I am addicted to Netflix, which is why I steal money from my sweet, elderly mother. I love her so much. She was always there for me growing up. But I just can’t get enough of Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright in “House Of Cards.” I watched both seasons in one weekend. I missed my best friend’s wedding, but what can I say? I had to have more “House of Cards.” Forgive me, but I love that sweet streaming goodness.
Do you Netflix? Do you watch in on a laptop? A tablet? A smart TV? I have all three. I duct taped trash bags over the windows of my apartment. Last month the power went out for a couple of hours and I couldn’t Netflix and I almost clawed my face off. Isn’t that funny? Isn’t it? Why aren’t you laughing? What’s your favorite show on Netflix? Keep reading »
I love musicals.
Oh, you hate musicals? Really? I’ll get to you and your opinion in a second.
First, I’m making a public confession: I am a white, heterosexual man who loves musicals. I don’t give a shit who knows. You are not your demographic. The people who make up focus groups are demented human beings.
I eat bacon cheeseburgers. I love pranks. I watch professional wrestling. Well, maybe that last one doesn’t prove anything. Pro wrestling is just Redneck Broadway. Keep reading »
This week’s Anthony Weiner dick pic scandal — part two! — reminded me of this hilarious column written by our dear Mind of Man, John DeVore. Let’s learn, from an actual man, why dudes like to send pictures of their penises. — Amelia
Men send pictures of their penises because we want the world, or the person we love, or the person we love that week, to know that we have penises. We tell ourselves it’s to make women hot and bothered, but the truth is, those pictures just make us swell … with pride. If it wasn’t aberrant behavior, we’d hang pics of our red hot on the refrigerator door like a blue ribbon from the school science fair.
I have sent one picture of my wang to one woman. We were flirting over text, and she dared me, and so I took the picture. Considering I didn’t have time to properly light my apartment, I think the photo of el generalissimo was pretty good. I framed the shot well. I mean, it was no Mapplethorpe, but it wasn’t your average Craigslist wang portrait, where all penises look like they’re attached to an aspiring sexual predator. I sent the pic as a joke, because the request was a joke. She thought the picture was funny. She thought the entire exchange between us was very funny. Too funny. It wasn’t that funny, lady. I sent a picture of my jangly-gangly as a joke, but a little awe wouldn’t have hurt. After all, while it wasn’t a serious text, I still unleashed the kraken. Keep reading »
I think it was Shakespeare who wrote, “It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.” Yup. I’m pretty sure he wrote that.
It is hard to say goodbye. I am not a fan of it. I try to avoid actually saying it if I can. But you can’t always avoid it. Which is why I like to think that “goodbye” is just “I love you,” played backwards on vinyl. Love and loss are two sides of the same toaster waffle. In this life, you’re either declaring one or tearfully saying the other.
But usually, I find ways not to say that word. I prefer to say “see you around,” then choke back man tears as I walk away (man tears taste exactly like Tobasco sauce). Most of the time, I don’t even say anything. I just sneak away without telling anyone. Keep reading »
I recently because rather obsessed with the Sock Bun, a method of styling your hair into a bun that, yes, involves a sock. Basically, you snip off the toe of an old sock and then roll the sock into a donut shape. Then you put your hair in a ponytail, slip the tail through the center of the sock donut, and roll and tuck your hair over and under the donut until it’s at your crown. (Here’s a good tutorial.) It basically makes your bun look a whole lot fatter and, I’ll admit, pretty damn good. I’ve been practicing the sock bun on my own hair with decent results; this technique gives a bun a certain refinement that twisting it up with an elastic just doesn’t. Which is strange because you have an old sock in my hair. Generally, though, no one knows that. It’s your and your sock bun’s little secret. But then it occurred to me that the sock bun would not be the ideal hairdo for a date/makeout session. Seriously, what a dude do if a moment of passion was interrupted by him finding an old sock in your hair? So I went to the guy I always ask ridiculous questions like these, John DeVore. Here is what he had to say. Keep reading »
Valentine’s Day shouldn’t be about who loves you, but whom you love. It’s the one day out of the year when you should take account of those people in your life who make you gleefully vomit little candy hearts. Being loved back isn’t nearly as important in life as boldly, recklessly, sincerely loving someone regardless of any returns on investment. Making love, not taking it, is the primary occupation of the human condition, our core programming, whether we realize it or accept it or not. All other activities and pursuits are secondary.
Instead, Valentine’s Day feels like emotional extortion. To many men, it’s an inconvenience to dread, a relationship hoop set aflame which one must deftly prance through like an expertly trained poodle. And to other men, it’s a day of opportunity. Keep reading »