Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Unsuitable

Sunday, February 21st, 2021

Maybe I’m the Real-Life Red Green

My friend Mike is still here. He is counseling me on being an online chick magnet, although I have not asked for help. I am getting more and more comfortable with the idea of accepting permanent bachelorhood. Either that, or I can wait till my body gives out and I require medical care, and then maybe I can date a nurse.

Single life is very good. As a bachelor, I will never have to buy someone else a new car even though I buy used. I will never have to be lectured about eating prime beef or anything else. There will be no arguments about recycling. I turned my dining room into an indoor workshop and gun room, and it can stay that way. I can drive however I like. I won’t have to listen to Celine Dion or any type of bad music. I will never, ever have to tolerate the presence of a cat in my house. I am the undisputed emperor of the TV remote. I don’t even have to go to the doctor. I can actually choose to die instead of getting old and wearing diapers. It’s pretty sweet.

As for doing without sex, well, most married men say they’re unsatisfied, too. In 2021, satisfying sex lives are generally things single women provide temporarily as marketing tools. When the ring goes on, the supply tapers off, as planned by one party prior to the wedding. At least I get to do without sex all by myself instead of doing without sex while lying next to someone who refuses to provide it.

Many wives push men away sexually, expecting them to remain faithful and caught up in the relationship. They don’t realize a man who is rejected sexually knows he has been rejected, period. He knows he has a parasite.

When a man marries young, he gets a springy, attractive girl who is anxious to lavish him with physical affection at least until she gets pregnant. When you marry at my age, you get something totally different, and you may also get three or four surly teenage kids who post Tiktok videos making fun of you and think you’re going to put them through college.

I’m starting to think I’ve become impossible to pair up. I’m like a convict who has been in prison so long he prefers it to freedom, except in my case, freedom is what I’m expected to give up.

“Let’s go to Paris!” “Can’t we stay here and weld up bases for my grinder collection?” “Let’s buy a new Cayenne!” “But the Dodge Cummins is only 12 years old!” “Let’s put on uncomfortable clothes and go to a cocktail party with vapid people I want to impress!” “How about if I just drive to the nearest railroad track and lie down?”

Women always want to do insane things that would disrupt a life like mine. Cruises. Dinner parties. Buying real furniture. Not shooting squirrels out the bedroom window.

It’s very disturbing to listen to Mike talk about his strategies. I know what he’s saying is true, but it’s like talking about what they put in sausage. He sounds like he’s humoring mental patients. “Suzy started cutting herself when we gave her 4 fish sticks, so we cut them in half and said there were 8.”

By the way, chorizos are made from hog salivary glands. When you eat chorizos, it’s not just your mouth watering. It’s theirs. Mmm.

It’s always disconcerting to hear how women view men and what their odd demands are. I already know these things. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. It’s still a bummer.

Mike says I need to go to dating sites and put up photos of me in suits and jackets. Oh, man.

Mike himself has bowed to pressure and posted suit photos. I don’t know if it’s a smart move. He may be drawing the wrong women.

Back before I abandoned my brief fling with online dating, I saw a lot of women’s photos. For the most part, they seemed to be dressed the way women usually dress, and they were doing normal things like sitting in restaurants or posing with their families. Some of the women were wearing things like jeans and T-shirts. Mike says men are not allowed to use photos like that. You have to wear the most expensive clothes you have, and you should try to look like you have a great credit rating.

If Mike is right, so was Freud, but let’s not go there. I think Freud has embarrassed a lot of people by pointing out the obvious.

When I put up my photos, I had exactly one to choose from, because mentally healthy men don’t take selfies. It was a picture of me with my goddaughter on my lap. I was wearing a Carhartt shirt. In order to provide variety and give women a fair and realistic view of me from the knees up, I installed a voice-activated photo app on my phone, and I took a picture of me standing in my yard in my usual getup: Carhartt jeans, a T-shirt, and work suspenders.

The photo proved I was not crippled or obese. It showed I was not a midget. It gave women a fair idea what I looked like so they couldn’t claim I tricked them. Job done.

I gave women a little credit. I thought, “Any intelligent creature will realize I can change my clothes for different situations.”

I am not sure why I took that attitude. I know better. Women tend to be drawn to possessions. Many women are physically attracted to men who drive expensive cars, and I have personally had a Swedish au pair I didn’t even know throw herself at me because I was standing on my dad’s yacht. We were at a fuel dock loading up on diesel for a trip, and she announced she wanted to go with us.

If you think the Swedes have a problem, it’s not your imagination. Sweden has the title of Europe’s STD capital.

Still, when I looked at women on Christian Mingle, that was how I saw things. I was well aware they could change their outfits. It never occurred to me to judge them by their clothing unless they looked like bag ladies. I projected my attitude onto women, thinking they had the same healthy outlook.

I am not impressed by women who always look perfect. Women who are too meticulous about their appearance are annoying. They take 90 minutes to get ready to go to McDonald’s. They destroy bathrooms. They think nothing of spending $15,000 per year on clothing which will be out of style in 12 months. They can’t do anything because they’re always terrified of getting things on their clothes, messing up their hair, and breaking nails. They can only walk on pavement and floors because of their shoes. They’re like beautiful couches that are always covered in plastic.

Women like that claim men should be grateful because they do it for men. Not true. They dress to make other women feel bad. They know perfectly well that men don’t care much about the way they dress.

When I was in law school and during the years that ensued, I put together a business wardrobe. I learned a lot about classic men’s clothing. I even bought Alan Flusser’s books. I am not one of those guys who need women to shop for them. In fact, most women have less knowledge and inferior taste. The only reason for me to take a woman to a store would be to have her watch me try things on and give me input on the fit.

All of my business shirts are bespoke. Not altered to fit. Bespoke. I don’t have to wear bespoke jackets and suits because altering off-the-rack jobs works well for me, but I have some bespoke stuff anyway. I designed my own bespoke tux with a special dark-black fabric that doesn’t turn green in flash pictures. My measurements are on file at Zegna and Ascot Chang. I have been to Turnbull & Asser and Paul Stuart. I used to buy bespoke shirts from Sulka, before it went out of business. I don’t have many ties that cost less than a hundred dollars.

I have Swiss watches. Women like them, and the wrong kind of woman can spot them from across a football field. They keep bad time, they bang into things, and they never fit right. I don’t wear them. A Rolex is no substitute for a cell phone or even a $20 digital.

Should I put this junk on just to attract women who judge men based on what they wear? The question is moot because I quit trying, but it’s depressing that we live in a world where it ever came up.

I didn’t spend thousands and thousands on clothing so I could look good to women. I did it in order to make other lawyers look bad, in hopes of getting an edge. It was a cold, conscious choice that had nothing to do with vanity.

I always say men’s faults are obvious. They’re obvious because people never stop yapping about them. Men lie to get sex, they commit adultery more than women, some of them beat their wives, and many men insist on living like spoiled single men after they’re married. That pretty much covers the important male faults, and everyone acknowledges them. Women’s faults are different. We’re not allowed to talk about them because it’s sexist. We pretend they don’t exist, and as a result, too many American women suffer from a persecuted-princess delusion. The woman is the prize; the man is the unworthy recipient who can never earn her and who must be subjected to a continuing series of tiresome tests throughout the relationship. Also, the man is responsible for all problems encountered during the marriage, including earthquakes and ugly kids who look just like the wife.

Maybe this is why the price of a man’s shoes matters.

I’ve heard women talk about their ideal men. If you’re a man, you do not want to hear such conversations. I’ve never heard them talk about things like religious compatibility, character, intelligence, wit, talent, dependability, useful skills, affection, or kindness. I have heard them talk about other things, most of which were pretty stupid. He has to have a cool last name. He has to be over 6 feet tall. He should be white. He should be a German. His eyes should be green, but not too green. The ring has to cost at least $20,000.

It’s so weird. Many women make lists of required options, like they’re ordering cars. Men don’t do that. We have very general criteria. You have to look okay. You have to not be a giant pain that makes me wish I were single or dead. You have to not bankrupt me. You can’t have incurable VD that will kill me or make me sterile. You can’t embarrass me every time we leave the house. Women’s lists turn into barriers that prevent marriage and benefit herds of future cats.

Bridezillas aren’t created by the process of planning weddings. The planning process merely reveals an existing disorder. Wacky lists are symptoms of the illness.

I am not comfortable with thinking of women as fish, and clothing and possessions as bait. If a woman wants the bait, she probably has little interest in the man himself. I completely understand why a woman would want a man to be financially comfortable and to dress reasonably well when needed, but it seems to me a woman who knows a man is an attorney with no debt and his own big house ought to be smart enough to realize he can put on a jacket when takes her out.

Not that there is any place to take a woman around here. I never thought about that until recently. There are some good restaurants here, but I don’t think I’ll be going to Nobu again any time soon. They will never build one here.

There are sane women out there, but they are vastly outnumbered by the others. I think putting out crazy-woman bait is a bad move. Maybe my Carhartt jeans photo was actually a useful, even vital, filter.

Anyway, I am not planning to go back to online dating, so it doesn’t matter. The more I write about single life versus my 20 days of online dating, the more grateful I am for what I have.

Smelling Salts, Please

Thursday, August 26th, 2010

Who Will Fill Those Loafers Now?

Ken Mehlman says he’s gay. I am floored. This is nearly as shocking as the Liberace thing.

I Will Not be Taking Calls

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010

Close the Blinds, Mr. Belvedere

I’m so distraught. My world has come to an end. Lawrence Taylor has been charged with rape! It’s all over Drudge!

I wonder who Lawrence Taylor is.

Green Logic

Friday, June 4th, 2010

Oxymoron of Oxymorons

Greenie: a person who throws a spastic fit over discarding a plastic bag that weighs four grams, without worrying about the fifteen pounds of garbage inside it.

My Career as a Varminter Begins

Friday, April 30th, 2010

I Can Hit Very Fat Prairie Dogs up to 20 Feet Away

I feel like I have been oil-wrestling leopards all day.

My DPMS .308 rifle arrived yesterday. I was not all that excited when I ordered it, but when it arrived, I got a little spastic, and I could not wait to shoot it. Today I took it to the range, with a 6-14x40mm scope borrowed from my .17 HMR rifle. I used Radway Green .308 surplus ammo, which is British and supposedly very good. I have two cans of this stuff. Classic Arms sells it.

The hours at the range are always a matter of mystery and conjecture. They change them all the time, and you never know if the sign is correct. Today I got there 45 minutes before the place opened, thinking it had been open for three hours. To kill time I drove to a nearby truck stop to see if they sold towels.

It could happen.

I wanted a towel because I had left mine at home. Ford Prefect would sneer at my foolishness. When I shoot big-bore rifles, the recoil tears up my right elbow, so I wanted something to put under it. They did not have towels, but they did have really nice carpeted mats for ten bucks. For FOUR.

How can you turn that down? Everyone can use four carpeted mats. Even if you don’t know it, you have uses for them. I bought them. They also advertised smoked alligator, but I didn’t see any, so I didn’t buy any.

They had a whole bunch of dried alligator heads. That was comforting, in an odd way. It reminded me of traveling with my family when I was a kid. We used to stop at horrible tourist restaurant/gift shops called Horne’s and Stuckey’s. They always had lots of dried alligators for sale. They probably sold live ones, too. I can’t remember. This was back in the time when you could buy dynamite at 7-11.

Eventually, I got into the range. And I opened my ammo can of surplus .308, and I tried taking a round out of one of the little four-round clumps that were chained together…and I could not do it. I knew this ammunition came chained up, but I figured you could just slip the rounds out. Oh, no. You have to suffer. Luckily I had a Victorinox multi-tool in my shooting box. I had to remove every round from the others with pliers. And they were covered with some kind of lube. By the end of the day, my hands felt like they had been chewed on by angry pigs.

On the advice of a DPMS guy, I picked up some jags and a proper cleaning kit, but I could not get the jag to work at the range. You’re not allowed to point a gun upward or downward at the range, so it can be hard, cleaning one. I finally decided to do this: wire brush with Break-Free, followed by the Boresnake. That’s the best I could do. It nearly killed me, doing that about thirty times today. If the gun explodes from improper breaking in, so be it. There is a limit to what a human being can do.

I put some Hoppe’s in it from time to time, but I don’t know if I achieved anything by doing that.

Here are the results. The first target is funny, which is why I’m posting it. I shot the first 25 rounds at 25 yards. You know how it is when you’re zeroing a scope. You don’t want to start too far away. As you can see, the bullets crept inward as I adjusted the scope, and they finally settled in a nice satisfying hole southwest of the center of the target.

I enjoyed that.

I moved the scope forward, because I still do not understand eye relief very well, and I moved to 100 yards. Here is the first target. I had to do the zeroing stuff all over again. Part of the error is due to me moving the scope knobs in my typical fearless fashion.

The results are not great. I still have a hard time finding the right place to put my eye, and as soon as I start to squeeze the trigger, the image of the target disappears. I’m getting better, but I think the scope is still too far back. I also had problems with my elbow. It got sore after the first 25 rounds, and it was really annoying. I started to anticipate the pain, and that was not good for my concentration.

I started doing better when I remembered that this gun had a pistol grip. When pistol shooting, I get better results when I squeeze hard with my fourth and fifth fingers. I tried that with the LR-308, and things improved a lot. There is a hole in the target which, I suspect, is where all the bullets would go if I were consistent. Maybe I’m expecting too much of this surplus ammunition, but I think most of the error is me, not the gun or ammunition.

The gun grouped better in the second 100-yard target, but a high percentage of the rounds in this photo are in the center ring, and I think that reflects my increased confidence in my shooting, which was the result of improving my grip. Maybe I’m wrong. It’s impossible to count the rounds accurately now.

The gun’s trigger is a horror straight from hell. It felt okay at first, but later, I almost found myself yanking on it to make it fire. Exasperating. It’s just like the trigger on my Desert Eagle, and that is a tremendous insult. If anyone wants to recommend a drop-in, I am all ears. And credit card. I can’t put up with this.

The other day I was amazed to see how nice the trigger on my Vz 58 was. It’s a dream come true. Even though I didn’t shoot the gun all that well, and I did not apply myself, the target shows that the bullet hits are related to each other. I sort of wandered around in a four-inch circle. I didn’t shoot random flyers I could not explain. Maybe the sweet trigger is the reason. I never have to vary the pull, and the gun always goes off exactly when I expect it to. With the LR-308, I can’t tell when I’m going to fire, and the pull is extremely inconsistent.

Things got better on the last target. By that time, I was fed up with separating surplus from sheet metal chain link things, and I was ready to leave.

Wild Cream Cheese Pie Crust

Thursday, April 29th, 2010

Easier Than Regular Pie Crust

Try this pie crust. It’s from a few years back. For some reason, I abandoned it.

INGREDIENTS

3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tbsp. salt
1 1/2 sticks butter
1 1/2 packages (12 oz.) cream cheese
1/2 cup sour cream

Make sure the dairy stuff is cold. Cut the cheese and butter in pieces (1/4″ slices of butter, cheese package cut in quarters). Dump everything in a food processor with a regular blade. Process until it forms a glob. Make sure it’s blended pretty well, and then stop. Roll on a floured counter (1/4″ thick). Make a pie with it! I’m doing 400 degrees, and it seems right.

This stuff is the flakiest pie crust I’ve ever seen. Super easy to handle, too. It’s like leather when it’s cold.

You could make cookies from this stuff. Put a glob of fruit in the middle and scatter turbinado sugar on the dough. Then bake. Should probably sweeten the dough, too.

May need more salt.

More

This recipe originally had one other ingredient: 3/4 cup of lard. I forgot to put it in today, and it seems like the crust is better than it used to be.

Here is the pie. I have to wait for it to cool:

More

This pie is incredible. Easier to make than a conventional crust, flakier, tastier, and it even slices better. Look!

I know what it needs. More sugar and a wash. Other than that, it’s ready for prime time.

Sad Prospects

Monday, April 19th, 2010

Get Off my Screen

Facebook ads want to know if I want to date “active seniors” and “women over 50.”

Think I’ll pass.

Lark

Friday, March 5th, 2010

I are a Historian

Today I had a moment of boredom and decided to create a Blogspot blog documenting the evil things George Bush continues to do. I predict this will last about three weeks, but I am enjoying it so far. Feel free to send submissions.

I know Blame Bush does something similar, but they never update, and they wander off on non-Bush tangents.

Check out Stuff Bush Did.

Please Return Your Face to its Original Position

Friday, February 19th, 2010

In Your Own Row

Let me make myself even less popular among conservatives by announcing that I side with Mitt Romney’s “attacker” in the runway seat-back incident.

When I pay for an airline seat, I pay for space, and that includes the space it takes to recline my seat. If you’re behind me, you may think that space belongs to you, but it doesn’t. So when I recline in order to prevent myself from having back spasms later, you have nothing to say about it. If you’re claustrophobic, or if you’re fat, or if you just don’t like people who recline their seats, you should have flown first class instead of expecting me to screw up my back and fly in pain so you could get first-class comfort for a coach price. You don’t let your fat spill over the armrest onto me. You don’t put your stuff under the seat in front of me. You don’t tell me to turn off my reading light or the air nozzle. If you want to control your row, buy it.

Touching another person without permission is battery. This is what Mitt Romney did, if he put his hands on the guy in the reclined seat. Romney’s spokesperson appears to have omitted this detail, but the other guy’s story is completely credible. Romney’s version–that he merely spoke to the man, who then threw a fist at him–sounds absurd. I don’t buy it.

Battery is a tort, and it’s also a crime. You don’t put your hands on other people in a civilized society, unless they give you the legal right to do so. That brings me to the third issue.

When the rapper in the reclined seat smacked Romney’s hand, he did not commit a battery. He had the legal right to slap Romney away. In fact, I think he would have been justified in punching Romney in the mouth. Romney waived his right to refuse to be touched, if he battered the other passenger.

On top of all this, reports say Romney was rude at the outset of the encounter, ordering the other passenger to move his seat to an upright position. Former Governor of Massachusetts is not the same thing as Governor of the Coach Seating Area. When you want people to do you favors, which describes Romney’s situation, you ask. You don’t demand.

People have noted that the plane was on the runway, and there seems to be a notion out there that this made reclining the seat some kind of felony. I’ve traveled by air, and I’ve noticed something. They don’t order you to straighten your seat back until it’s time to take off. Until then, you can do what you want. Regardless, Mitt Romney isn’t in charge of airline seat backs, and it’s not his place to enforce FAA policy.

I’d love it if people sitting in front of me didn’t recline their seats. But they have the right to recline. They can do anything they want with the space they paid for. I respect their right, and I keep my mouth shut, and I recline my own seat as much as I need to in order to be comfortable.

Romney is supposedly worth tens of millions of dollars, and he’s not young. He doesn’t have fifty years of flying in front of him. Maybe the wise thing is to live a little and buy better seats. To him, the price of a first class seat is like the cost of a Whopper for the rest of us, and he doesn’t have enough flights left in him to make it a major expense over the remainder of his life. If it runs him an extra hundred thousand a year, he’ll never miss it. Incidents like this are the reason many wealthy public figures always fly first class. It’s not a luxury. It’s the cost of doing business.

If you’re ever in an airline seat in front of me, recline all you want. It’s your right.

Challenged is as Challenged Does

Friday, February 19th, 2010

Jackals Can’t Resist Palin Flesh

My take on the Down Syndrome/Family Guy/Sarah Palin ambush, as posted in comments at Sondra’s:

This shows why the word “retarded” needs to be preserved. Not all people with Down Syndrome are retarded. It looks like Andrea Friedman is one of the lucky ones.

That being said, Trig is probably not as fortunate, and if Ms. Friedman is not retarded, she is one of US, not one of THEM, Down Syndrome notwithstanding. If her intelligence is even close to normal, it’s not okay for her to make fun of mentally impaired people.

If she is impaired, then she does not have the capacity to understand the evil that was done in this episode, and it’s disgraceful that people who are not impaired would put her up to this.

Friday Confession

Friday, February 5th, 2010

“Plunder”?

RE the Men at Work story, I always thought it was “women blow and men thunder.” Seriously.

I never thought that made any sense, but then I never understood “repped up like a dution of the runner in the night” either.

And music critics admit no one really knows the words to “Louie, Louie.”

RNC Humor

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010

FAIL

Today I got an annoying letter from the Republican National Committee. They put it in an envelope that looked like the ones the government uses, and they put the word “audit” on the outside of it.

They do this to scare people, so they’ll notice their junk mail and take it seriously. It must seem like a pretty good joke to their marketing people. I didn’t think it was all that funny. Audits are not very pleasant, and in these times, a lot of people are getting real audit letters, and the IRS is proceeding to ruin their lives. Why not put “FORECLOSURE” on the envelope while you’re at it?

I sent them an email demanding they remove me from their mailing list and informing them that I was all done sending money. They can pull their jokes on someone else. I supported them, and they rewarded me with a juvenile postal prank.

This is the kind of marketing that cost us Congress and the White House. It is astounding that they would do something this crass, tactless, and counterproductive. Terry McAuliffe and James Carville must be their fundraising advisors. The Democrats should send letters like this out, pretending to be the RNC. It would win them a lot of new voters.

Nine…Eight…Seven…

Tuesday, February 2nd, 2010

Great News

I just looked at Osama bin Laden’s latest video, and I saw something really encouraging. I made a still capture. See if you can figure out what I spotted.

I considered calling this entry “51.”

Inevitable

The Obama Game

Tuesday, January 26th, 2010

Obama bin Laden, Dalai Obama, Obama Cass…

Can I just say something that will offend people?

I just saw an Internet link to a story about how Obama thinks Osama bin Laden’s latest video shows weakness.

I had to read it twice to figure out which one was the terrorist.

Can’t we just call him “Barry”?

Oh, Magoo!

Thursday, January 14th, 2010

You’ve Done it Again!

Last month I got a piece of aluminum swarf in my eye, and I went to see the eye doctor. Stupidly, I let him talk me into an old-age “comprehensive” eye exam, so that’s on my schedule today.

I get to confront my mortality by determining exactly how blind I’ve gotten over the last 20 years. I won’t complain. I am not nearsighted enough to need glasses for driving, and I’m not farsighted enough to be totally dependent on reading glasses. Things could be a lot worse.

On my last visit, the doctor said my vision was “fantastic,” which means other people my age must be in sad shape. I thank God I’m not in their shoes.

I hate going to the doctor, but I’m glad I get to go. Needing to go and not being able would be a whole lot worse.