Recollecting Nostalgia: Part 2

July 2, 2005

I woke up the warm blankets draped around me, I could taste the rancid tar and booze that coated my mouth from the night before. The first night in Chicago had been a great success and I could not wait to begin its second coming. I peeled my self out of bed and into the shower; the warm sting of the water was needed to pull myself out of an apathetic hangover.

The clock said noon and it was time for my day to begin, I found my cell phone, which at this moment I still had, flipped it open and dialed H. C. Slizzy. Slizzy suggested since it was my first summer here, that we head over to the Taste of Chicago, a sampler of the restaurants that align this great city. While I had heard of it, my excitement was muted due to my hangover that subdued my pangs of hunger. Oh well I thought, a little grease can't hurt anyone.

After a short cab ride, I met Slizzy at a predetermined corner and we entered what in my mind would always be remembered as an American holiday that celebrated gluttony. The smell was intoxicating, pizza, burgers, beer oh my! Tents lined the street with tantalizing delicacies; however, whatever appetite that was initiated by the smells, was easily quelled by the behemoth people devouring 10,000 calories in one sitting. Despite the rather quick upchuck reflex from the utter foolish patrons who should have been spending their day on a stair master rather than eating grease, I did enjoy some of the food and the concept of the day. Slizzy and I found a corner an a grassy knoll where we quietly ate our food and relived last night's episodes.

A few hours later Slizzy and I rolled over to the famed Baroda Medical Conference, where both our parents went to school. The lobby was teaming with Indian doctors and their families, I always on the look out for new tail was disappointed at the selection of daughters that were available. Quickly I spotted my younger cousin with his parents, my parents were not there this weekend so I was now a part of their family for this weekend. Gaymar was standing there back from his freshmen year and Vanderbilt, an escape from the trappings of Terre Haute, Indiana. We completed our ritualistic hand chest bump hellos and caught up on our lives in a few short minutes. Slizzy and I became impatient and were looking to head out of there. I felt that I could not leave my younger cousin there trapped with the parental units in medical lectures that only boring medical students would find entertaining. We scooped him up, headed back to Slizzy's place picking up a nice big case of Miller Light on the way, so we could start playing some drinking games and indoctrinate the young cousin in the ways of the drunkard.

After many hours of playing fuck the dealer, asshole, and good ole chugging contests that Slizzy continued to win, the blur of drinking began to take a hold of me, it was beginning. There was a dinner at the Baroda conference we had to attend, so I quickly hopped in a cab in my stupor and headed home to get pressed and dressed, it was now Slizzy's job to watch over my younger cousin. A few hours later I snuck myself into the Baroda conference dinner seeing as that I was not a paying guest. Gathering a lot of our friends we took a table and began passing around the drinks. Beer turned to wine turned to cocktails turned to shots. What began as a case race of beers now was a gluttony of booze.

Now that I was nice and tipsy the girls seemed beautiful and easily approachable. I began laying down my best game, teasing, working, and winning the number of this girl from the ATL. Ha Ha I thought a little one night action was in the cards for me tonight, holla at your boy.

After a few shots of Patron with an ole college classmate my cousin and I headed over to Amule and Nya's place for Pre-Drinking. My phone attached to my hip at that time, the new number ready to be used. We were hanging out in the apartment when I patted my pockets down, and realized something stark. Where the fuck is my cell phone? No no no no no, my little black book was sitting in a cab heading somewhere away from me. I tore apart my new friends apartment looking through couch cushions etc unable to find the phone, we called my phone to no avail. Dammit, I guess I will have to just drink my self to stupidity and forget about the lost phone and the lost number.

A few hours later and many drinks guzzled, we headed to the Red No Five, 100 Indians in toe, chances of getting in, 0%. Well I guess we will have to find ourselves at Rush and Division again because at least they will let us in...right? As we exited the cabs in front of then bar NY Lounge, I came to another stark realization, where the fuck are my keys? Oh shit...I ran after the first cab I saw flying down Division in a sea of cabs and blur. I passed Beefcake as he laughed hysterically as I passed him by in hysteria. I opened the cab door and quickly realized, this cabbie was not my cab driver. No Keys, No Phone, No Hope.

Welcome to Chicago, we got fun n' games. There I was no way to go home, no way to call home. I turned around and my younger cousin was no where to be found, so I stumbled back to the bar, grabbed a drink and cheered to the fact, I had made some great new memories in my new city.

Se La Vi Chicago, you will be missed.

Message to AOT

Nice post...too bad I have the power to delete. If you want to guest blog, I am more than willing to accommodate, but you must reveal yourself to me and publish through me...not against me. Otherwise your "posts" will be removed.

HOBO

Recollecting Nostalgia: Part 1

Sorry for not posting in a while, I was running around in my new old home in KC where I will be living for the next short while. Since these are my last few posts as a citizen of Chicago, I would like to take you back to the time when it all started. All characters will be given nicknames, but those of you who know them should be able to pick them out. Enjoy

July 1st, 2005

My car was packed to the brim, filled with items that any recent college grad would covet. Ratty old clothes maligned with bar odors, hand full of essential paper needed to begin my first days as a working man, and a back pack full of miscellaneous items thrown together in the last minute.

As I drove up on 90W I saw the bright lights of the city that soon would become my home, I grew anxious and excited, my friend H. C. Slizzy told me to head over to Dearborn and Maple as soon as a packed away my things. Shit....Chicago Traffic, what would soon be the bane of my existence was now slowing me down as I headed towards the infamous Wicker Park.

I parked my car in the back ally, grabbing all the clothes I could, and began doing wind sprints up and down the stairs throwing my clothes in my sister's apartment, just rushing to get going on the night ahead.

After I settled for a moment, clothes strewn across the apartment, I quickly showered, threw on my best clothes, and stood at the corner waiting for a cab to arrive. The bright lights threw me, as I adjusted to the city life, initially I could not tell what was what, and accidentally waived down a cop car seeing only the top lights from a distance and thought it was a cab. I was sorely mistaken, but eventually I found the cab that would start my world wind tour of Chicago.

"Dearborn and Maple," I barked at the indo/paki cab driver not knowing which direction I would be heading. After a short drive I stood in front of a building that I would be spending a lot of my partying days in: 1111 Dearborn. The doorman after a quick phone call upstairs pointed me to the elevator bank, 3007 here I come.

I slammed my fist in the door excited to see my friends, ready to begin the night of debauchery. H. C. Slizzy opened the door the only way he knew how, t-shirt and boxers, followed by the manly slap and hug maneuver. Slizzy gave me the dime store tour of the apartment, the white soft carpet enveloped the floor, as I turned the corner, there was the large black couches, sprawling in front of the view downtown, Sears tower shining in the night light.

After a few moments, his roommate at the time, someone who I had never met came around the corner, after a quick introduction, the man that I would affectionately call Beefcake was now my first new friend in the city.

The freezer was opened, and Slizzy pulled out a ice cold bottle of vodka, it was time for the pre-gaming to begin, ounces of liquor were guzzled, and the world was beginning to seem a blur. Here we go, I thought! Slizzy as usual finally put on some clothes minutes before our feet hit the pavement. "Where are we going," Beefcake queried. "Finn McCools, meet up with the Shah brothers," Slizzy replied.

As we stepped out of 1111 Dearborn the summer air was warm, inviting, and electric. Sounds of party goers could be heard in all directions as we walked passed Viagra Triangle to Division, the sight of many more dangerous rendezvous'. Entering Finn's it did not seem any different than any other sports bar I had ever entered, there sat the brothers, Nya and A-mule. They huddled around what looked at the time a monstrosity of a tower, a tower of golden cooled lightly frothed beer. After ten minutes or so, in strolled the curly haired master, know as Champagne Kanti, he needed no introduction, I had already experienced many a night strolling along the vagrant streets of NYC with him. Thus began my first meeting of the braintrusts, that would guide me in this city. The tower lessened quickly and after an hour or so, all of the beer had been drunk, not a single sip remained.

Slizzy then laid out the rest of our plans, it began and ended in two words, LEG ROOM. Everyone clamoured over the idea, how would we get in, etc. Slizzy confidently remarked, don't worry I got this, and he did. Five Indian males plus a few females walked to the front of the line, Slizzy walked to the front, whispering sweet nothings into the bouncer's ear, and presto we were in.

The lounge was hopping, there was all kinds of talent wandering around the bar, young, old, gorgeous, beautiful, good enough, even wait and see. This was exciting, so many girls, and no idea where to begin. The group stormed the right side of the bar, finding a round table large enough to accommodate us, the waitress grabbed our drink orders and in a few moments was back with a tray filled with drinks. Slizzy and Kanti both were going big, dirty martinis filled the table; I still a young promising rookie stuck with vodka tonic. In the front of the table, Kanti and I stood there chatting, our eyes never leaving the bar area as we checked out all the women that passed. In the back, Slizzy was in rare form, the center of the party, speaking whatever came to his mind, while everyone else sat back and enjoyed listening to his rantings, with boisterous laughter.

In a blur, I caught a glimpse of a beautiful blond haired creature, when I uttered under my breath "Wow." She stopped, whipping her blond hair through the air, and her eyes sultry and fixated on one thing, me. "Wow, huh," she said cocking a sly smile at me. I stood there speechless she had caught me in a moment I was ill prepared for, this would be the moment that defined me, close or go home.

"Ughhh Ughhh," I muttered still trying to find something slick to say, "Yea you caught me, I didn't even mean for you to hear that," I replied like the utter fool, not thinking of anything witty to say, god had given me a gift, and I wasted it away. Se La Vi, after a few minutes of awkward conversation, I gave the gift back to the other males more capable of closing than me at that time. Dammit...I thought, oh well, there are plenty more situations like that coming, if that was the first 12 hours of Chicago, this would be a great place for me.

The night was filled with booze, my eyes growing dim with liquor, last call was announced and we were shuffled out the door. Night one in Chicago was complete, Beefcake and Slizzy headed to subway to pick up late night eats, and I sauntered over to an open cab, told the cab driver
"Division and Wood," and headed back to Wicker Park. The stairs were daunting, but I finally managed to climb my way to the apartment door, I found my key, slid it into the dead bolt, and took a deep breath. This was only the beginning!

Are We Old Yet?

Note: This post is going to be a little different from my previous ones, so many of you may not like it, oh well!

The car bounced as it hit a pot hole, the jolt woke him up as he sat in the back seat. After a moment he peeled open his eyes with great difficulty, his mouth dry, he licked his lips, feeling the morning breath escape his mouth. Outside rain drops spattering across the car, the gray hue from the clouds muted all the light in the car. As he looked around he was unsure where he was in relation to his destination, the trees flew by in a haze. His parents were in the front two seats delicately whispering across the car's console as not to wake him.

It took a few moments for him to right himself, placing his hands on the supple leather, he raised himself off the back seat, stretching out his back and neck, which was tense from the awkward positioned slumber he was awoken from. At first glance he appeared to be like any other boy, dressed by his mother in a penguin outfit that he genuinely hated, wearing it with disdain and discomfort. Constantly, he picked at his suspenders trying to adjust it to a point where he felt comfortable to a fail. His youth was obvious, face filled with baby fat, soft to the touch, his head three sizes too large for his body as it sat awkwardly atop his neck, black hair and dark brown eyes completed his look that were the gift of his father.

The clock on the dashboard flickered with a green hue, the time vexed him, it did not give him an inkling of where he was and how close he was to his destination. As any child would, he began to squirm, there was a growing impatience that he was struggling to suppress, every second felt like ages, the two dots on the digital clock flashed at him as though they were mocking his inability to answer his question. Finally, after a few minutes he could not stand it, he shouted "ARE WE OLD YET!"

Time froze, the sounds of the rain drops hitting the car echoed no more. His eyes focused on a single raindrop that was hitting the windshield smashing itself into the window spreading out in every direction. The sounds of whispering could not be heard, looking at his parents their bodies and faces frozen in time. Confusion and fear began to seep into his heart, pumping ferociously, his head cocked from side to side trying to discern what had happened, when he caught a glimpse of himself rear view mirror. The young face that once encompassed his body, was now sullen, marred with wrinkles, his once exuberant naive youthful eyes were replaced with jaded experienced eyes peering with knowledge gained through age. Suddenly, he found himself asking a new question..."where did the time go."

As I have recently reached the tumultuous age of 25, people call it the quarter life crisis. I find that funny, to call it a crisis, Rwanda is a crisis, getting older is merely a transition. Currently, people my age are standing on the edge looking down at the next chapter of our lives. We are not old, but hell we are not young either. Simply put, we are in no man's land, one foot in our youth, one foot steering us to the next chapter. I continually find myself trying to keep my foot and the feet of others in youth, specifically, partying, boozing and chasing women. Despite my best efforts, a lot of my friends are taking that step away from me, coupling up, planning their futures, and staying home more often than not.

I do not blame them, it's a transition we all eventually must succumb to, mature and move on. If I were in a different place in my life, i.e. employed, in a relationship, I could easily find myself crashing into that next stage. In the end I will delay my aging as much as possible before I say goodbye to my youth and embrace my adulthood.

Disclaiming Disclaimer

After my last post which sorry to say was 9 days ago, people suddenly were worried about me. The thought was that I was one blog away from my Kurt Cobain moment mouth full of shotgun. Ha...I laugh at even the utter thought of that; am I the happiest person in the world, I won't ever claim that to be the truth. Lets be honest, 2008 has been a flat awful year for me. Lets list it out:
1) Lost my job over 9 months ago
2) I have been on 1 date over the entire year
3) No place to live as I move around like a nomadic herder
4) and finally my one passion and skill Fantasy Football...I may not make the playoffs in 1 of my leagues.

Despite this, I am willing to write this blog, I have the ability to participate in self deprecating humor. That was the point of this blog, to make fun of the situation I was in, laugh and enjoy the ridiculous predicaments I constantly find myself in. In 2007 my blog would have been completely different, that was my year, I had a great job, great friends, and I went on so many dates I couldn't remember their names, I only had nicknames as I wrote them in my AVPs' office on the white board labeling it the "depth chart."

So in short, No I am not a loser, who is depressed, and is going to kill himself. My future brother in-law pointed this out. We were sitting watching football and I was bitching about how my Fantasy teams were going south and my one skill is failing me in this dire of times. He simply replied "Wow you can't wait till 2008 is over can you....well at least you're a good sport about it." Yes, yes I am, would you be?

Couples Therapy

Isn't it strange, every time a single person goes out with a group of coupled, engaged, and married people they suddenly like to impart wisdom and dictate to you who to hit on. Suddenly, you are merely their tool, living the life they wish they had, as they vicariously live through you their sordid ideas of sexual exploitation.

I sat there in a group of 8 around a dinner table, all the people taken, except myself and my sister's friend who is 8 years my senior. Quickly, my soon to be brother in-law remarked on cue that her and I should commingle. It's obvious that people in couples suddenly think that single women no matter their age will allow any man, irrespective of circumstance to plow them with impunity. Now, as I have stated in my other posts I have not restrictions on age, and could easily find myself walking the walk of shame out of my elders bedroom. However, its difficult to save face after it has been openly stated in front of everyone that we should hook up.

For some reason people in relationships think this is a fantastic idea to state the obvious, throw out the idea of sex as if that will erase any need for courting, gaming, and closing. I wish I were around them prior to their relationships, and see how skillful their repertoire was prior to claiming their mates. I would imagine since I was surrounded by people who at 30+ were recently engaged, that they were not nearly as adept as they think they were.

Too often, the people in relationships who want to help the single people in their life, claim they are helping, but are more detrimental to the situation rather than aides. In all my years my family and friends constantly state that they are going to "find" me a girl as if it were that easy. They speak of girls that I should talk to, girls that they will introduce me to, but instead fail to even make one step forward to help the single people they promised to assist. Despite a quarter of a century on this planet, not once have I ever been set up, been on the dangerous blind date, or even been introduced to a single person specifically called upon to meet me. Therefore, for those people out there comfortable in their couples, instead of giving me "advice," do something or say nothing. If you need to live out your desire to enjoy the sordid affairs of single life let me be your marital doctor and I prescribe: go rent a romantic comedy, followed by downloading a pornographic film, take your significant other to bed, and pretend their someone else.

Note: Guns Galore

An interesting headline on CNN.com

Gun sales surge after Obama's election

I am not saying anything but...hmmmmmm!!!

Note: Play that Funky Music!

I am no music expert, actually I would probably describe myself as a functional retard in music, but I fell in love with this song: Day 'N' Night by Kid Cudi. Downloaded it off Itunes love it! I heard it on the last episode on Entourage...its a sweet song, if you dont like it...tough!

Less than 30

This past weekend, I spent a majority of my night talking with and closing a cute woman that I had the pleasure gaming. In the end I found myself with digits that I will not be able to use. I can hear it, everyone gasping at the thought of unused digits, why would I collect a number without ever dialing it to see where it goes.

Well despite my hope that there was an opportunity of a new lady in my life, I quickly learned I was going to be fighting an uphill battle. After I got done locking down the number, my friend put in some due diligence, and learned that the woman in question was 30, though that is not a problem for me. To be quite honest none of us in the group could believe she was actually that age. He also learned that she would never date anyone more than a year younger than her. Well there goes 3 hours of work aka a conversation. I rather would have spent my night face buried in the drink at the local watering hole, there goes $100 of tax payer money all to close an impossibility. I guess the positive side to that is that practice makes perfect. However, the game can get pretty boring without a partner I spend a majority of my time "practicing," put me in Coach!

Despite the failure I honestly felt bad for her. I understand her position, at her age, she has seen the dog and pony show, she has met the wizard, and wants to click her heels to get out of there and go home with her "soul mate."

I personally think women especially Indian women have a long list of criteria that must be met before buying a ticket and embarking on the cruise. Generalizing of course, age, height, social order, are a few requirements that many women have. My issue with this is that I feel that if you have so many minimum requirements you are losing out on the opportunity to meet people who may be right for you though they don't make the requirements. For those of you who would think I do not have any experience with this, let me tell you, so often I have been given the same excuses of why I would not be a suitable suitor. "I am sorry, we have been friends for too long; I am sorry I know its dumb but you are a few years younger than me and its a big deal for me," and so on and so forth. I have heard the excuses of why it can't happen, instead of these women rolling the dice and putting the faith that it only has to happen once.

I do not think its their fault though. Its an injustice of social norms created by a conservative Indian community that is still trying to find itself in this adopted country. Their parents, their relatives, and their friends add to the social pressures that force them to adopt such rigid requirements. In the end it is this generation that will push these social norms to open up the rigid requirements for the next generation; which will be more "American" than anyone from the 1st generation Indians who are currently navigating and balancing their culture as we assimilate into the crowd. In the end I hope that more of the Indian women will push the social norms and roll the dice and take some chances. If not I guess I will have to start working the Viagra triangle circuit to meet those Pumas and Cougars who are not faced with social pressures to please their culture, Jilly's here I come!

Thank You for Smoking...Not!

Recently at the bars I was a little tipsy when I began spouting off another one of my loud and ostentatious rants of my beliefs about everything and anything. So instead of just sharing my thoughts with my blogging nemesis and the married guy, I thought I would share my lunatic rants with my readers.

My recent annoyance was with the negative stigma that has been placed on smokers, even if it is someone like me who is a social smoker defined by smoking when drinking and with friends. The current state of affairs makes it socially unacceptable to be a "smoker" whether or not you are a social smoker or and addict. It is clear how the country feels about smoking, no longer are we allowed to smoke in bars as we are banished to the cold shivering while holding a cigarette. Now let me be clear I love the fact that smoking is not allowed in bars, I hate smelling of rancid smoke that is difficult to get out. Despite my delight with the new rules, it puts in to quick focus how people feel about smokers, we are not held in high esteem.

Too often I have felt the looks of people who love to judge people for their actions. Some will even verbalize their disdain for your actions by offering up snide comments. I do not in any way condone smoking or say that its a great way to spend a few minutes out with friends adding to the slow death we all face. However, since when did it become socially acceptable to demean anyone who makes a choice, even if its one people don't agree with.

I am sure all of you who will offer up your opinion to a smoker would never dare comment on a 350 pound behemoth who is eating their 5 big mac devouring it without regard. Now that, that would be rude, even mean, but to impugn a smoker, that is just right! Social acceptance makes lecturing a smoker palatable. In return I ask you if you want to lecture me on my poor choices, all I ask in return is that you lecture anyone who makes poor decisions, if you cant do that much, at least offer me a light before you lecture!

Election Funday: Barack Obama

I was asked by my comments to discuss my thoughts on the brand spanking new president. While I like to avoid discussing politics, especially after my popularity with my previous blogs is at an all time low. However, I would like to tell you what I think.

In all honestly, I am holding my breath, reserved in my thought that Obama is our saviour. Everyone across this great country suddenly thinks that Obama is the greatest thing since sliced bread. The reality is that we have been yearning for true leadership, in a dessert, seeing an oasis and because of our desire to quench our thirst we will drink the sand.

I really wanted Obama to convince me that he is the great leader that we all need. He sounds smart, looks presidential, and feels like a leader we need. However, I watched all of the debates and waited for him to say something. I waited, I waited, and I am still waiting. The people that built his campaign were smart, they knew they had a huge lead due to Bush, so they put on the prevent defense and let McCain play catch up. During the campaign Obama was tactically great, he spoke so well that people didn't realize that he said absolutely nothing. The entire time he spoke he talked about change, but never gave us a step by step plan on what he would do for change. Nothing was given, but merely the ability of him and his staff to tie McCain to the Bush administration.

I as a business professional am nervous of his tax changes and re-distribution of wealth philosophy. This is capitalism, Darwinian philosophy, the cream should always rise to the top. If we begin to punish those for their successes by taxing them, re-distributing their earnings, at what point to the market leaders decide the US is no longer a viable place to do business. The US has one of the highest business tax rates around the World. Businesses will soon find their margins shrinking due to the global recession and what profits they do have will be taxed at higher rates. Incentive is the greatest driver in human psychology. If we want to be a mediocre society similar to those in the European Union, lets move towards socialism and enjoy mediocrity. Personally I prefer to be leaders, and that is why Capitalism creates such great incentives (AKA Money) that drives human capital and innovation. In the end I am worried that he will restrict incentives and lose our "thought leaders" all because of a few greedy SOBs on Wall Street, and trust me I have more a reason to hate those greedy CEOs because they cost me my job. However, still I will defend the free markets until I draw my last breath.

Now let me be clear, I am in Obama's corner, between the two I leaned more towards Obama rather than McCain, not because I thought he was a savior, but because his tempered and deliberate demeanor was needed in a situation of absolute chaos. I personally did not want to contribute to the republicans war mongering, which would have continued under the McCain regime. The republicans are true American cowboys, six shooters at their side, ready to charge in without regard to human life.

However, I am very wary of fanatic Obama supporters. Many of my friends helped with the campaign, people were cheering on facebook when it happened. Lets not give Obama divinity until he produces. Talk is always talk until he creates something out of this mess. If you are a fan of Obama it does not mean you must accept and defend every single word spoken by the man. To be a true fan, you not only will defend your leader, but attack him as well. A great leader needs to be vetted out and natural conflict of ideas is always needed to produce ground breaking ideas.

Obama might be the great president we are waiting for, but I will wait to anoint him the next JFK until he shows me something. I am taking a leap of faith, I hope that he is the leader that transcends this century, I hope he will lead the market out of its current doldrums, I hope he will help job creation that gets me off the unemployment line, I hope!

Retracting Retraction

After my last post, I received some strong negative comments. Women across the land back lashed against my musings the last time I wrote some thing. While I stand by what I said in the last blog I think certain comments were taken way out of context. Suddenly, women, even friends who I considered close friends were looking at me differently, "disappointed" in me as if I were some slime ball, sleazy piece of shit that marginalizes and abuses the entire gender.

I will be honest, and say I was a little upset and hurt that people read my blog taking what I said out of context and suddenly have done a 180 believing that I was not nearly the man that I once was in their eyes, a sophomoric child whose blog is nothing more than a rant meant to impugn women.

Most women read my last blog and are upset that I would suggest that women age "poorly" and men only look better. While that is what I said, it was taken out of context, its similar to the presidential candidates blasting each other on their negative campaign ads taking one line out of their opponents ideals and using it against them without taking into account the whole position.

Women age "poorly" not because women are the lesser of the two genders, but rather because men are the more socially superficial of the two. The question that must be asked is how many times have you seen a pretty girl with an ugly guy, versus an ugly girl with an good looking man? Few and far between is the obvious answer. The reason for this is women in general take into account a myriad of factors when choosing their mate, weighing physical attractiveness at a much lower level than any man would. So in turn, as a man ages, other factors play a more prominent role to women thus men have the ability to gain attractiveness rather than lose it; while the superficial man weighs physical attractiveness at such a high level and that does not really change as we age.

To quote Chris Rock "That's right I said it," but in the end I am certain that I will not get phone calls from my male friends that they are suddenly upset with me for stating verifiable facts. While I suggested such a small truth about women, which was something I heard from a WOMAN in fact. Don't you love the irony!

So in the end to those who commented that I am the un-datable male, I laugh, mainly because I know many of the males you are dating, and you have no idea what is actually going on in their head. I actually have the cohones to tell you what is being said without you in the room. This is a glance in the mentality of all males, when we get together over a poker table, smoking on phallic shaped cigars, discussing our sexual conquests, as a socialization to fit in with our male counterparts.

To be quite honest, I am way too nice of a guy, to a fault. I could list out all of the questionable actions that I have done in my life, write them down, and in all honestly it would be the equivalent to a college kids freshman year.

We all wear guises depending on the situation and social setting were are presented. When you go to work, when you are with your friends, when you are with you significant other, we all have a separate guise we wear so that we fit in depending on the situation. This blog is merely one guise I wear and I am sharing with you, so if you suddenly think you know me per this blog, than you are merely an ignorant fool who wants to live in your naivete ideals.

Finally, if you really don't like what I have to say, why are you wasting your time reading this blog, you must like something I say. For those of you who want to learn a little something about the male persona, listen, analyze and enjoy, I am giving you a backstage pass, don't make me revoke it.

In the end maybe I am being hypersensitive, if I want to be controversial I need to be able to handle a little flack, but fuck it, its my blog so I am going to defend myself. Its hard not to be a little defensive as I am opening myself to attack and having my friends view me negatively. If I didn't know any of you I guess I wouldn't care. Maybe this should be the end of the blog, hide and run, but I did say maybe!

Back Me Up Scotty!

I recently was talking to a female friend of mine, we were out and about at a bar, discussing how people around us were all coupling up and planing their nuptials. At that point she made the deal of her life, she said "well if we are both 35 and still single, why don't we get married." Wow what a proposal I thought, too bad it was the 10th backup marriage I had been offered in as many years.

The hysterical part is that women actually think that they are doing you a favor, their narcissism extends to their perception that it would be a privilege to be her last resort. In return I the man gets a depreciated asset, sagging, older, and not nearly as perky about all of the "benefits." To all my women followers, its not that I think all women age terribly, the reality is as we age, men get better looking, while women fight the good fight.

In the end the older man if he desires can always trade in the old wife for the newer model. I do not in anyway endorse this, I am only saying what is the benefit to me to get a wife outside her prime and have it be a blessing. In the end I guess my annoyance is with the fact that for some reason right now I am undatable, but in the future when the world comes crashing to an end, suddenly, I will be a hot commodity, let me say I will be waiting on the edge of my seat. I would like to feel that if I am getting into a long-term relationship, that I would be worth the risk now, rather then when you have no options left.

In essence a woman is saying you can be my backup because:
1. You're not good enough for me NOW and I can get better.
2. Hopefully, you will age well and become distinguished.
3. Depending on how successful you become I will judge whether or no to be with you depending on how much "allowance" I will receive.
4. At that point in my life I will be too tired to give bjs and hjs so our sex life will be as bland as two hermaphrodite hookers.
5. My desperation to have kids will reach a boiling point as the clock is ticking.

The reality is, no one wants to be someones backup, its a flat insult to proposition a guy especially when both of you are single, if there is a chance even down the road, get off the high horse and give it a shot. The only way someone like me would make that deal is if I get a down payment now, graduating interest payments over the future, and the ability to opt out in the end. If you are down to make that deal, lets shake on it, or rather shake it on me.

Porter's Five Forces

Note:
I have been struggling with a little writer's block and have been working on 4 posts. This is an old post that I was not going to post due to objections. I removed the people who had objections out of the post and edited to the point where it did not mention any one who may get offended. This post is from 2 weekends ago. In all honestly I do not think this is my best work, but I needed to give my readers something as I battle my case of writers block. I hope this suffices.

Porter's Five Forces

This was the weekend of the "competition" Ryder cup of gaming where we would have learned who really was the "master of his domain." This weekend was filled with anticipation and hype all for nothing. So here was the game and how it would have been scored:

A panel of pre-chosen judges would give a girl a score 1-10 depending on the girl's physical appearance. After which, the gamers would go out and close. This would be known as the multiplier. However many bases the player rounds would be the multiplier score, i.e. if the gamer found a girl who was rated a 5 and hit a home run (4 bases) 5*4 would give that player 20 points.

This weekend was especially exciting because many gamers across this great country had come in to participate in the competition; each competitor choose a wing man and this was going to be a match play event. After all of this thought and excitement this event floundered into oblivion.

Despite that slow start to the weekend, I found myself winging for two of my friends and "allies" inside my own circle of friends to help them "enjoy" their night. As I worked as the wing man I applied a little business principal to make sure I understood the gaming environment and guaranteeing success. So what are the principals:

Barriers to Entry:
Every woman has a initial entry point. How many bases a women will allow any man to clear after first meeting someone. This is proportional to the amount of drinks a woman has consumed, a rough formula for an average girl (3 drinks per each base). Too often men are looking for magic keys to the pantie vault, simply put ALCOHOL.

Competition:
This is the most prevalent threat to any gamer. Competition is usually identified quickly especially in the bar as any guy who has a functional cock and are the easily identified and dismissed. The more difficult competitors are the people inside your own circle. The "friends" either male of female. While I am true believer that men and women can never truly be friends due to sexual tensions one must be wary of other male friends in the circle. As booze begin to flow, morals begin to drift out the window and its every man for themselves.

Also, don't forget about the female friends who either are coupled or not nearly as attractive as the target, they love to pull the target away with foolish notions like they are tired. This is when a wing man is important to either distract the male friend with shots, or grenade hop the "questionable" girl. Never fun but always important.

Supplier Power:
Depending on the circles we roll in, the balance of male to female ratio is not only important to get into the bar, but also important to the extracurricular activities after the bar. Too often we roll out with the ratio heavily weighed down with too many men. Its like putting meat in front of hungry dogs, it doesn't matter if its sirloin or ground chuck, once there is blood in the air all bets are off. In this case the ratio was not in my favor as it was a 9:1 ratio so I had to fend off 9 hungry males so my "ally" would have an opportunity to close.

Customer Power:
Picky Picky Picky, people have always claimed with good reason that my standards are too high. Every gamer is a customer at a buffet and the golden rule is to never get between a black man and a buffet. Usually all of us go out to the posh dining spots as we are looking to dine on caviar, but inevitable we find ourselves scarfing fried chicken and collard greens, also known as the resident ladies at the Hunt Club. Our flexibility is solely reliant on desperation and inebriation. Every man has found himself rolling over to either a behemoth that needs a fork lift or a beast that needs a paper bag. As customers we are very reactionary to market conditions, the earlier the night (bull market) we wine and dine, later the night (bear market) we shop with coupons at the local Wallyworld (Walmart).

Threat of Substitutes:
This at times can be the most destructive of the forces out there. Too often men either get complacent or too drunk to finish things off. They get caught up with ideas of late night omelette's or even worse, self-reliance as the relieve themselves and pass out satisfied in laying an egg.

In the end we must all analyze the market conditions, focus, and close. Finally, for those wing men out there, like myself that night, its a team game lay the ball on the rim, and hope your partner is not a functional retard that can't close the deal. Now I hope my ally will return the favor, one can only hope.

Nothing To Report

To My Readers:
I will not be reporting about this past weekend. While I would like to and have been creating a draft for a few posts, I was informed that if I write about certain people they would be offended. As such since some of my readers know who I am, I must show restraint and thus I will be unable to write about my past weekend.

I will try to fill up the blog with something that happens during the week. I am sorry if many of you are anticipating a new post about the weekend. I will be back posting about my next weekend. Sorry again to my readers.

For those of you who do know me, please do not ask me who the people are that would be offended, I will not discuss this and it is between myself and those people.

Later.

For your consideration

I spent this last weekend, working hard for the affections of a woman who I have been subtly gaming for two years. Subtly, because the woman in question was in a relationship during this time, and I as a business man, and an optimist I was long on the stock, invested early and looking to cash in. I waited and I waited, until this woman finally dropped the alleged boyfriend who was thousands of miles away. In return for my patience all I asked was for her consideration, a date, a drink, and possibly more. Was that too much to ask for? Patience is a virtue, or so I thought.

Instead I found myself at Martini Park three sheets to the wind, fending off another man. I use the word man very loosely for this guy because he was an utter disgrace to our male species. This guy was the pure definition of tool. Well actually this guy was such a tool in fact, that Webster's would need to redefine the word tool to encapsulate all of the quintessential tool qualities this "man" encompasses. While I do not name names here on this blog, this guys name sounded like A-shit, which was appropriate as shit would appropriately describes this guys personality and the grotesque mole growing on his face.

Now in the game of woman, competition is always a peril of the market. One must be cautious of the wily gamers who will swoop in and eliminate all of your hard work. Despite, that I never look down on competition, it forces us to be the best of ourselves in order to close those that we desire. However, this guy was no competition, he was a palsy victim doing brain surgery with a blindfold. This guy didn't even deserve to carry my left nut; however, he destroyed me as he convulsed on the dance floor like a crack baby whose mother failed to abort him.

I was not just astonished, I was paralyzed by shock as she turned to me and whispered "I like the guy to your right." I paused for a moment doing a double take making sure I heard her clearly and understood what she was stating. I simply replied "Why would you tell me that, because I like the girl on my left," bluntly pointing out that I was into her. She quickly replied with the one response that shrivels any mans testes "but we're just friends right," as she strutted towards my so called competition.

My disgust was obvious and I bolted out of the bar, without a word in any one's direction that I would be exiting the premises.

In this world today, and as an unemployed man whose fighting just to stay a float as jobs slowly shrivel away, I take solace in the hunt and hope for a good woman. While I was annoyed that at the turn of events, I also find it ironically hysterical. This woman who I had held in high regards, ACTUALLY found this guy not only attractive, but would consider letting him inside her both body and soul. How could I ever have been attracted to such a blind fool? I guess I have to take my lumps just as everyone else and learn a valuable lesson. Patience is a virtue, especially if your virtue is to get played.

Market Watch: Viva La Resistance!

Today, I am going to delve into a more serious and analytical post rather than my rantings on single life and football. Currently, the country is in a state of turmoil as the free markets that have built the face of capitalism are spiraling out of control. Banks continue to fail due to poor risk management and aggressive CEOs who were only concerned about their own financial packages.

This day was a long time in the making. While I am no economist or expert, I would like to express my opinions on what happened and why this new solution is a good step towards stabilizing the market though peoples concern about the plan are well founded.

Politicians our shouting that the $700B bailout package is a push towards socialistic and nationalistic polices that our brethren in France are world renowned. While I am a pure free market believer, in this state I believe the government must step up to steer the country out of the current state of influx. Even the founder of free market economies Alexander Hamilton in the 1700s stepped in during his time as the secretary of treasury to stabilize the market that has been responsible for our dominance across the globe.

Now for those of you who are not familiar with why the banks are failing, let me take you on a short and simple explanation for the current driver that is sending banks to the grave. CDOs - we hear that term thrown out time and time again as the driver, but what are CDOs? CDO stands for Collateralized Debt Obligations. So what is a CDO? Well lets say you have a large pool of mortgages that have been lent out by Bank A. To minimize risk on the Bank's balance sheet Bank A would combine all of these loans it has outstanding and create a type of security subsequently selling off pieces of these mortgages to investors primarily Hedge Funds and in return would collect a fee. The reason banks would do this is because if a lot of the loans go bad and they had kept them on their own balance sheet, since they are a regulated entity, per accounting rules they must take large losses writing down the assets. Therefore, if they sell off as much of the debts it has, it can reduce its risk to credit defaults.

Simple enough, and sounds like a great idea, so what happened? Greed is what happened? The CEOs of Bank of America, Merrill Lynch and others decided that they needed to boost their own returns so they could pump up stocks and in return help fuel their G4 jets as they fly around the world, on the backs of American money. Therefore in order to enhance their own profits, they kept underwriting these CDOs despite market saturation, and instead of selling them off, they retained the assets on their own balance sheet. Here we go! Now as the market began turning, the ARMs began resetting, people could not afford to pay their own mortgages, defaults skyrocketed, and Banks were holding onto assets that had to be substantially written down thus taking losses quarter after quarter, till there was no money left.

So how did we get here? In the world from 1999 to 2001 the US was recovering from the tech bubble bursting and 9/11. We were spiraling into a recession that was sucking out wealth and hindering George Ws' ability to fight for reelection due to the floundering economy. Therefore, the FED (Federal Reserve Bank) under the direction of Alan Greenspan, decided to lower the Feds Funds Rate and in turn increase the money supply across America. The FFR is the interest rate that banks can borrow at, therefore, if banks can borrow at a lower rate, they can lend to John Q Taxpayer at a lower rate. That means simply as Randy Moss would say: Straight Cash Homey!

Every one stood in line at their local bank hands open asking for money, 5 year ARMs oh my! Americans stood in line and invested in the only asset available and that they understood, Real Estate. Banks in return kept feeding the frenzy by giving money to uncreditworthy people also known as sub prime. 80 to 100% loan to value was the name of the game, don't worry about the LTV with real estate appreciations we will make out in the end the Banks thought.

I remember just before I finished college, I read this huge spread on the Wall Street Journal, specifically about the Real Estate bubble, and Greenspan telling us to tread softly. Right after that I moved up to Chicago, and all my friends were talking about how great Real Estate was, and how much they and their friends were making. I, not knowing a whole lot, but believing Greenspan, told them to be cognizant of what money they "really" were making. During this time people talked about "unrealized" gains they were making on real estate appreciation, but in the end that isn't cash baby. It's like me buying a Cartier watch then going to the pawn shop and saying, its worth 2Gs the market says so, good luck getting $200 in return. Until someone pays for it, the value is not real, and most Americans truly did not understand this, and continued to use their equity in their homes to lever up and reinvest in the Real Estate market.

The frenzy continued as credit was available to anyone who was asking, until the bottom fell out and foreclosures became more common than an article on Britney and K-feds baby drama. Banks had to start kicking out the people who could never afford to pay for the house they lived in. These people had 1 YEAR to clear out, and in that year, these people tore up the homes, and sent their keys to the bank at the end, which now is affectionately called jingle mail. Now the assets that were backing these mortgages are worth next to nothing, because there is no one to buy it and how are you going to take out the shit stains all along the carpet from the homeowners dog. Liquidate, Liquidate, Liquidate, pennies on the dollar. Now are the assets that are being written down actually worth nothing? Probably not. As former chairman of the FDIC stated the problem is not the write down itself, but rather how far it is being written down. How can we mark to market CDOs when there is no actual market to value the CDOs? However, per BASEL accounting rules we have to mark to market, there goes the neighborhood. So now who is going to save them now?

No one really, the banks crumbled, until the other banks who were left standing, with government aid, gobbled them up at substantial discounts.

So now back to the fundamental question of this post? Why does the $700B bailout make sense for the United States? The reason we cannot allow natural free market economies play out is because it was monetary policy that forced us in this position anyway. During the tech bubble burst, people were panicking because a substantial amount of their wealth was disappearing due to an over priced tech market. The NASDAQ crash was the FREE MARKET appropriately revaluing the price for technology. During the 90s none of us knew what technology was and we continued to invest in companies we didn't really understand, but believed in its future value. The reality was those companies were worth nothing, and once the market realized this it CORRECTLY repriced the entire market.

I believe a recession was necessary and important at that time because it is a natural check and balance on American wealth. However, the President at the time was going to be facing a reelection, and overall sentiment was moving away from concern about terrorism to concern about the economy. The brain trusts in DC sank the Feds Fund Rate to historical lows, next to nothing to flood the market with excess capital. The excess capital needed to be invested somewhere, and they in turn lent money to the American people who flooded the Real Estate market. Overvalue, Overvalue, that is what happened. The plan which was made in panic, painted us in the current corner we are in now. So why do I believe the government should intervene now with the bailout, because government intervention was the cause of our current state of affairs. To fix the free markets we must reverse the government intervention 10 years ago with another government intervention. So when one negative takes out the other negative, mathematically speaking, we should get a positive! If not I guess I will learn to sew and I will find a job in China, then I will see if communism works instead.

Moderation Please?

I stood outside, taking a drag out of my cigarette dispelling a plume of smoke when "someone" told me something I could not fathom. My friend who was standing next to me wearing a shirt two sizes too small to show off his rippling biceps, turned to me and cocked a small smile as we held our breaths trying not to bust out in hysteria.

Now what was the comment, what forced me to hide my emotions. Well here is the scenario: We stood outside myself, the body, and the man whose comment was heard round the world. The body who is currently coupled, mouthed off and told us: "You guys are single, You need to liven things up." I was still holding my cigarette in my mouth thinking of what dig I could spout as I respond to him impugning my game. This is when my friend spoke up without hesitation and proclaimed "I get too much ass as it is."

The body and I waited and waited until our friend walked away as we combusted in laughter. A man, yes a man, says he is having too much sex. I never knew there was such a thing for a man. Now I submit to you, I understand women tiring of sex, I could not imagine getting jack hammered all night every night and then subsequently having to fake it, that can be tasking. However, for a man, if he has the energy to take care of himself every day, why wouldn't a man be thankful to have a playing partner instead of playing solo.

Our friend H.C. Slizzy who could not believe this was said, stated appropriately the moment he learned of the comment: "That's impossible, it would be like me saying I get too much head, it's just not possible."

Now economically speaking per the law of diminishing returns, each time you have sex after the first time it will not return the same amount of pleasure as the first time; however, even if it's the thousandth time, YOU ARE STILL GETTING LAID!

There is a multi-billion dollar porn industry, men empty out their savings account paying women for sex yet my friend was just plain tired of getting ass. I guess I will have him call into Howard Stern and let Stern know he will have to retire, as he is the start of the fall of man.

NFL Rant: Look Ma' No Hands!

After a pretty tumultuous weekend in football with the biggest story being the fumble gaffe of the season, this is what I think about the call last Sunday. It was a terrible correct call. How can it be a terrible call if it was correct? This is why, the fumble which is clear as day in replay was called an incomplete pass on the play. The mistake was made, from Ed Hochuli's perspective behind the QB I could see how it may have looked like an incomplete pass. The rules state that an inadvertent whistle blown ends the play and cannot be reviewed and that is exactly what happened.

Now the actual problem with the ruling was not the missed call, but the rule itself. It handcuffed the referee into making that call and thus unreviewable. The reason Ed did not let the play run out and eventually review it was because the NFL's need to protect its QBs. Since, the NFL does not want QBs getting hurt in dog piles going for loose balls the "open hand" ruling forces the ref to blow the whistle much too soon. If it were a running back who fumbled they would have let the play continue and let the replay decide the fate of the fumble. They might as well give each QB a box of tampons and a pink jersey before they step out on the field. There are too many penalties protecting QBs, I mean if you slap your hand on a HELMET of a QB you will get a 15 yard penalty. The only person that would ever get hurt in that scenario is the helmet or the hand, and possibly fragile Tom Brady (only kidding).

Quarterback Carousel:

Tyler Thigpen: Costal Carolina can you please stand up! Congrats to the new kid on the block, you are going to be running the most dynamic offenses in the NFL. That is the most dynamic offense for the other team. KC's great draft class of 2008 is not going to help this kid make plays down the field. This team is miles away from where they will be in the future, so until then whoever is playing QB for the Chiefs good luck, and get a priest.

Gus Ferrote: Welcome back old man, 37 and you are still tucking away the paychecks with the NFL insignia on it. Well who knew that you would go from holding a clipboard to handing off the ball to one of the most dangerous weapons in the NFL. If you can throw a greater than 55% pass completion this season, don't worry about losing your job to Tavaris, with a hundred throws he still wouldn't be able to hit either one of Jessica Simpson's enormous breasts, the only one hitting those is Romo.

Rookie Watch:
Desaun Jackson: You incompetent fool you cost me a fantasy football win to a person who has spent the most time in the basement in his own league. Jackson has all world speed and talent, too bad his pea sized brain does not know where the goal line begins. This guy will be a good starter for about three to four years, but guys his size never last that long as a number 1 or even number 2 receivers, see Santana Moss for proof.

Matt Ryan: Welcome to the NFL. It's a lot easier to look like a star when you are playing the doormats of the league aka the lions. Despite his bad outing last week, I really like this kid. He preformed well in college despite having receivers that no one can name, and didn't even see the inside of the draft room. Matt has intangibles, especially leadership, and on team whose last leader is avoiding sodomy in the Leavenworth showers, Matt is someone they desperately needed.

Rearanging Arangements

This past weekend came and went without much to report. I was kept at bay due to 48 hours of continual rain that would sully any weekend. As such I missed out on my sordid affair with my one and only mistress the city of Chicago.

However, I was day dreaming in the shower, where I come up with all my inspirational material and realized that I forgot to return a phone call. This phone call became the idea that sparked a mental debate that I thought I should share with the rest of my followers.

The phone call in question was from my "uncle," I place the term uncle in quotation marks because as an Indian even a man with no familial relation can be called uncle. This man was my dad's best friend from medical school. His phone call disturbed me in the middle of Sunday football as I watched in horror as my team found more ingenious ways to suck. I peered at my caller id seeing a call from North Carolina, and I had no idea who it was, I answered in hopes that it was someone somewhere with a possible job opportunity for me, though I subsequently learned otherwise.

He was calling me in regards to a girl, a girl he found from his town in North Carolina that he wanted me to begin "talking" with. In my stupor, which came from far too many coronas, I did what any man does when trapped in a corner, I lied. I blew into the receiver pretending to lose the signal and that I could not hear, until he replied "how about I call you later?" Presto, even more simple of a lie than when a woman asks "how many women have you been with" and we quickly reply "the only one that matters is you" as we pretend to forget the "massuers" in chinatown.

This got me thinking, is the right woman waiting for me to call her or to buy her a drink? The question can be more simply put as a man do you like to hunt for your food or be served your food? It goes back to our most carnal impulses that are beginning to be constricted by the growing pressure to marry and settle down.

My parents always query: Why don't you just email? There it is, the game I have so tirelessly perfected is being tossed simply to the curb. Now instead of the bars, I must spend my time airbrushing my best picture, signing up to eharmany.com and lie on my profile. Well at least that part is a lot easier than coming up with lies off the cuff at a bar. I am not certain I will be able to Pouvich over email, though every challenge can be overcome.

As first generation children in our makeshift home here in the United States, a majority of our parents nuptials were arranged by their parental units as they were merely spectators along for the ride. Despite not knowing a thing about each other these marriages unlike marriages in the states, have a substantially higher success rates. There in lies the question though: why? I would submit to you that our parents never fell in love, but rather love each other out of circumstance. Therefore they never had the high expectations we here place, which we so eloquently learned from those Meg Ryan and Tom Hank movies. That is why the only genre in Indian movies is Romance, because they continue to desire what they never experienced. Here we have every genre imaginable, because every man would rather have two 9mm hand guns, covered in blood, squatting in some jungle rather than a romantic comedy describing how we were ensnared by our significant others (I think every woman in the world will kill me after this one).

Clearly, the grass is always greener, I just don't know which grass is truly green. I guess the reality is the grass is green despite the piles of dog shit you have to avoid once in a while.

I guess I will always lean towards the desire to hunt for love rather than have it brought to me. The problem that always becomes evident is how does one explain this to parents who do not have the experience to understand. I guess if I can't explain it to them I can always fedex them the Lword dvds, though I think that might confuse them even more.

Disturbia Burbia

My time out here in the burbia has allowed me to notice the radical differences in lifestyle from the city. I am no longer attached to my phone waiting for the last second text message stating "lets get ripped" throwing on my expensive jeans, black shoes and Ferragamo belt venturing to some bar and blacking out. Instead I sit next to my friend in my boxers, scratch my balls and watch reruns of Entourage all night watching a life I wish I had, even if it were as the second coming of Turtle.

Snails pace are the proper words to explain suburban lifestyle. I am in no way knocking it, it's just not for this high paced hipster who spends his nights scouring for loose tail. The irony is that inevitably especially in this city, as we get married and have kids, the suburbs end up calling us all and we fight vehemently before we succumb to our dull fates. I can't see myself in a mommie mobile looking at MILFs who have begun to let themselves go and things are starting to hit the floor. At least in the city the MILFs hit the gym quite often or the plastic surgeons office and stay in rare certifiable form.

The other thing that is quite evident is the food. If one loves fast food: taco bell, Wendy's, McDonald's, and if you are really in mood for a fancy night on the town, Golden Corral, the suburbs is the place for you. My friend who I am living with loves to eat a ham sandwich with cheese topped off with a combination of bbq sauce, mustard, and mayonnaise (yes he says the combination of condiments is good, though I will never try it). While he considers that fine dining, I could not imagine ending every night with a ham sandwich. For me I love going to the BYOB sushi restaurant where the waitresses don't speak any English, but if you say Ni Hao Ma, the dinner will be topped off with a happy ending.

For at least this week I am back in the city that made me, wandering the streets as a nomadic drinker, living the life I once had. Can you smell it? I can, the smell of week old bum standing at the street corner pestering you for change, ah what a life?

NFL Rant: On Bended Knee

For those of you who know me, you know I am an avid fan of the NFL and since the season has started I think I will begin a 21 week segment dedicated to the NFL one of my loves. So lets get started.

I have been reading a lot of articles on ESPN, CBS, and CNNSI that have been questioning or even discussing the "legality" of Marcus Pollard's hit on Tom Brady. I was irritated to even see people writing or more appropriately whining about the hit especially from the likes of Bill Bilichick (Overrated) and Randy Moss.

This is football ladies and gentlemen, Tom Brady was still standing up when he threw the football should the defender stop playing because he "might" hit the qb low. The irony is that Randy stated he has never been a dirty player and that he does not even know how to play dirty. Hey Randy wasn't it pretty dirty for you to hit a female officer with your car, a person who gets paid less than you make in interest per year to risk her life to protect people. Everyone has to love it when geniouses like Randy are allowed to even speak on camera.

Now back to the biggest whinner Bill Bilichick. He stated that he teaches his guys to hit a qb to hit above the knees and below the head. Wow really, yet he has the "dirtiest" player Rodney Harrison on his team roaming the strong safety position. Hey Bill maybe with your extra camera angles you might be able to see that it was not a dirty hit, and you won't have to "misinterpret" the rules to see that one.

I honestly am sad to see Tom Brady go, he reminds me a lot of Joe Montana a qb as a chiefs fan I have a lot of affection for Joe. He is one of the great qbs of our time playing for one of the worst coaches allowed to roam the sidelines. Just because we hate Bill does not mean we should hate on Tom, he has always been a professional and respected his opponents, but hey that's football and injuries are the name of the game.

Trust me I am not going to feel too bad for Tom because he is going to be nursed by Gisele in his penthouse somewhere in Mannhattan.

Rookie Watch:
Eddie Royal: This guys is legit, he has all the abilities, runs strong routes, good speed, good hands, and can return. Va Tech has done something right, Cutler is going to love to throw to this guy for years to come.

Matt Forte: People, even Chicago fans made fun of me when I drafted him in three of my fantasy leagues. This kid did nothing more than produce in Tulane, 2000+ yards on a bad team, and he is complete, runs, blocks and catches. This is not the second coming of Gayle Sayers, but it will certainly make bears fan forget Cedric Benson.

Felix Jones: The better of the two Arkansas products, in his short time in for Marion Barber he produced 67 yards and td. He is benefiting playing for a good team, but this guy is another complete back out of the college ranks. Runs hard between the takles, good speed, and has hands. Too many people got caught up in the highlight reels shown by ESPN on Mcfadden and missed out on this guy, he has the skills and talent to be a good running back in the NFL.

Fantasy Ranch:
Jay Cutler: Ladies and gentlemen let me introduce you to the best qb out of the 2006 draft. I never was sold on either Leinart or Young again more products of hype and talent around them rather than solid fundementals. Cutler doesnt have an arm, he has a cannon, his balls come out with zip and accuracy. When you have a qb who can throw the deep comback route or out, with pace that opens a lot of the playbook. Looking at the game he reads the field well and does a decent job of looking off recievers. He is still young and he has shown the steps to be an elite qb, after this year, look for him to take Carson Palmer's spot at the number 3 qb behind Manning and Brady.

Bar Games

As I recently found myself in the newly opened Power and Light District in downtown Kansas City, it had a quaint little charm for a city needing a little face lift. The only problem is that it was trying to be more than it was, it felt more like a $50 hooker from the Southside wearing a Vera Wang dress and thinking she could charge $1,500 for a hand job.

During my time home I was out and about in this newly formed city my game was impugned by a woman no less. My friends and I were out enjoying a few cocktails when my cousin who is shy by nature eyed a girl that he liked, put on his best game face and went over to hit on her even though the girl's boyfriend was hovering right next to her. I was impressed especially from my cousin who is a little introverted, but my excitement was muted when one of our friend's girlfriend stated: "Wow look at him he has balls, what are you guys doing?" Balls approaching a woman he already knew from class, I could see how difficult that could be, that is similar to anyone saying to me, it must be hard breathing and all.

I was flabbergasted and annoyed, especially when it was from a girl who opened her mouth all too often. Personally I think there should be a sign on her forehead pointing to her mouth stating "if open insert penis." (Those of you who know her, would agree, both males and females)

While I would not consider myself the greatest gamer, lacking balls is something I am not, especially confidence approaching women. This sparked the argumentative side in me and I started an "aggressive discussion" with her about gaming.

At one point she stated "approaching" is not that difficult and she used to do it all the time. The only problem with that is that she is talking about two different games. A woman approaching a man takes very little skill; unless the woman weighed over 200 pounds and had a face that looked like a beat up catchers mit. If she could go out approach and close with the best of them, I will be the first one in line purchasing her book. That saying, comparing women and men when it comes to approaching are in no way the same league, it would be like giving a roided up Barry Bonds a tee ball and saying that we are all playing the same game.

I don't want to sound like a petulant child whining when he didn't get changed the moment he shit his pants. The reason I say this is that many women do not respect the difficulty of approaching a strange woman at the bar and being expected to not only be charming, but carry the conversation and in the end giving us little credit for stepping up to the plate time and time again. If all of the women in the world disagree with me, I would suggest that you strap down your chest, put on a fake beard, grab a strap on and see if you can close one of your fellow female companions.

Not my Knot!

Last night I was scowering the knot.com looking for a wedding theme: stripped, jewel tones, flowers oh my; I quickly glanced down to make sure my penis was still in tact. The business side in me could not help but query, the business of getting married, what a business it is?

While a wedding is nothing more than a glorified Saturday night at the bars (I kid I kid). I spent this past weekend in my hometown helping my sister plan her wedding venue I began to realize the expansive cost and process it is to merely stand in front of ones friends and family sharing nuptials. It reads like a Mastercard commercial.

Flowers $10000
Alchohol $20000
Decorations $10000
Venue Rental $25000

Watching your future spouse's Bridezilla moment: Priceless.

There is nothing more fun than going to a wedding, drinks, food, and women who are completely aroused by the thought of marriage. However, looking at the event from the other side as the host, it got me thinking how much pressure we put on the marriage from day one.

Statistics show that 50% of all marriages end in a divorce, well I can think of $150,000 reasons why people should rethink their divorces. If the marriage does not last more than one year do you get a 50% refund on the wedding.

If in this country we have to renew our drivers license, hell even our fishing licenses, why not requre a marriage license renewal. At least we will reduce the percentage of divorces, just dont tell all the lawyers of the world that I suggested such an idea. The only problem is that the DMV would take over all the license renewals and in the end everyone would spend 5 hours there filling out form c and standing in line b, only to get to the front of the line and find out they needed form a. In the end people would leave in frustration without renewing their marriage, I guess unlicensed marriages are far better than unlicensed drivers.

So what do you do?

As I go out to the bars on my quest for the future Mrs, to places where you can still smell last nights stale vomit, I am always plagued with one question that is inevitably asked: What do you do?

That is a question with so many answers, unless your remark is simply to state: Unemployed. Does that get a woman's attention? It would seem unimaginable for any woman in this great city of Chicago would find that endearing. How does one respond to such a question? That is simple, lie. The problem is I could not think of a lie that would suit such a milestone question during the courting faze aka how drunk are you and would you consider going home with me?

The answer was stumbled on by a female friend of mine: I am retired! That's it, a lie that entails mystery and intrigue. Now some of you are thinking, how could anyone start a relationship based on a lie, though most relationships end as a result of lies, lying seems like the most logical place to start.

The saying goes, the truth will set you free. I think that needs to be modified to say: the truth will set you free, lies will get you laid.

Any women who are reading this blog are probably mortified at such a notion; however, I didn't invent the waterbra, or makeup, nor did I ever tell my man that size doesn't matter, while secretly gossiping about length and girth.

I do not mean to imply that females are the only liars in this game; the greatest perpetrators of lies are men especially when winning the affections of women. If there was a nickel for every time a man "exaggerated" his position at work, how much money he made, how big he was (always divide what he tells you in half), and that he is not bald but rather just shaved.

I hope people do not read this and imply that I have a negative view on the dating world. Quite the opposite, I am a cynic who wishes to be an optimist; I am a realist working to be a hopeless romantic. As we age in this so called life we move beyond the sordid affairs of one night stands (though they happen on occasion) and look for that elusive soul mate. Especially in the city of Chicago, where the young get married, the older move to the suburbs, and the single get banished to New York City.

In the end we look at our partners and see the future or rather a plan for the future. The only problem is the unemployed are without plans. The reality is that we all present a dating resume that downplays the bad and enhances the good. I just hope despite my one blemish being unemployed, that I will still be able to book a few interviews.

Quick note: Something I thought was ironic. Today I started my Hobo blogs, and less than 6 hours later I find myself rummaging through trash looking for something my sister threw away. There is some sort of circularity that rings true to the beginning of this blog.

No Place Like Home

Today is the beginning of a journey unspoiled by responsibility or requirement. That is the true definition of being a hobo, consequence free.

As I begin this journey I asked myself what differentiates me from the homeless on the street besides the obvious need to give hand jobs for crack. I guess it's simply nothing more than the fact that my boyish good looks allows me to be a charity case on my friends couch. Maybe I should set up shop downtown jingling my cup for change with a sign "will excel for food." Sad to say I will be a dime a dozen of ex-bankers littering the street waiting for someone to offer them a job, until then I will just cash my unemployed check and buy some malt liquor pouring out just a little for my fallen homies. I never knew Old Dirty Bastard and I would have so much in common.

For the first time in 6 years I have no real place to call home, that is completely mine. I guess when I take girls home from bars I can take the long ride on the Metra to Wisconsin, milk a few cows on the way, and pray she is too drunk to notice where I have taken her. All else fails I can always use the back seat in my SUV to relive the glory days of High School as she releases herself all over my leather. I guess I will need to ScotchGuard my entire car before I begin bringing girls back to my new apartment.

I am a bit like Dorthy in a magical land looking for my way home. With my red heels I am pretty sure I could find a home quickly in boys town, I just don't know if I am ready for leather and a ball gag. In the end I hope that soon I will click my heels and pronounce "There is no place like home" and find myself in my very own condo, fully furnished in the west elm catalog.