I recently had to purchase some new deodorant, as I had heard that 30-year-olds should really use anti-perspirant. Being a first-time buyer (ok, yes, I'm joking), I headed towards the deoderant shelf and perused my options. I found myself deciding to buy two cans of Old Spice and one can of a generic variety. It seemed wasteful to also buy the two cans of Old Spice when I just needed one can, but I did so anyway without really remembering why. It just seemed right.

That evening, I headed to dinner with a friend, who had just watched a movie. She complained that two of her friends were still making decisions on what movie to watch based on what some Christian movie review site had said. "It's only PG-13. I don't understand why Christians have so many rules" she fumed. I gently nodded my head and then proceeded to call her a heathen and make fun of her Southern-style Christianity. It's part of my classy nature when dealing with women.

Yesterday, I suddenly remembered why buying Old Spice suddenly felt so right and normal. It's because of this:

Viewing that commercial had embedded in my mind that Old Spice is a fun, interesting product that would make me fun and interesting. So when I was tempted to buy it, there was no hesitation, because TV had already shown me how cool the product was. Once I saw the product positively displayed, I wanted to buy it, even though I have nothing in common with the funny handsome spokesman for the product.
In completely unrelated news, neither I or my friend are as smart as we think we are.

(with apologies to Carly Simon). Naive people are everywhere, and I adore them. It's nice to meet people who still blush at foul language and who are delightfully simple, willing to tell the truth even though it will cost them. I consider myself somewhat of a naive person. I certainly haven't had as much life experience as many of you have had, and I can be a very simple-minded, black-and-white person at times, as some of my friends delight in telling me.

However, I am very weary of hearing naive people proudly and loudly proclaim that they are not naive. It's obvious to everyone else, my little flower, that you would regard a 3AM invitation to walk down a dark alley blindfolded while carrying the entire contents of your bank account as a delightful exercise in performance art.

You're so naive...you would faithfully take in a prisoner who claimed his orange jumpsuit was a fashion statement. You're so naive...you let Aunt Edna see your credit card number just because she's curious "If we have the same number."
You're so naive...you think Joe just randomly wants to see a movie with you at his house, at 3AM, with the lights off and candles lit. Yay movie night!

You are as guileless as a fat kid when a stranger in a van is offering free cake and pie, and you firmly believe that you are the one to change the neighborhood pimp or slut by the purity of your love.

Let me give my vicious 2 cents. I know I'm naive, and that sometimes I can be a people pleaser. So I watch myself and stay away from people who will exploit that. I don't party with people who are more sophisticated than I am unless I have trustworthy friends along. I don't date women who are much more experienced than me hoping that somehow it'll all work out. I don't sign for business deals that I don't understand hoping that they really will build that condo in the Everglades someday. I don't trust people just because they have a big smile and a firm handshake. It's ok to be naive, but it's not ok to do nothing to protect yourself. To borrow from the Bible, sure be as "Harmless as doves" but also "be as wise as snakes."

But wait, I forgot; you're willing to learn through your mistakes. You will tell me that you wouldn't change a thing and bravely smile while your heart is ripped to ribbons and your bank account is empty. There's something very noble about a naive sheep thinking that the way to get over being inexperienced is to rush headlong into the lions den and proclaim "Here I am!" It's all fun and games...until the lions are wearing wool sweaters and turning the spit over the barbecue pit. But please, carry on in the American tradition of learning by experience and sowing your wild oats. Wolves have to eat too, I suppose. Just don't expect your friends to be excited for their first-row seats to the carnage.

(To answer the inevitable flood of "Are you talking about me?"--this is not a reply to any recent event in particular, just something that has been irritating me for a while. We'll return to our schedule of sunshine, rainbows, and free unicorn rides eventually).

Hello. I’m your would-be Christian dream spouse that you gave up on years ago. What’s that? You thought I didn’t exist? Come on, do ghosts have eyes this blue? Oh, you want to know where I’ve been all this time? I was going to ask you the same! Sit down and I’ll fill you in…

God had me ready for you that Friday night, freshman year, when you were debating whether to go to the sorority party or not. I had decided not to go either, even though it was my sorority. I knew there would be way too much drinking and carrying on for me to justify going. So I quietly left and decided to take out my frustration on the track. You were supposed to be there if you had not decided to go. It would have been just you and me, running around the track, finding ourselves matching each other’s pace, noticing how we were exactly each other’s height, ripping off lap after lap in total solitude, sneaking little glances at each other that became more admiring as the laps went on. We would skip that last lap together, arm in arm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Then you would wink at me and disappear…only for us to magically find each other again weeks later. You would tell me months later that you just knew you would find me again, and you were right. They didn’t know why we would skip down the aisle 3 years later, but you and I knew. But you didn’t show up, and so I spent that Friday night in tears for the last lap, not knowing why. I’m married now to someone else, but it doesn’t feel right somehow.

Hey wait, didn’t you notice me? I’m your other would-be Christian spouse that you missed out on. You think God didn’t have a back-up plan? I admit, I was a little more elusive.

I was going to be one of the volunteers on that Habitat for Humanity trip your junior year during spring break. You’d sign up even though you couldn’t think of a good reason why, just because you felt God wanted you to go. We’d be working on the one house all week long. I was reserved at first, but I enjoyed listening to you sing as you worked. I have to admit, I would never realize that I was falling in love with you until you slept on my shoulder on the van ride back. Looking at your peaceful face, I would realize I wanted you to wake up to my face every day. I wouldn’t be able to tell you right away, but once I would gather my courage, you would be surprisingly receptive as you too realized your love for me. It was going to be beautiful. But now, I’m on a mission field by myself—I am happy here, and I am doing work for God, but there are still nights I wonder why God never brought anyone my way. I didn’t know about you until now.

Please, wait for my story. God wasn’t quite finished with you, even if you had given up on him years ago. You must have done a lot of praying for me when you were younger!

You would start looking for a church in my area when you moved in for that new job. You were supposed to slide into my pew quickly one Sunday because the worship had already started. I would be there already, and you would knock me out of my seat because you slid in so quickly! Between your profuse apologies and my laughter, we would bond quickly. I should still have the bulletin on which we scrawled messages back and forth as if we were old friends. The church was awful, actually, and we both were to go out for lunch that day to complain about it and try to go church-searching together. It would feel like the most natural thing in the world for you and I to spend more and more time together as we found out how much we had in common, and we would love telling new friends how you literally knocked me off my feet...But no, actually, right now I’m here in this club with a drink in my hand, looking for someone to spend the night with. Ironically, I will find you, of all people, and we’ll go back to my place. It’ll be wonderful, actually, but it’ll only be one night instead of the 1000 nights it was supposed to be. It’s too bad that for once, reality was better than my drunken memory…and I’ll never know. I’ll be too hungover to remember to get your number in the morning, and you’ll feel a sudden flush of shame as you see my tattered Bible in the bookcase and hurry out before we can talk more. In another year I won’t have the Bible anymore, and you won’t feel any shame either.

Rated "C", because I heart the Xanga rating system, haha.

"I'm so horny right now"
"That is such a turn-on"
How many of us have heard phrases like that before? I hear them a fair amount and see them in print. What amuses me most is when they are spoken or typed to a large audience. I can understand wanting to tell your special someone that you would like to have some private time. But isn't there something dreadfully silly of needing to inform other people of this who are neither part of the problem nor part of the solution? Look, no one's going to feel sorry for you, ha, it happens to us all. You don't need to call a sexual press conference to convince us that you have sexual urges! We can assume it's true without confirmation, thank you very much.

I mean, if some guy tells me "that girl over there turns me on", what am I supposed to do about it?! haha. I mean, either the turn-on is so obvious that it defeats the purpose to say anything (e.g., a very attractive woman crosses our path), or the turn-on is so subtle that it scares me that you noticed (flip-flops? really?!). I don't need a status update informing me that you are devoid of good judgment and open for business, or that your hormones have now gained full control over your larynx and are trumpeting your need for some action to anyone in earshot.

Now, I'm sure I've fallen for this too at times. My last two posts were about breasts and singles, ha, I'm pretty sure that's not the most subtle topic choice in the world. But seeing it from an objective viewpoint--it seems silly at best and manipulative at worst. However, what's bizarre about it is that people do indeed seem to assume that people who don't talk about sex a lot aren't interested in it. This is an interesting issue that deserves its own post at some point...

I admit that a lot of my entries this month have been on the side of what may be termed "repression"--of the need to sit down, cover up, and close one's mouth. I come from a very open culture, where people speak their minds easily about a lot of things. But I fear that the pendulum has swung so far in the opposite direction, that people are losing their sense of self. Where is privacy? individuality? secrecy? Aren't those important values too? Isn't there a balance somewhere in our culture? Or are our secrets currency, meant to open doors and win us friends as we strip ourselves bare of pretense and let each fact fall out of our mouths to what we hope is receptive ground?

An odd way to close Mildly Mean Month, but just some scattered thoughts that I decided to post.

UPDATE: I've been told that the dollar amount was not $80. Not sure what it actually was--for some reason I remembered $80. Apologies for factual error.
UPDATE 2: Yes, the email address is real, haha. One should not be bored on a Friday. I'm not promising it'll still work in a few days, though.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It is the most common form of cancer among women, and 192, 370 women are diagnosed each year (info from site link). It is of great concern to me as well; I've run in the Susan B. Komen race in my area, and my own grandmother died of breast cancer at the relatively young age of 64. Those suggesting this problem is not important to me can kindly check the red X in the right-hand corner of your browser--it magically sends me e-mail to register your disapproval. I promise.

Each year on Xanga, people do various things to spread the word about the need to be checked for tumors. For whatever reason, much of this centers around showing one's own breasts to promote the need for breast cancer awareness. Essentially, it's nudity for charity, which I suppose is better than "Beating homeless people for charity" and "Nudity for free t-shirts and beer". As far as I can tell, people get involved for two reasons:
1. A genuine passion for raising money and awareness about breast cancer.
2. An excuse to have their bodies praised and appreciated

For the first reason, it is hardly necessary to resort to nudity to raise breast cancer awareness. A nude female tends to mostly attract men, not women (I said mostly! No angry e-mails please! :-p). Breast cancer does not affect most men. So how can you argue that showing your breasts raises awareness for other women to get their breasts checked out? And since being a man and being on Xanga probably means you don't have a woman (yes I went there), I doubt that the man will pass on the info to his girl. "Honey, I was looking at boobs today, and I think you should get checked!" is hardly going to fly.
But what about cash raised by Dan's Save the Boobs campaign? Well, last year the campaign raised $80 (some number) for breast cancer treatment. Not bad, I suppose. It's likely to raise about the same this year. But I tell you what. If the campaign isn't held this year, I will pledge $200  (some number X 2, as long as it doesn't put me in a cardboard box) for breast cancer treatment, in honor of my deceased grandmother. So if you care so much about breast cancer awareness, do you really want to go through with the campaign? You're depriving tumor-ridden women of free mammograms I would pay for by doing so. I hope you can live with this guilt. Hold on, wait--that sound is my poor grandmother spinning in her grave, and it's all your fault!

But as for the second reason--can I first say, there are some FINE women on Xanga. I was checking my Xanga when a friend was around, and he saw some pictures of my subscribers. Let's just say he was impressed, haha. However, many of them are often unappreciated. I can read that between the lines in their posts. So yes, I understand the desire to show some skin to gain some appreciation. Some time ago, one of my subscribers did something rather exhibitionistic on Xanga. A lot of people judged her for it. I couldn't; I had seen her pulse update a few days ago saying how lonely she was. I had read her last few posts. The poor girl was merely reacting to no one appreciating her sweet smart self. I felt for her.
However, is just posting a picture of your naked torso the answer? There's no opportunity to really praise you for your beauty in more specific terms--the way your hair curls around your neck in a friendly embrace, or your lips open just a little bit when you're concentrating intensely about something, blah-blah-blah. Praising someone for the angle of their nippleage isn't the same at all. The best complements are specific to you, in real life--not a generic "Hey, nice rack, photo #22." I can't believe that most of my subscribers won't post regular photos and videos of themselves being normal, but some think that October is a great time to get naked. Does not compute! Look, lady, if you are feeling that complement-deprived, send pictures (of your whole self, please, no naughty bits, LOL) to email, haha. I'll send you back admiring complements. This offer is only open to those not participating in the contest. :-p

Another thought. What about comparison? You know people will comment as to whose breasts they think are most attractive or least. And it usually tends to be the same people who get all the complements. The poor athlete who is pretty and in great physical condition but has a small bra size tends to be ignored; or the older woman who has wisely raised children and worked hard is despised. I once was talking with a Xangan about the campaign, and she said she wouldn't enter because her breasts weren't good enough. That made me so sad it wasn't funny--I couldn't even think of something to say. Not good enough?! She's an attractive woman, and I am fond of her. Any campaign that makes a woman like her feel inadequate is suspect. Also, you never realize what's wrong with you unless you're forced to compare yourself with your betters. And since most of us are average in looks, well...chances are good you're going to feel less than good enough. The goal of breast cancer campaigns is to save the breasts, not encourage women to get surgery on their breasts to get implants! If I hear one more pretty woman suggest that she needs implants...grr. Competition is killing women--it's forcing them to resort to unhealthy behavior to land men, and spreading the message that normal you isn't good enough.

One last question. How many of you women have been bothered by a pervert/sexually aggressive person on Xanga? I'm surprised by how high the number is. Well, how do you think perverts get on Xanga? Why don't they go to other sites instead? They get on here because they find sexual material on Xanga. And, um, what do you think a page filled with breast photos is? Trust, most of us guys, on seeing such things, don't fall to our knees, close our eyes, and thank our deity of choice for his fine taste in curvilinear structure design. Well, the first two events might happen, but it's, um, for different reasons. Let me be more frank than usual--instead of "Save the Boobs", what about "Save the Semen?"  I have a suggestion...

Because after all, they are animals, haha. Plus, too many of you are good friends to me, and it feels too much like walking in on a sibling in the shower or something. I like Xanga, not SEXanga, ok? As if it isn't difficult enough staying platonic with a few of you :-p lead me not into temptation!

Growing up, I was a rather sensitive child. At first, I was a strong supporter of authority figures. Like most of us, this position started to wane as I met authority figures unworthy of respect. I was often frustrated by what I saw as the high-handed methods of these teachers and preachers. Why were they so bossy and mean? Why wouldn't they ask us what we wanted and involve us? Our own country was founded on the rights of the common man. So why couldn't more of our leaders be open to new ideas? So I began trying democracy in every area of my life once I had the opportunity to be a leader myself. My idea took off like a space shuttle!...um, yes, THAT space shuttle. Challenging though it is, I have to admit, democracy is useless. Count the ways with me, Robert Browning:

Dating: Mr Democracy sends Miss Susan a list of potential dating activities. Mr Democracy is very considerate of Susan's opinions throughout the date, and feels like he made sure that Susan was able to express herself. Miss Susan says "you're nice, but...", votes no, and moves in with the Dictator next door, who makes all her decisions for her. Mr Democracy has no over-ride of her veto, and spends a lot of time re-reading the Federalist Papers wondering if Alexander Hamilton was such a good writer because he never had any ladies to distract him.

Workplace: Mr Democracy meets with his new team on the first day of work and tells them his door is always open. Mr Democracy asks his workers if they have any new ideas, and tries to involve them in the work planning. The workers look at each other like dazed lemmings who confront a fence at the end of the cliff and have no comments. They then snipe behind Mr Democracy's back that he's weak and don't respect him. Joe Smith takes this opportunity to tell the workers how badly they are being treated, and because he is a better speaker than Mr. Democracy and buys the group beers during Friday Happy Hour, he convinces the group to complain to upper management. Mr Democracy is downgraded to doing quality control of parts and tools. He sometimes still hears the workers complain about the tough new boss, but they do so only when they are sure the new boss isn't around. Mr Democracy starts reading more Marx and Engels.

Family: Mr. Democracy sits down with his family to decide where they will go on vacation this year. He suggests they all list a favorite location and then vote, and then find a good time and then vote. 3 hours later, Mrs. Democracy has slammed the door and complained that the discussion is giving her a headache, and the little Democracy kids are complaining that "you promised" we would go to California. Mr Democracy wonders how those television dads of his day got the kids to listen. Did the corporal punishment take place off-camera? Mr Democracy starts reading more books with titles like "The Warrior Within", until his wife takes them away and tells him to clean the garage.

Country: President Democracy surveys all political parties and tries to work toward reform for the future. However, everyone chooses the solution that makes them happy this very moment, and vote for today rather than any future gain for the country. If anything bad happens to the country, this trend worsens, as people become more selfish and desperate than before. Advancement on any meaningful issue such as tax reform, health care, or environmental reform becomes hopelessly stalled, as this generation refuses to pass on any power to future voiceless generations. President Democracy starts wondering why he didn't stop when he got elected to the town school board 30 years ago. He stopped reading books years ago, because they don't make a difference in the real world.

If I'm being direct and laying my ethics aside, here's how I see the real world. Most people are meaningless sheep who like being bossed around because it absolves them of guilt for making poor decisions. They like having little choice and being intimidated/manipulated into what other people want. As long as the dictator figure is not overly abusive, s/he will always win over a democratic type. Unfair or not?

As part of Mildly Mean Month, that month where I mix a little hot sauce into my milk and a few jalapenos into my cookies, I am going to hate on my most disliked Xanga habits. High on the list is when someone recounts a tale of woe and then tries to tell us that "But I wouldn't change a thing, it made me who I am today." Let me give you a little sample:
"So there I was on Highway 42, walking on the desert road, looking for a car, any car to come by and pick me up. I'd have raised my thumb, but it was severed by the deranged coyote at the last water hole. I had my cup half full too before the beast knocked me over. Had to brain it with the cup to make it let go of my hand. Of course, I would never have been at that water hole if Susan, my crazy girlfriend, hadn't locked me out of the car and taken off screaming "You miserable loser, I only dated you because of your BMW! TWO YEARS and I finally realized I could have the BMW without you!" I guess putting it in her name last week was a mistake? No wonder she always wanted to go to drive-thru movies and road trips. Does this make her my ex-girlfriend? Maybe I should have broken up with her after she beat my little cousin and burned my mother with the pot of hot water off the stove. I'd call my parents to pick me up, but they don't pick up anymore. Funny thing, most people in this phone book never pick up anymore...happened right after Susan asked me to borrow my phone for a week while she was on vacation with my neighbor Willie. They both really seemed to enjoy the vacation, though--Willy smiled and laughed for a month afterward every time he saw me. But hey, what a story! I wouldn't change a thing!"

Do I have to say anything else?! Guy sounds like the worst kind of loser--so delusional and shaky he can't even recognize how bad his life has become. Look, bad things happen to us all. I understand if you believe in a sovereign God or karma, you want to believe it all has some greater purpose and all is part of some larger plan. Or maybe you've decided to stop worrying about things you can't change. But to pretend that past is perfection is to act as if present is polished, and trust me, there is nothing polished about your personality (or those shoes. What were you thinking?!)

Sure, today's me was shaped and formed by past experience--but I'd rather that "past experience" included my hot wife, large entourage, God-saturated spirit, and Mensa membership, you know? Ooh, toss in "chiseled bod" instead of "chip-filled bod" and we're set. Let's drop the delusions already and admit it--bad things have happened to us, and the fact that you made anything good out of it is a testament to your fighting spirit and/or God's amazing providence. There's nothing "unchangeable" or "sacred" about the event itself, though, it was terrible! Respect the consequence, not being beaten with sticks by hyperactive monkeys at the zoo while the keepers laughed and pelted you with coconuts. Not that it, um, ever happened to me.

I've seen all the hatred and sarcasm poisoning your Xanga posts. I've read your diatribes against the innocent and guilty, against wealthy TV producers and poor homeless men. I've seen it all, and it turns my stomach...THAT I DO NOT GET TO PARTICIPATE!

So, because I'm random, September is my Mildly Mean Month. I'll complain about anything and everything and cheerfully smash your idols and flame broil your sacred cows...while still doing the whole "not calling your mom a harlot of Babylon" thing. Or I'll be annoyingly logical of pop culture until you ask me to please, please, stop over-analyzing the probability that the "Song that Never Ends" will, indeed, someday end. Occasionally I'll take a break to finish off a series or two. I still need to do posts for the Weak and Strong, and the primer on how women should treat men, and the chaste gentleman followup. Those will be nice breaks from the usual writing.

Now, as you can guess, this is going to be tough for me. A wonderfully well-mannered gentleman like myself, saying not nice things? I don't know if I can do it! I'll try to start off slow with an easy target and build up slowly.

For a mini-start, can we please talk about the bad logic in Drake's "Best I Ever Had" song? It drives me crazy because it attempts to be player-rific, but it just makes me laugh. And please don't look it up, it's the usual over-indulgent tripe that attempts to complement a girl, but just exists to tell us how fascinated the musician is with his own reflection.

First, he starts by saying "Baby, You know a lot of girls be thinkin' my songs are about them This is not to get confused, this one's for you" What cracks me up about this lyric is that it could be said to ANY girl, over and over, haha. It's like the old joke about the piano player who would play a little ditty on the piano when hanging out with a girl and then claim he came up with it just for her...of course, it was the same song every time, haha.

Second, I love that he says "You're the best I ever had." So, let's examine the statistical probabilities here.
(1) Drake was a virgin before he met you. In that case, he's not comparing you to anyone, it's no compliment.
(2) Drake has slept with other girls, and you're the best of them all. So either Drake has awful taste, or he's slept with so many other women that it's an honor to be ranked first...if you don't get an STD. Oh, and you are the best he's had so far...but wait, tomorrow there could be a new #1! haha.

Really, ladies, would you be gullible enough to date a weak player like Drake? If the answer is yes, message me! I have some great ideas for your bank account. Plus, um, I know Drake personally, so send me any pictures and letters you'd like to pass along to him.