When the USA stepped into a corner market in San Jose, California, it just wanted a late-afternoon snack. It ended up getting a lot more than that.
"I hadn't eaten any gummy bears in a while, so I grabbed some and then saw that the lottery was past fifteen trillion bucks, so I decided to give it a shot."
That shot paid off, as the former hegemon was the sole winner of the $15,101,982,332,288 jackpot announced last night. Needless to say, the country has big plans for the winnings. "I've got some bills that I should probably pay down, but I also want to do some traveling. North Korea's been looking at me funny, and I might wanna throw some money at that."
While debt elimination and military projection of power may seem like the responsible thing to do, the USA has more whimsical ideas, too.
"Maybe I'll get, like a dozen iPads so I can put them on my wall and have some sort of virtual window onto an alien landscape. Or go to Mars. Wait and see, right?"
The winning numbers were (4, 8, 15, 16, 24, 42) were selected through a lucky confluence of cultural literacy (the USA is "a big Lost fan") and incompetence (the USA "totally got one of the numbers from the show wrong").
The windfall is a change of fortunes for a nation that has recently seen the BP oil spill, an early elimination from the World Cup, and Justin Bieber.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
This is How We Do It...
There is a line.
When you are, as a single guy, talking to a woman, there is a line.
It's boring to compliment her eyes. It's rude to talk about her boobs. It's homosexual to gush (figuratively) over her shoes (literal gushing over her shoes might lead to the police being called).
Any woman that's worth speaking to is probably used to being spoken to. Being like other guys is something that won't help out, unless she's already decided that she wants something from you. While some guys probably have the burden of fending women off irrespective of what they (the guy) say, I don't have that problem. I would like to think that I am not offensive, visually, but I have no illusions that I can merely strike a pose and wait for attractive women to start grinding on me.
So... I need to be different. Different, as I told Canberra earlier today, can be very good. Or, as I discovered earlier tonight, it can be very bad.
I was at Chopstix tonight in the presence of The Regular and TM2000. The ratio of chicks to guys was amazing... before they showed up, I had counted a 36:6 chick to guy ratio (I guess that's a 6:1 ratio, but enumerating the population helps clarify the picture). By the time they were both there, things had evened out a bit, but the primary fact remained: women outnumbered men, but quantity did not mean quality.
In other words, there were a lot of women there, but very, very few who were physically attractive enough to be worth talking to (yes, throw me under the bus if you must as a shallow asshole, but that's the first (significant!) filter I apply as a single guy, and I don't think I'm at all unique in that).
TM2000 and I were monitoring the people entering the establishment, and it was a great chance for me to practice my poker face. As the rum entered my bloodstream and the fuglies piled into Chopstix, it became more and more difficult for me to keep a straight face. I didn't begrudge women who hadn't seen the inside of a gym (or a dentist's office, for that matter) this millenium getting out and having some fun, but the law of averages dictated that a fair number (4%? 7%?) of those women should be relatively attractive.
But... nope.
Incredibly, I was approached by one of the women who wasn't bad looking. She had a friend with her, and the friend was, in the estimation of both TM2000 and myself, the best-looking chick in the place. In spite of that fact, I held fast to the precept that being like other guys is boring, so I was being slightly contrarian.
It didn't really work. To wit:
That, my friends, is going for broke. That is taking all of your chips and pushing them into the pot when you're holding a pair of 10's. Probably (although I am too ignorant of the math to know for sure and too lazy to Google it for confirmation) a losing proposition but... who cares?
That's the beauty of it.
The reason professional golfers choke is because they overthink things. The reason (I'm guessing) poker players make mental mistakes is because they get nervous about their investment in the pot (which is entirely different than Flowers' investment in pot).
I can hear the age of an attractive woman. I can add ten years to said age, and I can say that she looks like she's ten years older than she is. And I can shrug off if she gets huffy and walks away, because I know the clever women--the women who potentially GET me--are going to fire off a question about where I was when JFK was shot, or asking if I'm pissed that my Social Security benefits don't kick in for another six years (when I turn 62).
If the chick gets offended, rolls her eyes, and turns away? Good riddance. It doesn't mean that she's a moron or that she's not a good American or that she doesn't have super-awesome taste in underwear, but it DOES mean that she is incompatible with me. Which is unfortunate for her... because I have managed to identify some incredible people--male and female--who get me, and some of them happen to be incredibly smart, fun, attractive females.
After the blond and the brunette turned away, I looked at TM2000 and The Regular and felt a pang of guilt. They didn't nominate me as the asshole who turns away (relatively) hot chicks, but they had to bear the consequences of my actions. I was able to placate myself knowing (a) TM2000 doesn't need my help meeting chicks, and (b) The Regular has idiosyncratic challenges re: women that are independent of my personal style with the fairer (if less logical) sex.
The women went back to their table, never to return. They were, in fact, driven from the dance floor by my single neg. We never learned their names, and we saw them go home with average-to-douchey-looking guys towards the end of the night.
That, though, is single life. The women might have been physically attractive, but they lacked a particular sense of humor and have ended up as bit characters in a single blog entry.
Their loss, right?
When you are, as a single guy, talking to a woman, there is a line.
It's boring to compliment her eyes. It's rude to talk about her boobs. It's homosexual to gush (figuratively) over her shoes (literal gushing over her shoes might lead to the police being called).
Any woman that's worth speaking to is probably used to being spoken to. Being like other guys is something that won't help out, unless she's already decided that she wants something from you. While some guys probably have the burden of fending women off irrespective of what they (the guy) say, I don't have that problem. I would like to think that I am not offensive, visually, but I have no illusions that I can merely strike a pose and wait for attractive women to start grinding on me.
So... I need to be different. Different, as I told Canberra earlier today, can be very good. Or, as I discovered earlier tonight, it can be very bad.
I was at Chopstix tonight in the presence of The Regular and TM2000. The ratio of chicks to guys was amazing... before they showed up, I had counted a 36:6 chick to guy ratio (I guess that's a 6:1 ratio, but enumerating the population helps clarify the picture). By the time they were both there, things had evened out a bit, but the primary fact remained: women outnumbered men, but quantity did not mean quality.In other words, there were a lot of women there, but very, very few who were physically attractive enough to be worth talking to (yes, throw me under the bus if you must as a shallow asshole, but that's the first (significant!) filter I apply as a single guy, and I don't think I'm at all unique in that).
TM2000 and I were monitoring the people entering the establishment, and it was a great chance for me to practice my poker face. As the rum entered my bloodstream and the fuglies piled into Chopstix, it became more and more difficult for me to keep a straight face. I didn't begrudge women who hadn't seen the inside of a gym (or a dentist's office, for that matter) this millenium getting out and having some fun, but the law of averages dictated that a fair number (4%? 7%?) of those women should be relatively attractive.
But... nope.
Incredibly, I was approached by one of the women who wasn't bad looking. She had a friend with her, and the friend was, in the estimation of both TM2000 and myself, the best-looking chick in the place. In spite of that fact, I held fast to the precept that being like other guys is boring, so I was being slightly contrarian.
It didn't really work. To wit:
Blond Chick: Hi!!!
Me: Heya.
Blond Chick: This is my friend... she just moved to Seat--
Me: (To Brunette Chick) Hi, there.
Brunette Chick: Hi.
Me: Is it your birthday?
Brunette Chick: What? Uh, no.
Blond Chick: She just moved to Seattle.
Me: Ah. I thought she said you just turned 21.
Brunette Chick: No. I am 25.
Me: Oh, really? I would have guessed 35.
That, my friends, is going for broke. That is taking all of your chips and pushing them into the pot when you're holding a pair of 10's. Probably (although I am too ignorant of the math to know for sure and too lazy to Google it for confirmation) a losing proposition but... who cares?That's the beauty of it.
The reason professional golfers choke is because they overthink things. The reason (I'm guessing) poker players make mental mistakes is because they get nervous about their investment in the pot (which is entirely different than Flowers' investment in pot).
I can hear the age of an attractive woman. I can add ten years to said age, and I can say that she looks like she's ten years older than she is. And I can shrug off if she gets huffy and walks away, because I know the clever women--the women who potentially GET me--are going to fire off a question about where I was when JFK was shot, or asking if I'm pissed that my Social Security benefits don't kick in for another six years (when I turn 62).
If the chick gets offended, rolls her eyes, and turns away? Good riddance. It doesn't mean that she's a moron or that she's not a good American or that she doesn't have super-awesome taste in underwear, but it DOES mean that she is incompatible with me. Which is unfortunate for her... because I have managed to identify some incredible people--male and female--who get me, and some of them happen to be incredibly smart, fun, attractive females.
After the blond and the brunette turned away, I looked at TM2000 and The Regular and felt a pang of guilt. They didn't nominate me as the asshole who turns away (relatively) hot chicks, but they had to bear the consequences of my actions. I was able to placate myself knowing (a) TM2000 doesn't need my help meeting chicks, and (b) The Regular has idiosyncratic challenges re: women that are independent of my personal style with the fairer (if less logical) sex.The women went back to their table, never to return. They were, in fact, driven from the dance floor by my single neg. We never learned their names, and we saw them go home with average-to-douchey-looking guys towards the end of the night.
That, though, is single life. The women might have been physically attractive, but they lacked a particular sense of humor and have ended up as bit characters in a single blog entry.
Their loss, right?
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