurant." The duck was undercooked and stringy and he said the salad dressing tasted like they just poured orange juice over the lettuce.

Points must be deducted for the musical accompaniment. There was some sort of DJ hovering around a mass of speakers and other audio equipement not far from where we were sitting. Some of his selections were appropriate for the setting and conducive to fine dining, such as Dave Brubeck and Peggy Lee. Most were Kenny G–style elevator jazz atrocities or else cheeseball soul/R&B tunes. All of it was played at too loud a volume. I would have preferred a quieter, tasteful mix of canned jazz -- the real stuff -- to this DJ's wretched ideas about what constitutes dinner music.

Prices were typical Ann Arbor: a bit overpriced, but not as bad as some other places around town. The po' boys were $9.50, but Matt's hated duck salad was $15, a fact he mentioned bitterly about a dozen times over the rest of the evening.

All in all, I think the place clearly has some kinks to work out. I enjoyed my meal and would like to see how they handle other dishes, so I'll definitely go back at some point. But I'll probably have to find new dining companions. Who's game?

Ann Arbor Realist Photo of the Week

Does anyone know what the "Art Fear" thing is, and would you be willing to enlighten me?

Ann Arbor Abstract Photo of the Week

Packard Street at Night
(Click for larger image)

What's It Going to Be Then, Eh?

Scientific progress rolls on with a proposal to design a drug cocktail that would mimic the best parts of drunkenness (social lubricant) while eliminating or minimizing the worst parts (morning-after exploding head). The article doesn't mention if beer goggles are considered a positive or negative effect of drinking. At any rate, perhaps in the near future we'll be able to meet our droogs down at the Korova for a little synthemesc.

(Thanks Verd.)

Unexpected Accolades

I expected a plaque for our 2nd-place performance in the bowling league. It was to be mounted on the wall in the bathroom next to the painting of Dick the Albino Bowler. But the bowling folks threw me a curve and instead awarded us trophies. Oh, and $54, which was nice. I'm putting the trophy in the bathroom anyway, at least until I can think of something better to do with it.

And alas, this will probably be my last bowling post for a while since I don't plan on joining any summer leagues.

Like Painted Shadows

One hand on my heart,
One hand on a bottle;
Just a drunkard's dream
Of the oil field girls.

Bitch-Slappin' for Beer Money

Some belated Stupid Beer News: Man beats woman in wheelchair for beer money.

Yo beeyotches, do not get between a man and his beer. And crack. Word.

(Thanks Verd.)

Lustre Kings Take Second!

My bowling league came to a close last night, and I'm proud to say that my team, the Lustre Kings, managed to scratch out a come-from-behind second-place finish. Soon I should have an awesome plaque in my bathroom, as well as some undisclosed sum of cash. Yessir, it pays to bowl!

And since bowling's a sport (right?), let's have some stats. Our record was 36-20 (the first-place team was 41-15), and I finished with a scorching 115 average. Sounds pretty weak (and it is), but I actually improved a lot. Who wants to bowl?

Tom Russell on Letterman

Tom Russell will be the musical guest on tonight's David Letterman show, for anyone able to stay up late and curious about why I think he's da bomb. He'll be doing a song off of his new album, Love & Fear, but I don't know which one. At his concert here last month he said he hoped Dave would have him do "Stealing Electricity." I'm voting for "The Pugilist at 59," myself.

(Image so not used with permission.)

Xeni Sucks

I've lately been getting a kick out of XeniSucks.com, a site devoted to mocking Boing Boing contributor Xeni Jardin. I have to agree her posts usually are really lame and she does have a serious case of guyface™. I mean, to the point where I do wonder if she started life as a man. Her blog posts are lame in either case, though.

There's also a CorySucks.com for Cory Doctorow.

Conundrum

A woman who once ignored a polite, friendly email from me on MySpace has now written the "Handsome Jerk" incarnation of me on the personals site. Her email says I "sound like an interesting person."

No, honey, I sound like an asshole. But I look like someone suddenly good enough for you to grace with your cyberpresence.

I do give her credit for at least complying with Handsome Jerk's explicit contact instructions:

Email me -- don't bother with winks; they're stupid. It's 2006, and word is that it's ok for women to initiate conversations now.

The conundrum is if I should reply and if so, what I should say. I'm not trying to either deceive anyone -- beyond my attempt to prove a simple point -- or to be mean (although I sometimes have vindictive daydreams, it's not really in my nature to be an intentional bastard). But I admit to being curious about how far I could take this.

I could say the sorts of things I might normally say to see how much more "interesting" they become. Or I could play the jerk to see at what point bad manners finally trump good looks -- if they ever do. Or I could do as she did to me and behave as if I never received an email.

Thoughts?

Stray ponderable: If so many women make it so that a guy has to lie to them just to get them to talk to him, should they really be surprised or upset when they are lied to?

The Price We Pay for Corruption, Tyranny, and Incompetence

Following Grr's advice, I signed on to TaxACT.com on Saturday and had my federal and state taxes done for $16 and in something like an hour and a half, which left me plenty of time to go outside and enjoy the great weather at Dominick's. Even better, I have an unexpectedly sizable refund coming, so now I can afford more hookers, crack, and gambling.

Speaking of Bowling

The Dude abides at the annual Lebowski Fest. Who's up for a road trip? I've got the Creedence.

Let's Roll

Strange as it seems, my bowling team is right in the thick of things as the "bowl-offs" approach. We spanked the first-place team last week to take sole possession of third place in the league (OK, so it's only eight teams, but...), and now only a few points separate us from the second-place team, who we face tonight. My average is up to a scorching 114 and I'm ready to blow up on those pretenders to the silver. Hey, if things somehow go amazingly well, we could even have a shot at winning the whole ball of wax. And that would be cool, since there is money involved. But I will settle for a second-place plaque to hang on the wall of my bathroom, next to Dick the Albino Bowler. That seems highly appropriate.

Plus Ça Change...

"'So you too are one of those who rave about modern women, those miserable hysterical feminine creatures who don't appreciate a real man in their somnambulistic search for some dream-man and masculine ideal. Amid tears and convulsions they daily outrage their Christian duties; they cheat and are cheated; they always seek again and choose and reject; they are never happy, and never give happiness. They accuse fate instead of calmly confessing that they want to love and live as Helen and Aspasia lived...'"

—Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, Venus in Furs, 1870

Mardi Gras Pics

Grr had something like 200 pictures of February's Mardi Gras extravaganza on his camera, and he's posted a few of them here. Damn, I am so fat. And phat.

Now if I could just get Matt to send me the ones from the absinthe tasting...

Spring Is Sprung

From a calendar viewpoint, spring has officially been here for nearly three weeks. Weatherwise, this weekend may have marked the real beginning of the season.

There are signs of life everywhere. Yesterday in my yard there was a red-breasted robin, Michigan's traditional harbinger of spring. A more Ann Arbor–specific harbinger, frat boys chucking things around on their front lawns, is also in evidence. Dominick's has re-opened and is already crowded. Graduation looms. Soon sidewalk dining will be back -- one of life's true pleasures.

And, as Easter approaches, my Lenten vow of no alcohol also ends. I have mixed feelings about that, really. It was nice to save lots of money by drinking cheaper soft drinks, and also nice to lose something like 10 pounds over the last few weeks. On the other hand, beer on my deck and beer whilst sidewalk dining are vital parts of the warm months.

Time to start thinking about vacation plans, I reckon...

The Digital Camera Is Here

My new digital camera arrived in the mail a couple days ago, and I've only just now had a chance to mess with it. I haven't done a whole lot, and of course still need to read the manual, but so far it seems pretty awesome. We'll inaugurate the digital pic blog posting with this artsy-fartsy shot of Max:



Isn't he cute? I said, ISN'T HE CUTE?

The Mathematics of Online "Dating"

Single and Bitter Week continues here on S&S with another mathematical excercise.

These numbers are very rough, because I'm working from faulty memory, making some estimates, simplifying some things, and even disregarding a number of one-off attempts at talking to allegedly receptive girls using social sites like MySpace, etc. But I still think it gives a good -- even conservative -- picture of what an ordinary Joe like me is up against when using online "dating" sites.

You will have to take my word for this, but I'm going to estimate about 20 "sent" letters to various women, with 5 of them answered, or 25%. I come up with this from the three different sites I used over the last 20 months or so, and I am throwing out two "responses" that were actually communications initiated by women (who rejected me), since I think they skew what I am trying to illustrate.

From there:

• Of the 5 responses, 2 resulted in extended email conversations, or 10% of the 20 sent messages.
  
  
• Of the 2 extended email conversations, 1 resulted in a date, or 5% of the 20 sent messages.

Now here is where it gets a little estimatey. The next question to ask is, How many dates with how many different women does it take before you find someone you "click" with?

Since I had only one nonclicking date, I don't have a real perspective on this. But let's assume 10 dates with 10 different women (we'll leave aside the possibility of needing more than one date per woman to determine mutual attraction and chemistry).

So that means -- and this is the point of this exercise -- that given the ratio of dates to sent emails established above, I would have to email 200 different women just to have a hope of dating 10 of them -- to hopefully find one that I might truly hit it off with.

I'm sorry, but that is just fucking ridiculous.

It now becomes obvious: For a single guy not blessed with above-average looks or salary, this is no way to meet women. For one thing, I have standards, too. Emailing 200 different women seems a wee bit indiscriminate. If I wanted indiscriminate, I could call random names in a phone book. I'd probably have as much luck, plus it would take less time and cost less money (there are no subscriber fees for calling people). Too, there's the issue of whether there even are 200 women on the site who are in my area to begin with.

Something else becomes obvious from this exercise, and it's this: Ladies, if you really are looking online for an "intelligent, honest, funny, and normal" man like me -- as so many of you insist you are in your profiles -- you need to stop asking the insulting question about "Are all the good men gone?" and seriously shape the fuck up. Being unreceptive to 90% of the male population is no way to meet the type of man you claim to want. Frankly, you deserve the asshole you end up with if you care only about money or looks. My sympathy for you is way past gone.

Some caveats. Maybe 10 dates to "clickage" is a high estimate. I don't know. But as I said, I have my standards, too. Also, I know there are men who had and have better response rates using these sites. (It would be difficult to do worse than me.) Your mileage may vary. But this is my mileage, and I am sure the mileage of plenty of other guys whose only sin is wanting to meet and talk to single women. I know this because I know plenty of other decent, lonely, thirtysomething men. (Describes most of my friends, really.)

My advice to men tired of the bar scene: Too bad. It's less brutal than trying to engage the cold, unresponsive bitches who populate the online dating sites. And at the bar, your money at least goes toward getting yourself (and maybe someone reasonably cute and cool) beer, instead of toward lining the pockets of some insufferable jackass like Neil Clark Warren.

My advice to women tired of same: Don't come looking for someone like me to help you take care of the baby that Chad fathered before dumping you for another superficial bitch. I'm not that stupid.

A Tale of Two Daves

Here is a riddle for you all. Let's say there are two single guys, about the same age (mid-30s), both named Dave. They live in the same town, a place we'll call Arbor Ann. It breaks down like this:

Dave #1

• Never been married, has no kids
  
• Lives alone with pets
  
• Employed full-time in a regular job
  
• Modest income, has no debt, not even car payments
  
• Pays bills on time, good credit rating
  
• Intelligent, articulate, well read
  
• A bit shy, but enjoys good conversation and good company
  
• Likes to host parties and hang out with friends and drink, but usually keeps it in perspective (has never affected his job or other obligations)
  
• Mostly stable and dependable
  
• Wears glasses, has a beer belly, not grossly overweight or ugly
  
• Wants to be a novelist

Dave #2

• Never been married, has a child with previous gal pal (who has custody)
  
• Lives with roommates, after being kicked out (and/or taken to court by) two previous sets of roommates/landlords
  
• Has been fired from three of last four jobs, with the fourth probably only a matter of time
  
• Perpetually broke, owes money to practically everyone foolish enough to house him or "lend" him anything
  
• In fact, needs his mother to co-sign for him just to get a cell phone
  
• In fact, still owes Dave #1 $275 from when he bailed him out of jail a year ago for not paying child support
  
• In fact, his own parents won't give him any more money
  
• Fairly intelligent but has underdeveloped conscience, sense of responsibility, and work ethic
  
• Possibly a borderline alcoholic
  
• Given to bursts of childish emotionalism
  
• Outgoing, occasionally charming, above-average looks
  
• Career plan involves outliving his parents, hopefully inheriting money

Now, dear readers, the riddle. Which Dave gets laid all over town and which Dave has not had a date since 2004?

Hint #1: That first part about getting laid all over town, it's not Dave #1.

Hint #2: Dave #1 is me.

Hint #3: Dave #2 is indeed a real person, no exaggerating.

Give up? Of course Dave #2 gets laid all over town and Dave #1 can't get the time of day! Dave #2 is better looking, see? Duh!

If you guessed right, you either know how to think like a typical stupid woman, or else you are one!* Hooray!

* If the latter, before you ask, yes, I can give you Dave #2's phone number (if his cell phone hasn't been taken away again) -- just shoot me an email. Sigh.

Goodbye to All That

Now that "Women's History Month" is over and done with, I'd like to announce the conclusion I've reached from my long experiment with online "dating" sites.

It's that women are dumb.

No, that's not entirely fair. Let me rephrase that. It's that women are dumb, crazy, rude, and superficial.

It's a provocative finding, I know. Let me explain.

Why "Dating" Is in Quotation Marks

It's been nearly two years since I posted my first profile on a personals site. In all that time, I've had exactly one date. That lasted about an hour. With someone I wasn't too interested in. There were good reasons for my disinterest (e.g., I don't think I was just being fussy). I don't want to go into them in a public forum because it wouldn't be gentlemanly. You will have to trust me.

Anyway, this sad track record is not due to a lack of trying on my part. I've emailed dozens of women. (Only dozens? Why not more? someone might ask. My response: I tried, quite reasonably, to email only those who sounded interesting to me and whose "requirements" I seemed to meet.) There are probably few people who have put as much effort as I have into being almost totally ignored.

I varied my approach in the emails. I learned early on that taking the time to write really clever or thoughtful letters was a waste. So, too, were funny letters. Also friendly, polite letters. Ditto short and sweet letters. And complimentary letters. In other words, whatever I tried, it was very often the case that the woman in question was too ill mannered to even acknowledge my email. By the time I gave up, I got the feeling that a form letter would have been the most efficient use of my time. How romantic.

And no, it wasn't a matter of the women not being able to respond because they weren't paid subscribers. Maybe in a small number of cases. But on the web site I used most of the time, it was free to respond to someone: It only cost you (i.e., me) to initiate a conversation.

Maybe I'm Just Lame?

For many years, this sort of thing did make me think I must be some kind of loser. And, of course, I do have my faults, like anyone else. But I've come to realize that, on balance, there's really nothing wrong with me. I'm not Brad Pitt, but I'm not ugly either. I have a well developed sense of humor. I'm reasonably bright and have a college education. I'm steadily employed and have been for years. I'm not wealthy, but I'm generally financially responsible. I'm loyal, honest, and affectionate. Female friends express bafflement at my predicament. Ex-girlfriends would testify I made a fine, if not perfect, boyfriend.

So, you ask, if you're so great, why do you have so much trouble even starting an email conversation, much less getting a date?

Aye, there's the rub. All I know now, with certainty, is: It's not me.

What's the Problem?

I've mentally run through the usual list of good reasons a woman might not acknowledge an email from someone on web sites expressly designed for meeting other people. And of course, to be fair, a number of them plausibly have nothing to do with her being dumb, crazy, rude, and/or superficial.

But the sheer number of women who just outright ignored emails made me suspicious. Only so many instances can be explained by "she was out of town and never got around to responding to a low-priority letter from a stranger" or "her parents just died in a train wreck."

Was it something I wrote? Was it how I looked? When I tired of writing letters mostly destined to be ignored, I decided to conduct an experiment. On the last site I still have money invested in, I changed my picture to one of a random handsome dude I stole from another site. For extra kicks, I changed the answers to the questions in my profile such that I sounded like an asshole, or at least a weirdo. I even described myself as a "bitter cynic" in my headline and said I was looking for "friends" only.

Show Me the Data!

The result? In about 20 days, handsome-asshole-me's profile generated more interest than plain-old-me's profile did in the previous 20 months.

All right, so "People -- women as well as men -- are more likely to be interested in physically attractive people" is hardly a groundbreaking or particularly interesting conclusion. But the sheer difference is nevertheless striking. Allow me to illustrate with a poorly coded chart:

Activity	Handsome Jerk (Last 20 Days)	Real Me (Last 6 Months)	Real Me (Last 20 Months)
Profile Views	38	34	?*
"Winks"	5**	1	2
Emails Received	1	1	1
Emails Sent/Answered	0/0	3/2***	14/7 16/7***

* This number is unknown since the site doesn't keep a total. Strict extrapolation would probably put it around 110, but if memory serves, that would be a serious overstatement.
** Handsome Jerk actually has gotten 6 winks, but I'm not counting the one from the 45-year-old dude in Los Angeles.
*** This shows an overall 50% "success" rate, e.g., I received a response to half of the emails I sent out and, hey, two-thirds of emails I sent in the last 6 months. This makes things sound better than they were. Only 2 of those 7 responses resulted in what I might call an "extended exchange" wherein I wasn't rejected offhandedly within a few brief emails, before having a chance to say much about myself. Of those 2, one led to the single date I had and the other, well, that's a funny story detailed below as Anecdote #1.
*** I arrived at this number from looking at the items in my sent and received email folders. In looking them over again, I remembered writing letters to at least two other frostbitten femmes that weren't appearing in the sent folder. I knew a 50% response rate sounded way too high from what I remembered.

These stats are even more remarkable when you consider I was actively trying to meet women as myself, while I've done absolutely nothing with the handsome-me profile except post it.

I didn't attempt this experiment on any of the other sites I was on, but I imagine the results would be depressingly similar.

Reasons for Cynicism

So we can see from the chart that it certainly pays to be handsome, even if you are a jerk or weirdo. Again, not news. But what kind of a jerk or weirdo? Here are some verbatim answers from handsome-me's (remember, self-described as a "bitter cynic") profile:

The best or worst lie I've ever told
"Wow, I'm sorry to hear that." No I'm not; I don't care about your stupid problems.

In my bedroom one will find...
An altar to Great Cthulhu, the blood of sacrificial virgins, and a pretty comfy mattress.

Why You Should Get to Know Me
Well, my mom likes me. Seriously, I had all sorts of perfectly good reasons here before and even "I can get you free CDs and books" wasn't compelling enough for you people. So here's the new deal: email me and I'll make something up about my bulging pecs and vast fortune or whatever it is you want to hear.

More About What I Am Looking For
At this point, I'd settle for anyone with better manners than my cats. They shit on the carpet, so you'd think it wouldn't be that difficult to find someone who met this minimum standard. Yet, it turns out that it is.

Sounds like he'd be a fun date, eh? Ladies, you sure know how to pick 'em.

Fun with Anecdotes

So that's as sciency as I'm going to get with numbers and stuff. I want now to supplement the data from the chart with a couple pathetic but amusing anecdotes that illustrate more female lameness. These are just two choice ones from the past six weeks.

Anecdote #1: How Cool That You're a Writer… Not!

The lone actual email (as opposed to "winks") that I received as myself was from a girl who sounded nice and could even spell and express herself articulately. We had an extended exchange over the course of the next several weeks. I told her I was a writer and this seemed to interest her a lot: She asked me about my writing three or four times. We eventually decided to make plans to meet. But before that happened, I went ahead and sent her a link to one of my short stories, figuring she might have an opinion or some criticism. Well, she did. I guess. She abruptly stopped emailing me with no explanation. I finally wrote again and asked what happened and she replied only that she was "busy." I took the hint, wrote back that I was in fact taking the hint, and that was the end of it. To this day, I have no idea what her problem was. She not only turned off on a dime, she didn't see any need to tell me about it or say why. And, you know, my story isn't bad -- it was recently shortlisted in a writing contest.

Anecdote #2: Boo-Hoo, No One Notices Me, Except the Guys I Ignore

This girl on MySpace sounded kind of cool and it looked like we had stuff in common, so I sent her an email seeing if she wanted to add me as a friend. Unsurprisingly, she completely ignored me. I expected that, of course, so whatever. But a few days later I saw she had a link to her blog, so I followed it out of curiosity. Her most recent post, from the day before, contained a rant about how no one ever notices her, she has no way to meet guys, and other stuff along those lines.

Duh.

So I was compelled to leave a comment pointing out that her whining is not very convincing when she ignores men who do, in fact, notice her and would like to talk to her. She ignored the comment, too, but I guess it's to her credit that she didn't delete it. I guess.

I Am Giving Up

I expect the usual reactions to this post. I'm a loser, I'm a misogynist, I'm a loser misogynist. I whine too much. I have to have more faith or patience. No one wants to date someone with such a shitty attitude (as if my attitude formed my experience and not vice versa). Men are dumb, crazy, rude, and/or superficial, too. I just hate strong, independent women, or whatever. I've heard all of it. Well, actually I've never been called a loser or misogynist, but I can certainly imagine it after this post, even if neither epithet is true. Anyway, I seriously doubt any particular bit of hate mail or encouragement is going to change my mind. None of it seems to apply to either my experience or to what I know about myself.

The bottom line is that there is an absolutely fantastic number of lame women out there, and I'm just so tired of making an effort to engage them because, as far as their ability to relate to normal men goes, 95% of them do in fact seem to be dumb, crazy, rude, and/or superficial. I'm talking about total duds who make themselves wholly unapproachable to anyone but pretty boys or the most aggressive posers, then wonder why all the guys they date turn out to be tools or assholes.

Declaring Independence

So I don't care anymore -- and I mean it. Consider this post my declaration of independence from giving a damn what the typical dumb, crazy, rude, superficial modern woman thinks of me. I think women don't realize, and men don't admit, how much of male behavior is geared toward interesting or impressing women. I'm going to be 35 in June. I don't have the energy or the patience for it anymore, so I'm going to acquire some hobbies instead. With all the effort I normally waste on pointlessly trying to interest dumb, crazy women, I can probably build an Egyptian pyramid. Ironically, this will probably make me more interesting to women.

Standard Disclaimers

This doesn't apply to every woman. I'm sure there are plenty who are smarter, saner, better-mannered, and more complex than me and many other men. My relationship with my mother is fine. I'm not a virgin. I've had and continue to have close female friends, and they are absolutely wonderful and important to me. I've been in love (with a dumb, crazy, rude -- though not superficial -- woman). I don't think women should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen at all times. In my career, I've had female bosses and even worked in a firm owned by women, and I respected and respect them all. I know there is also a fantastic number of stupid, insensitive, and loserrific men out there (because that's who the dumb, crazy women date instead of me). I still believe that cool, smart, and warm single women do exist. Maybe on another planet, but they're somewhere. I don't hate women (though obviously the dumb, crazy, rude, superficial ones irk me). I'm not a stalker. I'm not violent. I'm not "creepy." I'm not anything but an ordinary, average guy in almost every respect. But maybe with slightly better hygiene.

Bitter? Sure. Sexually frustrated? Probably. Feel better now? Definitely.

Coda

As I was writing this, my last girlfriend emailed to tell me she was going to get married… to a guy she met on Yahoo! personals. The universe is a strange and funny place, isn't it?