My very public diary

Dec 01


Sometimes I don’t want to fall into anybody’s arms bur my own.

Nov 30

Day who cares?- Assholes rule, girls drool? WTF?

Ok. So, I haven´t written for a while. I have been busy. More like, I haven´t had that much to bitch about lately. I feel content. Calm. Icky.

I have also decided to turn my astute observations onto other more external matters. In this case, it has been brought to my attention (through an informal probe and personal experience) that girls dig assholes. Poor choice of words, I know. The point remains. The ladies like, nay, love, doucey guys.

This, on the other hand, is something men have noticed. With this wonderful notion, us men have found a relatively simply way of accomplishing two things: a) getting away with some ridiculous shit. And, b) protecting ourselves amidst the dating dance.

Let me break it down.

Initially, in line with the whole positivistic tradition, a guy simply likes a chick. He likes her alot. They´ve been dating for a while and he is getting to the point where he wants something a little bit more serious. At this point he has two options:

a) Go out on a limb and tell her he likes her and he wishes for something more. This is full on exposure to rejection. Only for the self-destructive, the fearless, and those quick to rise from a blow.

Typical conversation:

-“I loves you, Mary.”


-“Ah jeez.”

b) Act in complete contradiction to everything he feels resulting in a generalized indifference toward everything. The point of this strategy is to sow doubt and confusion in the other party.

-“So what do you want to do Jeff?”


-“Jeff, I had a great time last night.”


Of course, these two categories of doucebaggery are not exclusive. There are as many doucebags as there are snowflakes, my great imaginary uncle Dan always said. And they are not by all means just men. Women can be douces as well. Just re-read the entire previous part and invert the names and voices in your head.

More asshole cataloging to come!

Nov 10
Look at this fucking hipster… who I hang out with.

Look at this fucking hipster… who I hang out with.

Nov 09
Nov 08

DAY 24 - Start and stop…

A few posts ago I wrote about somethings being defined by what are not, rather by than what they are. I spoke of binary pairs, ying-yang, etc. Well it occured to me I omitted a pretty important, all though not obvious, one. Ends and Beginnings. For a blog that got its start from, well, and end, I am surprised I haven’t delved more deeply into this topic.

It´s not the fact that my ex and I are both seeing people right now. It has more to do with the way life almost seems to know when certain things should stop, and others should begin. Or it simply knows what needs to be taken away in order for you to go forward and become a stronger more self-reliant person. You can fight it, plan against it, go crazy trying to stop it, but the inevitable will always happen. It sounds redundant, but most people never internalize what that means.

Death in inevitable, yet most people seem only to view it as an external phenomenon. Embrace it and you find release. Know your time is finite, and it takes on a value nonassignable to the everlasting. Realizing death is a constant, to a great degree shapes life.

Loss is inevitable. All things are destined to disappear. It is in their absence that most people, cultures, lives become most holly.

Love is inevitable. It drives us together, apart, upside down. It can do anything to us. Break us or make us. Save us, kill us. Anything.

What makes a difference is how face up to the inevitable. We can ignore it, or we can stand up to it in a quixotic fashion. Tin lance in one hand, coupled with a tin shield, fighting the avalanche of the unavoidable.

Stoicism, at this point, is only for those of an ascetic nature. For those of us who thrive in midst of passion and excess, there is only an accepting embrace. Let the inevitable wash over me. Let it wash me out to an ocean of possibility, for inevitability does not imply conformity.

Nov 04

DAY 20 - The fine art of flirting…


The Merriam-Webster Dictionary (or it´s web page, in any case) defines flirting as:

Main Entry: flirt

Pronunciation: \ˈflərt\

Function: verb

Etymology: origin unknown

Date: 1580 (people have been flirting, and failing at it, for 400 years now. And counting.)

1)a : to behave amorously without serious intent b : to show superficial or casual interest or liking <flirted with the idea>; also : experiment <a novelist flirting with poetry>
2) to come close to reaching or experiencing something —used with with <flirting with disaster>

It´s a fairly common activity here on planet earth. Someone, somewhere, right now, is flirting. And, rest assured, for everyone of those persons, there is someone else, the recipient or target of said advances, who is either enjoying it thoroughly, or feeling very bothered and uncomfortable.  Generally, flirting is something people relish, regret or repudiate. By that, I mean people generally are:

a: Good at it, ostensibly getting the desired results from their endeavors both on the receiving and giving ends.

b: Embarrassed by it. Not because they suck at it, but because they rarely get to engage in it. Being rusty, I believe its called.

c: Über-hot people who are on the receiving end of SO much flirting they tend to view it with disdain. Or, simply someone who isn´t into the person flinging the flirts.

Notice I am avoiding assigning a gender here. I am not saying women, or men for that matter, are better at flirting. Granted they are each others subjects of preference (well not always) when it comes down to it.

I find amusing that in the very dictionary definition itself there is allusion of disaster. I mean, did they have to choose that particular expression (“flirting with disaster?”) And, aren´t we always, when we flirt? It can always go either way.

It can be an epic fail, or a towering win. Examples:

Flirter: Hi, how are you?

Flirtee: Pretty good, yourself.

Fliter: Can I get you a drink?

Ok, Im going to start over. For some reason I can only imagine two gorillas in bowler hats. Scratch that, Im skipping the whole imagination dream sequence bit this time.

Just be sure that every time you see some girl, or guy, roll their eyes, a kitty dies. That rhymes!  What Im saying is that the potential for abysmal failure is so great, some people fear flirting. Others, of a more self-deprecating nature, crave the punishment of being rejected constantly. Myself, I can take a few hits, and give a few, but too much rejection can bum me out.

On the positive side, I have to disagree with Merriam and Webster on the definition. I don’t think flirting implies a lack of serious intent. Maybe superficial or casual, but not without intent. I mean, can flirting not lead to solid relationships? Is it not mandatory for any relationship, be it only a physical one, to at least begin with flirting? Admittedly, in some cases, awkward flirting makes for the most amazing relationships.

When flirting goes right, its a wonderful thing. Hearts quicken, pulses race, eyes lock, eyelashes bat, eyebrows go up (at least for me) and the world just seems like a more exciting and mysterious place. The sheer possibilities of what might come often overwhelm and over come us. When that flirt is reciprocated fireworks go off the distance, the ground quakes, seas part…it´s wonderful. I think it might be better than having an orgasm (I said might be). Which leads me to my final point.

Flirting is, finally, the preamble to foreplay. It can lead to sex. I daresay it may be the original intent of the word.

Nov 01

PRE-POST! …I seriously need to learn to shut the fuck up

This isn’t a real post. Its the idea of a post. Expect more to come.

Oct 31

Sometimes it just seems that way.

Oct 31

DAY 16 - Friday night lights…

Its Friday night. I´m staying in. It fucking fantastic. It may be the years getting the better of me. Or, it may be the fact that the main reason Im staying in is this:

And, Im going out tomorrow. Have to save up strength.

After yesterdays super deep post about the nature of, well, nature, I feel like sailing fairer waters. Today´s topic of discussion comes after a very public declaration of love (not to me) made by a great friend on her blog. Today, ladies and gentleman, we will be discussing romance.

When speaking about romance, people generally concoct images of big giant red hearts, flowers, knights in shinning armor, grand gestures, etc, etc, etc. I am of another, more classical, persuasion. The romantic movement, emerges as a reaction to the cold calculating nature of the industrial revolution. The breadth and reach of this current impacted all forms of expression.

It is this notion I would like to bring forward. This romance was found in the storm, the turmoil and the fire. Unrequited love made a better story than the traditional romantic fare offered today by Hollywood. It is this idea, that of love tinged by pain and sorrow, that I find appealing.

The best love story is the one that ends in tragedy. I mean, I know its cliché, but, Romeo and Juliet is the worlds greatest love story for a reason. Dramatic literuature is rotten with examples.

Nonetheless, the prevalent notion is that of grand gestures and puppies. I believe loving and loosing is just as beautiful as permanent happiness. Infinitely more valuable than never having loved at all.

Oct 29

Day 16 - Perfect happiness?

Opposites attract. Its a law of physics. In nature, things generally exist in pairs. Laughter would be pretty worthless, if we did not cry. Positive, negative, you know, the whole ying-yang thing. Of course, we all know the cookiest of binary pairs; man and woman.

My point is that some things don´t make much sense without their opposing pair. Or, rather, somethings are defined by what they are not. Darkness is the absence of light.  Sadness is understood as the absence of happiness. It is impossible to know one without experiencing the other. They must co-exist.

That´s why it really bothers me why some people beleive -I´ve seen a million  books- that we should all be universally and perpetually happy. I, for one, think that would be unberably boring. Take a gander at Aldous Huxleys “A Brave New World,” to get an idea of how inhuman constant and standardized happiness can be. Don´t get me wrong, I am equally adamant about the flip side of this argument. I like being happy. But, all the time? Granted there is enough suffering and misery in the world to make my point seem insensitive.


I just took a three hour break and watched my beloved New York Yankees win the second game of the World Series, after loosing the first, yesterday. The whole experience relates directly to the topic at hand. Would today’s victory be less sweet had we not lost so profoundly yesterday? I believe so.

Apologies for the profoundness.