I wandered into my writing folder and found this. To preempt your questions, no I have no idea why I wrote this or what my point was. In any event you have to concede it is awesome.
Pardon me good sir,
I find your lady friend objectionable,
Might I recommend looking into acquiring another?
Please forgive my forwardness,
But might it be untoward to suggest I might accompany you from here on?
I have seen you[r] amorous glances,
And all of London is atwitter with gossip that we shall soon be engaged.
As for myself I confess I have done nothing to suppress these rumors.
You cut quite a handsome figure,
The heavens have conspired to match us.
Lets review the plot shall we?
So, from what I can gather a man passes another man in what sounds like Victorian England, London specifically, and sees his lady on the am of another man. I guess she is an "escort" if one wishes to put it delicately. After trashing his lady to the other man he takes her aside to have a private conversation about their plans for marriage. He either finishes or I simply stopped writing as he says that shes pretty hot (despite having indicated something to the contrary moments ago to the other guy) and heaven ordained that they should be together.
Apparently my protagonist doesn't realize that most women don't look favorably on their fiances publicly trashing them on the street.
Honestly I don't even know what this is. Is it poetry? I have never had any talent for writing poetry so perhaps it is.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Why Men Like Fast Cars
The question was asked of me: why do men like fast cars?
I explained it thus:
A car is at its most basic level a tool. It is designed to transport a person from point A to point B. As with all tools there are different grades of tool. For example back in the early days of civilization before the metric system had even been dreamed up people used body parts to measure thing. While the specifics of the origin of the imperial system's foot, a foot was used to pace out building sites and all sorts of other things. Villages without standardized measuring tools could still use the loose measure of a man's foot at least enough to get business done. Later when the foot was standardized it is anecdotally believed that the foot came from the shod foot of King Henry I. To use this standardized measure in the modern day one can use of those crappy plastic rulers issued to every public school child, you know the one, it had the three holes in it to fit in a three ring binder which were inevitably used to balance it atop a pencil and spun like a helicopter. A step up from this would be the wooden ruler with the metal band sticking out the top for a truer straight edge. The spectrum progresses until you start getting into serious measuring equipment like laser sights that will measure a distance in millimeters to 32 decimal places.
For most of use however, we really don't need to measure things to 32 decimal places. Clearly then I have proven that I do not need a Ferrari 430, a Hyundai Accent would probably accomplish all of my needs. Yet I still want that fast car, why?
Well, in the first place, while I have no need of a car that makes 483 bhp and has a top speed of 196 mph having an F430 gives me the ability to do so should the need arise. I might not need to measure things to 32 decimal places but with a laser sight I can when I need to and when I don;t I can always round the decimal places off. In perhaps a argument more timely to those of us in the Baltimore area: pick-up trucks aren't the most fuel efficient vehicles, making as they do all that horse power and riding so high they are about as aerodynamic as a brick wall. When the blizzard hits town though, better believe you want to be in the 5.7L Hemi V8 Dodge Ram 2500 when you absolutely have to get somewhere.
Secondly there is a certain beauty to any refined tool. The male frame of mind, I would argue, is very result oriented. Looks certainly play a part but when concerning tools, those things designed to help us accomplish a given task, results are paramount. Thus when presented with a tool that would allow us to accomplish a task very well, in this case moving from point A to point B in the least amount of time possible, men instinctively desire the best tool available. This same principal can be observed when a man walks into an electronics store. He may only need a set of very basic computer speakers but almost invariably he will spend time looking at the 5.1 surround sound system that has speakers that stand as tall as his waist and has a sub woofer that could blow your face off, grin still intact.
This demonstrates that mens' desire for the best is not limited to cars, leaving the question why then is the desire for fast cars so seemingly universal to to all men where as other things are not? To that I would say cars provide the universal element all men need. Not everyman is an audiophil, thus not every man wants awesome speakers, but a car provides something everyman has a need for: transportation.
Even more fundamentally I would argue that cars are motion machines. To be alive is to move. In a sense motion is life. The invigorating, life affirming thrill men get as the command their machine to hurl them at ever increasing speeds toward their final destination is literally a 100 proof shot of life.
In America this feeling is magnified because of cultural values stressing independence. An American man looks at a fast car knowing that not only does it perform its function very well but that it as with most any other car it is a symbol that he can go anywhere he wants anytime he desires.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Objective Self-Description
His lips are thin, and dry despite his constant application of the chap stick in his left pocket. He might have high cheek bones but honestly he has no idea what that means. He surmises it is something good, a trait that conveys majesty, something people look for in models and royalty. If this is the case he has high cheek bones.
His jaw isn't square, more obtuse, giving his face a longer appearance, tapering to a point at his uncleft chin. The overwhelming gratitude he feels at not having a butt chin is indescribable.
Mostly smooth cheeks, or as smooth as one can be reasonably expected to have from a man who, in his formative years, did not have a firm grasp on the causal relationship between greasy foods and acne. At present his cheeks are half hidden beneath a two and a half week old patina of facial hair which is thin and soft. The sideburns sweep down across his cheeks but refuse to join with the hair on his chin, only his mustache, leaves him disappointed with two bare patches on either side of his chin. The hair itself is thin and soft, not thick and wirey like his European heritage might suggest, more Asian.
Ahh the mighty hair styles of yor he would experiment with were he gifted with a full beard. He has already tried mutton chops. Not much of a challenge since that is what he gets automatically when he doesn't shave anything except his chin. The specific design of his facial hair changes on a whim and since he has neither a steady girlfriend or even some cute girl he is trying to impress there was an opportunity to grow his facial hair out. By this point the under chin and neck hair has gotten long enough to become itchy and he has contemplated shaving, an impulse he'd probably resist for a few weeks longer were it not for a wedding he is attending Saturday. A roommate from college.
He supposes that his nose is about as large as most men's noses, though he can recall a time after his grandfather died when he worried it was too large. His eyebrows are--well frankly they're just eyebrows and not something he particularly troubles himself over other than to occasionally think about shaving them off just to see how it looked and felt (a plan some of his friends have discouraged him from undertaking) and to make sure he learned how to raise just one of them like Spock and all subsequent Vulcans used to do on Star Trek whenever they were puzzled or surprised.
His eyes, as of looking in the mirror this morning, he fears may be spaced to close together, ruining his chances of getting a seven figure contract off a modeling company's talent recruiter whom he meets by chance and blinds with his masculine beauty. His eyes are also brown, and convey--he dearly hopes--a sense of great depth.
The hair on his head is also brown (only women are brunette). It is thick and fairly long at this point though a touch coarse from split ends. His hair has been untouched by any cutting or trimming implement since he last shaved his head a week or two before August. You can probably see his blonde spot which he is told will become a distinguished grey spot when he is older, though he refuses to acknowledge its existence.
He has grown his hair out once before, down to his shoulders. Took him a year and a half. He tried again last winter but ended up shaving it all off at the behest of his mother who subtly hinted that it didn't look very good. His hair is not unruly enough to look good when left to its own devices, but too unruly to take directions from a comb. He wanted straight hair but has a type of hair his mother once told him with a slight frown was called wavy, her ruler straight but permed hair falling in a curly cascade over her shoulder as it had for as long as he could remember.
His ears are small, his left adorned by a small hoop of white gold which he worries from time to time, especially during tests. It was silver before, hes never been much for gold, but looking for an appropriately masculine silver earring to replace the one he lost proved way to time consuming so he went with the white gold. He suspects that it was really just a clever marketing trick, a conscious effort to make all the silver earrings ugly so he'd upgrade to the more expensive white gold. Damn wily retailers.
His jaw isn't square, more obtuse, giving his face a longer appearance, tapering to a point at his uncleft chin. The overwhelming gratitude he feels at not having a butt chin is indescribable.
Mostly smooth cheeks, or as smooth as one can be reasonably expected to have from a man who, in his formative years, did not have a firm grasp on the causal relationship between greasy foods and acne. At present his cheeks are half hidden beneath a two and a half week old patina of facial hair which is thin and soft. The sideburns sweep down across his cheeks but refuse to join with the hair on his chin, only his mustache, leaves him disappointed with two bare patches on either side of his chin. The hair itself is thin and soft, not thick and wirey like his European heritage might suggest, more Asian.
Ahh the mighty hair styles of yor he would experiment with were he gifted with a full beard. He has already tried mutton chops. Not much of a challenge since that is what he gets automatically when he doesn't shave anything except his chin. The specific design of his facial hair changes on a whim and since he has neither a steady girlfriend or even some cute girl he is trying to impress there was an opportunity to grow his facial hair out. By this point the under chin and neck hair has gotten long enough to become itchy and he has contemplated shaving, an impulse he'd probably resist for a few weeks longer were it not for a wedding he is attending Saturday. A roommate from college.
He supposes that his nose is about as large as most men's noses, though he can recall a time after his grandfather died when he worried it was too large. His eyebrows are--well frankly they're just eyebrows and not something he particularly troubles himself over other than to occasionally think about shaving them off just to see how it looked and felt (a plan some of his friends have discouraged him from undertaking) and to make sure he learned how to raise just one of them like Spock and all subsequent Vulcans used to do on Star Trek whenever they were puzzled or surprised.
His eyes, as of looking in the mirror this morning, he fears may be spaced to close together, ruining his chances of getting a seven figure contract off a modeling company's talent recruiter whom he meets by chance and blinds with his masculine beauty. His eyes are also brown, and convey--he dearly hopes--a sense of great depth.
The hair on his head is also brown (only women are brunette). It is thick and fairly long at this point though a touch coarse from split ends. His hair has been untouched by any cutting or trimming implement since he last shaved his head a week or two before August. You can probably see his blonde spot which he is told will become a distinguished grey spot when he is older, though he refuses to acknowledge its existence.
He has grown his hair out once before, down to his shoulders. Took him a year and a half. He tried again last winter but ended up shaving it all off at the behest of his mother who subtly hinted that it didn't look very good. His hair is not unruly enough to look good when left to its own devices, but too unruly to take directions from a comb. He wanted straight hair but has a type of hair his mother once told him with a slight frown was called wavy, her ruler straight but permed hair falling in a curly cascade over her shoulder as it had for as long as he could remember.
His ears are small, his left adorned by a small hoop of white gold which he worries from time to time, especially during tests. It was silver before, hes never been much for gold, but looking for an appropriately masculine silver earring to replace the one he lost proved way to time consuming so he went with the white gold. He suspects that it was really just a clever marketing trick, a conscious effort to make all the silver earrings ugly so he'd upgrade to the more expensive white gold. Damn wily retailers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
