Become Your Authentic Self or, “Die.”

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Good evening, what’s going on? ‘Bout time I use that here.  Again.

Anywho, tonight, I wax poetic about:

  • Fitness updates; 21 days out of 30 completed
  • Why girls sometimes give bad dating advice to guys
  • Dr. Antonio finally got something wrong on twitter (it never happens. He’s awesome).
  • Film reviews
  • A nightmare I had recently
  • Enjoy!

Find A Mission

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Nairy position God I’m a hack.

Anyway, tonight, I wax poetic about:

  • How thoughts in your head are a bigger threat to you than any human being outside
  • fitness whole30 update
  • answer to the questions below (from @bestproadvice on twitter)
  • Why a few of you need to get a grip
  • and more!

@bestproadvice

Having the Last Laugh

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Hello! In my final show before, “you know what,” I crack wise about:

  • Fitness update
  • Laughing being one of the better tools in the toolbox of life
  • Having empathy for Ariana Grande
  • Toxic people avoidance
  • And more!

Enjoy!

The Hunt

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Good evening ladies and germs! Tonight, I blow hard about:

  • How hunting for food and hunting for….(fill in blank)…are different
  • Day 2 of my, “Whole30,” experience (it sucks).
  • Disneyland’s new security and why we put up with this
  • For the love of Zalman King Soft-core Porn

Enjoy!

What Good Would It Do?

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Happy New Year! 2016 behind us, 2017 on the way, I dive head first into the shallow end of the pointlessness of anxiety, the joys of VR, my goals for this year, and more! Enjoy, and welcome back!

Advice For Ladies: SAY WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND

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Courtesy of, “http://thechive.com/2015/05/20/welcome-to-the-mythical-world-of-lady-logic-30-photos/#gallery-item-23?NV:.lngnxd:NxOZ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The following exchange happened, oh, I dunno, 45 bah-jillions times before I met my wife:

Me: Honey, what’s wrong?

Her: (shuffles) Nothing.

Me: Are you sure?

Her: Yes, I’m sure. (looks away). Nothing is wrong.

Me: Really?

Her: Yes really.

That goes on for an hour. Sometimes longer.  I spin in circles while she does something passive-aggressive. Calls an ex-boyfriend. Eats ice cream, then throws it up. Poops with the door open, whatever.

Then, an argument occurs that, on the surface, appears to be about who didn’t do the dishes, but is actually about her jealousy of me having female friends.

I would estimate that 99.9999999999% of my relationships festered into a cluster-f–k demise in no small part due to this kind of behavior. No, I was not perfect (far from it) but I’m just giving you my point of view, ladies, from the other side.

However, I was about 6 months into dating the woman I am now married to when the following occurred:

Julie (marches into living room): Jordan, can I talk to you for a second? I know you’re watching the game…oh, I’ll wait for Chris Tillman to blow it again.

Jordan: Thanks (Tillman gives up 6 runs at the bottom of the 2nd, and the inning mercifully ends). What’s up, babe?”

Julie: Well, the thing is, we are having a party tonight and I did all the shopping, and did all the dishes…I just feel like I didn’t get enough praise for that.

Jordan: Oh. You’re absolutely right, babe. I’m sorry. I really appreciate you doing all the hard work. I apologize.

This went on for a year and a half. We would have a problem of some kind that I wasn’t aware of, and Julie would calmly explain it to me. Then, one day, it dawned on me…no woman I have ever met has done this before.

No passive-aggressive nonsense. No playing of games. Straight talk. To the point.

She will actually march into a room and tell me in clear and concise language what is on her mind. No yelling. NO YELLING.

Whether she is correct in seeking praise is irrelevant (she is). What matters is that she is a black belt at communication. And, “miscommunication,” is uttered as a reason for divorce just as much as, “irreconcilable differences.”

Ladies, do you have any idea of how awesome this is??? I almost married her on the spot. Of course, she already had an engagement ring on that I had given her, so I was covered.

If you have a problem, but you can’t find the words, take a breather. Go for a walk.  Better yet, if he asks you what’s wrong, say, “I can’t quite find the words yet, I need to think about it, and I will get back to you, okay?”

It is so nice to be married to a woman who is nice as well as sane.

Idiocracy Alert: People who Text in Movies

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The wonderful picture above (just a teaser) can be found here. Well done, Oatmeal!

AMC Century City Multiplex, October 9, 2014, 11:30AM

My wife just went out of town for the weekend. Part of me was looking forward to being able to stay up late and watch horror movies. The other part of me freaked out a bit. After all, who is going to have breakfast with me and ask for back rubs? I love my alone time but I also love the SNGal. Oh well. I think that missing her but loving my boy-time is a good mix for a long-term marriage. No worries; besides, she’ll be back in time for game 4 of the ALCS (Go Orioles!)

Anyway, after dropping her off at the airport, I headed over to a local multiplex to take in a screening of, “Gone Girl.”

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This is me before the screening, both a little sad because I miss my Mrs, but also…because I was going to the movies.

Where, for the past 5 years (I’m not embellishing) at every single screening I’ve ever attended, some asshat starts texting in the middle of the movie. Granted, I was getting paid to see this film, but still, it was a film I wanted to see, and ended up loving it.

But a funny thing happened during the screening that literally has not happened to me since W was President. The lights dimmed and 7,234,248 trailers followed (because we all LOVE trailers and having all the major plot points spoiled, right idiots?), I got anxious. I looked around as a few people facebooked and instagramed. I thought it would be a matter of time.

However, as Ben Affleck described removing his wife’s skull…and as he gets home to discover that she’s gone…and the truth comes out…and hour goes by…and then the whole movie…

No one texted. No one talked. Everyone was super polite! We all laughed together, gasped together, we all became one as we allowed the film to hypnotize us. As well we should have.

I was tempted to shout, “Everyone, coffee on me!” but thought better of it.

Seriously, though, this was the first time in five f–king years that everyone behaved like adults in a Los Angeles movie theater.

I have written on this subject before here, and yap about it nonstop on my show. Have things changed?

Doubtful. A friend suggested that the morning shows usually are full of polite folks such as myself who are courteous and don’t believe the world runs on their feelings. Another said that folks in Portland, Oregon never text during movies. My sister-in-law said the same of chaps and birds in London. Is this an LA thing, then?

Highlights over the years:

  • Man on Fire, 2004, The Grove: dude’s phone goes off just as Denzel is putting two bullets in a bad guys. He starts yapping. We complain. His response, “It’s my wife, guys.” Thank you, Beta Male pussy, for an accurate snapshot into your marriage.
  • Saw 3D, 2010, Santa Monica 5: Hard-R-rated horror flick. Not only are there three under-17-year olds who won’t stop texting, there is also a family of five in the front row with a median age of 5. CHILD ABUSE.
  • Lincoln, 2011, The Landmark, Westwood: Just as the film begins, older dude starts texting. And looking at porn (not kidding). We ask him to stop. His response, “I’m a doctor, and I’m concerned about my patient, so I guess I’ll leave.” To his credit, the lying sack of shit actually got up and left. Maybe he wasn’t lying; maybe he really was concerned about his patients WHILE looking at naked girls. Whatever.
  • Guardians of the Galaxy, 2014, Downtown Disney AMC: Flat-topped idiot starts texting. Won’t stop. We ask management to intervene. They do. He stops. 20 minutes, he starts again. I leave and get the manager. They come back and ask him to stop. This happens two more times. I don’t know if I enjoyed the movie. This asshole prevented me from knowing either way. HAPPY, PRICK?

All of us polite folks can’t stand it when someone starts texting, but let’s face it; the biggest reason most of us are afraid of saying something is that we don’t want to get a bullet in the head. Los Angeles is known for it’s retarded gang culture, and it is true that someone who doesn’t care about other people just might be a sociopath being willing to put a bullet in your head.

So, the solution is to get management involved (as quality control is their responsibility) but even if you are successful, you still lose overall, because you are knocked out of the film’s hypnotic hold. You miss a scene, a detail here in there, you’re thinking about your recent confrontation that you didn’t want, and the movie experience is ruined. All because some inconsiderate jerk had to find out if his selfie got any likes on instagram.

We continue to have an epidemic of morons who don’t give a shit about other people. All id, no guilt. They shave their balls at the gym (true story), they text during movies, they talk on their cell phones while driving even though it’s against the law, and their instagram profiles are chock-full of selfies.

What to do? I say shame, because shame works. At the moment, we ask nicely to not text or talk during the movies. Fucktards do it anyway. Time to switch tactics. Short of throwing them out (like Alamo Drafthouse does, which would be nice), and calling them out for what they are (which is impractical) I say that an animated talking duck walks out before the movie starts and says the following:

“If you text during the movie, you are a selfish idiot who can’t stop facebooking or checking the score. You literally cannot sit still for 90 minutes and enjoy something. You do not care about other people’s experience, only your own. You are distracting people but you don’t care. You suck. To everyone else, please enjoy the movie.”

Call them out. Seriously, we have to stop coddling people, folks.

For the first time, I have hope. With the IPIC opening up in Westwood, the Alamo Drafthouse coming to Los Angeles, and my recent experience, I see now that I am not alone. Time will tell.

 

Idiocracy Alert: Hot for Teacher

This is the first in yet another series, which will attempt to draw attention to the downward slope that our western society is currently on, yo. 

Let’s begin with this:

Followed by this:

“Idiocracy,” directed by Mike Judge (Office Space, King of the Kill), may be a one-joke movie, but what a joke.A future dystopia based upon dysgenics (people devolving from smart to stupid) was explored in, “The Time Machine,” to some extent in Woody Allen’s, “Sleeper,” plus a few others.

However, in Judge’s work, he points as the culprit not just low IQs, but consumerism gone wild as well as out-out-control ids with no ego or super-ego to keep them in check. It’s the latter that I wish to discuss today.

Once again, we have another case of a super-hot blonde teacher having sex with an underage boy. In this case, actually, it’s two super-hot blonde teachers. Once again, most of us are reacting in the exact wrong way. I thought the South Park guys had this all locked up but alas, nope. Have a look, in case you missed it. The satire is spot-on, as per usual:

Anyway, first things first, this article today began with a screw up on my part. A (facebook) friend of a (facebook) friend of a (facebook) friend named Brian posted the above article, and he with his buddies reacted, well, just like the cops in the South Park Episode. Without thinking, I wrote the following:

“Enough. It’s rape, end of story. No more high fives and lucky kids.”

It was only after I hit the, “Return,” key that I noticed the shiny saddle I was sitting on attached to my very high horse. Rarely does that annoying stallion ever come out of the corral. When he does, I am not paying enough attention to my own pretentiousness. I miss my own smug alert.

This horse of mine (we all have one), he doesn’t have a proper brain, he thinks he’s always right, but he’s always wrong, though not about the message, but the way he sends the message. Like a troll. I trolled Brian and it was wrong. The dude doesn’t know me and I don’t know him. I should have left it alone, and, you know, went on living my life.

So, what I got next, I had coming, no doubt. However, well, see for yourself:

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Without question, Rich is misguided. That said, completely by accident, he makes an excellent point; if I were a 16-year old kid, I would have jumped at the chance, no question. No doubt. I would be lying if I said other wise.

I might be gay too, but never mind that. If you disagree with me, “YOU’RE A FAG!” DERP!

Again, of course I would have jumped at the chance, because I would not have known that it was wrong. This is why we have consent laws, folks; you do not possess the emotional maturity to consent.

And let me cut you off when you ask, “Is there a difference between an 18-year old and a 17 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes teenager?” Please, don’t split hairs. We have to draw the line somewhere. Libertarians (small-l) like me believe that any behavior between consenting adults should be left alone by the state, the key word being, “consenting.” Get it?

Then Brian jumped in:

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“I was molested…” HOLD IT. Stop, and think. I hope he’s kidding, but we have to take him at his word. And I have no more words for the man. I feel sorry for him and he can call me a, “Beiber listening fuckard,” til the cows come home, but…man I just feel sorry for him. Does this make me a, “concern-troll?” I really couldn’t care less.

Men overwhelmingly do most the raping in the world, but women can do it too. Not enough to make a permanent philosophical point, but, well, have a look.

Let’s pump the breaks, shift gears and talk about, “Twilight,” as well as, “50 Shades of Grey.” I have spent more time than I should ripping into those books on my show, as well as criticizing women for loving them so much. I’m going to skip the part about the obvious hacky writing, and I’m gonna leave it alone that the former is Mormon propaganda. Here is the real problem:

Twilight fits all 15 criteria for an abusive relationship. 50 Shades of Grey encourages women to be in abusive relationships as well.

The latter has been called,  “Mommy Porn,” and it’s funny I bring that up, because men have been criticized for liking pornography that is basically nothing short of abusive. The ladies are right on this one, fellas. Money shots to the face and constant thrusting are not what any woman with her head on straight wants.

Many men think that women have a rape fantasy. Nope. What they actually have is a fantasy of being consensually overpowered by what Dr. Geoffrey Miller and Tucker Max call a, “Tender Defender.” Is that what happened below?

I don’t know. You tell me.

Now, back to the hot teachers. I used to think women had a fantasy/reality problem. We all know that it’s the men that have a continuing problem with being the (majority) perpetrators of rape, misogyny, homophobia, and violence. Still, I thought that women were the (mostly) soul occupants of fantasy crazy town.

Nope. It’s us too. The overwhelming response of, “lucky boy!” and, “where the hell were all the hot horny teachers when I was in high school?” paints a sad, sad picture: These men, wishing they could trade places with these underage boys, cannot differentiate between fantasy and reality. Just like women who lust after a gay vampire and a 27-year-old billionaire who makes them sign a love/sex contract.

And gentlemen, there are long-term consequences. After getting raped (yup, raped) by that smoking hot teacher, after you’re done high-fiving all of your buddies…that’s where the fun stops. Addiction, depression and suicide are two very real possibilities.

This is a problem, and it has to stop. For the first time in my life, the view from the high horse isn’t so bad, and I encourage you to appeal to your better natures and do the same.

 

What Works For Me: The Zone

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Sunday, September 28, 2014

So there I was the other day, in the middle of the toughest run of my life. It was only tough because it was the longest; 10 miles. I was aiming to beat my previous record of 8 miles, during which I broke my previous record before that of 6 miles and change during my very first 10k race.

The first 4 miles were a pain in the ass. My knees ached and my belly (nicked-named, “Wilbur” by my wife) seemed to scream to me, “Jordan, you suck, go home and order pizza.” But I kept going. And then a funny thing happened around mile #7.

I didn’t care.

Miles, 8, 9 came and went, and finally mile 10 arrived (1 hour and 45 minutes later, not bad!). I slowed down to a walk and strolled home. I spent the rest of the day watching my beloved Philadelphia Eagles get a good lesson in humility, enjoyed a cheat day of pizza and wine, and woke up the next day….wait for it…not really all that sore at all.

I was a bit confused until my wife’s lovely friend Jackie said, “Uh, Jordan, you’ve been training for this 1/2 marathon since June. You’ve trained up to this, hello???”

I was reminded of how running 4 miles would have intimidated me back in the day. Now it is practically a warm-up. A listener invited me to this last week and I almost turned it down, as it was only a 5k.

So, about that Zone. Athletes talk about it in the context of feeling, and not thinking. A pitcher throwing a no-hitter is said to be in the zone. A writer is in the zone when great word combinations just pour out of his head, pass through their fingers and into the word processor. A seductive lothario stud-muffin gets into the zone when he flirts with women effortlessly with no fear, because he’s not thinking, he’s just being.

You ever see Star Wars? Using the force? Same thing.

All good examples, but you might ask, how do you get to the zone? My answer that has worked for me is very simple; TRY.

Try, and train. Try, train…and begin.

That’s it, there is no life hack for this one. You must begin. Seems simple, but so many of us (present company included) make excuses. No excuses, play like a champion.

Running-wise, I get to the zone every run simply by understanding that the first 4 miles are going to be the hardest. The zone usually shows up when I stop thinking about how hard the run is, and focus on the music and meditation and, my phone’s running program gently tells me, “You have run…8 miles….at a 10-minute mile…pace, split pace, 10 minutes and 2 seconds, keep going, Jor-dan.  And watch out for that bus.”

Diet-wise; I don’t remember what is feels like to crave sugar in the morning. I just stopped eating it, and the first week, like the first four miles above, sucked. Now it’s the new normal. Eat healthy for one meal only. Now do another. And the next. Do it for a week. Do it for a month. The 30-day challenge thing is quite trendy at the moment for a reason…it works. Bad habits are easy to make, while good ones require effort. That’s a good thing. What isn’t earned, isn’t appreciated.

Most of us are in denial the change is a glacial process. Please build a bridge and get the hell over it. There are no get-rich-quick schemes, there is no magic pill, and anyone who says otherwise is trying to sell you snake oil.

To sum it all up, I have made successful changes in my personal and professional life by getting into that zone. I get into that zone by showing up and taking things a day at a time. I keep my gains small, but stick to my plans so that they add up exponentially, every day, little by little. Someone wiser than me said that 90% of life is showing up and following through. They’re right.

Again, don’t feel like working out? Too bad. But just do this; put on your workout clothes. 1/2 the time, you’ll keep going. Better than none of the time.

Don’t feel like running? Run the first 4 and see how you feel. Just starting out? Run 1 mile. Wait two days, and do it again. Then next week, add a 1/2 mile. Muscle through and before you know it, well, you know.

Don’t feel like eating healthy and you’re craving sugar (or its evil step-child, high fructose corn syrup)? Drink a glass of cold water, and stuff your face with lean meats and vegetables. Keep a food diary, write down every bad food you want during the week and save it for your cheat day.

Writers, don’t feel like writing? Got writer’s block? BULLS–T you’re being lazy. Start writing. I don’t care what it is, it could be nonsense. Just. Start. Writing. Give yourself a daily quota (Stephen King writes 2,000 words a day, every day).

Looks like Nike was on to something. Just do it, and the zone will come.

Note: this is a first in a new series of blog posts. I hate calling this an advice series, because most gurus and life coaches are sociopaths, and I don’t want to be anything like them, hence, I’m just going to tell you what works for me; hence the title. 

How to Be a REAL Man

Hello gentlemen! I know that you try very hard every single day to be the very best men you can possibly be, and I really want to help you achieve your goals.

After all, reading this article here must make your skin crawl. It certainly did with me. I mean, who the hell does she think she is?

After all, you know full well that you are entitled no matter what to get whatever you want from women. They are objects to be obtained like a brand new Porsche, an inside tip on a stock, or a fresh case of the clap. Since you deserve all three, let me help you out with 8 new tips to make your dreams come true!

1) Seek out proper role models

Mickey Rourke is beloved by all women. Sure, he smacked the crap out of that girl from, “Wild Orchid,” and beat up Jeff Kober for daring to talk to her at the gym, but certainly, women only like jerks, just like in high school. Reality shows like, “Vanderpump Rules,” and, “Sons of Guns,” are also a good step in the right direction. Reality television is totally real, right? Of course!

2) Consult PUA literature for dating advice

Never mind the naysayers who explain that peacocks are showing their feathers to show how strong they are in other areas…try gimmicks like wearing top hats to night clubs or a t-shirt with a Cabbage Patch doll on it. Neal Strauss has it all down, dude! And women are like safes that you can crack right open with just the right combination of one-liners and manipulation. All’s fair in love and war, right?

3) Watch Porno movies for sex advice

This is what women really want in the bedroom; fast thrusting and a money shot to the face. And of course, you must not forget that the girl with the super-aggressive eye-liner and neck tattoos are just what the doctor ordered for a lifetime of happiness and no regrets.

4) Go on Tinder and tell women that you only want to f–k. They like that

Yes, 100% honesty and 100% id. You can be yourself online and you don’t have to worry about accountability.

5) Women like assholes with money, so you should behave like one always.

Grab women’s rear ends; it’s a sign of sincere affection in lady-land. Money buys happiness and women are just another asset in your man-portfolio. Don’t worry about the blow-back. It’s all a numbers game.

6) When a woman rejects your advances, call her a whore. She deserves it.

How dare she? Does she know who she is talking to? A female server or bartender is a prostitute. Duh.

7) When a woman doesn’t text you back after you text her at 2AM in the morning with, “Let’s bang,” see #6

The world is your oyster and your playground, and everyone around you only exists to serve YOU. To hell with her job and her loser boyfriend that actually pulls out chairs, rubs her back, aka all that wimpy stuff.

8) When a woman you somehow get to date you stops dating you, see #6 once more

Women don’t deserve the same basic rights we have. They are lesser creatures and can only think emotionally. You never do that. Your giant ego is earned by your actions, you know, like flash trading, corporate take-overs, Yankees hats on backwards, and so forth.

Anyway, to sum up, you won’t crash that Porsche (yes you will), you won’t go to jail for pulling a Martha Stewart (yes you will, eventually) and you also don’t have to worry about that rash on your junk, I’m sure it’s just jock itch.

Now bring on the hate from all of you “gentlemen” who can’t take a joke!

 

Healthy Mashed Potatoes Recipe

I can’t stand hippies. Whenever one of those patchouli-smelling stoned morons tells me that their soy steak/icecream/whatever is better than the real thing, I usually tend to smile politely and then eat a steak just to spite them.

That being said, my wife and I have figured out how not only to fake the real thing, but to make it taste even better. Obviously there are a lot of recipes around the net, but this is our take. A video will be uploaded shortly.

INGREDIENTS

1 cauliflower head

2-3tbs of olive oil

1 cup chicken stock

2 cans Northern White Beans

1 onion, chopped

3 garlic cloves, chopped

5 tbs sour cream

Spices to your liking: creole seasoning, salt, pepper, cayenne, ect

TOOLS

Medium sauce pan

Food processor (this is the game changer)

Deep Skillet

Steamer

DIRECTIONS

1)   Wash cauliflower and chop off the green stuff and the stems

2)   Boil about 2 cups of water in the sauce pan and steam the cauliflower about 12 minutes, until you can stick a fork through it with no effort

3)   Heat the olive oil in the skillet and toss in the onion. When it is browned to your liking, throw in the garlic and cook together until it smells like Italy

4)   Throw in the beans, then the chicken stock, and simmer. You want the chicken stock to be just covering all the beans. Get them beans nice and cooked. Mix in your spices to your liking. You’ll be doing a lot of taste testing as you move forward.

5)   Throw it all in the food processor with the cauliflower, and MIX!!!! Put in the sour cream at this point.

6)   Then, put it all back into the pot and simmer until it gets the consistency you want. The more you let it simmer, the thicker it’ll be. I like to simmer it on low, then turn the heat off and wait a few minutes.

7)   Enjoy!

A Day in the Life of a Hollywood “man”.

I recently found this online somewhere, from a blog from someone I’ll call, “Robert.” I thought it was interesting enough to share with you all.

This Saturday morning, I’m going to go to the gym. I, of course, will not do so without first telling everyone about it on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Because everyone needs to know that I’m going to the gym.

Once I arrive at the gym, I will be sure to “check in” at the gym via one of the previously mentioned social networks, so that everyone knows where I am. On the way to the locker room to change, I’ll be sure to take a phone call from a “friend” and ignore the signs asking me to not talk on my phone while in the locker room. How dare they tell me what to do?

Then, I will jump on the treadmill and yap on my cell phone even though there are signs asking me not to, and when I’m done talking, I’ll text and surf facebook to see if anyone “liked” my status, and be crestfallen if no one does. I’ll be sure to only walk or do a light jog and not hit the weights because I have no doubt that steady state cardio is the way to weight loss, and I can eat anything I want and just work it off in the gym.

 

Also, I’ll be sure to wear sunglasses, and if I do use a machine, hog it even though people ask me to alternate, and I’ll also be sure not to wipe off my sweat. I’m going to do this because I can, and no one has any right to tell me what to do or how to behave.

Then I’m going to go to the locker room, walk around buck naked with my balls hanging out while I head to the shower without flip flops. I’ll be sure to hock loogies while I’m in there, and yap some more on my cell phone once I get back to my locker. I’ll also remember to have a carb-filled “recovery” drink waiting for me and admire myself in the mirror as long as possible in front of the other guys. I might even consider shaving my balls at the sinks if I feel like it.

Then, I’m going to get into my car to get out of the parking garage, and spend 5 minutes with a line of cars behind me because I can’t figure out the ticket thing, even though I’ve been coming to this gym for over a year.

Then, I’ll get on the highway and not check my blind spot because I’m trying to update my facebook status while going 90 in a 65. But don’t worry, I won’t hit anyone. It’s very important that everyone knows what I think about the latest political opinion of mine that I got from a pundit on MSNBC. My opinions matter because they are as real as furniture.

Then I’ll go to the movies. I’ll sit in the middle of the theater and start texting. The previews will start and I’ll keep texting. Oops, I almost forgot to check in on Facebook. I’m cool for seeing, “Man of Steel.” The movie will start and I’ll keep texting. I won’t even turn the brightness down because how else will I be able to see my screen?

I’ll be sure to keep a running tally on how much this movie sucks on Twitter. Because my opinions are as real as furniture and as important, more important, than yours.

After the movie, I’ll go get a healthy lunch of a footlong subway sandwich and a diet coke.

Then I’ll get on facebook again and see if anyone has liked my status from before at the gym. I’ll also look at my ex-girlfriend’s page to see if she’s single yet. She has no right to be happy after dumping me. How dare she be happy?

I’ll go on facebook, again. I get invited to a friend’s house-warming party tonight, last minute, but they are in the process of getting married and are very busy, but is that my problem? Besides, there might be a better party to go to because in Los Angeles, it’s all about networking. I put my response as, “maybe.” They’ve known me since college, they’ll get over it.

Then, a girl I’ve never met who is really hot and has 3,234 friends on facebook invites me to a club opening tonight in Hollywood. Sure I’ll go to that! That’s awesome. Even though I have to buy a ticket for $100, so what? That sounds awesome.

I go home to my $2500 a month condo that my parents are paying for, take a shower and spray a liberal amount of AXE body spray all over my pube-less chest. I spend 10 minutes putting gel into my hair to get that, “No effort at all” look that I’ve perfected. I then take a selfie and put it on Instagram. I then delete it because I don’t want people to think I’m gay.

I drive to Hollywood and pay $20 for parking. I get in line and notice that it’s mostly full of guys wearing the same thing I am; a button-down Ed Hardy shirt, untucked, with jeans and loafers. Many of them are texting. I “check” myself in to the hottest club in Hollywood because I want people to know that I’m here because I’m awesome.

An hour, I finally get in. I only have $100 cash on me and they are only accepting cash for the ticket. I now have to use my AMEX that my rich father pays for. I get into the club and most people are standing. I see the girl who invited me. I try to talk to her but she’s texting and puts her hand up. I check myself in to the club “with” her but she doesn’t approve it on her wall. What a bitch.

I see a guy I work with at William Morris but I ignore him because he’s such a douche; he’s so nice, he’s, like, interested in other people’s opinions and actually gives sincere compliments. What a complete pussy. He’ll get no-where in this town, like he’s ever going to be assigned to a desk. I see Gavin, Paul, Gavin, Dakota and Becky from the office at a table. They invite me over and they give me a shot. For once, I’m getting somewhere.

An hour later I’m wasted and stuff. Is it an hour? No, it’s 2am. I blink my eyes and go get my credit card from the bar. I went to the bar? Awesome! I blink my eyes again when I see the, “$646.45” charge. Whatever; how else am I going to get girls to sleep with me unless I buy them drinks? That’s totally how it works. I write, “CASH” on the tip line, take my card and stumble away.

Whatever, I can totally drive, fuck you. I get behind the wheel of my Porsche Cayenne and ignore the asshole who suggests I get a cab. It’s not like I’m going to get a DUI. Piss off. I drive back to my condo and nothing bad happens. I think I may have dinged a parked car or something but whatever, he’s probably a Republican.

Once home, I don’t want to be hungover tomorrow, so I order pizza and eat the entire thing. I get on facebook and see if anyone likes my statuses. Nope. Whatever. I go to sleep.

I recently found out that the author of this post, Robert, was found dead and mutilated on the side of the 405s freeway near the 101N exit. A Tarbarian Devil Dragon was seen flying away, its jaws bloody with the entrails of a douche. When asked for the comment, the Dragon said, “There is no hope for the human race, but I do my best.”

 

 

 

 

 

SNG RECIPE: New York Sirlion Steak with Red Wine Cream Sauce

It’s been way too long since I a) have done an honest to God blog post and b) shared a recipe. I’m currently working out like an bandit, but also eating properly. I’m getting married in a few months, and I do not want a double-chin on my wedding day. I’m only getting married once. This is it. Those of you who have been through the wedding planning process know exactly what I’m talking about.

Anyway, getting into shape is 90% diet and resistance training (sorry folks, but if you think you’re going to lose weight and look fabulous at the beach while eating whatever you want and only doing cardio, you’re in for bitter disappointment. Furthermore, if you are able to read a magazine or text (you suck) while exercising, you will not lose weight. Period.

Anyway, I am no means a chef, or a nutritionist, or a doctor. Thank heavens. Take everything I say with a grain of creole seasoning. I simply follow the advice of this guy, who was a guest on my show last year and knows what he’s talking about. Tom is a lovely man as well as a sincere human being (us Libertarian-minded folks tend to be) and I’m going to plug his work any chance I get. Quite simply, it’s high fat, moderate protein, and low carb.

I also use a wonderful program called, “My Fitness Pal” to keep track of everything, and since I’m obsessive that way, I dig it. No, they aren’t paying me to plug that either…yet.

Anyway, on to today’s recipe, the Steak with Red Wine Cream Sauce. Believe it or not, I originally found this recipe in Steven Schirripa’s “A Goombah’s Guide to Life.” I’m a big fan of the guy and his books are hilarious, but most of the recipes will lead you to an early grave. This one won’t. Because, as we know know, Saturated Fats aren’t bad for you. Quite the opposite in fact.

Anyway, here it is, slightly modified (i.e. the Sensitive Nice Gal gave me some pointers). It all started with Steve, hence he deserves original credit.

INGREDIENTS

  • half a stick of butter
  • 3 medium sized New York Sirloin steaks, defrosted (I recently used one big one that was about 13 ounces total). Try that. This will serve 2
  • salt and pepper
  • 1 onion, sliced
  • 2 garlic cloves, slice and diced
  • 1/2 cup of dry red wine (I did it with Cabernet Sav)
  • 1/2 cup (give or take) of heavy cream

TOOLS

  • Medium-sized Skillet
  • Big knife (think what Glenn Close tried to kill Michael Douglas with in, “Fatal Attraction”
  • Cutting Board
  • Wooden Spoon
  • Tongs
  • Stove Top
  • Oven
  • tin foil
  • cooking sheet
  • measuring cup

DIRECTIONS

  1. Throw on a Frank Sinatra Record (I like, “Come Fly with Me).
  2. Pour yourself a glass of that dry red wine. Raise a toast to Steve, and me, for sharing this recipe with you.
  3. Pre-heat the oven to 350 (this means turn the oven on to 350 and wait about 10 minutes…you can do #4-7 while you wait)
  4. Take out the steak (which you’ve already defrosted) and season it with salt and pepper.
  5. Put the skillet on the stove, and turn the heat to about medium high
  6. throw in the butter. Watch it melt. Savor the smell.
  7. Put the Steak in the skillet and cook it for about 3-5 minutes on either side, depending on how you like your steak. Try to get a nice seer on it. Afterwards, put it on a plate and set it aside
  8. SIDE NOTE – at some point, before step 12, you will put your steak in the oven and cook it for about 10 minutes, once again, depending on how you like your steak. I like ’em medium, so for me, this is about 8 minutes. Up to you.
  9. Don’t toss out the remaining butter. Throw in the onions and cook ’em good. Mix ’em around, dry off the tears until they are nice and loose (like your sister).
  10. Then, toss in the garlic and mix it all around. Get them cooked but not too brown. Cooking takes time and precision. No way around it if you want this to taste good
  11. About 5 minutes later, toss in the red wine. Use the wooden spoon (which you’ve been using already) to mix it all around. Get it bubblin’! After about 4 minutes, start pouring in the cream (no more than half a cup). Do it until the color of your goo is somewhere between red and brown. Your goal here is to have it thick like soup, not runny like water.
  12. When the taste and feel is what you want, turn off the heat, take the steaks out of the oven, and put them on the skillet with your awesome goo for about 4 minutes. Take the skillet off the stove and set it aside. Mix the goo around with your steak.
  13. At this point, your date has arrived and brought a side dish of some kind. I suggest a nice Italian salad with a balsamic vin. Pour them and yourself a glass of wine.
  14. EAT!
  15. Whatever happens after that, is up to you

Anatomy of a Break-Up

My Journey to Becoming King of Sparta…

Don't Judge Me

Introduction

Almost everyone reading this has, at some point, attempted to lose weight and get into shape. I know I have. I know I tried. And until recently, I failed at every attempt and gave up. Quite frankly, a cheesesteak and coke was an easier path to take than disciplined resistance.

However, I have turned a corner and finally pulled it off. If you told me two months ago that I’d not only lose 15 pounds, but be able to keep it off and keep going, I’d tell you you’re nuts.

So now, I wish to share with you how I did it, so that perhaps you may do the same. Let me give you a heads up; there is no magic pill. There is no secret to getting and staying in shape, at least for the most part. Everything I’m about to tell you is pure logic and reason, as it was for me in the past. I simply lacked the knowledge and motivaton to put the pieces together properly, and now that I have, I hope to help you do it too. Continue reading My Journey to Becoming King of Sparta…

Del Reisman: 1924-2011

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Del Reisman – 1924-2011

It is with great sadness that Del Reisman, a dear friend and wonderful teacher, has passed away.

I graduated from college in 2000, and immediately moved to Los Angeles to attend the American Film Institute as a screenwriting fellow. Screenwriting students at AFI take many courses, none so important as our workshop class, in which we are assigned a mentor, who advises us on our writing endeavors. The 40 or so screenwriting students are divided up into groups of about 3 or 4, and my group, after a year of one mentor (who, in the spirit of Del, will not be named, more on this in a bit), decided that we needed a change. We requested a new mentor and in that new mentor, we got Del.
Talk about a night and day difference.

While our previous mentor was full of cynicism and bitterness, tearing our group apart, Del was full of hope and encouragement, pulling our group together. I was personally fired up that I would be learning under a man who wrote for “Airwolf,” but what we got with Del was so much more.

Del never had a bad word to say about anyone. He took Dale Carnegie’s school of thought to task. My writing improved under him not only because of his intelligence and good cheer but also because of his positive attitude. It was no surprise to any of us that Chris Raymond, one of his students (and a great fella in his own right) won the Screenwriting Award at the end of the year at graduation.
After I graduated from AFI, Del and I kept in touch.

We met for lunch often, usually at the Grove, which was nearby the WGA headquarters, where he kept an office. He always insisted on picking up the check, which once in a while, he let me get. A few times, my parents came out to visit, and he and my Dad got along very well; when the check came while having lunch with me and my Dad, I knew they’d fight over it; I convinced Del to let my Dad get it because, well, Del had been there for his son for so long.

My Dad always asked me about Del, and vice versa; my old man knows a good person when he sees one, and Del was no exception.
As time went on, and my career shifted to business school, Del was still there for me; he wrote me a recommendation that helped get me into Pepperdine. It didn’t matter to Del; he always believed in me, and everyone around him.

Del was beloved by all. He had not one bad word to say about anyone. And everyone I’ve ever met had nothing but nice things to say about him in turn. He was truly an example to follow. We spend so much time in our society today, gossiping, talking trash, Del’s example would put us all to shame.

Oh, by the way, Del was a World War 2 vet. This was something he did not discuss, though I heard things occasionally from him, he did not brag that he flew bomber missions fighting the Nazis, because that is what men of class do, or not do; they do not brag, they do not need to talk of their exploits; they just live their lives and let history make their own judgments.

Del vigorously defended the role of the writer in Hollywood. For a time, he served as the President of the WGA. There are so many horrible people in the movie business; Del was the exact opposite of that.

Del loved the movies. I loved talking about movies with him, he always had intelligent things to say about film. He always reminded me why I moved out here in the first place, not for power, or money, or fame, but because we love the art form that is film. I will miss doing that with him.

Del was the greatest teacher I ever had, and one of the best, if not the best, human beings I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. The term, “one of the best guys I know,” is tossed around a lot; with Del, it’s an understatement. Once again, he never had a bad thing to say about anyone. He always had a smile on his face. He always found something nice to say about everyone around him. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Every man is my superior in some way,” and Del certainly walked though life that way, never mind that he was quite superior to all of his, in my humble opinion. He just didn’t act that way. The way a real man should.

I speak for all of us, Del, we will miss you. You will never be forgotten. I will miss you always, and never forget what you taught me, in the classroom and out, and will do my very best to live my life in your example.

Writer’s Conferences are AWESOME!

A few weeks ago, I attended the Southern California Writer’s Conference in Newport Beach, and I had a ball.  Worth every penny I spent in fees and hotels, I learned so much and met a lot of cool people.  I would like to share with you some thoughts for those of you who write or are thinking of writing books.

First, some plugs:

  • Marla Miller: She runs a site called “Marketing the Muse” and ran a query letter seminar at the conference.  A query letter is your opening salvo in obtaining representation, and her advice, intelligence and all around good cheer was invaluable.  Check out her site.
  • Marilyn Friedman: Another wonderful lady, her seminar was the last I did before the conference ended, and what a wonderful way to go out.  She gave us several useful tips to get over writer’s block, and was an absolute bundle of positive energy.  Check out her site here, and she knows as well as all of us that writing is a debt of honor.
  • Maralys Wills: Author of “A Circus Without Elephants,” she gave a seminar about the fundamentals of novel writing, meaning grammar and sentence structure, that was invaluable.  I have an English degree from an Ivy League school, plus an MFA in writing.  I thought I knew everything.  I was wrong.  More on that right below.

Now, the lessons and stories:

  • Socrates (pronounced “so-crates”, of course) said that the only wisdom was knowing that he knew nothing.  Very true.  In life, you never stop learning, you can always learn something new, and that is one of life’s greatest pleasures.
  • Just about everyone was not only super-nice, but super-talented.  Not one single person was wasting their time.  Everyone who read their work had something to say.  Everyone had talent, everyone had something interesting to say.  Everyone thinks they can write, most cannot.  Everyone has a screenplay and thinks that it’s the next Chinatown, most likely, it’s not.  To make the commitment, both in time and finances, you better have your act together.  Just about everyone did, and then some.
  • Once again, everyone was very sweet, supportive and cool.  I went into this thing expecting to find a bunch of back-stabbing assholes.  I was there for an hour before I realized, I’m in Orange County, not Hollywood.  Everyone was interesting in everyone else.  Everyone was supportive.  We all backed each other up, and when the writing awards were announced on the last day, everyone ERRUPTED in enthusiastic cheer.  No passive-aggressive bullshit, only sincere admiration and praise.  I have grown cynical through my years in Hollywood, but one weekend with these fine folks just about pushed me in the other direction.
  • Well, almost everyone.  I would be lying if I said it was completely positive, I only had two negative experiences, and here they are:
    • Sharks: These pricks are EVERYWHERE in Hollywood.  They were at AFI, and they are everywhere in life.  In short, they believe that they will only find success by stomping on everyone else.  Therefore, they passive-aggressively try to mess with you, by telling you your idea won’t work, it’s already been done, what have you.  They might even tell you your idea works when it doesn’t, or doesn’t when it does.  They will suppress laughter when something is funny, laugh when something isn’t funny, you get the idea.  I only met one of these guys at the conference.  I explained that one of my projects was aimed at men and he responded MEN DON’T BUY BOOKS.  Nothing else, just a lame attempt to shoot me down.  He spent the rest of the weekend avoiding me, and I him.  I can spot these guys a mile away.  My advice is to avoid them, as I did.
    • Benevolent Morons: These folks mean well, but their advice, though given with the best of attentions, if followed, will lead you down the wrong path.  As many of you know, the brand I have is “the sensitive nice guy” show.  I was advised by someone to drop the “sensitive”.  Um, THAT’S THE ENTIRE BRAND!  A lot of people give advice because they feel a need to, again, they mean well, but they are dead wrong.  Bare no ill will towards these folks, just don’t listen to them.  And about that…
  • You will get LOTS of advice and feedback.  It is up to you to decide what is good advice, and what is not.  This is often what separates the successful from the not-so successful; being able to extract the gold from the clutter of crap.
  • Issues: Many writers use their out to settle their personal hash.  I heard one story called, “I know what the devil looks like” which was a memoir about the author’s ex-husband, and what a complete sociopath he was.  I say, good for her, writing can be quite therapeutic, and if you can turn a profit with it, awesome!   And what a great title, right?  Again, a LOT of talent came to that conference.
  • Agents are your friends: Believe it or not, agents attend these events in order to find new talent.  Just about all of them were cool as can be (shout out to @dananewman, what up?!?!) and again, they do not attend these things for shits and giggles.  They are there to find new writers!  Granted, they are not there to, uh, work the casting couch (again, banging your way to the top is not the way to go, don’t be like her!).  Indeed, there is sleaze in Hollywood, but not one single agent at the event could be called anything but honorable, intelligent, and kind.
  • Friends: It was said that you will make many friends at conferences, and indeed, that is true.  I’m taking my new buddy Briana to the Hollywood Expo this weekend, we saw “Easy A” last week.  When you have something in common, and share it with people who not only do what you do, but are really good people, you’ll make friends for life.

Final analysis: it was money well spent, time spent even better, and you better believe I’ll be attending the next one in San Diego.  Thanks to all who attended…even you few sharks, I learned from you as well.

My Bolognese Sauce Recipe (aka my “Seduction Sauce”)

I wanted to share with you all some recipes of mine, my favorite ones, since I just put together a menu for any of you who are lucky enough to come into my home.  Some of you already have experienced the “cuisine d’Jordan), so, by all means, please sound off and say how awesome it is, because as you know, cooking is one of my stronger suits.

I thought about just putting up a recipe, but then I thought, that would be boring.  Why not have some fun with it?  Ladies, take the following with a grain of salt (or Creole Seasoning, which I prefer) and fellas, well, this is for you.  Enjoy!

So…boys…you wanna impress a lady tonight.  Good.  Don’t apologize for that; food is the lubricant on the way to bliss.

Women fall in love with their ears, indeed, but also through their stomachs.  They love a man who can cook.  And tonight, I’m going to show you how.

1) Go meet a girl.  Make sure that she is sweet, nice, laughs at your jokes, tugs at her earlobe and touches your hand on occasion.  Ask her out.  Take her to drinks (NOT dinner), and dazzle her with your sense of humor, to be certain, but listen to her too.  Follow the 80/20 rule that college admissions people follow, and let her talk. Kiss her goodnight, because you are a man. If you ask her permission to kiss her, you are a little boy and are no longer worthy to read this. In life, ask for forgiveness, not permission.  That is what separates the men from the boys.

2) Dates #2,3, and 4 should contain dinner and a movie, maybe a trip to Disneyland, some first base action. Keep your cool, maybe see other girls so that you are not a complete chump.  This is why they call it interviewing, this dating thing.

3) Okay, time to have her over to your place. You are going to cook for her. Check and make sure she’s not allergic to what you are cooking for, which will be Spaghetti Bolognese with a nice dry Chianti.  I don’t know, allergies present themselves all over the place.  Just double check and make sure that you will send her to paradise instead not to the ER.

4) She is coming over at 8pm.  Keep this time in mind.

5) At 5:30 PM, you will go to the Grocery Store, and buy the following:

  1. ½ pound ground beef
  2. ½ Italian Sausage
  3. olive oil
  4. carrots
  5. onions
  6. SPICES: Basil, Creole Seasoning (you heard me), Red Pepper, Regular Pepper, Oregano, Garlic Salt
  7. Parmesan Cheese
  8. Pack of Spaghetti
  9. Lowfat milk
  10. 3 28-ounce Cans of Crushed Tomatoes
  11. 2 Bottles of Chianti (you’re spending at least 25 bones on this for each bottle, don’t get this shit that only costs six bucks.  It’s going to serve multiple purposes.
  12. EQUIPMENT
    • Big Pot, with lid
    • Wooden Spoon
    • Digital timer
    • Can opener
    • Strainer
    • Teaspoon/Tablespoon measure
    • Big ass carving knife
    • Medium-size pot for the pasta

6) You may notice that you will have ingredients (the milk, cans of tomatoes) in more quantities than you need for the dish.  Not to worry, you will cook this again, it’s THAT good.

7) At the supermarket, when you are at the check out line, and the over-worked single Mom (sorry) asks you who you are cooking this for, you look at her and (hopefully) the hot chick standing behind you and say, “….a lady.”  Have a little smile, and look into the horizon with hope and glory.

8)  Once you are home, it will be about 6:30.  Unpack your groceries and go take a shower. Women like it when you don’t smell.

9) Set two places on your dining room table.  Two table-mats, fork and knife for each, and two plates.

10) By now, it’s about 7:15.  You are a dude, and therefore you are procrastinating. I’ve padded the schedule a bit.  When it counts, I’ll snap you to reality.

11) Lower some lights, light some candles (get them at the mall, NOT at Urban Outfitters like a douche), and put on Frank Sinatra’s “A Swinging Affair.”  The first track is my theme song, “Night and Day.”  You’ll get fired up.  Trust me.

12) Set out two wine glasses, and open the bottle of Chianti to let it breathe, and set it somewhere nearby.  Wine, good wine, needs to to breathe a bit first.

13) Take a large pot and put it on the stove.  Pour in about 4 tablespoons of Olive oil and heat over medium high heat until it’s fragrant, about three minutes or so.  Get fired up, this is just the beginning.

14) While this is happening, take a carrot and skin the heck out of it (you know, like Mom did when she made you salads as a kid. You know how your Dad got your Mom?   Probably like this. Keep reading

15) Take one onion and with a big-ass knife, slice the tar out of it in little thin slices.

16) Throw the onion and carrot into the pot and sauté it for 10 minutes, until they are no longer hard, but nice and loose. Use a wooden spoon to mix it around.

17) While the onion and carrots are cooking, you will take the ground beef and the Italian sausage, and mix them together. Get your hands in this, feel it, love it, mix ‘em up, have some fun!

18) Look at the TIME! It’s 7:45. She’ll be a bit late (girls always are). Let her in, and trust me, the timing works here, because it’s already starting to smell good in here, oh yeah.  And And AND AND AND she sees you cooking, which is the money move because you are awesome, and she’ll be impressed.

19) Wash off your hands (from the meat), kiss her hello, and pour her a glass of Chianti.  Raise a toast to the SNG, show some respect.

20) By now, Frank is singing, and you have some Dean Martin ready to rock. Either your ipod is hooked up, or you have itunes hooked to your stereo, figure this part out on your own. She’ll ask, “Why the Rat Pack,” and you’ll reply, uh, because they are awesome? It’s old school, think Vegas circa 1962. The good old days, when men were fellas and women were dames.

21) As she sips her Chianti and watches you work your magic, you put the meat in with the onions/carrots, and put in the following with the meat for 5 minutes:

  1. Basil – 1 tablespoon
  2. Creole Seasoning – 1 Tablespoon
  3. Red Pepper – ½ tablespoon
  4. Regular Pepper – ½ tablespoon
  5. Oregano – 1 tablespoon
  6. Garlic Salt – 1 tablespoon

22) Dump all that in.  As you use a big wooden spoon to mix it all around, you will ask her about her day, and she’ll do her best to speak to you because the scent of the cuisine is so seductive and intoxicating and she’s so impressed with you that DAMN. You rock. And you are smooth. YOU ARE THE MAN.

23) When the meat is no longer pink, add ¾ cup of the milk and mix it in, for about four minutes (the milk acts as a kind of glue that keeps the meat and spices all together).  At the same time, take a little bit of the Chianti (1/4 cup) and dump it into the pot with the milk.  Oh yeah.

24) After the four minutes are up, open 1 28-ounce can of crushed tomatoes and dump it in, and reduce the heat to low. Cover the pot with the lid and slow cook it for one hour, occasionally stirring with the wooden spoon.

25) In the medium-sized pot, fill it with water up 4/5ths and boil it on high (will take about 15 minutes to get going, give or take).

26) When that’s done, take out about half of the spaghetti (that’ll be enough for the two of you) snap it into thirds, and dump it in the boiling water. Cook for 11 minutes.

27) When the pasta is done, dump it and the water into a strainer and let it sit for a few minutes.

28) Spoon out the pasta equally to two plates that you have set out. Smile. Don’t forget to smile. A smile means that you are having fun, and you are always having fun. While everything is cooking, sit with her, sip wine, go back and forth between her and the kitchen.

29) When the hour is up, spoon out the sauce equally.  Refill the two of you with a bit more of the red stuff (Chianti).

30) Sit down, put on “Ring a Ding Ding” by Sinatra, and enjoy your meal. Nod and smile when she compliments the chef (you).

31) The Chianti will compliment the food, so you’re going to have to open a second bottle.

32) As long as you follow the directions, both of you will clean your plates. And maybe go back for seconds. By now, you two have a good witty banter that is now reinforced by your (newfound) awesome cooking skills.

33) Everything now is up to you. You must give and take, follow her lead, let her follow your lead, and if you play your cards right…

3D and Porn

You ready for a major confession?

First of all, my loyal readers and fans know that the SNG loves the ladies.

I am dating, but technically single, and I’m not quite ready to allow my single life to circle the drain JUST yet.  That is, until the right lady comes along and convinces me to do otherwise.  I’m not saying it’s impossible, in fact I know it’s likely.  I am just going to enjoy myself until I get tranked and tagged and wake up next to the love of my life. I know she’s out there somewhere, looking for me.  Perhaps I’ve already met her.  Perhaps I went to the movies with her last week, I have no idea, the possibilities are endless and that’s part of the fun.

Oh wait, we’re talking about Porn here.  I digressed, I can’t help it, I’m a die-hard romantic.

Back to Porn. Porn Porn Porn.

The Internet is for porn, PORN PORN, thank you Trekkie-Monster.  But my major confession is unlike most guys, Porn really doesn’t do it for me.  Indeed, I have a CD-ROM with “Productivity Software” in my CD case, but I never look at it.  Seriously.  Just as women are issued, along with their breasts, emotional roller-coasters and the Season DVD’s for “Grey’s Anatomy” when they are born, there are a few women out there, I’m quite certain, that have no interest in McDreamy or McSteamy or whatever bullshit they call television these days.

Likewise, porn does nothing for me really.  For once, I agree with the feminists; it’s not sexy, and can be quite demeaning to women.  This coming from the dude who just wrote an article about breasts, you might want to take what I’m saying here with more than a grain of salt.

I have never encountered a woman who wanted a money shot to the face.  I simply cannot imagine that, nor could I imagine ever dating or marrying a woman who wanted me to do that.  The producers of porn know their audience, and so do I; my buddies and I once stumbled into the Porn Convention in Vegas a few years back.  It was fucking disgusting.  A lot of sleazeballs and truck drivers, who bang hookers and don’t even know how to string together the words, “I love your work,” to Misty Canyon or Chastity Jones or whatever chick with daddy issues and fake tits is signing her new DVD of “Anal Pleasure Injuries 7; Revenge of the Anus.”  The fans just drool and stroke their penises as well as their goatees.  My friends and I lasted an hour, got the hell out of there and ran to the Star Trek Bar.  Man I miss that place.

So no, I’m not into Porn, but with the advent of 3D, will seeing people bang in three dimensions be a game changer?  Perhaps, and not just for the world at large, but for me.  I’ll have to try it once, I suppose, once I get my 3D TV (my PS3 just uploaded the firmware for 3D, all I need is the new display).

It was interesting, reading this article from last year’s CES, how the Porn industry is being cautious.  I’m surprised.  Having seen Kelly Brook naked in “Piranha 3D”, that was but a sneak preview of the possibilities (and how, my review of the underwater swimming scene, two boners up).

But since men who enjoy porn at home tend to, uh, molest themselves, while watching porn, I wonder what the glasses and the possible headaches will do in the way of the “releases” that happen while ah fuck it Masturbating to porn.  Again, I don’t do that, but I’m the minority here.

In the past, Porn tends to be the game changer with new technologies.  It sank Beta when they refused to support Porn, and VHS won that battle.  Ditto Blu-Ray (if I’m not mistaken).  These sleezeballs know they have a billion dollar loyal industry, so accusations of exploitation aside, there is money to be made.  As long as the tech goes along, I cannot imagine why porn would not dive vagina first into this new world of three-dimensional boobies and cock.  Why not?

If the SNG would consider giving it a try, they must be on to something.

Check out this video, an Avatar Porn parody, it made me laugh.  Thank you Gizmodo.

Also, here is yours truly at the porn convention from a few years ago.  Surprised?

Says it all, doesn't it?