July 14, 2011 · 2:06 PM

Me, Myself and I: Children of the Selfish Gene

"'I Love Me, Myself, And I And the Whole World,' wouldn't fit. So I just left the most important part."

Let me begin by saying that I have yet to read the Richard Dawkins book to which the title of this post refers.  With that said, I’m aware of it’s overall premise.  Plus it’s on my summer reading list, so shut your bleeding hole.

For those of you who are equally unwell-read or just damned ignorant, the idea is not that there is a singular gene that determines the presence or degree of selfishness in an organism, but that genes are the fundamental forces behind the evolutionary process, powerfully pressing down the path pointing to the peak probability of their propagation.  (Yes, I did that.)

In most instances, what’s in the best interest of the gene is in the best interest of the organism.  After all, one is the vehicle for the other, so it makes sense that the two are usually on the same page.  There are certainly times when that’s not the case though.

Consider the tragedy of the male praying mantis, who the female often kills after copulation.  Why does he engage in this fatal behavior?  No, it’s not ’cause mantis females really know how to work that thang…whatever that would mean to a lime green, awkwardly shaped insect with pointy spines on its appendages.  (That’s a recipe for bad foreplay if you ask me.  But whatever.)  According to Dawkins, it’s because their genes are on a mission to ensure that they get copied – at any cost – and it’s only when an organism is intelligent enough to understand its own interests as distinct from its genes’ interests that it can rebel.

That brings us to good old mankind.  We’re pretty smart as animals go, so do I think that we’ve come to the point where we can ignore the pressure to act in our genome’s best interest?  Yes, I do.  But I’m not talking about situations in which parents die for their children or some guy donates a kidney to his aunt.  After all, these are simply the undercover machinations of selfish genes.  Those folks may suffer somewhat individually, but for their family’s shared genes it’s a net positive result.

No, I’m talking about the times when a total stranger takes a bullet for someone else or, in an everyday context, a volunteer spends a few hours a week helping underprivileged kids with their homework.  I can’t think of an argument that would explain how these acts help further the proliferation of their genes at all.  How sweet.

But not so fast.  Since the heroes aren’t acting in their genome’s best interest, does that mean that they’re being altruistic?  I say no.  Humans can short-circuit their programming and ignore their genes, but they simply cannot pull away from the warm embrace of selfishness.

On those rare occasions when we rise above our embedded biological imperative, we don’t replace selfishness with altruism.  We just replace the source of the selfishness: instead of sprouting from our genes, it flows from our ego.  That stranger takes the bullet because they’re motivated by a sense of duty.  The volunteer heads down to the youth center on Tuesdays and Thursdays for the same reason.

This notion of duty is inextricably tied to the notion of honor, and where there’s honor, there’s ego.   There’s the desire for self-aggrandizement.  There’s Me, Myself, and I.  Heroes big and small are willing to give their lives, or at least portions of them.  That’s certainly true.  But they do this to get a bigger life in return, and that bigger life exists in the psyche of others.  Where’s the sacrifice in that?

When Dick spends three nights in one week at his girlfriend’s place in Blüdhaven, even though he lives and works in Gotham, he ain’t doing that shit for his health.  On top of the sweet, sweet lovin’ she delivers, he also garners increased real estate in her heart and mind, all because he demonstrated a willingness to trade his convenience for hers.  This translates to real social currency, redeemable in the future.  I mean, why do you think they call them coochie coupons?

Now, take that social currency and multiply it by like, a gazillion.  That’s the kind of ego cash that heroes and philanthropists rack up when they do what they do.  Risk your neck for enough folks and you can become larger than life.  As a matter of fact, you don’t have to risk anything.  You just have to make people believe that whatever you did was all for them.  A certain Galilean Hebrew and his PR team pulled this off about 2000 years ago, and whether or not it’s true, dude is now like, the biggest superstar ever.

So, the next time you do something good for someone, think about that cascading warmth that you feel.  I’m willing to bet that it’s not coming from some inner spring of beautiful intentions.  Nope.  It’s just the excess heat generated by your rapidly inflating hot air ego balloon.

11 Comments

Filed under Philosophy

Tagged as , , , , , , ,

June 2, 2011 · 3:48 PM

The Love Menu: How to Eat to Live

"Ohhh. I thought you were using 'breakfast in bed' as a euphemism."

You are what you eat.

Everybody’s familiar with that phrase and, to some extent or another, can see the truth in it.  If you spend your time eating a bunch of crap, you’ll look like a bunch of crap.  If you consume only the finest food and drink, treating your body like a stone temple, you’ll look like a god…assuming you get your vegan ass off the couch and into the gym.

The thing is, the same axiom applies to dating, too.

People walk around so forlorn about relationships, wondering why old boy ain’t actin’ right or why homegirl is driving them up the wall.  They sit there confounded and confused as to why they either can’t find anyone at all or why the relationships that they do end up in always seem to blow up quicker than a new Israeli settlement on the West Bank.  Love is a 24-hour diner with a huge assortment of options, but they’re not feeling it at all.  The problem is that they don’t know how to eat to live.

As with any diner, you’ve got four types of dishes from which to choose: Appetizers, Entrées, Desserts and Junkfood.  Anybody that you meet is gonna fit into one of those categories.  Unfortunately, the Love Diner doesn’t actually tell you which option goes in which group – you’ve got to be able to sort the muphuckas yourself.  Lucky for you, I’m providing a cheatsheet to help you figure out what’s what the next time you’re feelin’ kinda hongry.  (Look it up on Urban Dictionary or something.)

Here’s a description of each menu heading and what it translates to in the realm of romance:

  • Appetizers – These people serve two roles.  When you’re young (or inexperienced), they get your feet wet and well…whet your appetite for love.  If you make the wrong choice here, it’s not that big of a deal ’cause you’ve still got lots more eating to do.  But, if you’ve been in the game for a while, you might be interested in an appetizer, too.  This is somebody who you enjoy spending time with and is pretty damn tasty…but not entirely filling.  That’s OK though!  Only a dummy would expect to get full off an appetizer…right?
  • Entrées – For those of you who’ve never been to a restaurant (yet miraculously have computer access), or who have problems with extended metaphors even when they’re about as subtle as a whore from Ipanema, this is the main course.  This guy or gal is what you’ve been waiting on all night.  Do yourself a favor and order something substantial.  Even if it doesn’t have the most gorgeous presentation, it might just hit the spot.  Plus, I always find that food that’s too cute usually doesn’t fill up the plate or me, and that will only leave you longing for…
  • Desserts – Yum, yum, yum.  Who’s got a taste for something sweet?  For some people, dessert is their favorite part of the meal.  In fact, it’s just so damn sexy that some folks even have it first.  I ain’t mad at that.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with indulging in a little French Vanilla, Butter Pecan, Chocolate Deluxe.  Shit, even Caramel Sundaes is gettin’ touched.  Go ahead, lick the bowl.  But see, the thing about dessert is that it may taste like heaven, but you ain’t gettin’ no real sustenance from said delectable delights.  Oh, and need I say that if you eat too much sweet stuff, you might get sick?
  • Junkfood – This is a category that causes lotsa people lotsa problems, usually because they don’t even realize that they’re eating this crap.  Why?  Because some ladies and gentlemen fuck around and order junkfood as their entrée!  Oh, this greasy, crunchy, saucy stuff tastes great and can certainly sate your appetite.  Lord knows I’ve eaten so much pizza, spicy chicken sandwiches and french fries that you’d swear I was still gettin’ free public school lunch.  But yo, the shit ain’t healthy.  Are the big laughs and good sex worth all of the screaming and pure, unadulterated, high blood pressure inducing fuckery?  Methinks not.

So, there you have it.  Now all you’ve gotta do is make sure that you order the right meal at the right time.  Sure, at some point you’re probably gonna need a nice, fairly healthy entree to get the job done.  But damn, that don’t mean that you can’t grab some cakes and pies from time to time or get you a couple of appetizers to go!  Sheeeeeit, they got a Two for $20 special up in this piece!

Know what you’re eating and why you’re eating it.  Then you can enjoy your meal for what it is without starving yourself, i.e. taking a sex sabbatical, feeling guilty or leaving the table hungry.  Bon appétit!

3 Comments

Filed under Relationships, Sexuality

Tagged as , , , ,

May 27, 2011 · 4:06 PM

Sex Sabbaticals, Unicorns and Other Lies

Don't cheat yourself...treat yourself.

The ability to lie to oneself about matters of sexuality is one of the most captivating aspects of the female psyche.  Accomplishing that requires a degree of mental fortitude that most unconflicted, straight men simply cannot achieve.  We do alright when it comes to lying to women or other men, but we just don’t give enough of a shit to pull the wool over our own eyes.  But women…women are different.  You really want to believe the BS that you’re selling to everybody else.

I think my favorite example of this amazing mental wizardry is the sex sabbatical.  You might not be familiar with the term (I may have just coined it…gotta look into that), but I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.

The idea is that a woman gets so fed up with men that she decides to give up sex for some amount of time.  Actually, that’s just the sex sabbatical in its weak form.  The strong form dictates that the woman gives up dating altogether.  In both cases, she approaches this commitment to revirgination with the utmost gravity and dedication, like an addict just starting the march up the famous 12 Steps.

Unfortunately, just like her drunk and drugged counterparts, our heroine is just one false move from falling down those steps and bustin’ her ass, or in this case, having her ass busted.

Given the right stimulus, you will gone ‘head and get you some.  A little Riesling, some Adele playing in the background, just the right combo of kisses on your neck and pressure on the inside of your left thigh…and you’re off the wagon.  But hold on before you sign up for rehab, babygirl.

Sex is fundamental to the human condition.  We quite literally need it, not just as a species, but as individuals, and denying our desire for it is futile at least and self-destructive at worst.  That’s why the whole sex sabbatical phenomenon is a big, fat, blueballs-inducing shame.  But who would put themselves in that predicament in the first place?

There are only two types of women that would arrive at the ridiculous conclusion that they should forswear sex.  The first one isn’t capable of maintaining consistent relations with men in the first place, or as one female friend of mine said, “she ain’t on a steady d*ck diet.”  That’s a classic sour grapes scenario of course, and for the purposes of this entry, not worth discussing.  The other kind of woman is different though.  She’s on a quest for power.

For some reason, real or imagined, this woman feels that sex has been her personal gateway to pain.  As such, her mission is to regain control over her emotional life by blocking all entry to her Hidden Valley, thereby cutting heartache off at the pass.  The problem is that this is a shortsighted measure.  Men absolutely need to be responsible with women’s feelings, especially after nastytime.  Y’all are delicate, and shit.  But would Mr. Voltron have been any more sensitive if he hadn’t already slayed your robeast with his blazing sword?  Childhood anime references aside, if you didn’t have sex with him, would he have treated you differently?

I think not.  Holding out on sex might keep a ravenous man well-behaved for a while, but it’s not going to change who he is fundamentally.  If dude is an unkind, inconsiderate prick, keeping him away from the goods ain’t gonna make him appreciate you more—it’s just gonna make you excruciatingly horny and ensure that he keeps regularly banging that waitress at Applebee’s.  I mean, he’s gonna keep doing that regardless (ummm…he’s a prick), but at least you’d be getting some action, too!

Oh, and I interrupt this entry to bring you a very important news bulletin: not every guy you date is an asshole.  The man sitting across from you might be a really cool person who sees you as a whole being, not just a piece of pie, waiting to get cut up.  So, while y’all may not end up together over the long haul, there’s no reason why you both can’t enjoy a little desert before dinner.

Look, it’s obviously not a cool situation when the bull’s been dragging you around so long that you don’t even wanna ride the muphucka anymore.  Who wants to get yanked and jerked around ’til they’re dizzy, then thrown down hard to the ground?  OK, men…don’t answer that.  Seriously though ladies, you can’t get the pleasure without the pain.  That’s the price we pay to live life fully.  So when it hurts, you just gotta brush yourself off, grab them horns with both hands, hop on top, and ride ’em, cowgirl!

3 Comments

Filed under Relationships, Sexuality

Tagged as ,

April 28, 2011 · 4:04 PM

Punks Jump Up…

Yeah, I know the song ain't from this album. Sue me.

The other week, one of my boys sent a few friends a YouTube link.  He introduced the clip by telling us that it incensed him, but knowing how frequently this particular friend often worships at the temple of hyperbole, I was prepared to be interested but not necessarily agitated.

I was wrong.

The clip is called “Recognize Bloody Loco ASAP” and it’s little over a minute of what some might call male posturing, some might call pure fuckery, and others might call just another day on the New York City subway.  All of the above are correct, by the way.  I suggest that you watch it, but in the event that you don’t want to risk going banana nut apeshit on the next fool that throws you the hairy eyeball as a delayed response, I’ll kindly summarize it for you.

Basically, the whole thing consists of a menacingly(?) monikered youth named Bloody Loco loudly informing a thirtysomething man we’ll call “Sweater Guy” of his complete lack of fear, his desire to engage in fisticuffs and above all else, his utter devotion to ensuring that everyone on that train recognizes his name …”ASAP!”

Throughout Mr. Loco’s rant, Sweater Guy remains calm and collected, occasionally tossing in an ironic comment or two, but obviously doing his best to tune out the aural rapist confronting him.  This is an impossible feat, of course, since Bloody’s incessant barking is well…incessant.  Seriously, I’d rather have two hungry babies with diarrhea and chicken pox duct taped to my head all day than listen to this poster boy for lead poisoning for 20 minutes.

What is this crap all about?  Why the need to hoot, holler and pound one’s chest?  Why is obnoxiousness of this sort equated with masculinity?  Sigh…

Actually, I don’t have time to go into the effects that a lack of positive male role models, glorification of criminality and internalization of stereotypes has had on poor, urban youth.  If I did that, then I’d have to get into brainstorming possible solutions and whatnot, and let’s face it: y’all fools got acute ADHD.  So, let’s just acknowledge that the issue exists and that there are some good reasons for it.  Having done that, the question becomes how am I, as a grown ass man striving for consciousness, supposed to react when faced with a situation like the above?

From where I sit, I’d say that Sweater Guy pretty much had it right.  No matter how much somebody like that is pressing on your last nerve, it really doesn’t pay to respond in like manner.  For one, it might escalate the situation beyond a battle of words.  Y’all remember the Cuban Missile Crisis, right?  Nobody really wants to get bombed, but some idiot might just go nuclear if he feels backed into a corner.

Plus, if a cat is proud enough of his immaturity to be actin’ a damn fool in public like that, it stands to reason that he probably has a lot less to lose than you do.  Maybe he ain’t scared of going to jail.  Maybe he knows his boys are chillin’ on the next block and Big Mook just looooves to jump periwinkle-wearing muphuckas like you.  Maybe he’s too much of a punk to swang them thangs and as soon as you beat his ass, he’ll go pop the trunk.  Regardless, none of these outcomes are good for you, my urban professional friend with a wife, two kids and a mistress who’s blackmailing him.  Unless it’s unavoidable, just don’t do it.

By the way, I practice what I preach.  The other day, I was out on a date and I got up from my seat to find someone to take our order.  (Already a bad sign.)  There were no dividers on the bench, so as I walked away, some dude decides he’s gonna take my seat…despite the fact that he saw me get up and was now sitting right next to my date.

After coming back to the table, the lady asked me if I wanted to stay or leave.  I told her that it was entirely up to her, knowing that if she decided to stay, I might find myself on a collision course with Fuckhead Johnson and the Underachievers.  I wasn’t about to huff and puff, but dude had made a physical incursion into my space, so he would have to answer for that.

But what do you know?  Babygirl just slid me a reassuring smile, elegantly rose from her seat, and elected to bounce.  There are a few takeaways from that experience.

First, when someone “tests” you, think of it as a test of discipline and not a test of manhood.  My emotions would likely have led to broken glass and maybe broken jaws instead of what turned out to be a really nice evening.  Second, having well-grounded people by your side solves like 90% of the equation.  If my date was one of those women that wanted a little “thug” in her man, she might have actually encouraged the stupidity.  Booooo.  Finally, certain contexts just attract knuckleheaded idiots.  If you go to spots frequented by assholes, expect shitty situations.

So remember these words the next time some punk tries to flex on you:  You owe it to yourself to let it go…unless you know you can beat his ass and get away with it.

7 Comments

Filed under Social Issues

Tagged as , , , ,

April 20, 2011 · 3:14 PM

Let’s Go Crazy: The Case for Insanity

Blow up the damn elevator. Now THAT’S crazy.

Ever feel that the life you lead isn’t the one that’s meant for you?

I’m not talking about some kind of materialistic craving for a better car, a bigger house, or more money.  I’m talking about a fundamental feeling that your existence – your career, your city, your partner – is somehow a world apart from the one that should be yours.  Sure, there are those gorgeous moments when you can feel yourself alive in your true identity; eyes wide open, bathing in the rays of your own colorful light.

Those occasions are the exception, not the rule, and most ticks of the clock find you awash in numbing grey.  Through time’s bleak passage, you can’t help but feel that YOU ARE GREATER THAN THIS AND WERE MEANT FOR MORE.  So, just what is one to do when the vision of their true place in the universe is so vastly different from their accepted reality?

The only logical answer is to go crazy.

I don’t mean give oneself over to psychotic breaks, schizophrenic attacks or dissociative episodes…as fun as Showtime TV series make them look.  Instead, I’m suggesting that you allow all of the rage, the frustration, and the sadness to push you toward rejecting the day-to-day ins-and-outs of your hyphenatedly disappointing life.  You’ve got to get angry enough to push back against the situation that’s responsible for all of the emotional turmoil in the first place.  Basically, you need to lose your muphuckin’ mind so you can get it back again, and losing your mind means destabilizing your belief in reality.

Don’t get me wrong.  Stability is often a good thing.  It can be nice to know that every time a step hits the ground, it will feel exactly the same as it did the day before.  But what if, instead of concrete, you were faced with quicksand on a daily basis?  Instead of supporting you, with each step your surroundings are slowly dragging you to a horrifyingly suffocating death.  In this case, stability is an illusion: your life is static, but there’s nothing stable about it.  Recognize this, and your first crazy, rebellious step won’t be too far behind.

Yes, I said rebellion.  Your current reality is a prison, created and policed by enemies who seek to stifle your growth for their own benefit.  As such, you’ve got to rebel against said reality and its enforcers.  This may not be as emotionally easy as it sounds – it could entail rejecting friends, family and even the coppertop formerly known as YOU.    But you’ve got to get on with it.  Gum up the works.  Stick bananas in tail pipes.  Throw your fists in the air.  The sheep will call you crazy, but you’ll be too busy losing it to hear them.  Too busy with your crazy little rebellion.

The first shots of said rebelionita will manifest in various forms, suitable for the personal struggles to which they are intimately connected.  It might mean taking back-to-back, unnecessary sick days on Friday and Monday.  Maybe you’ll sign up for that spoken word event at the local bar.  Perhaps you’ll finally speak to that mohawked cashier at the supermarket.  Whatever it is, if you don’t feel a little scared the day before you do it and at least minimally terrified immediately beforehand, then it wasn’t crazy enough.  You’ve got to push yourself into the heat of discomfort, ever closer to the flame until your fears are illuminated and the fear of the fear burns away.

Notice, I said the FEAR of the fear: the fear itself will never disappear.  When you acknowledge that, it will begin to lose its grip on you, and you’ll start to free yourself from your father’s expectations.  From your boss’ intimidations.  From your own doubts.  You might eventually go crazy enough to quit that corporate job to pursue that passion for dance, or forsake the path of a starving artist to get that law degree you always wanted.  Every day, it will become easier for you to do beautiful, painful things that bring you closer to sweet insanity…also known as true life.

2 Comments

Filed under Philosophy

Tagged as , , , ,

April 14, 2011 · 8:06 PM

Your Cheating Heart: Infidelity Is a State of Mind

Dude, you’ve got a LOT to learn.

It’s a pleasantly warm and bright Sunday afternoon.  On one of the first real days of spring, the squirrels are playfully scampering around the path to your boyfriend Kevin’s apartment, and there’s more than a touch of excitement running through you, too.  You’re about to pay your man a surprise visit to celebrate this gorgeous day.

As you thrust the key into the lock, the butterflies do that little dance in your tummy.  Elated smile.  Walking in, those same butterflies rapidly morph into 50 pound stones.  Pained grimace.  You find yourself open-mouthed, staring at Lucinda (the only female friend of his that you never worried about) in a bright red apron, four-inch heels, what looks to be MAC Lady Danger lipstick, and nothing else, bent over the stove with Kevin behind her.  You do NOT like the smell of what they’re cooking.

In fact, it’s safe to say that you’ve probably lost your appetite for the entire week.  But should you lose your boyfriend, too?  Probably not, and there are two good reasons why.

First off, in all likelihood his cheating had nothing to do with you.  Yes, he broke a promise and probably your heart, right along with it.  For that, he’s as wrong as two left shoes.  But there’s a really good chance that his feelings for you are still just as strong as ever…it’s just that Lucinda’s ass looks like it’s pregnant with twins.  His embrace of her body is not a rejection of your love.  Dude just got caught up in the bootyliciousness, and I’d bet good money that if you give him a choice, he’ll choose you.  If he doesn’t, then that means that you didn’t have his heart in the first place.

The second, more important reason why you might wanna reconsider closing the door on Mr. Lova-Lova is the fact that you ain’t no angel yourself.  Please, don’t look all shocked.  Yeah, you may not have physically done anything with your colleague Jamal, but you damn near got carpal tunnel rub-a-dub-dubbing to mental images of him in the shower.  Plus, on more than a couple of occasions you even used him as a tool to push you toward the “little death” on those nights when Kevin just wasn’t killing you hard or fast enough.  Oh, and since y’all work together, you go to lunch with Jamal at least twice a week, and when he can’t make it…your day just isn’t the same.

In my book, that makes you just as guilty as Kevin, if not more.

Yes.  Kevin was definitely burying his bone in somebody else’s backyard.  But you were having a whole ‘nother relationship with another man, complete with full on muthaphuckin’ emotional attachment!  Where I come from, any real relationship is built on emotional bonds, not physical ones, so I’d say you and Jamal were going steady…even if it was only in your mind.  I mean, your mind is the most important sex organ after all, and we’ve known this for millennia.  The Bible says that “whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.”  I may not believe the theology, but I’ll be damned (hopefully not) if this ain’t one of the Good Book’s many nuggets of wisdom.

Where the scriptures get it wrong is on the moral implications of said burning yearning: lust is a perfectly natural, amoral emotion, not a sin.  You couldn’t stop yourself from lusting any more than you could stop poor white folks in Texas from voting against their interests.  But, what you can do is acknowledge that those desires abide within both you and your partner.  Don’t try to live in the illusion that no one else exists, ‘cause that will only lead to an unhealthy relationship with dangerously repressed feelings bubbling just beneath the surface.  Science has my back on this, people.  Apparently, being forced to block out other options actually ends up weakening a person’s resolve to stay committed, and who wants that?

So breathe for a second, little one.  Collect yourself.  Slowly walk over to the kitchen…and disrobe.  On top of being the only girl-friend that you never suspected, you always thought Lucinda was sexy as hell.

Hey, it’s a beautiful day.  Time to put a little work into your relationship!

14 Comments

Filed under Philosophy, Relationships, Sexuality

Tagged as , , , , ,

April 7, 2011 · 4:11 PM

I Wonder If I Take You Home

OMG. You might as well wear an arrow pointing to your crotch.

You just broke up with your boyfriend two months ago.  It’s Friday night, and none of your people want to go out ‘cause they’re either too exhausted from the work week, or they’re with their significant other doing things that lovers do.  This leaves you bored and lonely, so you decide to roll out solo to the neighborhood night spot.  The live band is rockin’ it, the drinks are cheap, and before you know it, you’re feeling as nice as a Care Bear on ecstasy.

Then you see this tall, handsome cat with great skin and a chiseled frame roll up to the bar.  He sees you checking him out, so he smiles.  Before long, you and Lorenzo are on the dance floor doing the Lambada to a dancehall version of “Milkshake”.  Your oven is hotter than Grandma Patty’s on Thanksgiving afternoon.  Like a true predator, Lorenzo can sense that this is the moment to make that move: he asks if you wanna take the party to his spot just two blocks away.

Your first thought is to say, “Hell yes,” but you vacillate for at least a minute.  I mean, what would he think about you?  What if he’s some kinda psycho?  Crap!  Did you remember to wax?  But Lorenzo, the liquor, and your suppressed libido keep whispering sweet nothings in your ear.  Before you know it, you’re off…and so are your jeans.  The next morning, engaged in The Walk of Shame, you can’t help but ask yourself, “Am I a slut?”

Instead of just jumping into the answer, let’s take a look at a checklist designed to ensure that you always know what to do when you hear the call of the wild.

1. Are you sober, or at least in majority control of your motor functions? If the answer is no, then please, don’t do it.  Any stand-up guy is turned off by girls who are fall-down drunk.  Seriously, who wants to get close to somebody that might go all Mt. St. Helens with her stomach contents at any time?  If the dude observes your state and still wants to bed you, he’s at least ethically challenged and maybe even mentally disturbed…which is a bad thing, for y’all taking notes.  [Exception:  If dude is shit-faced too, then feel free to stumble your alcoholic ass on down the road to perdition!]

2. Do you really need it? If you always “need” it, then I advise you to seek psychological counseling.  Or a dildo.  Or both.  This is about those occasions when it’s just been forever and you’re going to literally re-virginate if not tended to quickly.  In other words, it’s a smergency – a sex emergency.

3. Does it feel like destiny? You and this guy have been talking, dancing, and laughing the night away.  He’s wonderful, he thinks you’re fantastic, and you’ve never felt this uncanny need to be one with anybody so quickly before.  It just feels right.  Guess what?  It is!  Go for it with the knowledge that you’re following the will of the universe.  20 years later when you’re sitting in your gazebo at your summer home at the Vineyard, chillin’ with Mr. Right, you’ll thank your horny, twenty-to-thirty-something self for making up that BS.

So ladies, the next time shit gets thick with no time to think, go ‘head and get busy off of basic instinct!  Ask yourself those three simple questions and you can’t go wrong.

And oh yeah, I almost forgot.  You are DEFINITELY a slut for getting with old boy that Friday night.  I mean, c’mon, you just met him!  Your momma would be ashamed!

7 Comments

Filed under Sexuality, Social Etiquette

Tagged as , ,

April 1, 2011 · 12:30 PM

Excuse Me. No, Seriously.

So, I guess we're ALL losers then?

Most English speakers are familiar with the saying that goes something like this, “Excuses are like assholes: everybody’s got one and they all smell like shit.”  I don’t know about you, but the sentiment behind that fragrant phrase never quite seemed to connect with me.

Part of the problem I have with it is the fact that I just don’t like big old blanket statements.  Almost nothing is a simple matter of black or white: the human experience is just way too complicated to assume that any given behavior is flawed in every given context.  Is there really no situation in which an excuse is justifiable?  I mean, come on.  There are times when crap just happens that throws off your ability to accomplish whatever the hell it is that you set out to do, or would like to see done.  It’s just humanly impossible to prepare for every eventuality.  But that doesn’t stop us from thinking that everybody EXCEPT US should be able to do just that.

The classic example of the above phenomenon is the tendency for the masses to attribute a bad economic climate to the president.  Of course, anyone who bothered to pay attention during the first week of undergrad macroeconomics knows that this makes about as much sense as blaming an overgrown rodent for an extra long winter.  Matter of fact, you don’t even need any undergraduate credits to realize that our economy is a massive, tremendously unwieldy beast that we can only hope to contain and never control…kinda like drunk, white lacrosse players at an Asian sorority’s toga party.  Yeah, you lost your job, which sucks, but the president couldn’t help you even if she wanted to.  (Note: If she’s Republican, she doesn’t want to.)  In fact, my main issue with our hatred for excuses lies within that example of public ignorance regarding presidential impotence.

Things don’t always work out, despite our best laid plans.  We’ve all been there.  We’re all familiar with the accompanying feelings of disappointment.  So, where’s the empathy?

Psychologists have named this gap between our ability to enumerate the myriad reasons why we failed to accomplish a task, down to the minutest detail, while simultaneously being unable to comprehend why our “lazy” or “idiotic” or “irresponsible” colleague “dropped the ball”.  They call it the Fundamental Attribution Error (FAE).  In short, it means that we’re really good at understanding why things go wrong for us, but are equally lousy when it comes to appreciating the snags that others encounter.  (I think that this is just a specific instance of our outlandishly selfish natures, but that’s a topic for another day.)

By the way, the implications of FAE reach far beyond you being a jerk to your direct report when that TPS report doesn’t get filed on time.  It operates on a grand scale, too.  Fill in the blank: “Those damn ____.  They’re so lazy.  That’s why they never get ahead.”  Sound familiar?

In the end, it might behoove us all to spend a bit more time thinking about the many obstacles that can disrupt our flow.  Remember the sick person that delays the train and makes you late for a meeting.  Recall the horrible sound system that totally killed your opening night performance.  Reminisce about the condom that broke and forced you into a shotgun wedding with last summer’s booty call.  Recollect that until 1965 (little more than a decade before I was fucking BORN), you might not have been able to vote if you were a descendant of slaves.  Perhaps then we’d show a little more understanding for each other, stop being so self-centered, and get our heads out of our asses…unless we’re looking for an excuse.

2 Comments

Filed under Social Issues

Tagged as , ,

March 25, 2011 · 2:43 PM

Soft, Wet and Confused: Your Girlfriend Is Bisexual

This is SUCH a better way to practice for our lip-reading class, Becky!

So, I like women.

I like the fact that they tend to have longer hair than do I, which they often style in interesting and attractive ways.  I enjoy the fact that they often smell nice – kind of like a human fruit smoothie.  I think it’s awesome that they can giggle innocently one minute and then in the next, moan hard like a field hand singing Negro spirituals.  And of course, I also celebrate that they have mounds of sumptuous, inviting fat in places that would be…unsightly…on me.

Now, I know that there are plenty of ladies who openly like women just as much as I do.  These women are called lesbians and bisexuals, and yes, they’re pretty cool.  The thing is, I’m beginning to wonder whether those labels actually mean any damn thing when it comes to the fairer sex.  More and more,  it seems to me that a not-so-silent majority of women are just waiting for an excuse to whip out the organic vacuum cleaner for those um…hard to reach places.

You know I’m not making this crap up.  Time after time, I’ve had conversations about sexual histories with female friends and friends-plus, and I gotta say that at least like 30% of them have either savored the decadent taste of cuchifritos or served that shit up on a platter themselves, at least once.  That percentage climbs to like 60% if we talk about heavy petting (what the hell is light petting by the way, and why would you ever want to do that?) and 75% if we lower the threshold to good old lip-lockin’.  I bet it could reach as high as 90% if we asked whether or not they’ve had recurring lesbian fantasies/desires.

So what gives?  When asked, lots of my friends have provided a stock response.  “The female form is just inherently more beautiful than the male form.  It’s no wonder I find girls attractive.”  Right.  I hear you loud and clear and I’m down to start the “Breasts: Not Just for Babies” campaign whenever you are.

Check this though.  George Clooney is a really handsome dude.  And so damn suave.  But I ain’t never, neva-eva, neva-eva thought about cuppin’ his Irish-American buttocks or handlin’ his twig and berries.  I don’t care if he IS a friend of the blacks.

This flirtation with lesbianism has got to be about more than a mere appreciation of women’s curves.  In fact, I’d argue that two complementary forces are at work, one positive and one negative.

On the positive side, women simply don’t have to contend with the pressure to conform to the same rigid sexual mores that men do.  From an early age, doing anything that looks like it might be considered gay is beat out of you, verbally if not physically.  This is despite the fact that scientists like Alfred Kinsey have tried to teach us that homosexual experimentation is a vital part of growing up.  Meanwhile, girls are allowed to sleep in the same bed, hold hands in public and just generally be all up in each other’s space in a way that guys would be laughed out of recess for.  The line of intimacy between them is just never as clearly defined, and that’s gotta be beneficial to emotional development.  It no doubt has some dope implications beyond sexual interactions, too.

Unfortunately, men have found a way to subvert and exploit what could be a completely wonderful thing.  For many of us, lesbians and bisexual women are less like individual human beings and more like sex toys that talk.  (As far as I know, even those life-size latex joints can’t speak yet…and yes, I’ve looked.)  Why dominate one female when you can dominate two and then watch them dominate each other?  And it appears this is an inclination that plenty of women are more than happy to indulge.  Thus, we end up with the boringly choreographed, juvenile scenes in “Girls Gone Wild,” our fascination with Nikki Minaj’s sexual inclinations and her obfuscations thereof, and bone straight women engaging in random public lestrianics.  (Yes, my children, go forth and use “lestrianics” with my blessing.)

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m definitely not saying that I somehow object to those ladies who decide to take a stroll down the Punani Path, even if it’s just for fun.  I’m just wondering what’s really motivating all of this steamy, girl-on-girl action.  If it’s a natural response to inherent or learned comfort with same-sex attraction, then great.  It should be encouraged, and I should be invited.  On the other hand, if you’re at a bar and you’re just doing it ’cause you think I think it’s hot, then that’s just sad.  Plus, it probably means that your performance isn’t all that convincing.  Get back in there and do it again, this time with FEEEELING!

3 Comments

Filed under Sexuality, Social Issues

Tagged as , , , ,

March 11, 2011 · 3:35 PM

Too Soon: My Pain Is Your Pleasure

You do NOT want to be mayor of this place.

One of humanity’s most fascinating and cherished features is our ability to fashion beauty from tragedy.  Such was the case in 1997, when two of my college classmates and best friends died on an Independence Day weekend road trip.

A few of us were in a rap crew at the time (long live The Myth) and decided to pen a song called “On Your Journey (Too Soon)” as a soundtrack to our sadness.  Recently, I decided to completely remake the track so that we could lay down new vocals – the idea was that rallying around this project would give us an excuse to reunite.  After I dived into it though, it became apparent that my emotions had other plans in store.

Let me just say that the last several months have been a dark time for your hero, O my brothers and only friends.  I’ve been in a protracted war with the forces of evil across multiple fronts for a while now, and the nature of the eventual outcome isn’t at all clear.  When the anniversary of my father’s death came around, I could almost taste the darkness that was threatening to envelope me on all sides.  I had to do something.

For me, that something consisted of embracing the pain.  After all, it wouldn’t be the first time that I’d romanced a serious bitch.  It was about time I got something out of this particular abusive relationship.

So, I slightly reworked my verse from the original song and dropped it on the new instrumental.  Thankfully, the lyrics were just as poignant to me in 2011 as they were in 1997.  Now what?  How could I follow that?  Over the course of the next couple of days, I realized that while those lyrics had a specific contextual meaning regarding the death of dear friends, the overarching significance was profound loss and its aftermath.

When I realized this, two new verses poured out, each addressing a different aspect of that unavoidable component of the human condition.  The second verse is about a woman who didn’t know herself and therefore, never fully knew me.  The final one deals with my first and greatest loss – that of my father.  To be honest, I wondered if the whole “black boys need their dad” thing was a little trite, but then I remembered that no one else can tell my story but me…so anybody that mistakes it for a cliché can kiss my muscular ass.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to the fight.  Please enjoy the pain.

4 Comments

Filed under Music, Scissormusic

Tagged as , , ,