THE RIDDLE OF STEEL

(reprinted from a comment I made over at PL's)

I gave up tequila for vodka after college. The people I ended up drinking with changed, and Russians believe it is rude, or perhaps even bad luck to not finish a bottle once opened. So that means that if it's just two of you left and three-quarters of a bottle of Русский Стандарт (Russian Standard)... You simply must drink it.

This led to more than one occasion of almost freezing to death while passed out in my car. Goddamn diesel glowplugs... Or the cold, greycloud mornings, with a hangover so bad that the cacaphony of the snow falling on the rusty fire escape outside the window sounds like panzerfaust fire in the pre-dawn gloom. Black spots swim in your vision, until the realization that the toilet you just puked in is not yours, and that you have absolutely no idea where the hell you are. Cold water and rough soap on your hands and face, and your t-shirt makes a poor towel. You cling to the wall for support as you edge down the cracked stucco hallway, looking for the room where you came from, because that room contains the best chance of finding your pants. Whereupon you spy your hostess, asleep beneath the covers, not nearly as beautiful as she was the night before, when she was bathed in the warm glow of kerosene lanterns and tumblers of vodka with cloves in them. Picking your pants up off of the floor, you shake out a cigarette from the rumpled pack and spark the gunmetal silver Zippo, warming your fingers over the wick as you light the morning's first smoke.

Yeah, I had to give up the parties and the glamorous life, for it certainly would have killed me, in the end.

Some of you may know Vox Day, the WorldNetDaily commentator and libertarian blogger from his often controversial editorials both at the news-zine and his blog. It seems that recently Vox damaged his eye playing soccer (click his name for the link) and in addition to the pain of the injury must suffer the requisite ribbing from his readers. I suggested in the comments that Vox get the eyepatch made famous by Snake Plissken in Escape From New York, and after giving Photoshop about two minutes of effort decided that the mere suggestion was not enough.

I have recently blogged a wee bit over at Pretty Lady's concerning the difference between love and sex. There are a few simple rules that must be understood if a lady wishes to catch a man and get both love and sex from him. There are striking differences between the two, and careful attention should be paid to all portions of this text.

1. Sex is a biological function to men, similar to hunger. Without compelling reason, most men see no reason not pursue sex in the same way that a hungry person pursues a sandwich. Compelling reasons to not have sex include morality, discretion and intelligence. To remove all pretense, you can equate the male sex drive to eating food. While we strive to eat healthy to provide real nourishment, we occasionally desire a Quarter Pounder with cheese. The burger provides a tasty meal, but gives little nutrition. The same can be said of sex, the casual fling is the equivalent of the QP, not very good for you but is still satisfying on some level. This is a fair metaphor for casual sex to a male.

2. Sex in the confines of a serious commitment with love bears little resemblance to the above paragraph. Men have the luxury of attaching significant emotional content to sex when in a relationship, however this luxury can easily backfire when they are rejected by their beloved. In the female mind, the man is a dog who will copulate with anything provided there is an available orifice and remains relatively motionless, and so expects her man to constantly be on the prowl. The truth is that once committed and in love, a rejection is taken personally since he has gone to the effort of attaching powerful emotional weight to the sexual act. Some men are devastated when the woman they love continually spurns their advances, she believing that he is simply looking for friction while he is genuinely expressing love, something many men find hard to do openly. This basic misunderstanding comprises much of the conflict within committed relationships. While it is possible to have recreational sex with a woman you love, it is still not the same thing as uncommitted sex, at all.

Of course, there will be those men who disagree with this and say that they never ever feel any emotions and sex is something they get constantly by legions of adoring females and they never think twice about it. I would say that these men are either lying or lack the intelligence to know any better. If you are a man or woman who feels nothing but the physical aspect and release in the sexual act and it has no other effect on you at all I would refer to you to the first paragraph and remind you that a strict diet of Quarter Pounders is not a healthy thing. There is a much greater menu available to you if you will skip the drive-through and sit down to a decent meal.

First off I would like to thank everyone who has commented, I am a blog-nub and did not realize that I had "comment moderation" turned on, and I did not see them until tonight. I believe I have fixed that in the settings portion, now all the comments will show up.

On to tonight's topic, The Picard.

Older men lose their hair, for the most part. For some men, this is an issue of much sensitivity and they spend thousands on hair replacement items such as Rogaine and Hair Club for Men and many other types of chemicals or treatments to keep that luxurious, 18-years-old-with-a-Billy Squier t-shirt and a '66 Galaxie 500 pompadour in the shape that haunts their senior yearbook picture. The truth is, time is a predator that stalks us all our lives. This is doubly true for the testosterone-laden set, as men with an overabundance of the male hormone invariably lose their hairline at a much faster rate than their estrogenic male buddies.

We have seen the wreckage of this phenomenon, the wigs, the fake mullets, the three-strand pullover, the Ben Franklins, and the (shudder) guys with bad surgical implants. To these men, I offer the final solution to your embarrassing hair follies: The Picard. Embodied by the actor Patrick Stewart on television's Star Trek: The Next Generation Capt. Jean-Luc Picard led the brave crew through countless adventures with a shaved pate that bespoke not only calm confidence, but an overriding masculinity that has seldom been seen onscreen since. The Picard haircut is simple, when you can see your scalp despite you not having had your hair cut in three months you are ready to boldly go where you have never gone before, to the barber shop armed with these words, "Shaver, no guard."

The clean lines will not only make you look younger and tougher, you will no longer be the embarrassment to your colleagues and family, and they will stop talking about that woeful comb-over behind your back during the holidays. If you fear that you will suddenly become invisible to the ladies, let me assure you that you will not. The majority of women out there are starving for real men with confidence, masculinity and quiet pride. The sad fact is, no woman respects a man who pulls all 12 strands across a shiny dome in a vain effort to show the world how much he resembles Gollum. Let me be frank here, if I had a nickel for every time a woman of even slight acquaintance asked or simply reached out to rub my head (the one with my face, for the gutterminded) - I would have enough cold hard cash to purchase a vintage Billy Squier t-shirt on Ebay, and another '66 Galaxie 500.

When one discusses orchestral music, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky manage to always capture a portion of the conversation. However, while I give all credit to the masters for their work, I am often irritated by the idea that no orchestral pieces written in the last 100 years are worth anything but a casual dismissal as "soundtrack music."

Curiously, much of what we call "classical music" were soundtracks for various stage productions of the day, or more likely, were written for the edification and glory of God. Like I earlier stated, I am taking nothing away from any of these composers or their accomplishments.

However, I am of the radical opinion that some of the soundtrack music written for motion pictures is the equal of some of the famed compositions of old. Shocking, and the purists will pour out their derision and dismiss my contention as that of an uncultured philistine. To that end, I admittedly am so much the philistine that the only thing I fear is a long-haired man with a jawbone of an ass attacking me on the plains of Judah. Nonetheless, to offhandedly decide that a piece of music is somehow a lesser piece of work simply because it was written for a motion picture seems an overly simple conclusion, and not one that shows any deeper consideration for music. This does not mean that every soundtrack contains gems worthy of the masters, since most do not, but there are certainly outstanding pieces that in my estimation rival and even surpass the Old Ones.

I know that the explosion of horns at the beginning of "Star Wars" gave me goosebumps for years when I would hear the fanfare in darkened theaters, I felt my pulse race when those same horns spurred on "Superman" to catch Lois, and then the helicopter and gracefully deposit them both unharmed on the top of the Daily Planet building. More recently, the uillean pipes unleashed on the bonny shores haunted by William Wallace reminded me that my ancestry is closer than I think, and James Horner (who will be forgiven for Titanic someday) has acquitted himself worthy of notice in many varied compositions. Another favorite of mine is Hans Zimmer, whose blend of styles has led me to purchase many of his soundtracks, and I would be utterly remiss to omit the work of Howard Shore, who led us there and back again in only three short years. My folder of mp3's from those CD's comprises much of the music I listen to while I write.

To that end, I have updated my Finetune selection with a few of my favorites, but by no means all since they limit the number of tracks per artist.

I acknowledge that the purists will unhesitatingly denounce me soulless. That is certainly their prerogative, and I do wish them well in their ivory towers of myopia. The idea that because a work of art is new should not lessen it's value, to assume so only closes the mind of the listener, the observer, the beholder.