Unleashing the Id

Love is a word that is constantly heard
Hate is a word that is not
Love, I am told is more precious than gold
Love, I have heard is hot
But hate is the verb that to me is superb
And love, just a drug on the mart
For any kiddie from school can love like a fool
But hating, my boy is an art
-Ogden Nash

I don’t generally consider myself a “hateful” guy… I may be a bit cynical, sure. Are there issues I’m passionately opposed to due to ethical and intellectual grounds? Sure. Are there people in my life that I prefer to avoid and vent about? Absolutely. Are there individuals that have “crossed the line” with me, thereby giving me no moral qualms about taking my frustrations out on them with a rusty crowbar followed by a lemon-juice hose-down and a salt-blast chaser? Who doesn’t?

But I’m not talking about the so-called “Legitimate Hates”… the understandable ones. If you’re related to a close-minded racist whose hobby is insulting you and killing every small animal you try to adopt… it’s perfectly alright to hate them. That is completely justified. Are there people actively infringing the civil rights of the people you love? Guess what? You can hate them. (Side note: Prop 8 Overturned! Suck it, you Bible-thumping “Family Value” Pricks!)

In fact, I find it hard to believe there are people who “don’t hate anyone or anything”. Well… then frankly, you don’t exist. Yes, I’m actively denying the fact that you were ever conceived and resided within this dimensional plane. To your face. If you say there is truly nothing to raise your ire; a) I call “BS”… and b) I’m looking forward to the challenge.

But again, I’m not a hateful person… I do believe that love is stronger then hate… that positive outweighs the negative. I believe that humanity, on the whole… can be good. That’s the way I’m wired. Yet, I do think that hate can actually bring about some good things in this world. One of the biggest reasons the U.S.A. even came into being was because our founding fathers hated King George III. (Take a look at the Declaration of Independence… most of the reasons listed all start with “He”… “He has refused… “, “He has forbidden…”, “He has obstructed…”) Nothing against the British citizens… nothing against the country… they hated HIM. Heck, sometimes just the act of loving something necessitates that you have to hate the thing that opposes it. (To again cite Prop 8; I love my Gay Friends, so for even that alone, I hate anyone that wants to take away their right to love.) Without a certain amount of hate for the big things… nothing would ever get done.

Except I’m not talking about the big stuff. No, I’m going for the relatively petty stuff. The crap that might be expressed in a stand-up comedy routine. The stuff that you don’t bother to address because of the Social Filter we’ve developed over our lives. The really annoying, blood-boiling pet peeves that you don’t act on, but which keep pushing you to the point of wanting to scream… but you don’t, because someone would probably put you in a padded room (even if they feel the same way).

For this blog… we remove the Social Filter.

Maybe you’ll get insulted. Maybe you’d be a wishful victim of my wishful wrath. Maybe, if you met me walking down the street, you’d look at the ground while giving me a wide berth, hoping I don’t snap on you… or you’d stop me and scream and lecture me for being hateful. (Go ahead, I’d love the irony of that.) But I’m really just joining a bit of a trend here… there’s apparently a lot of home-web videos of young people just rattling off about stuff they supposedly hate. Usually they amount to just hating “school” or “stupid boys” or “dumb girls” or “parents”… but I’m not in the age demographic to mention those things (except maybe the dumb girls… some things *are* universal, after all.) No… as you may know, I tend to get a bit more specific:

1. Assholes that linger for 20 minutes BUCK NAKED in the gym locker room. Yes, that’s what the locker room is for: changing. But not to this extreme. These guys scamper quickly into the locker room (rarely watching where they’re going), and whip off all their street clothes as fast as humanly possible, getting to “jaybird” status in record time. And then… they…. sloooooooow…. dooooooowwwwwwwnnnnn. And don’t even consider putting on the workout clothes yet… because you know, the mood isn’t right. So they stretch. They groom. They stroll around. They stop and watch the TV on the wall. They see someone they know, and walk on up to talk to them, raising their leg onto a bench so they can lean their elbow on their knee. And after they’ve given their political or social dissertation for that hour, they casually walk back to their locker to MAYBE get ready to actually do some exercise. And when they’re done with said workout… the same process happens again. Even adding in a long, slow walk to the showers, with a towel slung *over the shoulder* instead of around the waist, and then standing at a sink, shaving or brushing their teeth… naked. And when they finally DO get dressed, these men pick the very sensible first item that should be put onto their fully nude-with-an-obvious-reason-to-come-to-the-gym-in-the-first-place bodies… that, very obviously being, their shirt. (Underwear? Why would THAT go first?) Then they button up their shirt. Then they put on… their socks. Then they adjust the socks, because you never can pull them up right on the first try. Then they put on their tie. Then they tie the tie. Then they undo the tie and re-do it, and adjust it. After then combing their hair, applying cologne, and then getting involved in another water-cooler debate with a fellow bottom-half-naked locker-room dweller… on goes the tighty-whiteys. Then point-3 seconds later, the pants and shoes are on, and they shoot out the door. What. The. Fuck. There’s a nice line that separates “comfortable in your skin” with “decorum”. That’s great you’re not ashamed of your own body… but you don’t need to flaunt useless cock even when being “around the guys”. I hope Rush Limbaugh mistakes you for a Coney Island Corn Dog.
   
   
2. People who say, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Oh, so you’re not actually apologizing for fucking me over, you’re apologizing because *I’m upset* at you for fucking me over? So, since you’re actually shifting the blame to me… that makes your apology absolutely useless, which doesn’t actually make it an apology. Wow, that’s just as bad as saying “I’m sorry” in a pissed-off “on-the-offensive” tone of voice. You might as well be saying, “I’m not actually sorry, but I’ll say the phonetic words because you stupidly think I should, just to shut you up.” Good work, you’ve managed to make the “apology” sound more insulting then the original insult/infraction. I hope you get the first-ever case of Herpes Simplex Type 5.
   
   
3. Unnecessary Rap. Sometimes, I’d be inclined to say that “all Rap is unnecessary”… but that would be wrong. While the genre is not my favorite, there are rap songs I like to listen to, and it is absolutely a viable genre and art form… on its own. What I really find annoying is when in the middle of a Non-Rap song… some moron starts breaking out his “rhymes”. The example that comes to my mind is the song “Scream” by Chris Cornell. It’s a slow rock song, that is put to a techno-drum-machine-beat. Now, I’ve heard him do an acoustic version that sounds great… I also like the techno background version. It’s different, but I think it works decently for the song. But suddenly… in between the first and second verses, comes the producer “Timbaland” (which is a freaking retarded “artistic” name, BTW. It’d be like calling yourself “El El Beeen”, “Uh-merican Eegel”, “Wall’em Art” or anything else coming close to copyright infringement on a brand name. Where are the lawyers when you need them?). Here, this moron does a little spoken interlude, which only just repeats some of the lyrics… and I guess it can’t even be official “Rap”, because its not even to a beat, nor does it rhyme… just him “contributing his flavor” to a song that DOESN’T NEED HIM. You are no better then the annoying “hype man”, which is a whole other realm of uselessness in the musical industry. (If you’re going to perform for a crowd, and need someone else to “get people excited”… well, how come they’re not excited enough at the anticipation of seeing you? Sounds like you’re not very good, and that you even seem to know it, hence hiring him in the first place.)
   
   Now I’m all for musical artists collaborating with each other, but don’t pull this crap of coming onto their album and working on ONE song, by inserting some of the aforementioned uselessness and snagging a “featuring” credit. It’s THEIR album, let them play THEIR music. You want to show your “flavor”? Then make your own damn album, and spout it all you want, so I can have the option of not buying it, so I don’t have to listen to it. But if you REALLY want to collaborate? Then do it… on a full 12-song album, and do an actual duet with them on each and every song, and you both get equal billing. If you want to collaborate and “explore” with this other artist… don’t stop after you metaphorically “drive to the corner store”. Freaking go for it and truly see where you can go with it when you combine your efforts. (Robert Plant and Allison Krauss had it right… a whole album of collaboration. One a soft bluegrass singer… and the other from Led-Fucking-Zeppelin) Not this half-ass-flavor-shit. I hope your beloved over-priced Cristal booze gives you cold sores on your eyes.
   
   
4. People who speak with extremely thick accents on singular words of foreign origin… when the rest of their speech is in perfect white-bread English. I don’t think there’s anything that screams “Douchebag” to me faster then this. Just talking along, everything is clear and articulate… and suddenly revert to the fakest-sounding Italian/Spanish/French/Etc accent that’s ever been conceived for that Italian/Spanish/French/Etc word. It actually sounds like they’re trying to make fun of that language with this over-parodying voice… only they’re actually being serious and are claiming, “that’s the *correct* way to pronounce it”, smiling smugly all the while. Guess what? There’s a big difference between Pronunciation and Accent. They are not the same thing. Never have been, never will be. Consider that the rest of the world considers the way Americans talk as “the American Accent”. So, how many people do you know, that only speak American English… that pronounce American English words incorrectly? You may know 1, you may know 40, but you *will* know a number to say. Just because they speak in an American Accent, doesn’t mean the pronunciation is correct. I’ve known Italians from Italy that speak great English, pronouncing everything right… and saying it with their Italian accent.
   
   And sweet Jeebus help you if I happen to say a foreign word, and you try to “correct” me with that fake accent. Pray a tire iron isn’t nearby. I hope the next time you’re at the Doctor’s office, you hear the words, “Uh oh…”
   
   
5. People in handicap scooters… whose ONLY handicap is that they are extremely, gravity-victoriously, fat. If you’re in one from extreme age, no problem. Veteran with a leg blown off, victim of a horrible accident or debilitating disease? I’ll salute you as you cruise by, give you any help you need and all that. But having an extra whole pie for dessert isn’t a tragedy, it’s a very bad personal decision. But if what’s done is done, fine… but you don’t get special treatment. You don’t get to have a handicap plate or sign for your car. You can’t get a free pass to the front of a ride at Disneyland. You don’t get to claim “disability”, and you don’t get the right to complain about how difficult life is. How can it be so hard? You have a freaking scooter to cart you around! Sounds pretty easy to me! I hope that your home is infested by rats with a craving for cholesterol.
   
   
6. This one is targeted to one gender: Men. Yes, my fellow males, pay attention: Those of you that go onto Facebook, Myspace, or anything else remotely like it… find the profile of a young lady, and start writing the most moronic “pick-up” shit on their walls and comments sections, like: “Damn U fine!”, “I’d love 2 tap that! Hit me up sumtime!”, “Ur so Hott!”… and I’m not even talking about the horrible grammar. Do you honestly think that’s going to make them rip off their clothes and come running after you? Do you, in all seriousness, believe that’s going to help get you laid? I already know that when you’re directly asked, you’ll talk about “respecting a lady” and how you “don’t treat women like objects, of course not!” Which is made into Bullshit by the very fact that you don’t walk the walk. I don’t give a crap if the gal is posting a 90%-naked picture of herself in the mirror to feel sexy and good about herself. It is no time to lose all sense of decorum and respect. In fact, it’s the ideal time to SHOW it. Admire, Appreciate, then Masturbate if you must… and if you absolutely HAVE to leave a comment, it *is* possible to say something that doesn’t sound like what a lame Rapper with too much money and a skewed-world-view would say. If you have any doubt? Then don’t say anything, because when you start typing without abandon, you give the female gender more proof to their claims of “Men are stupid.” Thanks to you, they’re right.
   
   Same goes for you, you “Deep” ass-holes… I haven’t forgotten you.
   
   I hope all of you Mother-F-ers can’t ever close your eyes without instantly dreaming of Prison… where you have to pick up the soap.
   

Okay, so maybe I have a few “Rage Issues”… there may be a few more pet peeves that really get me… but this is looking long enough for now.

So maybe you laughed, maybe you were horrified, maybe you just plain agree. But what I want to know is:

What pisses YOU off?

Metrosexual Tendencies: The W.C. Suite

I was just wondering what the most inane topic I could write about…

I’m an Old-Fashioned shaver.

Okay, maybe not “Old-Fashioned”. I think that actually involves lying back in a barber’s chair and letting some other guy do the work for 25¢, hoping to Jeebus that he doesn’t go all Sweeney Todd on you with a straight edge blade.

Or it means scraping my face with a jagged rock by a river… guess it depends how far back “Old-Fashioned” means…

So, maybe I’m a Neo-Classical Shaver… or something. I don’t know… I was looking for a good opening-line.

But I do it the non-electric way, I can say that much for certain. This is yet another way I differ from the other men in my immediate family: My dad and two older brothers. Not 100% sure about my oldest brother, but I think I recall him using an electric razor years ago. My other brother, the middle one… always uses electric. Don’t recall him ever using anything else. Even today, half the time he’ll walk out of the bathroom with the familiar “buzzzzzzzzzzzz” humming along while he multi-tasks his morning, scraping away the little bit of fuzz that accumulated overnight. My dad… I’m pretty sure he’s strictly electric now… but he used to have the “safety razors”, that he obviously must have used at some point. They were the cheapest little plastic things that could be found… 50 of them for about 2 dollars (today’s prices), with one dull blade on each one. With the lone period of time that I tried to use those, they tore my face up pretty bad… so I’m not sure how “safe” they really were.

But they’re all electric guys. Probably for the convenience sake. After a few weeks when your skin gets used to it, you can buzz your face every day, and you’ll always have that “clean” look forever after. Plus, the one-time cost of it is probably more economical in comparison. I even got an electric razor for the holidays one year… I think I used it for about 2 months before I stopped. For one… it was a pretty cheap model, and wasn’t going to last much longer anyway. But also… as close a shave as it did, it wasn’t as close as the non-electric way was. I’d feel my face after the electric, and it’d feel pretty smooth. But after the non-electric way? It would feel SUPER smooth! Yes, I could tell the difference. I liked that better. Plus, due to the lotions and balms and everything… the non-electric way was more refreshing, soothing. The electric way? Just kind of… Vibrate-y.

The first time I shaved was getting ready for my Junior Prom when I was in High School. I was given a “sample kit” from the place I rented my Tux from, and thought, “Cool… I’m old enough to shave now!” Sure, all I really had was a little peach fuzz… but it felt symbolic to be doing it that night. That night was also my first actual date… ever. (It didn’t go like, end like, or lead to anything as most “real dates” do… or even like other “Prom Dates” stereotypically do…but that’s another story.) So, symbolism abounded for me that night, and I wanted to do it right. (And I only cut myself twice!)

Thereafter, I didn’t shave that often (again, I had nothing but peach-fuzz really), but I’d do it once every week, week and a half. I had heard that “once you start shaving, you have to do it regularly because the hair will start growing faster!” Well, apparently my actual facial hair didn’t get that memo, because the “needing a shave-look” wasn’t much different from the “freshly shaved-look”. At the time, shaving was more of a formality… a zen-like practice that served no practical purpose; but I felt good doing it, and I also felt less like an overly-awkward teen. (I still was… I just didn’t feel like one.)

The first time I actually realized that I honest-to-goodness NEEDED to shave… was when I was in college. The director of a show I was in had asked all the men in the show to “Not Shave”. It was a period piece, set in Russia, so we were all supposed to have facial hair. (I also got to wear a wig and a padded belly for that show.) So, I stopped shaving… and thinking, “I’ve never actually grown anything but peach fuzz… will I even be able to?” But taking those few extra weeks and not shaving… I did start to get some real, rough stubble, and then became a beard. The design team then designated mine to be a “Van Dyke”, so I could shave the neck and sides. (Good, cause it was itching like hell!) I even kind of liked it… so much I kept it for awhile after that show. It was different for me… together with my glasses, it even made me feel a little more intellectual and “collegiate”.

The beard came and went a few times over the next few years. Sometimes growing it for a show, other times shaving it for a show. I’ve done quite a few things for shows, actually. The most extreme was not only shaving my face… but my arms, legs, chest, and head. The play I was doing it for was a very odd Tennessee Williams play called In the Bar of a Tokyo Hotel, and at one point, I strip down to this Japanese Shinto-Diaper-Thingy. And every bit of skin that was exposed was shaved. The only part that wasn’t was my eyebrows… that would have looked too weird, we agreed. The character was this weird, intense, crazy artist, who we figured would want to do a ritualistic head-shaving (like a monk)… only he’d take it to the absolute extreme, and shave everything. So we went with it. I ended up looking like some intense, homicidal, overgrown baby… which was interesting on its own, for sure. (Add to that me smearing latex interior housepaint over me… like I said, it was an odd show.) Several times I would talk to people about this and mention how I had to “shave everything”.

They’d look at me with a raised eyebrow and say, “EVERY-thing?” Clearly implying about parts under the Shinto Diaper that weren’t being seen.

“No, I did not shave my crotch for the show.”

They’d seem almost relieved and say “Okay” at that. There *are* limits to Method Acting, thank you. I most certainly did not shave my private parts for that show.

The fact that I shaved those parts ANYWAY, I didn’t mention. So yes, I was completely bare during the show. But I didn’t shave the bathing suit area *purposefully* for that show, so I wasn’t lying… it was simply a personal preference. (You think shaving feels nice on the face? Just imagine that sensation down there… very soothing in the summer, let me tell you.)

Okay, I’m sure that’s way into the realm of TMI (Too Much Information)… Oh well, cope.

I’ve always considered shaving to be one of those “manly man” things to do. I’ve seen it on lists of “sexiest things a woman can see a man do” (supposedly written by a woman, or taken from a survey of women), alongside “tying a tie”, “interacting with a child”, “cooking”, “juggling”, and “zombie-defense-preparation”. (Okay, maybe those last two are from *my* list of what should be sexy) If that’s true… then I’m one hell of a Sexy Manly-Man. Well, unless your list consists of MORE then those… then I only have these points down.

I love the smoothness of the end result… the crisp, clean feeling. It’s awesome, it really is. My face feels refreshed, rejuvenated… and helps me to feel damn Sex-ay. (And I’m sure adult women can think of other, practical advantages for a man having a smooth face. No, I’m not “going there”… because You just did.) I don’t know what it is about the existence of certain body hair that makes me feel not-as-sexy… but the fact it is probably explains why I have no problem getting rid of it.

On rare occasion, I’ll shave my legs. Usually just in the summer, solely for the comfort factor. My chest… sometimes I’ll shave for the summer comfort, but I don’t mind a little hair on that part. But I do try to keep it trimmed…. I don’t like it getting long, twisty and out of control. Keeping it to the level of “pleasant fuzz” is my preference.

Armpits… I shave regularly. Using the Norelco Body Trimmer helps with this. Hey, I don’t think you noticed, but armpits stink. You know why? The sweat is trapped in the hair and it ferments. I may not sweat any less, but my pits are a LOT less stinky, thank you.

And thanks to my genetics… I’m cursed with a hairy back. Not the kind of hairy where the Gay Community would put me in the “Bear” category, but enough that it itches and makes the heat less tolerable. I’ve tried to shave it… but I have to bend my arms in very unnatural ways to do so, and that hurts. I tried using the “Nair” and removal creams, which works decently for a few weeks at a time, but application is difficult. I did get help on a few occasions… one really good friend slathered it on me, and another time, a girlfriend did it. While she said she didn’t mind, when I look back on it, I can’t help but think, “That was unfair to ask her to do that for me.” Why? Well, it may not be horror-movie disgusting… but still an unappealing task. So, come the future, I shall not ask of that in a relationship again. Nope… so, now, and for the past few years… I’ve been getting waxed.

Figured if I’m going to enlist help, it should be a professional, and one who gets duly compensated for it. Plus, the waxing has the benefit of lasting longer then the creams.

On the downside, it hurts like a Motherfucking-Hurt-Machine. (But I am a sensitive lad, dontchaknow?) Granted, after doing it almost 10 times by now… it hurts less then it did at first, but I still don’t look forward to it.

Now, I can get a good 8 weeks of pure hairlessness, and then another month or so as it grows back, and there’s no chance of missing spots. They’re pretty thorough. They get a good way up my neck, the tops of my shoulders and all the way down the back. When I’m asked, “How far down do you want me to go?” (No, I don’t make an innuendo. They have hot wax and are already causing me pain, do you honestly think I want MORE of it?) I say, “If you see crack, you’ve gone too far.”

Now, I may not have female companionship to take advantage of the super-smoothness, or recognize the pain I’ve experienced and wish to “make it up to me”… but I do it anyway. If I relied on sexual rewards as my reasons for shaving and hair removal, I’d look like Grizzly Adams by now.

Nope, shaving is for me. It’s my Zen thing, thank you.

Over the years… I have refined my technique since my first facial shave. It really is more then Lather, Scrape, Rinse. There’s an order. There’s a procedure.

I like procedures.

First… hardware selection. I’m currently using the Gillette Mach 3 Turbo. I don’t know exactly why they call it “Turbo”, but it does work a tad better then the regular Mach 3, I know that much. I just buy the refills in bulk from Costco so I’m not paying as much as from the normal store. As the whole shaving thing can get expensive if you’re not careful… I therefore try to be careful. (The “Fusion” razor is really nice too, and even gives a better shave, but its still way more price-wise.)

Then, you need the heat. Steam heat, to be precise. I used to just splash a bunch of warm-to-hot water on my face for a few minutes, but I prefer to simply shave in the shower. I helps to open up the pores.

Next… shaving cream? NO! Now’s the facial scrub. I use an exfoliating facial cleanser. I really like the one from Nivea.

Now, the shaving cream, right? WRONG! Now is the pre-shave oil. Yes, it’s called a pre-shave oil. It’s a tiny little bottle, and you only use a few drops at a time, like 5-6… about the size of half a penny. (A little goes a long way) It’s got a bit of the menthol-thing going on, which sometimes feels counterproductive to the steam heat… but it works really well. Helps the hairs to stand up a bit. According to the bottle, you could actually shave using JUST this oil if you had to, but I never have. The kind I use… (and the only kind I can find, though it works so well, I don’t care) is from King of Shaves.*

*if the company is named King of Shaves, you can assume they know something about it.

Okay, now has to be the shaving cream, huh? NEVER!! I use a shaving “gel”. The old shaving cream/foam…besides smelling funny, it also makes it hard to actually see the hair you’re shaving off. It’s not that fun to go completely blind when having a sharp object near your face. Just sayin… No, shaving technology has made some leaps and bounds. The gel type of shaving lube is pretty clear, and makes it a lot easier to do things like keep the sideburns even, or even care for that goatee you’re trying for. Plus, it really does work a lot better. I’ll occasionally try different brands, but I do keep coming back to the King of Shaves brand again… the Sensitive Skin formula. (I *do* have sensitive skin, dontchaknow?)

Then… the actual removal. I’ve always read you’re only supposed to scrape “with the grain”... but when I do that, I always feel stubble left behind. So I always go back up the other way, “against the grain” as well, and that removes it all. And I’ve never had a problem with in-grown facial hairs or gashing my face open or whatnot as a result. I just go easy, methodical… and get that super-smoothness I love so much.

But it’s not over! After the scraping, I’ll obviously rinse off thoroughly (easy enough as I’m already in the shower), finish up all the other shower-business, and out. Then I pat dry my face… and then break out the… anyone? Anyone?

After-shave lotion? What am I, a masochist? (Don’t answer that.) Alcohol on microscopic wounds? Hell, no. Nope, I go with the “post-shave balm”. It’s a thicker kind of goop, that’s non-alcoholic, non-painful… and gives that nice bit of smooth polish to the face, with an extra moisturizing kick. Again, a little goes a long way. I don’t stray from the Nivea brand on this one.

And that’s my shave. I do this every 4 days or so. I can get away doing it after 3 days, but any less then that, and my face gets torn up a bit. No, with my face, the blade needs a decent bit of stubble to get a grip on to. In fact, the longer I go without, the easier it is to shave it, oddly. Unless it’s more then 6 days (meaning I have no dates or social plans)… in which case, it’s too long. So I’ll take my regular old-clippers and trim down the face to a shaveable length.

It works for me. Maybe it is a “manly-man” thing to do… I just do it because it makes me feel “good”.

So… nyah.

Techno-Love (but only as a friend)

I don’t know if this is a male stereotype or not… but I do love my Tech. Maybe not to the extent that some guys, or even some women… but in my very own way, I do.

I’ve never really had a problem figuring out computers and technology. I tend to figure out the basics pretty fast, really just by playing around. (Manual? Who needs a manual?) But I also have never really gone out of my way to acquire it quickly, so I can always be on the “cutting edge”. Usually, I’m at the tail end of the parade.

For me, when I make a decision about acquiring new Tech (or really any decision in life, come to think of it), I mull it over and think for a long time, and then when I finally make a decision, I stick with it.

The first computer I ever bought was a Commodore 64, and even then it was not that long before they stopped making them, and long after its heyday of popularity. I even knew that at the time, and my reasoning was, “well, if it’s not that popular anymore, all these hundreds of games will probably come down in price.” It was good logic, actually… our house was well-stocked with a large variety of games. The first of which is still one of my favorites: Maniac Mansion. (LucasArts made some great games back then) That computer got the holy hell beaten out of it over the years… with the floppy disk drive (with an actual FLOPPY disk) and when computer monitors were heavier then me. You could easily see how it was a definite upgrade from the Pong and Atari systems the family had… but maybe not so much compared to the original NES my brother had. But I liked it… and when it came to the end of its useful life, I eventually resurrected it… and gutted it to make a sci-fi looking prop for a show.

The next… was a word processor. Yes, an actual word processor. A weird missing link between typewriter and computer. It had a disc drive, and a small internal memory and programming, that wasn’t compatible with anything else in existence… but it wasn’t a computer in the normal sense. It was basically a printer with a small keyboard tacked on. It was a gift from my parents as I headed into college, for the purpose of writing papers. And since it was the ONLY thing it could ever do, it did it pretty well. It got me through the 4 years pretty well. When most everyone else was going to the computer labs, I could do it in the comfort of my dorm room. (and I had to… because as mentioned, the discs couldn’t be used anywhere else. It was not only technological freedom, but prison as well.)

I started Grad School with a hand-me-down desktop computer from my Uncle, which did me pretty well. When I had the chance to upgrade to a decent laptop a few months in, I did so… after careful consideration, that is. (Its compact nature was appealing to a guy in a small apartment) And I then kept that computer for the next 8 years… long after its expected life-span. (That thing died and was resurrected via miracle on a couple of occasions.)

But after Grad School… the next bit of Tech I got was probably long overdue; I finally got a cell phone. This was in 2002, and most other people had gotten cell phones already, and now… EVERYONE has them. Even high school kids, and younger! That kinda blows my mind… yet, it also blows my mind when I realize that I can’t conceive of NOT having my cell phone with me. If I leave the house and realize later that I forgot to grab it… I’m hitting myself and saying, “Oh crap!” Now, I don’t get phone calls that often, (I’m not even that good on the phone!) and I do get a half-decent amount of text messages… but after going 27 years without a constant direct-communication-line to the world, (and surviving, by the looks of it) why did I now HAVE to have it near me every second? It’s sitting 10 inches to my right at this moment while I’m typing!

When I was seeing my first therapist, I remember mentioning one session how I kind of missed going around WITHOUT a cell phone, and sometimes, if you think about it too hard, you can feel kind of trapped by it. (Sometimes, you don’t WANT to be found so easily) She responded with, “Well, you don’t have to have it.” “Listen, lady… don’t go using that new-fangled voodoo brain logic with me!” Okay, I didn’t say that last part, but as much sense as it makes, and how true it is… I still keep my cell phone fairly close by.

And I’m on my third cell phone right now. As the contract is ending soon, I might look into getting another upgrade… or at least a comparable replacement, because I can’t think of what I would get that’s better then this one. It’s got a 2 Megapixel camera, plays music, has an audio recorder, has a calendar, I can check e-mail, has some games, not to mention… now get this: It actually makes *and takes* phone calls. (You knew that gag was coming, admit it.)

I was considering of getting an iPhone, or one of the comparable Android phones… but you know, to make those worth it, you need to buy a data plan for the phone, which would end up tacking on another $2000 or so by the time the contract is up. No thanks… I don’t have that much disposable income.

But as sort of a “compromise”… I did get an iPod Touch instead. It can hold ALL my music, shows video (so I can share neat things I find with friends), has some pretty cool “Apps” (some of which are actually useful), has Wi-Fi connection for places that offer it free. Really, the only things it can’t do is: be a phone, or take pictures on it. That’s okay, my regular phone does that. And I can live without the cellular Internet. So, after a few weeks of considering, I treated myself, and have been pretty happy with it.

One thing I don’t like doing with my gadgets is trying to “one-up” or use it as part of a Penis-Size Competition. You know what I mean, too. If you get/do something, someone has to point out that THEY got/did something cooler, shinier and more impressive. (My oldest brother has been known to do this) Personally, I figure, “I need mine to do A, B, and C. Can it do those? Yes? Great, now I don’t give a crap that yours can do D, E, F or G. No, no… I get it. F and G are *really* peachy keen. I still don’t care.” Penis-Size Competitions: No actual phallus needed.

I was looking into getting an E-Reader, like the Kindle or Barnes and Noble Nook. I especially thought the Nook was the neatest between the two… but when I went into a store to play around with one (prior to ordering), I wasn’t able to see how a .pdf looks on it, plus the touch screen was a little slow to respond, and a few other concerns. But between those two, it still looked to be the better product. But then that Apple iPad was announced.

Now, I didn’t start drooling over the iPad like a lot of people did. I did find it humorous though, that within minutes after its announcement, all the males on Twitter were excited for it… and all the females were making Maxi-pad jokes about it. Personally, I didn’t see the big deal. Now, yes, I’ve been wanting an E-Reader, but I liked the size of the Kindle and the Nook. The iPad… way too big for my liking. That’s not exactly “portable” to me. (Portable to me means, it can fit somewhere on my person, out of the way, and I get to have both hands free. The smaller the satchel, bag, backpack it can fit in, the better.) But the iPad is in color, with better touch response, its faster, etc. Frankly, it’s an oversized iPod Touch. (Which was another point that leaned me towards getting that) If they had the exact same thing… only the size of the Kindle/Nook… I’d probably have gotten that. I’d even wait for the 3G version. The only thing that the iPad has done, is convince me to keep waiting, because now none of it looks that appealing to me. (Also, it’s surprisingly easy to read on the iPod Touch… or iPad Nano, I guess.)

Not all technology these days is interesting to me.

I’ve yet to get completely excited by Blu-Ray, or Hi-Def. Personally, I don’t mind that theatrical movies are at 24 frames per second. Yes, it’s ironic that the higher quality resolution and framerates look cheesy and fake to us (The webcomic XKCD just did a bit about this the other day.), but I still like the gritty, muted look to a lot of movies. Call it nostalgia, but I find it easier to get lost in a story when I’m not being distracted by the detail on every blade of grass or hair on someone’s head. And it’s only going to be seen on movies made in the last 5 years, maybe. Everything before that? They weren’t intended to be seen at that resolution. So… it just seems pointless.

The latest gadget I bought, is going a bit old-school. Actually a lot old-school. It’s a camera. Not a digital camera… and actual film-load 35mm camera. I was hanging out with a friend of mine in Boston and saw this assortment of “unique” cameras. All film-ones, construction was plastic and a bit cheap… one model was strictly a “fish-eye”, it distorts all the pictures like you’re looking through a peep-hole on a door. Another looked like a 1920s box camera… and the one that interested me, had 4 lenses on it. It takes 4 mini sequential pictures on one frame of film. Each photo is divided into quarters, and you see 1 full second of an event, broken into four frames. They call it the “Actionsampler”. Now, sure, I could probably take one of my digital cameras, put it on “sequence burst” so it takes 3 or so pictures one after another, and then photoshop them together… but somehow the nostalgia of doing it the old-fashioned way is a bit on the romantic side for me. Yeah, I never had much luck with actual film cameras in the past, but I do know a little bit more, (at least where NOT to take pictures) so hopefully some of these can turn out a little better.

Hey, it was cheap, novel… and interesting to me. And I’m not dating anyone, so why not treat myself? It’s a better reason then some people have when getting new toys.

What are some gadgets YOU love or hate?

The Cut of My Jib

During my unintentional sabbatical… I ended up hitting the gym… a lot. I really just needed to get out of the house, because staring at my computer screen just wasn’t working for me. (and by “not working” I mean, “driving me crazy”) Before, I always went to the gym on my way home from work… because it was on the way, and extremely convenient. Now, of course, it had to be a special trip. So let’s see: Special trip… or sit in the house and be depressed, lazy and crazy. I’ll take “Special Trip”, please. I needed something, anything, to do… and going to the gym seemed like a nice, healthy option. Hey, I was paying for it anyway… might as well get my money’s worth out of it.

So I went every day, Monday through Friday, and took weekends off to recuperate. Mondays and Thursdays was arms and upper body, Tuesday and Fridays lower body and abs, and Wednesday was nothing but Cardio. I was silently proud to be sticking to my make-over plans, and occasionally getting nice compliments from friends. But due to my own critical view of my self, and judging by the horrible dating luck I was having, I always saw/see the flaws and knew/know I still had/have a long way to go.

Then, when I gotten into August of that year, the Temp agency I was going through gave me the distinct impression that “things were picking up” and I would be having some impending interviews approaching. So I pulled out my suit… the one I’ve previously mentioned as “my first suit”. Now, I bought this during another bought of unemployment, again for the purposes of interviews (and also since I had nothing nice to wear should the occasion arise). When I did that, I had been in a period of “letting myself go” a little too much. This was after my old medical problems, in which my weight fluctuated wildly from too low to too high, and then settled on “too high”. So when I was being fitted for this suit… I was given the “Executive Cut”.

I understood from the get-go that “Executive Cut” was just a friendly euphemism. It meant I was tubby. Any guy that takes offense to that, saying, “Hey… I’M wearing an Executive Cut suit!” Guess what? Nothing wrong with it. It just is what it is. You’re no less a quality person… now shut up and accept it. All that matters is that you have a suit that looks good on you, so chill.

Well, now my suit *didn’t* look as good on me. I know I had lost a little bit from my waist, and the suit (and sportcoat) were a little big on me. So, I had to go on a little errand… one that I was actually looking forward to doing.

I brought the suit and the sportcoat back into Men’s Wearhouse (the one with the tailoring department), went up to the counter and said, “It gives me great pleasure to finally be able to say this: I need to have my suit taken in.”

Yeah, it did feel good to say it… to know that I’ve made enough progress with exercising, and that it was noticeable enough to affect my clothing (in a good way). It was a nice positive reinforcement, and I was smiling. The tailor said, “That’s great. If you would please go put it on, we’ll take the measurements and then take it in.” So, I went into the little dressing room, put on my Executive Cut suit, and stepped back out onto the sales floor, waiting for the tailor.

He came over, started measuring, and soon said, “Well, this isn’t going to work.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

“This was YOUR suit?”

“Yeah, I even bought it from here, it’s on your records.”

Then he excused himself for a second, and brought over a saleswoman, and they both started tugging and pulling on the suit, folding it up against me, etc… basically using me as a mannequin… and both seemed…. Amazed.

I’m just standing there, not sure what the problem is… I just need the suit taken in a little bit, right?

Wrong.

The pants of the suit I had brought in (which were tailored for me when I got it) had a 40-inch waist.

I now needed a 34-inch waist.

Keep in mind that on a suit, the waist isn’t just above the hips where we normally wear our pants, but rather higher up, just under the belly button. So I lost 6 inches around my belly… a hell of a lot more then I thought I lost.

So the pants now look like they were another hand-me-down, and the suitcoat and blazer are similarly swimming on me now. They asked me, “How much weight did you lose?” “Well… according to the scale, only about 5 lbs.” (I guess this is proof I’ve been replacing it with muscle, huh?) They looked at each other and back at me, amazed and smiling… all the while looking over the racks of clothing.

Uh… are they trying to find one that’s my new size to use as a template for cutting these down? I wondered hopefully… and futilely, it would turn out. No, they were looking for a new suit for me.

I asked them, “Can’t you just take this one in?”

The tailor then proceeded to explain how they “could”… but he would have to take so much material out that the suit wouldn’t look right. He couldn’t guarantee that it would look good. To put it bluntly… it would look like a Picasso. (His Cubist period, for you Art-History Majors. Never say I don’t show you any love.)

The old suit, with the Executive Cut, was created with a belly in mind… every cut and stitch of it is molded around that idea. A belly of which I apparently didn’t have anymore (even if I do still see it when I look in the mirror… man, am I self-critical or what?).

If they can’t take it in… and I obviously can’t wear it to interviews without looking like an 8-year-old playing in Dad’s wardrobe… It looks like I don’t really have much of a choice.

Thinking of the personal accomplishment, I cheerfully thought, “I need a new suit!”

Then the logistical aspect came to mind, and I thought, “Oh… I… need a new suit?”

Then the dawning of financial horror… “Holy crap… I need a new suit…”

I’ve always tried to not be “cheap”, but as someone who’s never HAD a lot of money, shelling out a few hundred on the spur of the moment isn’t exactly something I’m used to. Anything that costs over $50, I feel hesitant, and over $100, I feel I have to “think about it” because it feels like an “investment”. (Which, yes, this is an investment.) And being unemployed at the time sure didn’t help, to put it mildly. I felt my heart beat faster, and thought I was starting to panic. It was something I *had* to spend right there. (You probably don’t want to hear my inner monologue when I need to have expensive car repairs done… I want to curl into a fetal position and shut out the world.) And I never got to wear the old suit that often… so that was feeling like I had to throw away $500 worth of clothes I didn’t get to enjoy.

But the tailor and the saleswoman started looking through the racks, and found a nice suit for about $300. That’s a good price for a suit… but still… $300. I did refuse when they asked about replacing the sport-coat… I figured that wouldn’t be a good idea at that time. They were able to do the few needed alterations right there, and I could leave in an hour with it.

So, while I was waiting for that to be done… I had to just walk around the mall and kill some time. And what else am I going to think about other then, “Oh God… I just spent a crapload of money on something that *feels* frivolous (after all, a suit isn’t necessary for actual caveman-like day-to-day survival), and I don’t really have money coming in.” Sure, I had to collect unemployment, but I feel guilty using that for anything that isn’t vital to caveman-like survival. (I hate feeling like a leech on the system, and I was hesitant to even apply in the first place)

Yes, I know normal people don’t think like this, and wouldn’t have a problem with it, or even for the reasons that I do. Whatever made you think I was normal?

But all these things… these possibly unfounded neuroses running through my head… and then I go and end up making the biggest mistake I could at the time.

You see, I was feeling vulnerable. I was feeling stressed, and a more then a bit worried. I needed encouragement. I needed to hear, “Its okay. Needing and getting this suit is a VERY good thing. You’ve made a great accomplishment, losing those inches. You deserve this, it’ll look great. Keep your chin up, it’s gonna work out wonderfully.” I needed some kind words… I needed assurance.

I needed to call and talk to my Emotional Support System.

Instead, I called my parents.

Apparently, I had a lapse of memory, and thought they were in that category. Sure, that sounds cruel and unfair. But my parents are “every silver lining has a dark cloud” kind of people… and as thankful as I am to them for bringing me into this world and doing what they can for me over the years; emotionally speaking… they are NOT the people I can talk to for that kind of support. I think the fact that I tried in this instance may say that I wish they WERE, but every instance of trying to tell them anything, good or bad, has pretty much blown up in my face.

My mom answers, and I tell her what’s going on. Instead of what I wanted and needed to hear, she said, “Well, can they just take the other suit in a *little* in case you gain some weight back?”

“… I’m sorry, what?”

Is it just me, or did that sound… how shall I say it? A bit “un-encouraging”? Is that essentially a vote of no-confidence in my efforts at the gym and eating better? Because it sure as hell sounded like it.

I tried to explain exactly how much I’d lost, and how taking the old suit in “a little” wasn’t exactly an option. When my father got in on the conversation later on, he remarked how if I keep going to the gym, I’m “just going to need ANOTHER suit.” Now, that one may be more of a “delivery” kind of thing… because where he was putting the emphasis did not sound like it was celebrating the accomplishment of slimming down, but of the annoyance of having to do this errand again. (Even though it was for me, and nothing to do with him)

Now, if I lost *another* 6 inches from where I am now… I wouldn’t be worried about a suit that fits… I’d be worried about a hospital gown that fits, because that’s where I’d be treated for malnutrition. No, I wouldn’t be crossing another tailoring-threshold, and any adjustments to a smaller size would be minor ones, fixed with a simple “taking in”. It wouldn’t be changing the “cut” of the suit. His reply echoed my Mom’s initial statement; “Well, you better keep the old suit for when you gain the weight back.” (Notice his has a bit more certainty in it then my Mother’s.)

Wow. Just… wow. I have to wonder if my family ever actually *listens* to themselves.

So, back to when I was waiting at the mall for the suit to be finished… and NOT feeling as good as I had hoped at this point… I went to look outside my immediate family. (I definitely wasn’t going to try my brothers… at best I’d get an “Okay, so?”) I texted a friend of mine, summarizing the situation… and thankfully, she told me what I needed to hear. This *was* a good thing… it’s a great thing! Sure, I didn’t get much use out of the old suit, but why should care about a suit that looks crappy on me? I worked hard, and I deserve this… I deserve to look good, dammit. This was definitely the right thing.

When I picked up my suit… I did, in fact, feel a hell of a lot better. If anyone ever wonders why I’m so fiercely loyal to my friends… it’s for things like this.

And I would come to realize later… the financial hit wasn’t as bad as I thought. My months of being frugal hadn’t sapped my savings like I was afraid it was, and monetarily, my situation was a-okay. I *probably* could have afforded a sport coat as well… but I still figured it wiser to wait on that.

But eventually, when I did start working again… I went and bought myself a SECOND suit. So I could have some variety. And then this winter, I even bought two sport-coats. In both instances, I had considered and decided ahead of time, so the buying was actually a pleasurable experience rather than a spur-of-the-moment-stress event. (And in neither case did I bother to tell the ‘rents.)

Now I’m looking for more opportunities to wear them.