Thursday, July 29, 2004

Roommates who date

During the course of my search for a new place last week, I went to see an available room. A woman named Cindy was advertising it. I must admit, I also went to see what Cindy looks like and to guage whether she is available as well. I'm male. What do you want?

As the door to the apartment building opened, my eyes locked on a striking and lithe brunette of, if I'm not mistaken, the Pacific Islander variety. Do you know that a synonym for "lithe" is "supple"? I bet Cindy is also supple.

Cindy and I enjoyed great conversation. I learned, for instance, that she, too, loves to drive, and we shared a laugh about how we both occasionally brave the hellish rush hour traffic just for the thrill of driving.

The Pacific Islander female who was cavorting with me is tall. Cindy is, in fact, taller than I am. Yet the two of us also enjoyed what you may categorize as chemistry. Height disparities haven't stopped the ladies before, and I saw no reason to deprive her of the opportunity to access the "Brent Experience" in all its storied glory. I ended up not going for it -- the room, that is. But I did "go for it" with Cindy. Our e-mail exchange, which happened days later, follows.

Brent writes:

Subject: Re: CinBad - Room for rent

Hey Cindy --

I would've gotten back to you sooner,, hell -- I don't have a good excuse. Anyway...I've found an apartment closer to the city. It’s within walking distance of public transportation. I liked your place but decided I'd rather not have to drive to a train station anymore.

So...I won't be rooming with you. I know you're disappointed. In your shoes, I would be, too, if originally faced with the prospect of rooming with me. It would, of course, be a letdown for anybody. ...

But I'll tell you what. Let's grab a drink. Actually, that would mean we'd have to share the beverage, so maybe we'll get two drinks (and another round thereafter, if so inclined). Perhaps we'll even order alcohol for them. After all, we both love to drive, and everyone knows nothing goes together better than drinking and driving. ;-) Drop me a line.


Cindy replies:

Subject: Re: Re: CinBad - Room for rent

I'm happy things worked out for you. I too, have found a roommate and I'm very disappointed that things didn't work out for us. :)

Brent responds:

Subject: Re: Re: Re: CinBad - Room for rent

Your new roommate is a lucky person. And things can still work out for us, Cindy. Your disappointment will dissipate when we get together for drinks.

Important Disclaimer:

Should you prefer that Brent's e-mail advances cease, just let him know. He's a courteous guy who graciously grants such wishes. Yet he seldom encounters lack of interest, which means, under the rare circumstances that he does, he requires direct, unequivocal answers. :-)

Cindy denies Brent:

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: CinBad - Room for rent

I think Brent's email advances are quite cute, however I'm not interested.

Good luck in all your endeavors.

Oh, well, even better looking women have reacted favorably to my game. And, most important, "I'm back in the saddle again." Steven Tyler concurs.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

P. Diddy would agree

Joe Doesn't Vote doesn't care one iota about policies. The J-Lo crowd's just wafting through life, boy band to boy band. The only thing that'll get the no-minds to vote is stupid pet tricks.

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

The easy way out

It's so easy to be a New York Yankees fan. It's the easy way out.

Nobody likes someone who always takes the easy way out.

They are against us

Beware of those who use the terrorists' atrocities against America against America.

The right to give

Give those who want to do the right thing the right thing to do.

Punch a pillow

A popular book on anxiety and stress management instructs readers to punch a pillow when they feel the urge to do something wrong.

President Bush should have punched a pillow before sending the military off to Iraq.

Monday, July 26, 2004

They say one thing and then they do otherwise

By cutting taxes until they are happy, they say they will eventually stimulate the economy.

OK. Those among the rabble, raise your hands if you have the patience to wait for some fat cat to satiate his own greed before he gives back to society.

Why is their happiness the sole prerequisite for the good of all to take place? When will they finally decide to help the rest of us by creating companies for us to work for?

Folks, that day may never come again. Do you want some proof? Just look at the latest fad: outsourcing. If the day does come, the companies for us to work in may not be the kinds of places anyone would want to work in.

The stakes are high. These same people who are the greediest among us control much of our government. The task at hand to defeat them politically is that much more challenging.

Boy, have we Democrats ever needed a stronger leader than we do now?

Corporate America: A faux sage culture

Its leaders like to think of themselves as our sages, which explains their dogged loyalty to their policies. So many people buy into the song and dance, too.

It is a huge problem for everyone everywhere, as Corporate America's "philosophers" have become our nation's "intellectual" leaders. Good marketing can sell simple solutions, and it's tempting to accept a simple solution for a pressing problem. Why? We want answers now. Many of us are inclined to say, "OK, it's decided. Don't talk to me any more. You're wasting your time. This is the way things are. Rush Limbaugh tells me so."

Just look at any of the President's media appearances. (This shouldn't take long to do.) They are largely scripted along marketing principles that aim to sell ideas. The ideas are simple ones; marketing's efficacy in communicating complex concepts is limited. And complex concepts are what we need to solve many of our problems.

The irony is that the people selling simple solutions may believe their own ideas. That would be almost more dangerous than if these people were merely lying. Regardless, the dilemma remains, and loads of cash in their coffers pays for the marketing know-how that fuels their efforts.

Hope lives. Some of us recognize these faux intellectuals' arguments as wrong even as soapboxers attempt to convince us otherwise as best they can. We who see through the mistaken postulates are few. Our retort calls for a clever marketing campaign, yes, but our notions call for more. It will take a few artists to communicate the stuff that can heal our nation. Art speaks volumes. Art takes courage, and it must fend for itself. As I write, a conservative, somewhere, is suppressing an artist.

Where can we turn? Where else than Corporate America may we find brilliant marketing people? Where do talented artists with power live? Where are the progressive benefactors? Where will we meet those who would do pro bono work for what is best?


Thank you, Michael Moore, for "Fahrenheit 9/11." Anyone else in Hollywood who fears for the future, take notice. Help your ally. Script and market something artful that blows the doors off the drivel from jokers who control Corporate America and its subservient news media. Carry Mr. Moore's torch over the next leg of this journey to freedom before the cabal leads us to oblivion.

Sunday, July 25, 2004

Dating conservatively

Blogspot likes to run banner ads across the top of my blog. I don't mind, really. But sometimes I wonder, as they tend to beckon Web surfers to right-leaning sites.

Maybe this irony in the face of my site's politically left content is just a coincidence, but that explanation would be boring, and I hate to be bored. It's at these moments, when I slip dangerously toward ennui, that my old friend paranoia (click on the link and scroll down to "Conspiracy Theory") wrests control of my mind and tells me, "The Bushites' Internet-based henchmen are monitoring you, Brent. They're hacking your site."

Paranoia makes his points with a brand of confidence and certitude that is unmatched. He's hard to argue with. After all, how could the Bushites' Internet-based henchmen even have a clue that I'm again single? They must be watching my every move. Why else would they display a banner ad, on my blog, pointing to ConservativeMatch? As ConservativeMatch likes to describe itself:
More than just another dating site...
ConservativeMatch is not simply another dating site, we are a real community of people who share conservative values. Our site offers much more than matchmaking, we bring people together for friendship, romance and marriage.
Great. Not only must I surround my blog with a cyber moat to protect me from the nefarious right-wing computer hackers invading my Constitutionally protected right to say and write what I want for all to hear and read. On top of that, crazed women of a politically conservative mind soon promise to hit me up for tea and crumpets and nag me about my views on Iraq, economic policy, and God knows what else. And I probably won't even get laid for the trouble.

To be fair, we should all remember that some left-leaning organizations go a step further and run their very own dating sites for liberals. Conservatives can have their own dating sites too. They'll get no complaints from me.

I'm just wondering why those right-wingers are advertising their personals at my blog. I guess I'm just paranoid.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

The Governator pushes our buttons
Certain postulates govern the hand as it directs the remote control to choose certain channels for certain fare. For instance, if the spirit moves us to laugh, a witty sitcom or bawdy talk show can satisfy our need for humor, and our fingers push the buttons accordingly.
And, if we are lucky, a sober mood prevails every once in a while. The viewer searches for something, anything, on the boob tube that proves the half-century-old technology’s higher-minded potential. She looks for political discourse. She yearns for thoughtful sophistry, even if only to observe it in that passive way that talking heads permit.
When the aspirations to civic duty move this citizen, her mind is fragile. Her opinions are easy to shape. When the call to politick first tugs her, it is at its strongest, and so is the temptation to disengage. The kind of citizen our founding fathers envisioned is budding. The moment is at once crucial and delicate.
And her fingers push the buttons accordingly. What greets her at the doorway to her inaugural excursion into the world of higher minds and courses of nations? Why, of course, the Governator of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger, who has labeled his political foes “girlie men.”
It is enough to make us cringe. And yet, we shouldn’t be surprised. After all, this is what happens when we loose the dogs of laissez faire on politics. Serious discourse gives way to sweeps week. Teddy Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln yield to The Terminator and Boy President. We sell the things that define us, and civic duty goes out of business.

Bjorn Borg would agree

I just don’t get it. I don’t get how John McEnroe gets to get his own show [caution: preceding link features sound] on cable television with nary a peep from the intelligentsia.

McEnroe makes a better television show host than Martina Navratilova or Boris Becker would. I’ll cede as much to CNBC's programming team. They're right, and I agree with them. They probably also believe that Reagan was a better President than Bush Jr. and that early Hyundais were better cars than any Yugos. They could go on and on, and I'd agree with them in every case. Then I'd ask whether anyone in the boardroom would like to buy my friend's kid brother's circa. 1987 Hyundai Excel.

Know what I’m sayin’?

McEnroe likes to complain. McEnroe won’t shut up. McEnroe’s an egomaniac. McEnroe thinks he deserves the sun, the moon, and the stars. In short, McEnroe’s a baby. Famous babies who do one thing right can then do the baby thing right and always get what they want.

I get it now. And, besides, he does make me laugh. Maybe he deserves it.

A sign frequents this land
A couple months ago, Derrick Shepard, state representative for Jefferson Parish, Louisiana, introduced legislation to ban women from exposing the tops of their thongs in public. To obey the ban, young women will have to commit a serious breach of modern fashion protocol. The E! Channel is upset. And you should be, too, even though Rep. Shepard may be on to something. ...
Preparing to barbecue one sunny Saturday afternoon, I walked into the local supermarket and plotted my course. The center aisle, the one where supermarkets sell seasonal items such as beach balls, doubles as the quickest route to the meat department. I made my move.
Rounding the corner, I saw an angry young man. He had just bounced one of these beach balls. His baggy jeans clung, precariously at best, to his waist. At mid bounce, he turned his backside to me. As the store’s ball hit the floor and rocketed back toward his hand, the adolescent’s pants and underwear gave way, falling down to his knees to expose a bare ass.
Now, I don’t know about you, but, for me, it’s a reflex. Whenever my pants and underwear fall down in public, I immediately grab them and frantically pull them back up, hoping no one sees what has happened. The punk in my supermarket sees things differently. Unfazed, he casually walked away, his pants, at that point, around his ankles.
A sign frequents this land. It hangs from the doors of family-owned retail establishments in small towns everywhere. Its message informs us, “No Shirt, No Shoes, No service.” Mom and Pop sure as hell never even thought to add the words “No Pants” to their cozy corner store’s sign.
My, how times have changed. Even this social norm has finally found its slow learner. Perhaps the kid never read the Book of Genesis. Who knows? Somewhere, somehow, however, this guy never processed the concept that he should pull his pants back up as fast as he can when they fall down in public.
Rep. Shepard’s designs to limit the quotient of publicly exposed female skin are wrong, and I oppose his efforts. But a revised version of his ban is surely in order. Let’s apply it first to contractors who enter my home to fix leaky faucets, broken wiring, and other structural and utility ailments only accessible from crouching positions. And let’s also think about writing in a minimum sentencing requirement for unrepentant beach ball–bouncing punks caught with their pants down at my local supermarket.

Monday, July 19, 2004

Imaginary relationships
Wouldn't you know it? More than 10 years ago, science isolated the mathematical concepts ruling romance:
The Complex Theory of Relationships
I wish someone had told me about this sooner. With these apparently widely known findings at my disposal, surely I could have turned my own romantic relationship around long before its imaginary numbers' coordinates plunged irretrievably into the negative quadrants of love.
(Look, gotta read the link's contents to grasp the sarcasm.)

Dating in gridlock

I slowed for the traffic light. A thirty-something female, jockeying for position to turn right on red, rolled just beyond my Japanese fastback.

The sun was out. Seventies rock was on the radio. The voice in my head had an idea.

She’s hot. Pull up next to her car, roll down your windows, and turn up the radio. I’m telling you, Brent. You’ll score.

I responded, OK. A thirty-something man, I have yet to pick up chicks by blaring classic rock from my car. It only stood to reason that the tactic would work this time around.

I reached over and adjusted the volume. As the music blared, I coasted up alongside my prey, lowered my passenger-side power window, and adjusted my sunglasses.

The attractive thirty-something female turned her head toward me and back to the road ahead of her in one smooth motion. Swiftly activating her right-hand turn signal, she drove off.


It’s amazing how the voice in my head convinces me, still, to try to get chicks by doing things that don’t get chicks.

Friday, July 16, 2004

You are an inspiration
Do any readers out there remember the Righteous Brothers? They used to sing stuff like this:
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration
You're all I got to get me by
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration
Without you baby what good am I?

Oh, what good am I?
Yeah, we’re talking about those wussies who used to write about a bunch of sentimental crap that chicks dig and guys, deep down, think but hate to admit. The scientists at Brent’s Polemics have discovered what fuels all this madness.
Evolution has driven women to leave their men. What do men do when their women leave them? They drink. And what do men do when they drink? They sing about how they are worthless without the women who have left them—basically, a bunch of sentimental crap.
Why? Why don’t hapless men just go get new chicks and start banging again?
It’s simple, really. Millennia of biological and social development have programmed men to want to please hot women, and when they fail to please the hot women they want to bang, and the hot women put a stop to the banging, we men lapse into deep despair. After all, we are the providers and pursuers, and banging, interrupted, tells us we’ve failed.
Brent’s Polemics' scientists encourage you to proclaim from atop the nearest full-size SUV, “Screw that.”

A roguish mind

He saw her approach him as he embraced the bag of extra cheesy nachos.
“If it weren’t for me,” his lascivious lady friend effused, “You’d be in the gutter.”
“You’re right,” replied her recalcitrant rogue. “Thank God only my mind is there now.”

Put away your Dukes

The pop culture prophets predict that Warner Bros. will release a feature film of “The Dukes of Hazzard” sometime next year. First in the admissions line sure to snake the streets leading to his local movie theatre is a young man in the deep Northeast. A set of steer horns graces the hood of his early-eighties Cadillac. Last seen piloting his beloved steel behemoth through suburbia, he champions the principles of primetime’s past.

Hey, guy with the dead bull’s sexual calling card taxing his vehicle’s front end, listen up:

Boss Hogg is a false idol. Bo and Luke Duke stir demons within your soul. For God’s sake, suburban redneck, lose the bling-bling and repent. Get a normal hood ornament and go get laid.