Blog is on hold for a little while… thanks for visiting though!
One of the things that’s interesting to me about this blog is how people find it. I was a bit secretive with it when I first started, only emailing some of my closest friends and family. But then I took my friend Fay’s advice and started posting on Facebook whenever I wrote something new. It’s amazing how big a jump in hits I get when I do that; I’ll get 20-30 visitors within the first hour alone. Now I’m not really a big Facebook person anymore, but it’s like people are constantly online checking people’s status updates or something… which would sound a little crazy to me except I remember my days as a lawyer where new status updates were the only things that kept me from dying a slow, brutal, death by document review. Facebook literally saved my life.
I also decided to let my blog show up on search engines, which means complete strangers who don’t know me can read what I write. It makes me a little nervous, but then again a dream of mine is to one day write a book (about what, I don’t know), and I guess the goal of that is for hundreds of thousands of strangers to read what I write. So this really isn’t that big a deal, I suppose.
Besides, the vast majority of people who visit come through Facebook, and I at least somewhat know them (hopefully). The actual number of people who come from the outside world is a tiny percentage. But that tiny handful of strangers can be quite entertaining because WordPress lets me see exactly what they typed in to get here.
Often times, it’s things you’d expect, like “how much farther wordpress” or “howmuchfarther.” Sometimes it’s things from certain entries. For example, my entry that had a bunch of song lyrics got a number of visits because people were typing in lyrics. One person looked for “song that goes ‘alien sex’ ‘then I’m going to probe you.’” Another person looked for “p90x have some really nice sex wow this is great lyrics.” Apparently songs that say “sex” get a lot of searches.
And one person took some time to type this one into his or her search engine: “country song used to be star quarterback of his high school football team, but not incredibly smart, hanging around his old high school when a gorgeous woman pulls up in a sports car. after a second he realizes it’s the valedictorian of his high school class, who grew up from a geeky little thing to a gorgeous woman. she went through university and got a ph. d, but is a model instead, while he became a not-so-successful country musician. in the end, she asks him on a date.”
My first reaction was, “Aww, what a cute story. Sounds like a 1990’s Meg Ryan movie.” But when I read this to Wifey, her immediate reaction was, “Why? Why would she do that? Ridiculous.”
(I also have no idea how that led to this blog. I decided to Google those same words, and I found a Yahoo Answers site where someone typed in that exact paragraph and asked if anyone knew what song it was. Apparently it’s “Carlene” by Phil Vassar.)
But this week, I got perhaps the strangest search term that led someone here. No, not “perhaps.” The strangest one. Ever.
Someone typed in “first night intercourse wear.”
Yes, “first night intercourse wear.”
Now my first thought was, “HAHAHAHAHA I have to email someone about this” (I emailed my brother). And then my next thought was, “How the hell did they end up at my site by searching for that?!?!?” I know I’ve been getting a little personal lately with writing about my childhood, puppy fatherhood, and how I met my wife, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t written about “intercourse.” The p90x lyrics mentioned sex, but not the word “intercourse.” And I’m pretty sure I haven’t written about anyone’s “first night.”
After my initial surprise though, I then started thinking about how much easier it is to figure stuff out nowadays than it was when I was a kid. I mean, when I was young, you learned stuff by either watching TV, trying to find it in a book or magazine, or talking to friends and hoping they knew the answer – and hoping they weren’t messing with you. When I was in grade school, for some reason I thought a “vagina” was something in a woman’s crotch, but hung down like a pinecone and looked kind of like a pineapple mixed with a grenade. The internet sure would have been helpful back then. (Yes, I have since learned that I was only metaphorically correct).
But today, you can find out the answer to anything within seconds. Including, apparently, what to wear the first night you have intercourse. But hey, if the internet is the great answerer, then who am I to thumb my nose at it? If someone out there is looking for answers, I’m not going to say no. I am an educator after all. So in case you haven’t been able to figure it out, and you come back to my site again, I’ll give it my best try.
If you’re asking what to wear while you’re actually having intercourse, then, umm, if you need to ask that question, you might have a hard time finding someone willing. But if you really need the answer, here it is. Wear nothing (well, other than a condom – that you should definitely wear). No boxers, no T-shirt. Please don’t wear a wifebeater, and you just look silly if you keep your socks on. Even shed the sacred undergarments if you’re Mormon. In other words, for your first night of intercourse, just go naked.
But if you’re asking what to wear to guarantee that you will get to have intercourse with someone, then I have no answer for you. If I was the keeper of that sacred knowledge, then instead of drooling over fancy homes I can’t afford on Redfin.com everyday, I would be a billionaire living in a mansion in Atherton with a full-time au pair to take care of my puppy. I’d have a library with only leather-bound books, and my entire home would smell of rich mahogany (yes, I stole that line from my favorite movie of all time… which is?).
No one in the universe knows the answer to that question – well, that is unless you’re a woman in Silicon Valley. Then it’s not such a hard question. There are a million single, horny men in the Bay Area. As long as you don’t mind the stank of a man who has not left his computer in three days, you can wear anything you like and do just fine.
Oh, and on a side note, if you’re trying to have intercourse, perhaps you should not ask someone if they want to have “intercourse.” It sounds a little too middle school health class-ish (and this is coming from a former middle school health teacher). But at the same time, don’t follow the Kanye West route and ask to “probe” someone. Find a happy balance somewhere in the middle.
I hope that helped. Good luck, and thanks for visiting my blog!
UPDATE: This is phenomenally timed. Today, someone found my blog by searching for “Enrique Iglesias small condom.” I could not have planned that better.
Our new puppy Boston has now been in our lives for about six weeks, and what a six weeks they have been. He’s got a totally different personality now, and he’s doubled in size (and will double again before he’s fully grown). It’s kind of surprising how fast the six weeks have gone by considering how many different feelings I have had towards him. In fact, I’ve counted it up, and I’ve gone through 12 distinct stages of puppy ownership in these six weeks (yes, like an alcoholic). And here they are.
Stage 1: Absolute can-do-no-wrong adoration
The lighter guy in the middle
Our breeder is unusual in a lot of ways, but one of the great things is that she lets us come by and visit the puppies as much as we want. And since she only lives five minutes away, we take her up on the offer and visit often. She’s picked out one puppy for us, but as much as we want to like him, we just don’t. He’s skittish and hyper and doesn’t like being held by people. But there’s this other little guy who is super mellow and is totally chill whenever we pick him up. He’s like a little lovebug. We explain to the breeder that our puppy will be surrounded by teenagers all the time (since I have 50 “children”), and she agrees that the mellow guy will be better. His first day at home, and he doesn’t seem scared at all. He seems totally at home, and just chills on the couch with us. Perfect puppy! There is much baby talk on our part. Wut a cuute wittle guy you are! Oh yes you are! We wuv you wittle guy.
Stage 2: The setting in of Reality
He was so chill and calm. So mellow. But no puppy is truly like that. And no puppy is perfect. Oh no. Puppies have to pee all the time. Puppies don’t listen to what you say. Puppies aren’t born trained. Puppies don’t do what you want them to do. Puppies can’t sleep through the night. Puppies can’t stop whining at night. Puppies don’t let you sleep. Puppies don’t let you go anywhere. Puppies don’t let you do anything. Puppies take your life away.
Stage 3: I can do this, no really, I can
OK, breathe. Calm. Ommmmm. Find a happy place… OK, I think I can do this. Wifey doesn’t seem to have as much trouble with it. I shouldn’t either. Yeah, my life has been turned upside down, and yeah, I’m starting to realize just how much a creature of habit I am, but I can adapt. I’m patient. Heck, I work with teenagers for a living! If anyone should have the patience, I should. OK, let’s do this.
Stage 4: What the hell were we thinking???
Waaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!
Stage 5: I hate you. Can we give him back?
Tonight I turned to Wifey and said, “I don’t like him.” The truth is much more extreme than that. I can’t stand him. He’s ruined my life. Sure he’s cute and cuddly, but what good is he? He serves no purpose other than companionship, and I’m not lonely. He’s not like a child who will one day talk to me, do chores for me, and take care of me when I retire. He will do nothing of value when he gets older. He can’t get a job or show me how to use the newest Apple product when it comes out. This was a stupid idea.
Stage 6: Sigh… might as well sack up because there is no way out of this
OK, we’re not giving him back. I got a dog from a rescue organization when I first moved back to California three years ago. She was a two year old black lab mix named Martha. It was a two week trial adoption, and I realized after one week that I just didn’t have the time to take care of a dog by myself so I gave him back to the agency. This is the reason Wifey coined the verb Martha long ago, which means “to abandon.”
(When I was a lawyer, I once left a Chipotle burrito on my kitchen countertop that I had intended to bring to the office with me for lunch. I had used my dinner stipend at the office the night before to get two burritos so that I could have one for lunch the next day. It literally killed me all day long at the office thinking about it. Every two or three minutes, I’d imagine my poor burrito going bad in my kitchen when it could be dying the greatest death a burrito can dream of – my belly. I had even paid extra for the guacamole!!! I may have shed a tear or two. Wifey thus coined a different verb, “burrito,” which means “to abandon on accident” – not to be confused with “Martha,” which is “to abandon on purpose”).
I am not about to Martha another dog. I could never live that down. Besides Wifey would never let that happen. So we’re stuck with him. I guess it’s just time to grow up and stop complaining like a little child. Life is full of challenges. Deal with it.
Stage 7: I hate you. Can we give him back? Part 2
Forget all that crap about growing up. I’m so sick of this! Mar-tha! Mar-tha! Mar-tha!
Stage 8: OK… breathe… I can do this
OK, my toddler tantrum is over. This puppy has made me realize that I am spoiled. I’m used to getting my way. I’m used to “subordinates” – whether it’s people who work for me or my students – doing what I want. After all, I’m the boss and the dean. I can fire, suspend, expel, etc. I’m not used to people ignoring me, but this little guy refuses to do what I tell him to. Though maybe this is a good lesson for me to learn now before we have children of our own whom I can’t expel.
Stage 9: Starting to get into a routine. Doable.
So he’s starting to get into a routine, which is nice. Especially since Wifey is out of the country for three and a half weeks, and I’m a single dad. Maybe more importantly, I’m starting to get into a routine. I can actually come home at lunch for a little bit and play with him. I can get up a half hour earlier in the morning and walk him. Perhaps I’m not the spoiled dinosaur that I thought I was. I can actually adapt! And show patience! Cesar Milan, step aside. There’s a new show in town.
Stage 10: @&^!!*!!
Oh my god you just peed in the bedroom again!!! Why!?! I thought you were potty-trained! Why would you do this to me!?! And why are you biting so hard lately! Why do you act so crazy?!?! Stupid dog!!
Stage 11: Fine fine, he’s growing on me again
You are definitely cute when you sleep. Sometimes you sleep on your back with your legs up all up in the air. And you sleep through the night now, and in your crate out in the living room. And our walks are kind of fun, though you still piss me off when you stop for no reason and refuse to move (though you sit very cutely). But it’s fun throwing around a Frisbee with you and watching you run.
Stage 12: Life is tougher, but it’s worth it. Love this little guy.
Well, I’ve figured out how to work you into my schedule, and though you make life much more difficult, you’re fun to have around. One day we’ll go for long hikes and to the beach and go running on the trails around here. One day you’ll follow us around without a leash. You know sit and down (with a hand gesture) now, and you’re learning drop – and you learned that last one pretty fast. Clearly, you are the smartest dog ever. EVER. Baby talk shall resume. Good boy!! Aww, we wuv you so much, wittle guy!
I just turned on Fox now and happened to catch the very end of American Idol. I wasn’t switching to watch the season finale of Glee or anything. No, definitely not. I, uh, thought it was the NBA Playoffs. Yeah…
ANYWAYS… It’s down to the final two, and they were showing the highlights of the songs they did tonight. Now I’m not exactly the greatest singer in the world, nor am I a professional talent scout or anything. But I can carry a decent tune and feel like I have a pretty good ear for good singers… so is it just me, or do they both really, really suck?
There is something wonderful about country music. The twang, the rhythm, the voices, the feeling. They actually tell stories and make you think; they invoke emotions and make you tap your foot or get all teary-eyed. They make you happy or sad, and they bring out memories of family and friends.
They also have lyrics that don’t embarrass you when you’re a teacher driving a van full of teenagers.
Sure, the kids may laugh at you and call it sappy, and then plead with you to put them out of their misery and change the station (I won’t). But at least you don’t have to bear that awkward silence and ensuing laughter when a song with questionable lyrics comes on. For example, this little gem came on the other day: “Tell me what’s next, alien sex. I’m gonna disrobe you, then I’m gonna probe you. See I’ve abducted you so I’ll tell you what to do.”
Right. Thank you, Kanye West, for telling us in such clear terms what it is exactly you – whom I presume is the alien in this love story – are going to do to Katy Perry – the human, I’m guessing. I’m sure she had no idea what exactly her extraterrestrial lover was going to do, but now she clearly does. Best way to get consent, I suppose. Good call, Kanye.
Honestly, this is one reason I like country music – because I spend a lot of time with students in a school van, and it’s almost impossible to leave it on a pop station without awkward moments like these. And boy can they get awkward, especially if the kids are singing along with the song. Here’s another little ditty that came on the other day from Bruno Mars. It sounded like such a nice, cute song until it got to this part: “Tomorrow, I’ll wake up, do some P90X. Find a really nice girl, have some really nice sex, and she’s gonna scream out this is great.”
Wow. Doubly awkward because a lot of my kids love doing P90X. We have a whole workout area in one of the dorms with a TV there specifically so kids can do P90X. No, this line of this song didn’t become a hit with my kids. Of course not. Thanks, Bruno! Asshole.
Whatever happened to subtlety? Whatever happened to hinting at something? I guess it’s been like this since I was a kid too. I remember Alanis Morrisette singing about how she was better than her ex’s new girlfriend: “Is she perverted like me? Would she go down on you in a theater?” So I guess this lack of subtlety is nothing new. Maybe I’m just more aware of it now with all these kids around whom I’m responsible for. Or maybe it’s that people can say more on radios now than they could when I was younger. I think that’s partially it because I remember some radio stations bleeping out that part of Alanis’ song (and especially the part later where she says: “It was a slap in the face how quickly I was replaced. Are you thinking of me when you f*#k her.”).
But at least Alanis sort of got away with it in that song because it was all about how angry she was. All of that was said in rage, and you could hear it in her voice. You expected something vulgar to come spewing out. And there were a lot of explicit rap songs when I was young, but you knew they were explicit because they were sung by Public Enemy, Too Short or NWA. No one in their right mind would play them on the radio. But of course, I had almost all their tapes and knew all their lyrics (though I probably didn’t understand half of them). It came in handy the other day when I shocked one of my students as he was singing a NWA song, and our exchange went like this:
Student: Cruising down the street in my six fo. Jockin’ the…
Me: What?
Student: Slapping the…
Me: Huh?
He quickly realized I had filled in those parts he left out in perfect rhythm, and then he got this look of both horror and awe on his face when he realized I knew the song. My cool factor instantly quadrupled at that moment. Hell, if the kids found out that I used to have a 18” subwoofer in the back of my hatchback in high school, they’d probably invite me to play Call of Duty with them.
But the thing with those songs was that you were expecting those lyrics. You knew who 2 Live Crew was, and you knew not to play it out loud. But now, even the songs that sound like happy ballads are embarrassing – in fact they might be the worst. They lure you into this false sense of “aww this is sweet” and then BAM, it’s too late, and everyone is laughing in the car as I’m trying to change the station. That Bruno Mars song sounds like a happy beach song – who would’ve seen the P90X sex line coming? Then there’s that Lil Wayne song about the female cop. There’s this nice sounding background music, and suddenly the lovely-sounding chorus kicks in: “When I get up all in ya, we can hear the angels calling us. We can see the sunrise before us, and when I’m in that thang, I’ll make that body sang.” Sigh, what romantic wouldn’t be moved by those lyrics? Angels, sunrises… heck, your body is going to sang when he’s in that thang! For God’s sake woman, let the man get up all in ya!
But then again, Shaggy was singing about that when I was in college too. He was even more explicit now that I think about it, and yet I loved the song: “Honey came in and she caught me red-handed creeping with the girl next door. Picture this, we were both butt naked, banging on the bathroom floor.” He of course then goes on to list all the places his girl caught him “banging” – the counter, the sofa, the shower – but in a very fun, catchy innocent-sounding way. If that song were on today with my kids in the car, I’d turn off the radio, drive in silence, and then take them straight to church.
At least with country songs, they’re usually singing about family, their truck, the dog – sometimes lovers, though they don’t tend to describe the exact action in detail that will make them lovers. There are some more risqué songs, but they don’t quite hit the embarrassment factor that pop songs do. Chris Young sings a song all about how he and his lady friend can’t go anywhere because they keep rushing home to have sex. It’s pretty saucy for country, but at least he doesn’t say it quite like that: “Walking through the front door. Seeing your black dress hit the floor. Honey there sure ain’t nothing like you loving me all night long. And all I can think about is getting you home.” Yeah, a little racy, but I’m sure the pop version of that song goes, “We will leave early so I can f*#k you in the foyer. F*#k you in the foyer.”
Come to think of it, I think that song already exists. Enrique Iglesias was singing about wanting to leave a club early with a woman the other day on the radio. Thank God there’s an edited version they play on the radio though because the real lyrics are: “Please excuse me I don’t mean to be rude, but tonight I’m f*#king you. Oh you know that tonight I’m f*#king you.” You are a true poet, Enrique. What woman could resist that? Well, it’s Enrique Iglesias… so probably very few I suppose.
I guess things haven’t changed really. It’s just me. I’m getting older and a little more boring. But if being boring makes me like country music, then so be it. I’ll take boring over those awkward van ride moments any day of the week.
Wifey and I are completely hooked on this show on HDTV called “Selling New York.” It’s basically just some real estate agents who go around showing homes to people. And of course, most of these homes cost millions and millions of dollars – dollars that we don’t and won’t ever have. But regardless, it does make me a little nostalgic for New York when we watch it. Seeing the neighborhoods, the diversity, the energy, places I used to go… there’s really no place like it. At the same time, I’m pretty sure I’d never go back to live there again. Things that seemed cool at the time just seem like inconveniences to me now. I think that chapter in my life is over.
But I was looking through some old things I wrote a few years ago and found one short thing I had written right before I moved away. It was a list of random things I had learned from my four years in New York. I found it mildly interesting so I thought I’d post it below. Perhaps it only makes sense if you’ve lived in New York? Oh well, here it is:
1) When you’re waiting at 72nd street on a weekday, always wait for the express, even if you’re just going to 42nd.
2) If you’re in Midtown, don’t stand on the left on an escalator. People will get very annoyed at you. People like me.
3) It is acceptable to wear sunglasses indoors, even at night.
4) Never ever go grocery shopping at Fairway on a Sunday afternoon or early evening unless you have sharp elbows.
5) If you see a subway car that has no one in it in the summer, don’t get in. And don’t get into one of the cars on either side of it either. The empty one has no air conditioning, and the adjacent ones will be packed full of people who went into the empty one then fled.
6) The city is a lot easier if you are a little bit of an asshole.
7) The cash cab actually exists.
8) No matter how ugly some piece of clothing is, someone will wear it. And probably spend ten times more than you’d think on it.
9) Most dogs wear clothes.
10) Never go to Times Square. Never.
11) It’s faster to get to Jersey on a bike from the Upper West Side than it is to get to the Lower East Side in a taxi.
12) The taxi driver isn’t actually talking to you.
13) Starbucks is the unofficial public bathroom of Manhattan.
14) If you’re a guy clothes shopping in Williamsburg, go two sizes up.
15) The Chinatown bus is done. Use the Bolt Bus.
16) H&H is overrated. Hot & Crusty bagels. Mmmm.
17) North of 59th street, running East or West is faster than the crosstown bus. Loading up a web page on a Sprint cell phone is faster than the crosstown bus.
18) If you are between 5’8″ and 5’11″, never go to Chinatown when it’s raining. You will get poked in the eyes by 95% of the people’s umbrellas.
19) K-mart is actually still in business.
Note: I have no idea why the #8 is coming out as a cool sunglass smiley guy.
I’m so sick of seeing these commercials for The Voice on NBC. So I hate myself just a little bit for having it on right now while I’m typing this. But seriously, there was nothing else on except four episodes of four different kinds of Law & Order, the movie Fever Pitch, and the NBA playoffs. I figure there’s always a Law & Order episode on, the NBA playoffs will be going on for the next two months since every team but the Clippers makes it, and Fever Pitch stars Jimmy Fallon in a romantic comedy. Umm, right.
So I’m watching The Voice while Boston is asleep by my foot. I’m not really sure how this show works except that the four judges can’t see the contestants, but they have a big red button in front of them. When they press it, their chair spins around and the words “I Want You” flash under them. Then the contestant chooses who they want to work with in the future (but what they’re working on, I’m not sure).
If this sounds retarded, that’s because it is. The judges are Adam Levine, Christina Aguilera, Blake Shelton, and Cee Lo. To which the proper response is…. Cee Lo!?!?! WTF?!! The first three have great voices, but Cee Lo? Wha… wh… huh? I mean, I love his song (his only song), but that’s not exactly because of his amazing voice or anything; it’s just got a catchy tune. It’s also the first time I’ve ever seen him before, and I’m trying to figure out if he’s a dwarf or something. If he is, he’s a weird looking dwarf. His head is sort of pudgy and then his shoulders sort of start just under his chin. He’s like a slimmer version of Jabba the Hut. He looks like Grimace’s Mini-me.
(Boy I’m going to feel bad if he actually is a dwarf)
(I just googled him and he’s not! Whew. But I have to eat a little crow – I didn’t realize he was the singer from Gnarls Barkley. He’s actually a pretty good singer. Oh man, he was also a rapper with Goodie Mob!! OK dammit, now I like him.)
Anyways, the country singer who I just saw was picked by the three male judges, and surprise surprise, he picked…. wait for it… the country star, Blake Shelton. No way! What a crazy plot twist! This is like a lame version of American Idol, and not the first couple of seasons when it was new and kind of cool, but a lame version of American Idol today. The irony is that their host is Carson Daly, who was kind of Ryan Seacrest before Ryan Seacrest became Ryan Seacrest.
I just talked about Carson Daly and Ryan Seacrest in one sentence. Incidentally, I also just puked a little in my mouth. God, I hate myself a little more every minute that this is on.
Update: the American Idol comparison is now complete. They just had an American Idol contestant reject on! And now I can stop watching. Now I should stop watching. Now. Really. Now.
