Life in the fast lane is more frustrating than one might assume

It was a little white Nissan Versa being driven by someone who attends, or knows somebody who attends, the Eastman School of Music at the University of Rochester. They also bought their car at BlueKnob Auto Sales. I know these things because I got close enough to this person's rear end to read the decal stuck to the back hatchback window and the license plate holder that read the name of the dealership. I could also tell that it was either a woman, SideShow Bob or Anderson Varejao because of the curly mop on the person's head. And SideShow Bob is (allegedly) a fictional charater, and Varejao is a 7 foot tall basketball player that could never fit in a Versa, so it was a woman (not saying whether that's a relavent factor or not, you decide).

Now, this wouldn't be a big deal at all if I were at a redlight stuck behind this person, but we were moving. On an interstate. I was braking, coming down from slightly over the posted speed limit of 65 miles per hour, which, let's be honest, nobody even makes an attempt to follow unless there's a police officer in the vicinity, to something like five to 10 mph less than the posted speed limit.

This person was traveling in what they like to call "the fast lane." It's the lane on the left side of the two lanes of a highway that are going in the same direction. And, for those of you who aren't in the know (and I've found that an astounding number of people in the areas of the eastern United States I've driven around in since I acquired my license don't) it is the lane of the highway that's reserved for people who are passing traffic traveling in the right lane of the highway.

So, if you're not passing somebody, get the fuck out of the left lane. Especially if there are other cars directly behind you. I thought this was a rule that everyone was taught when they were learning to drive, just like how you're supposed to use a turn signal when you're turning or stop at a stop sign. In fact, it's a law to stay right in most states, including Pennsylvania (where I've lived pretty much all my life). In Pennsylvania, you're supposed to stay right unless passing or making room for cars to merge into traffic from on-ramps.

I've dealt with people "hanging out in the fast lane," as my parents call it, more times than I can count in the six years of my driving career, and it's always gotten me frustrated, but I never did anything drastic. I would just get up on the person's tail and pretty much "body" them into the left lane. Nobody likes being tailgated, myself included, and I've found that this is usually an adequate way to get the person to move over when they have some room. It causes a momentary spike in my stress levels, especially when it disrupts my fucking cruise control settings, but I get over it and move on with my life.

This time was different, though. This lady in the left hand lane would not move over, and I, along with about six other cars directly behind me, was becoming livid. I first attributed this to the fact that I'm a very impatient and aggressive driver. I wasn't always this way, but somewhere along the way it changed, and I became a pissy and easily agitated traveler when people wouldn't acquiesce to my haste to get wherever it was I was going. I've found this strange, because I am, by nature, a kind of slow moving person. My family likes to refer to me as Uncle Jack, after my Grandma's brother who was always so late for things that they'd say he was going to be late to his funeral. (Funny story, he actually was. The hearse got a flat tire and the whole procession had to come to a halt in the middle of the road.) I have an inordinate tendency to always fuck up my timing, on everything. It always takes me longer to get ready for something than I thought it should, and because of this I'm always running late. So, I have to compensate for this by driving a little too fast and aggressively at times. Today, I was on my way to meet the woman I was hoping would become my new landlord, so that I could see an apartment in her building. I was, of course, running late, and this fucking lady in the Versa wasn't helping me at all.

I was also impatient, because for some reason I'd picked the night before to come to the realization that you can't really do anything useful while you're driving a car. (This can be attributed to the fact that I've been driving 40-45 minutes to and from work everyday, one trip after 10 p.m. at night when all I want to be doing is having some wine, which you can't do while driving if you didn't know.) This happened when I decided to listen to game one of the NBA Finals as I drove, and realized when I got home that I was pretty much just bored by listening to it and that I could've just turned the game on upon my arrival. The score wouldn't have been much different, and anything I heard on the radio that seemed phenomenal could be seen on the postgame Sports Center recap that I pretty much always watch anyway. You can listen to music, sure. That's one of my favorite things to do in the world. You can also listen to the news, which I should be doing. But it just doesn't seem practical to me. You can get where you're going, sit down and listen to music while you read the entire world news briefs on The Daily Beast's Cheat Sheet in about five minutes. Then you can listen to music while you do other shit that doesn't involve looking through a windshield, like cooking, shooting hoops or singing in the shower. To state it plainly: There's nothing useful you can do inside a car--while it's moving--that you can't do outside of a car that's really that interesting, beyond the simple act of driving.

So, since I was at my wits' end, I decided to do something drastic; something I'd never done (seriously) in my entire driving career, unless it was in jest toward one of my family members or friends. I was going to wait until I had an opportunity to get up next to this lady, and while parallel to her, I was going to beep and flip her off. I don't know why I'd never done this before, but it was kind of a point of pride for me to have not done it. I enjoyed telling people I'd never done it, because it doesn't really mesh with the way I normally express myself in a verbal way.

I got my opportunity when, what felt like about three hours later, there was enough daylight in the slow lane for me to swerve over and pull up next to her. I was about to do the beep to get her attention, but I looked to my left first, to see what I was dealing with.

It was a woman, a girl even, depending on your definiton. She couldn't have been older than 25. I immediately decided not to blow my horn and flip this person off, and decided instead to simply drive past her as quickly as possible and continue on with my life as far away from her as possible. This was difficult to do, because I was burning with frustration and yearned to give her the international symbol for "fuck you." I was looking forward to it.

But, when I turned and saw this woman, I realized this bitch was sending a fucking text message. She had both hands on the phone and was more or less steering with her elbows, giving the interstate cursory glances every few seconds, kind of like I do when I'm looking at and attractive girl in a public place, except I'm not endangering the lives of myself and everyone around me. I'm not Cyclops from the X-Men without his red glasses. (That statement there really illustrates why I spend my time glancing at attractive women instead of being in their company.) Since she was going so fucking slow and hadn't noticed the line of cars trailing behind her for the last three miles, I figured she was re-writing "The Great Gatsby" and was in a very deep concentration. So, I decided not to beep at her, because that certainly would've disturbed her and made her an even bigger hazard.

So, that's just one more reason why less time should be spent in the car. It only gets more and more dangerous.

I can't think of a time in my life where I've wanted a DeLorean so badly, so that I can drive back in time, before texts were invented. Maybe back then people were sensible enough to stay out of the fucking fast lane.

The KFC Double Down: A Review

I didn't utilize the drive-thru at KFC, even though I only had a half hour's break from work. Instead, I got out of my car and walked straight into the store, where I waited in line to order the infamous--despite it's only being around for about a month and a half--Double Down pseudo sandwich.

I didn't get out of my car because I thought I'd get an extra few steps of exercise or something (although I should take anything I can get since I sit at a desk all day). I did it because I wanted to look the cashier in the face and laugh at her when she asked me if I wanted the original or grilled version of the Double Down, because that's a stupid question and I'm sad she had to ask me it, because of course I'm going to go with original. If I'm going to indulge in what the majority of the press (and people who are freakishly obsessed with healthy eating, like Jaime Oliver) deem to be one of the worst fast food inventions of all time, then I'm going to go all out.

I got my sandwich to go, and went back to the office to enjoy it, because I initially wanted to take some notes while I ate. I figured I'd be in such a fit of ecstacy that I'd have to keep writing my observations about the sandwich while I masticated, because I was likely to completely forget everything about it except the severe enjoyment that would undoubtedly come when a person gets to eat two breaded chicken breasts with bacon, two types of cheese and a special sauce between them.

***AUTHORS NOTE: How did I know I might lose all my wits while eating? Well, I guess now would be a good time to reveal that this was my second go around with the Double Down. I got one a while back, but felt it would be appropriate to eat it again for a few reasons. 1) It's delicious and I just wanted to eat one again, 2) I'm a firm believer that many things need to be tried twice to really get the full impression, because 3) Last time I ate one it was like two days after I'd gotten news from my doctor that my cholesterol--which had measured pretty high due to my formerly terrible diet and poor genetics back in the end of December--was back to normal. I celebrated by going to try the Double Down with a few of my friends, and I remember it being pretty good, but I couldn't remember just HOW GOOD it had been, because when a person has been on a low fat diet and they jump back into the fast food world exuberantly with a moderate-to-heavy dose of KFC, the aftermath of having done so is bound to affect a person's opinion on the way the food treated them while they were actually eating it. It's kind of like how people will say bad things about how they hate tequila when they were ready to make Jose Cuervo a saint the night before. You actually get a sort of chicken hangover if your digestive and circulatory systems aren't adequately prepared. But this time, I was ready. I ate a burger at Five Guys along with a large order of fries on Saturday, and a Big Mac value meal on Sunday. I'd like to say this was because I was getting ready for the Colonel, but that's not true at all. I just at like shit all weekend.)

This idea went quickly out the window, though, because as soon as I opened the box to lay my eyes on it for only the second time in my life, I realized the slight phobia I have of getting my personal belongings greasy was going to prohibit me from even thinking about grabbing a pen and writing things down as I ate.

So, I abandoned that aspiration and, as my trend with my entire meal was, I went all out and discarded the piece of greasy tissue paper you're apparently supposed to hold the sandwich in while you eat it. I held it in both hands and proceeded to down it in a time frame that couldn't have been more than five minutes (which translates to about a dollar per minute, if you're wondering); this was partially because I'm a fast eater by most accounts and was pretty starving when I ate it, and partially because it's not really as large as one would assume.

After that, I immediately went to the bathroom, washed my hands and came back out to do a memory dump of what I'd just experienced.

What did I think? Well, I thought it was really good. Not the best fast food item I've ever eaten, probably, but it was definitely good. It was really just a large chicken sandwich without the bread, to be honest. I would definitely eat it again if I didn't have to worry about my cholesterol (or if I was married and no longer worried about being in good physical condition), but don't think I would've made as big a deal--or been as affected by it--if it hadn't been for all the publicity this sandwich has gotten as of late. I mean, I've never felt it appropriate to Tweet about something I was eating, or to write an entire review of something edible for no good reason either.

I think it's intriguing to eat a Double Down, and they've probably sold a lot of them for the specific reason that the Double Down is currently the villain of fast food--and food in general. If something is heavily advertised and a person is told enough times that it's bad for them and they shouldn't try it, they become curious and then have an urge to try it when they wouldn't have given this product a second thought before. Sometimes, people like to rebel in whatever way they can, even--or maybe especially--if it's a little rebellion that's pretty much insignificant. I never thought that eating a chicken-based sandwich from a fast food restaurant that was founded by some white-bearded dude who wore a fucking bow tie, but I kind of did (which means I should probably look for more excitement in my life).

And you know what? It was completely unjustified. Believe it or not, this sandwich isn't even that bad. It's not great for you, but not bad either.

I found out in an article written by Joel Stein that the Double Down doesn't have as many calories or as much fat as a Burger Kind Tendercrisp sandwich or five chicken strips from McDonalds. It's not even the worst thing you can get at KFC (which would be the beloved Famous Bowl). It only has 540 calories, which is like drinking five light beers, and its 32 grams of fat are, although not healthy, not really at the top of the fattening end of the fast food spectrum. It doesn't make Time's list of the top 10 worst fast food meals: , a list that actually includes a drink from Starbucks.

The most disappointing thing for me? It doesn't even come close in caloric content to the other--in my opinion--most revolutionary cheap fast food item that has been made available to the general public in the last year or so: The Domino's Bread Bowl. I was, until my cholesterol mishap, eating chicken carbonara bread bowls on a pretty regular basis (it was a "devil may care" stage as far as my health went for a while), and I never thought to even tell anyone about it, let alone Tweet it to the three people that may have read it.

So, the Double Down was like most slightly rebellious things I've attempted to do in my life. It made me feel bad ass for a little bit, until I realized I was following a trend that wasn't really that crazy to begin with, established by an entity that only mirroed it's creativity: it tried too hard (and this time the entity was the descendants of a man who will forever be remembered for chicken and a bow tie).

In the end, I didn't get anything out of it besides a few moments of pleasure and a new kind of hangover.

Two Days without a Cell Phone and the Thoughts that Ensued

After graduating from college last Saturday, I packed up some things and decided to head to my hometown the next day for a ladder week between the end of my college career and the beginning of my professional one. I had some plans for this week, like hanging out with my family and catching up with some people I might not get to see quite as often now that we’re getting jobs and spreading out all over the place. I was looking forward to it.

Then I got home on Sunday, tried to restart my Blackberry, and it broke. (I found out when i went to get it fixed--which took about three hours for some reason--that the software had crashed. I have a cell phone that has software. I feel like it can’t be long until I can take a vacation to that planet the Ewoks live on.) This was immediately following dinner with my parents, when I was ready to make plans that would allow me to leave my childhood home and spend some time with some friends. I didn’t know what the fuck to do, because I had no idea how to get ahold of anybody without my cell phone. I was completely lost.

Now, I know I could have called some people on my family’s landline at our house, but this would’ve only been possible if I wasn’t a complete slave to cell phones. I know probably four or five people’s numbers off the top of my head, and those people either weren’t home or I no longer speak to them (it’s funny, the shit you remember, until it’s not). When I want to call somebody, I just look them up in my cell phone’s contacts. When the phone is broke, you’re fucked. And, even if I did have access to the phone number of every person I know in my mind, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t call a lot of them anyway, because it’s much easier to make plans via text message. You have more time to think of what to do; they have more time to decide if that’s something they’d really like to do; they have more time to gather other options before responding. Basically, text messaging completely eliminates all the awkward pauses we were doomed to plod through when we were young and trying to make conversation with people of the opposite sex despite not knowing a fucking thing about what they cared about or were even interested in beyond cheerleading, the color pink and wearing thongs much earlier than any daughter of mine ever will goddamnit.

So, my night consisted of drinking with my Mom and starting the third season of Mad Men, which is a perfectly fine night for me on most occasions. I just didn’t want to do it that night in particular, because I’m working a job in a place where I know pretty much nobody, will be living by myself for as far as I can tell and have visited the bar closest to my prospective apartment and have been very frightened by it. So, this means I will probably be drinking and watching seasons of television shows pretty much every night (minus my Mom) after work as my main source of recreation. I wanted to save Mad Men for my time of self-imposed solitude and go out and have a whole different kind of fun instead. Among other people.

The one thing I kept thinking while I sat there with my mom was, How did my parents do it? How did they have prosperous social lives? How did my Dad ever even create me without using text and/or instant messaging to initially woo my Mom? Did this crazy mustached-wearing-motorcycle-riding-hairy-chested-man actually walk up to her in a public place and start talking to her WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING HER? What a fucking man! No wonder he had four of us in less than five years. His shooting percentage must be as high as Steve Nash’s free throw percentage!

So, I consulted my Mom. She told me about her and my Dad’s courtship. It wasn’t unlike how you see it transpire in the movies. He didn’t meet her on Facebook or anything creepy like that...He just talked to her and asked her out to her face, without the aid of (at least my Mom says) alcohol or drugs to inspire social lubrication. The first thing she pointed out was that guys used to keep every girl’s phone number they ever got in the mythological “Black Book.” I immediately regretted not having one of these. It seems so much cooler than storing phone numbers in a cell phone, kind of like how driving a Mercedes Benz Coupe is cooler than driving a Caravan, except in this case the cooler thing is actually more practical. If I’d had a black book, the software never would’ve crashed. I could’ve just pulled it out of the pocket of my acid wash jeans and started to ring up anybody I wanted to. (Guys included, because my black book would be a social rolodex, or I would’ve memorized the guys numbers. Because let’s be honest, there weren’t that many girls that I could’ve been calling anyway.) I wouldn’t have been as prone to lose all of my numbers, because I wouldn’t drop my black book into the toilet while drunk at a party because I was trying to multi-task and type a message into it while my other hand was trying desperately to find my tiny member. I could drop my black book on the ground every single day of the year and it wouldn’t break. Also, I’d never have to recharge my black book, because black books do not die. (I still haven’t found a solution to the “my friend threw me in the pool while I had my black book in my pocket” problem, but feel as though I wouldn’t need to have my black book around me while I was near a swimming pool, because I’d like to think I’d already called every female I was acquainted with and told them to show up at said pool.

Then I started to think more about text messaging and the other advances made in technology in the past few years. I was thinking about these things because I didn’t have a cell phone to fuck around with to keep my mind from wandering to thoughts that could actually be meaningful and important. I’ve become convinced that if I’d never had a cell phone, I would’ve probably discovered a new element like Tony Stark in Iron Man 2.

The aspect of text messaging I found myself considering with the most depth (or as much depth as my mind would allow after three episodes of Mad Men, which equals about four or five glasses of bourbon...if you’ve seen the show you’ll understand. It’s like how you want to start playing basketball when you watch March Madness.) was how it affects romantic relationships. Text messaging has changed the way they start, progress and even--sometimes--end. I know this to be true generally because of my own experience.

Since I got my first cell phone that could send and receive text messages (I used to dominate that snake game), the way I talk to women has changed drastically. I pretty much completely halted speaking verbally with girls on the phone, unless I was dating someone and I “had” to. Once text messaging came into play, talking on the phone seemed pretty fucking stupid. (Keep in mind that I’m a journalist, and probably about 1/3 of my job consists of talking to people on the telephone. It’s not like I’m not capable of doing it.) I mean, why would you spend an hour of your day talking to a significant other on the phone? If you thought it was hard to come up with enough stuff to talk about when you were younger, try doing it whenever you’re in constant contact via text message with that person for the entire day. When you’re doing that, you don’t need to talk to the person on the phone at the end of the day.

Now, I know what some of you are probably thinking, and that’s that you just want to hear your loved one’s voice. That’s fine. Go ahead and make the call if you really want to hear them. I’m all about that, and I’ve gone through times when I’ve wanted the exact same thing. I endorse it. Some people have pretty voices that are enjoyable to listen to. Ask them to sing you a song. In fact, there are a few people I’d like to call just to hear their voice right now. But since text messaging, there’s really not such an obligation to be on the phone with the person you’re dating on a daily basis. What I have a hard time figuring out is whether or not this is good or bad for a relationship. With a steady stream of text messaging, you’re in constant contact throughout the day with your better half. You know everything that’s going on with them, and you can be completely plugged into their life all while you’re doing other things and going on with your life. In today’s society where efficiency is so highly valued, I think many people would argue that this is great.

But what if it isn’t?

You have to consider the fact that while you’re talking to this person through text you’re concentrating on other things and not completely dedicating yourself to what they have to say. This could start a horrible trend, where people aren’t as dedicated to the ones they love (or whatever) as they should be to have a healthy and long-lasting relationship.

And maybe text messaging has made it too easy. It’s very possible it has nothing to do with it, but maybe text messaging has contributed to the fact that I’m much better at talking to someone in the initial stages through text than in person. Maybe my addiction to text messaging has had something to do with me never in my life walking into a bar and trying to talk to a woman out of the blue. Maybe my unwillingness--or at least my inability to see the necessity in it--to talk at length on the phone on a daily basis with someone I’m romantically involved with might have a little bit to do with me never having come even remotely close to having a successful long term relationship.

But who am I to say anything? If I know it’s so bad and think it’s damaging my social skills--especially with women--why haven’t I stopped?

I’ll tell you why. I haven’t stopped because it’s easy, and because most of the girls I’ve talked to are content to text message all day and forego the long and drawn-out phone call. I guess because of this I’ve never been able to gauge which ones I can hold a real and enjoyable conversation with everyday. The written word is killing my game (something I never imagined I would say), and I’m not going to do anything to change it, until I begin to date again. I’m not going to get a black book, either, because if I walked into a bar and talked to a girl and asked for her number and she agreed to give it to me, I sure as fuck would get a weird look if I pulled out a notebook and began to write it in a book. Being practical doesn’t get you laid, you know.

But I will try to concentrate more on what I’m doing, whether it’s reading a book, talking to a girl or watching whiskey while I drink Mad Men. Especially if I’m talking to a girl. They like attention, I’m told. But who can be sure? Certainly not me. Like I said, I’ve never had much success as far as relationships go.

A Guide to Acquiring Success/Becoming Successful from a 22-Year-Old Who Isn't Really Successful (Yet)

For the last four years or so I’ve been pretty preoccupied with success. I’ve been trying to figure out just what constitutes success, what different kinds there are and what types used to be and now are important to me--professional, commercial, personal, etc. I’ve been almost paralyzed with this sort of fear that I’ll never achieve the kinds of success I’ve decided to pursue, and I’ve lost countless hours of sleep trying to figure out ways I can prevent this failure. Some of those hours have been spent watching stuff; some have been spent reading things; some have been spent speaking with some of the people I hold dear and in the highest esteem as well as people I hope to never ever end up like; most have been spent thinking to myself, trying to plot out an ideal future (which is impossible to do by laying in bed and thinking) and frame my own definition of success and how to achieve it. This has proven to be pretty much impossible, because there are so many facets to becoming successful in the ideal way people wish for, and realizing that was probably the first step I took towards being content with the success I may someday find. Now that I’m uncomfortably close to transitioning from college kid to real adult, I’ve decided it’s a good idea to at least get some of my thoughts together and cohesive, so I can at least be happy.

For some reason, I’ve decided to share them with you.

***

        Everything has got to start with confidence. I can’t stress how important being confident is for basically every facet of life. If you feel like you’re a piece of shit, then other people are going to treat you that way, whether it’s your boss, girlfriend or some douche bag that wants to get your goat. If you want to be good at something, there’s a certain amount of other factors involved, but without a certain degree of confidence you won’t be able to reach your full potential, no matter how high your prowess or skill level.
        Throughout my short life I’ve seen a great many guys date girls that are extremely far out of their league. More often than not, this was due to the guy’s confidence level. He was confident enough with himself to show the girl who he really was, and to do the things he liked to do, and inadvertently impressed the shit out of all of his friends (and even other guys that weren’t even close to being his friend, because they resented him for his success with women that they couldn’t understand).
        Make eye contact. Eyes are so rarely ugly, and if they are people probably won’t tell you. People like to look eye-to-eye because you can tell so much about how a person is feeling by the way they look at you. This is unavoidable. Find a way how to master making eye contact without staring, though. Because staring can be creepy. The same thing goes with smiling. If you’re smile’s ugly and you’re older than 13 people probably won’t tell you, and will appreciate you smiling at them regardless. If you’re smile’s that bad, use some confidence to get a better paying job, get Invisalign for a few months, and smile your heart out. As long as you’re not doing it to the point where you resemble the Joker, because that is also creepy.
        Everybody has flaws. Do not complain about these flaws, because complaining to someone about being fat, having an ugly smile, a man rack or anything else will not make them go away. It’s a lot better to accentuate your good traits than to draw attention the bad ones, and people will get annoyed as shit with you if you keep calling yourself fat. And if you are fat, go to the gym. If you’re fat because you have terrible genes, find something to divert people from your weight (which is easier said than done, I’m sure). When was the last time you heard somebody make fun of Zach Galifianakis for being overweight? Being self-conscious has rarely helped anybody with anything.
        Communicate, because speaking and sharing things with other people is easily one of the most important things in life. Without communicating, people really begin to misunderstand each other. They still do when they’re communicating, but at least then they can understand why, and have a discussion about it. I don’t think I’ve ever spent someone who has spent their life almost completely in solitude that has felt successful and happy. I’ve never met any of these people, since they don’t communicate with the outside world, but I’ve read about them.
        Find a friend or group of friends you can share your life with, and never let them go (this includes family, because the members of my family are some of my best friends, obviously). These are the people that will make you feel better when things aren’t going well, and they’ll supplement the amount of fun in your life to an extent that I don’t think most can comprehend. Never take advantage of these people or do wrong to them, because at the end of the day there isn’t one person in this world that knows for sure if there is a god or an afterlife, but nobody can deny that friends are real and important. Unless you’re a really big douchebag.
        Stay in step with technology. This never used to be such an important thing, but if you don’t do it the world could leave you behind. There’s a good chance that, if you’re my age, your friends and family are or are about to be in places all over the world. We have the Internet and other methods that help people stay in touch, so you’d be stupid not to. This will also help you with most occupations. Some companies really get excited when you know how to use Microsoft Excel or Skype. Technology also allows people to stay connected with current events and popular culture, which make it so much easier to communicate with others. You’ll always have something to talk about, especially since Lady Gaga wears something stupid pretty much everyday of the week.
        Don’t be too afraid to dance. Chances are you’re going to look like an idiot, but chances are nobody around you truly gives a fuck. In fact, if you’re not a public figure, most people don’t care what you do at all. Sometimes it’s alright to just go for it. It might pay off in an unforseen way, too. I’ve actually seen my friends win women over with their terrible dance moves, which is probably better than winning them over with free beer at the Kappa Felt A Thigh house.
        Learn to recover from heartbreak and loss, and if you can do so quickly and without permanent damage, find some way to teach others how to do the same. Whenever you do get your heart broken--which will certainly happen to almost everybody at at least one time or another--think about the people that haven’t felt anything like that. This gives them nothing to compare love to, which may actually dull the sensation of true love, or make it unrecognizable. Feel free to go on your requisite bender and to embrace the bitterness left in your heart for a while, but try your best not to let it consume you. If it does, though, which often happens, get something from it. Do something you normally wouldn’t or couldn’t, just because you’ve got back time to yourself that wasn’t originally there. Go on a trip, whether it’s camping with your friends or to the strip club down the Interstate. There’s nothing that the road cannot heal, and it’s important to be able to know and embrace both elation and depression.
        Be chivalrous. So few guys are anymore, and it’s a very important thing. Open the doors for women, give up your seat for them on the bus, pay for their dinner at least every once in a while. Bring them little meaningful gifts for no real reason. Write them love letters, or at least tell them just how much they mean to you. Also, attempt to make them laugh. Women seem to really like it when guys make them laugh. (This ties into the guys who’ve dated out of their league that I know. They are all able to make their girlfriends--and other people’s girlfriends--laugh incessantly.)
        Just because you’re chivalrous, though, don’t be afraid to fight with women (not physically, please, because that usually doesn’t work out). Don’t let them walk all over you, or take advantage of you. They can be wily creatures, and to be truly successful you cannot allow them to completely run your life. Once someone becomes your sincere everything, you’ve got nothing else. (An example: This sort of happened to me a couple of years ago. I was so absorbed with this one woman that I completely disregarded my own self. There are many events and emotions I could site, but I’ll stick to one: While with her, I lost 12 pounds within about a month, and didn’t even notice. If that happened to me now, I would probably throw a party.)
        Actually, don’t be afraid to fight with anybody. It’s extremely difficult to be successful if anybody is walking all over you.
        Think for yourself, question authority and gather knowledge that will serve to help you form your own opinions. Don’t be a Republican or a Catholic or a crack dealer just because your Dad is. If you educate yourself on the pros and cons of being any of those and still think it’d be a good decision, then go ahead and go for it, I sure as hell won’t stop you (but if you choose to be a crack dealer the DEA might).
        Argue very fervently with people you disagree with, but don’t disparage or persecute the beliefs of others. It’s always important to remember that there’s that constant chance that neither of you is really right. But still always try and win. Just win cleanly. Don’t try and convince someone that purchasing a houseboat would be a good idea by telling them they have a big nose. (Also, it turns out that this really might not be a good investment, but that depends on a great deal of things you can look up on your own if you’re considering buying a houseboat.) Base your arguments around being optimistic, pessimistic and realistic. All three are important and are appropriate for different things at different points in your life. Chances are, you’ll fuck up and be the wrong one at the wrong time more often than not, but that just keeps the arguments going and allows you to learn a little bit more, or at least to gather some things to consider.
        Don’t be afraid to fight, argue or disrespect people who are older than you when it’s warranted. The notion that people should respect their elders simply because they’re older than whoever is supposed to be respecting them is one of the dumbest fucking things I have ever heard. You don’t need to respect someone or let them take advantage of you simply because they’ve been on the earth longer than you, because they had nothing to do with that. You had absolutely no control over when your parents decided to have sex. Remember that.
        Exercise, get up early, eat right, stay clean, dress well. Put “sometimes” after each one of those things I just wrote.
        Become your own commodity. Make yourself, as an individual, someone that is valuable to many people, whether it’s at work or in a social or familial sense. Make it so that if people can still live without you (which, let’s be honest, pretty much everybody probably could), they don’t want to live without you.
        Put yourself in the position to be considered an expert on something. It doesn’t matter if it’s on books, TV shows and movies, zebras, Judaism or cool videos of goats on YouTube. It will make anyone feel good to be questioned on how to do something, or where to find something (unless it’s how to cheat on your wife or where to find lime to stop the stench coming from the closet where you’ve put all those deceased hookers).
        Digest everything. Read books (they really do make you smart, or at least seem smarter than you really are, believe me), watch lots of TV shows and movies, learn about zebras and spend time in the outdoors, educate yourself on Judaism and laugh really hard at some YouTube videos. These are all ways to gather the knowledge that you don’t really find in most educational environments (unless you’re a journalism major like me, we are subjected to some really stupid shit that we’d be better off looking into at home and not paying for).
        Don’t use the word “like” more often than you have to. It makes you sound similar to a valley girl. You don’t want to be like that. Ah, shit.
        Learn to spell the word “definitely” correctly.
        Give a fuck about things, but only to a certain point. You don’t want to be a tight ass, because it’s so much more difficult to have fun then. Remember that there’s a time and place to take things seriously, and that it’s a lot less often than most people think.
        Shout really, really loud sometimes. Scream even. For some reason this is good for you, and it makes you feel better about things. Just make sure you’re doing it out of earshot of people who may worry or be frightened or both.
        It’s okay to have habits, but don’t allow them to be stronger than you. If you’re doing something you don’t think you could quit doing if you absolutely had to, you should probably reevaluate some things.
        Do something at the end of every single day that you can look forward to throughout the day. I don’t care what it is. (Unless it’s something really bad, then I don’t want to tell you to do that. Like choking yourself during manual stimulation or anything like that. Joining a fight club is certainly acceptable, though.)
        Keep your own story moving, and keep it entertaining. Have the initiative to do this. No life is completely boring if you don’t allow it to be.
        Sit outside by yourself in a beautiful place at least once or twice a year and just think about things. Ideally, you should do this on a starry night at a place you really enjoy going to be alone. I personally like to go to a park where there’s a really nice lake and a dock I can walk out and sit on. A girl took me there once when we were really young and showed it to me. She’s now a woman, and is probably closer to finding success than I am, so she knows things.
        Don’t be afraid or ashamed to cry sometimes. It’s a lot like dancing. People don’t think less of you if you do it, even if you don’t look particularly good while doing it.
        Help people who are less fortunate than you, and stick up for people who can’t stick up for themselves. Do this simply to do it, and not for any other motivation. Doing the right thing can go a long way.
        Use “sir” and “ma’am” every once in a while. If you do, it’s pretty common for someone to tell you not to, because it makes them feel old (commonly women). If/when this happens, say “Oh, I didn’t know 25 was old.” Crisis averted.
        Make a routine that you follow, and then break the shit out of it sometimes.
        Compliment people. Tell them they have pretty eyes.
        Travel a lot if you can.
        Cheat on your taxes. Sticking it to the man gives a person the largest feeling of success possible.
        And please, no matter what you do: Don’t hang out in the fucking fast lane unless you’re passing someone and there’s nobody directly behind you.
        And try to be happy.

Stupid Sayings

There are a lot of cliche sayings and quotes out there. I guess some of them are decent and promote good things, but some of them are just so damn stupid that I can’t even wrap my head around it. You know what I’m talking about. The kind of things you constantly see on the Facebook “write something about yourself” boxes and “favorite quote” profile supplements and on AIM or iChat away messages. They’re things you’ve seen in print and heard over and over again, for years. Every time I hear one of these now I just begin to overanalyze them, and I think about how absurd some of them truly are. I’ve kept my opinion on these things to myself for a long time, because I’ve been hesitant to offend anyone that buys into many of them and publishes them all over the Internet (as I’m about to do) and on their fucking trapper keepers (mine says Love Conquers All!). I guess, though, I didn’t have much else to write about tonight, and felt that I’d share a few of my least favorite cliched sayings with you.

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too.” Who the fuck ever came up with this saying? It really makes absolutely no sense, not even metaphorically. My parents never got me a cake on or around my birthday and been like, “Here you go Scott. This cake is yours. You have it, but you cannot fucking eat it, do you understand me?” Isn’t the only point of having a cake to eat it (unless you’re on Cake Wars)? There is absolutely no point in having something if you can’t use it for what it was made for. Otherwise, it’s a huge waste. You don’t buy a hoagie and just stare at it until it gets moldy, and you don’t buy a television and then never watch it. I can kind of get what people are trying to say with this one, which is something like “You can’t always have things your way,” or something along those lines. Which is probably just exactly what they should be saying in the first place. Delicious baked goods have no place in such a philosophical conversation as “You can’t have a wife and be banging her sister in law” (Brodeur) or “You can’t drink 15 beers everyday and remain at your fighting weight for the rest of your life.” If you have a cake and you’re not going to eat it, don’t waste it. Give it to a homeless person or someone else that’s going to appreciate it. Do the same thing if you buy some shoes you’re not going to wear, too.

“From the bottom of my heart” Where I come from, when you really want something to resonate, you say it came from the top. But, for some reason, when people are talking about the heart, they use extra emphasis by saying the feelings spewing from the heart are coming from the bottom, which makes no sense to me. If somebody tells me they love me from the bottom of their heart, then wouldn’t that mean that the love they feel for me is probably toward the bottom of the standings, underneath that other guy, eating cake, new episodes of Keeping Up With The Kardashians and Ugg boots? If I’m metaphorically storing the strongest kind of love in my heart, then I’m probably going to stow it somewhere toward the top, where it won’t get lost or clouded over by other things, like Johnnie Walker Red or burritos from Qdoba.

“Love is all you need” No, it really isn’t. I don’t get this one, either. I mean, love is a pretty good thing to have. It’s an overwhelming and sometimes frightening emotion, and it has a huge place in both our psyches and within society as a whole. (Without love, we wouldn’t have all those ridiculous VH1 shows with Ray J and Flavor Flave and shit.) But, it’s not all that you need. In fact, I’m sure there are certain people who have gone through their entire lives without ever feeling love, people like Adolph Hitler and Ted Bundy. I’m not recommending living without love, but I’m saying it could be done. Also, if you’re in love or you love something, that’s not really all you need at all. Love isn’t even in that magical equation of three that people used to always tell me I needed growing up. I know that food and shelter were the first two, and I can’t remember if it was water or clothing that rounded out the list. I don’t know if water is included in the food category, but if not it’s definitely more important than clothing. People live in nudist colonies and never wear fucking clothes, and they’re probably having a great time. I think this saying is actually very damaging, because people listen to it and spend a very significant amount of time and energy avidly looking for love. That’s not something you can look for, it’s got to find you, I think. I could be wrong.

“Cheaters never win and winners never cheat” If you’re a baseball enthusiast, I encourage you to compare the amount of games you’ve won with Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Barry Bonds, Jason Giambi or anyone else who has used steroids (see: the entire fucking league). They’ve won. A lot. And they’ve made a lot of money winning, even if their testicles were shrinking. This can also translate over to real life. How many kids do you know that have cheated on a test and done better than you, even though you were being honest? You might feel like a winner, but I’d like to see you go into a job interview and be like, “Well my GPA isn’t as good as some peoples’ because I didn’t cheat ever!” How many people do you know that have gotten a job because they knew someone who worked at the company, even though they may not have been qualified as other people that applied? That’s a form of cheating, but those people ultimately win, no matter what you tell yourself.

“It’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game” I heard this all the time as soon as I started playing competitive sports, and even then I knew it was a bunch of bullshit, because the vast majority of people that play sports on an officially assembled team play because they like the sport and want to win. I couldn’t then, and still can’t now, comprehend how nobody, in all of the years this saying has been in existence, spoke up and said “Well, isn’t the way that you play the game probably the biggest factor as to whether or not you’re going to win or lose?” It seemed pretty obvious to me.

Now, I know that sometimes this is supposed to tell people that if they’re losing in the final thirty seconds they shouldn’t chop block the opposition or karate chop them in the neck, but why don’t they just tell people not to be pussies, suck up the fact that they lost, and not be a sore loser? Normally, when you lose it’s yours/your team’s fault. Why would you begrudge another team that did what you were supposed to do, only better?

But it is all about winning and losing, pretty much. Because that’s why games exist. If there was no way to crown a winner at the end of a football game, do you think we’d pay a bunch of idiots millions of dollars to just fuck around on a field for three hours? Would baseball players pump themselves full of physically and mentally damaging performance enhancing drugs if they weren’t trying to win?

“The pen is mightier than the sword” No, it isn’t. Say somebody that believes, from the bottom of their heart, that a person really cannot have their cake and eat it too, and they get really pissed at me for chastising their beliefs, so they come up to me on campus and gut me with a saber on Monday morning. I can’t stop a sword with my pen, no matter how smoothly it rolls across pages, and if I get knifed down, my words aren’t really going to be worth that much afterward anyway. People will only look back and say that I antagonized someone that really dug cake.

“Pain is weakness leaving the body” This is often used by the armed forces, a group of people I respect and would not want to fuck with, but I really don’t agree with this saying. Pain is pain. It fucking hurts, and it’s not because your weakness is exiting your being. It’s because muscles and bones and body tissue have nerves that respond to things that inflict pain. The nerves send these messages to your brain that say stuff like, “Why is this fucking guy doing 30 chin-ups?” or “Does this dude not know not to put icy hot anywhere near his genitalia?” or “Why doesn’t he stop punching walls when his girlfriend talks to other guys?” I mean, if you’re working out and you’re sore following that, then I guess the lactic acid could be construed as weakness leaving the body as you get stronger, but that’s about it.

“Be the change you want to see in the world.” This is a really popular one, and it was really fucking easy for Gandhi to say something like this, because people loved him. He could actually promote change. Most people are not capable or able to do these things. The kinds of changes people want to see in the world are on such a broader scale than what one individual can accomplish. Take me, for instance. I think one of the biggest changes I’d like to see in the world (besides more fast food restaurants offering breakfast all day like Jack in the Box or Bar Rafaeli falling in love with 22-year-old poor white dudes that write blogs) would be for some of those crazies over there in the middle east to get their damn minds right and stop thinking other countries are the devil, and to stop blowing up their own fucking bodies and killing innocent people just to prove some point that they probably don’t even fully understand. (Seriously, they tell these guys they’re going to get to have sex with 72 virgins in their version of heaven because they fucking blew themselves up. How idiotic is that? It doesn’t even begin to make any sense, but that’s religion for you, sometimes.) They’re pretty set in their ways, and I cannot be the person to change that. It is literally impossible.

“Nothing is impossible.” Okay. I’m not even going to provide an example or explanation here, because anyone with the cognitive abilities to read that bold print has already thought of something that would be completely impossible for them to do.

“If you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." This one is so extremely popular with the ladies it’s disgusting. Basically, all this quote is good for is to give certain girls the mindset that they are allowed to act like raging bitches around their significant others, simply because when they’re at their best they are just so great and irresistible. What the hell is that shit? If you’re a girl and you’re reading this, then take heed. Do not use this quote anywhere that it can be linked to you. Just don’t do it. And don’t listen to it and think that the way of thinking that could accompany belief in a quote like that is moral or justified, and don’t think that any guy worth his salt would agree with it. It’s not that, if you’re going to be with someone in a romantic way, you won’t ever see their worst. I’m sure that’s part of it (from my experience), if you’re around that person long enough. But don’t embrace the fact that somebody might be a little bitch and let you push them around when you’re ”at your worst.“ It shouldn’t be about handling you, unless you’re a one person trainwreck. It should be about them trying to help you out a little bit and make you feel better.

If you’re not going to take my advice on this, that’s fine. I don’t care. You’ll end up with someone like Spencer Pratt or something. Just keep in mind that this quote originally came from Marilyn Monroe, a woman who was married and divorced three times before the age of 35. She also killed herself by overdosing on barbituates. Probably not the best person to be taking advice from on such matters. It didn’t really work out for her.

Random Thoughts: January

Sorry this is a little late this month. I’ve been really busy trying to figure out a way that I could turn having a blog that’s pretty much about nothing consequential into a job opportunity (I’ve had no success). I’ve also been trying to figure out other ways a kid can get a job with benefits if he’s a journalism major (I’ve had no success). And I’ve been really working hard on growing my hair out.

--To start things off, let’s talk about some rap music. I’ve been listening to rap a great deal lately, because I’m trying to expand my cultural prowess and I really respect how seriously amazing some of these guys are with words--especially if you factor in the amount of marijuana their lyrics tell us they indulge in, which isn’t really good for the brain I’ve been told. One artist I’ve been listening to (partly because he single-handedly saved that awful new Rihanna song about hardness that I was complaining about last month) is Young Jeezy. Quite frankly, that man confuses the shit out of me. I mean, he’s a pretty good wordsmith, but he’s a one trick pony. If you’re familiar with any of his work, then you know basically the only thing he talks about (with the exception of hoes and cars) is cocaine and dealing it. He likes to give the impression that, even though he’s worth millions of dollars because of his rhyming skills, he still deals heavily in the trafficking of cocaine. I suspect this isn’t true, and unless he’s one of the dumbest motherfuckers in the world, it isn’t (because he’s rich without it and draws about as much attention to himself concerning yay as Bob Marley did concerning smoking weed). So, I don’t get why he keeps fucking talking about it. It’s kind of annoying. I get that he definitely dealt in the coke trade when he was a young man, but why can’t he just let the past go? (I get that a lot of artists, most notably Notorious BIG, talked a lot about dealing coke, but it was always in the past tense. My problem is that Young Jeezy still likes to talk about being something that he clearly no longer is. It’d be like Dennis Rodman talking about how he’s still the greatest rebounder around, even though he hasn’t stepped foot on a court in years.) I used to piss the bed, but I don’t write blogs saying I still do, and you probably won’t see the ShamWow guy doing infomercials talking about beating up hookers or Roman Polanski making a movie about having sex with minors. Whenever you do something that’s not so admirable, you should not draw attention to it. So, I guess Young Jeezy feels it’s admirable to be a coke dealer, which I don’t understand at all.

--Do you guys remember when Sean Combs changed his name from Puff Daddy to P. Diddy? This was when he was dating Jennifer Lopez and had just been acquitted of murder charges. Apparently it was because he wanted to clean up his image, which is basically impossible to do after you’re put on trial for murder and are a celebrity (unless you’re Snoop Dogg, but more on that in a second). Just ask anybody that doesn’t live in Baltimore to say the first three words that come to mind whenever you say Ray Lewis. Murderer will be mentioned just as often as linebacker. I can’t say I understand Diddy’s move. I mean, think about it. Puff Daddy obviously implies that he likes to smoke a lot of weed (and I mean a lot, because you really have to enjoy something to make it your stage name I think, which is why my rapping name would be Orange Pop), a substance that is known worldwide to make people lazy, unmotivated and peaceful. I’m not really sure, but I don’t think people feel much aggression when they’re using that particular type of drug. So, if he would’ve just stayed with Puff Daddy, people would’ve just been like “Oh, that dude is high all the time. I don’t think he shot anybody. Frankly, I’m surprised he found the motivation to actually make it to that nightclub in the first place, and the only reason he fled the scene was because he heard gunshots and got even more paranoid than a sober person like you or I would!”

Snoop Dogg pretty much proves this. Nobody seems to remember at all that he was on trial for murder. Probably because he is so extremely public about his marijuana abuse. See what I mean when I was talking about these guys being good even though they’ve gotta be huge burnouts?

--Lil’ Wayne’s going to jail for a year because he had a ton of guns (machine guns!) on his tour bus that he didn’t have a license for. This just further adds to the whole laziness and paranoia thing that marijuana brings on. Apparently, Weezy is high as a kite like all day everyday, and I guess this made him too lazy to get a license to carry these firearms (or to join the NRA). He also had to have been paranoid as shit to have machine guns on his tour bus. I mean, it seems like every single person I know loves the shit out of that guy. I don’t know who on earth would want to shoot him except for like Toby Keith or something.

I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t smoke pot, unless you want people to think you’re not a murderer. And, if you do, don’t buy machine guns. Because that’ll put some seriously conflicting notions in people’s heads.

And that’s all I have to say about rap.

--I rip on Lady Gaga a lot, and some people get kind of pissed and don’t initially understand why I don’t dig her. I mean, I respect that she makes some seriously popular music and is apparently a very talented musician and that she should be recognized for these qualities. And she really hasn’t yet. She was snubbed in awards season quite frequently by Taylor Swift, which I disagree with. If you look at it objectively, which people should, Lady Gaga had four #1 hits in 2009. The last band to do that was The Jackson Five. How does a girl that writes songs about people being in love at the age of 15 or comparing two people to Romeo and Juliet--who fucking killed themselves--beat you out for Female Artist of the Year, especially when you’re writing songs about faking orgasms and not picking up your cell phone because you’re trying to get down at the club? (Two notions I can definitely empathize with.)

So, Lady Gaga is good, but I don’t like the way she dresses. I feel it is unnecessary, and girls fucking hate when I say that. I say it’s gimmicky. I actually put up a Facebook status when I saw what she wore to a recent awards show (I think it was the Grammys or something but I could be wrong) that said “Alright, enough Lady Gaga,” just to see the reaction I got. It was not very favorable on the female side.

Yesterday, I was finally able to come upon a male comparison for her when I was watching Pardon the Interruption, a sports talk show on ESPN. They were talking about US Olympic figure skater Johnny Weir, who is hands-down one of the most flamboyant men in the public eye today (he’s akin to a skinny, talented version of Perez Hilton). They were discussing the ridiculous outfit he wore in his previous night’s performance, and it definitely resembled a slightly-more-male version of something Lady Gaga would wear to the grocery store. My boy Mike Wilbon said Weir’s outfit was “undermining” because “when you have talent like that, it should simply speak for itself.”

And, with that, he took the words I want to say every time I see Lady Gaga performing right out of my mouth, except he is more eloquent.

--Technology is killing people’s intellects. I mean, people can get on blogs and write total non-sense right now and distribute it so a number of people will read it. I mean, you probably won’t really become smarter from reading what I’m writing this very instant. You could, though, be sitting down in a chair reading a book by Malcolm Gladwell or some other journalist who writes very interesting and also entertaining things. Instead of sitting down for six hours at a stretch pretending to kill people with the new Call of Duty game, you could be watching the news or a History Channel show about evolution, or even about the bible, whichever way you swing.

Until recently, I’d always taken solace in the fact that there were still people out there who didn’t rely on technology to the point that it was taking over their lives. The kind of people who still prefer actual physical books or newspapers to reading off of a computer screen. You know, my people (and I’m biased, because I want a job). This solace was dashed quite suddenly on the first day of this semester, when I was sitting in my first class. This class is based completely on reading short fiction stories, and classic ones. We have two anthology books for the class, and our professor gave out our first assignment with the syllabus during the class. It was to read a short story by Anton Chekhov (one of the most famous writers to ever live). A girl raised her hand and informed the professor that she hadn’t bought the books for the class yet, and that she might not be able to for a couple of days. She asked if there was anywhere she could find the story, and this began a debate that lasted about thirty seconds and included my teacher and a number of students over whether or not the book could be found on the Internet. I had to raise my hand, wait for them to quit talking and be called on. When I was, my teacher (who has got to be in like his 70’s and someone I figured would dig on books and not the Internet) my teacher actually seemed vaguely surprised when I said “I bet you could find it in the library.” Said library is located literally across the street from our classroom.

--Guys named Jack who make it into the public eye are often extremely successful. there’s Jack Daniels, Jack Kennedy (better known as John F.), Jack the Ripper, Jack Bauer, from 24, Jack Donaghy from 30 Rock and Jack Dawson from The Titanic, Jack Shepherd from LOST and Jack Mehoff from childhood jokes.

I know that all but two of those dudes are fictional characters, and that Jack Dawson wasn’t very successful if you measure success by living for a long time, but he did find true love. Also, I guess nobody really knows if Bauer or Shepherd are going to be successful since their shows are still going on, but people do know them by their television names more than their true names (Keither Sutherland and Matthew Fox).

Yeah, I don’t know where I was going there. These are random thoughts, after all.

--How do people not recognize superheroes in movies? This is something that has been bothering me for quite some time. I mean, in the Batman movies, he doesn’t even cover up his whole damn face. All he does is cover up half of it, and then lowers his voice about eighty-five octaves. And Bruce Wayne is one of the most well-known people in Gotham. I love superhero movies probably more than the average guy, but that’s just ridiculous.

--Have you guys seen any of those PETA advertisements where all these famous women get naked and show their asses and stuff? I have, and I’ve paid close attention to them. They all have to do with treating animals nicely and not doing cruel shit to them. Somebody should tell these ladies that they really don’t need to get naked to do these things, because the vast majority of people in the world aren’t cruel to animals just because they’re sensible and not sadistic. It kind of makes you wonder if these ladies are doing this kind of thing for recognition, which apparently happens more than you think.

Tiger Woods, Y'all

Since Tiger Woods, world’s best golfer and amateur pornstar, is giving a press conference tomorrow to address his recent absence from golf and his stint in rehab for sex addiction (I think he went the sex route instead of the drugs/alcohol route because he wanted to stay in shape), I figured I’d post this little article I wrote a few weeks ago. It was published in Penn State New Ken’s student newspaper simply because my brother is the sports editor. I’ve been working on my networking skills. Some of it was changed for the print edition, though. (One of these changes I’m told was the 86ing of “sex-addicted Ambien freak”)

***

I’m sure everyone remembers the first couple of weeks after Thanksgiving, when Tiger Woods was getting so much media coverage that I can’t even remember any of the news events that were transpiring at that time that actually mattered.

He was, of course, getting all of this attention because he’d cheated on his wife with a very impressive amount of women. Actually, he was getting something like 10 times the amount of attention for being an unfaithful husband who was beaten with a golf club by his spouse than he did when he won the 2001 Masters and became the first golfer ever to hold all four major titles at one time (which solidified him as probably the greatest golfer to ever live).

The thing was, though, that I didn’t care at all whether Woods was faithful to his wife or was coupling with more women than I’ve even hugged in my entire lifetime, because that’s not the reason I know who the man is. That reason is golf (and Buick commercials).

This might make me seem like I’m very insensitive to the problem of cheating, but I assure you I’m not, and would never condone such behavior. I’m just insensitive to whether or not Tiger Woods is cheating, because it’s not even remotely my business, and the lack of marital bliss in his life has no effect on me whatsoever. The man doesn’t make millions of dollars to be a poster child for a happy marriage.

Think about it: If I was married and went and nailed 15 women, I wouldn’t even get an article written about me in any publication, and I know people will argue that this is because I’m not famous, which means I’m not really a role model on any large scale. This is true. This is also exactly why Woods shouldn’t get coverage for being a sex-addicted Ambien freak. We see all of the news about him cheating on his wife, and it doesn’t make us want to cheat on ours, but the media and the public must keep in mind that there are little kids who look up to their favorite athletes and strive to do the things they do (and I’m no exception, when I was in the sixth grade I wanted to get corn rows because I had a severe man-crush on Allen Iverson). This is why these things should be kept quiet.

By devoting so much copy and airtime to these athletes who make bad social/legal/familial decisions, the media effectively reverses some of the principles that have been pounded into today’s youths’ heads since they were extremely young: It’s not okay to cheat on your wife, but the best golf player in the world has done it. It’s not okay to cheat on your wife with your best friend and teammate, impregnate her and then have an abortion, but one of the best soccer players in the world has done it. (I’m speaking of John Terry of Chelsea and the England National Team. When news of his affair broke earlier this week, it came to light that a judge in England had actually given Terry an injunction to kill the story so it wouldn’t become a public spectacle, which is a ridiculous strike against free speech, but maybe a good idea. Obviously this injunction was overturned, or I wouldn’t know about these happenings.) It’s not okay to leave your wife for Madonna and eventually Kate Hudson—though this is arguable—but Alex Rodriguez, one of the best living baseball players and a winner of the2009 World Series, did. And it’s certainly not okay to smoke marijuana, because it apparently makes you stupid and will have negative affects on whatever you’d like to do with your life, but the greatest swimmer (and maybe Olympian) to ever live did.

Knowing these things about some of the world’s best athletes doesn’t benefit anyone, really. All it does is damage their reputation, and any sensible adult shouldn’t be worried about what an athlete’s personal life’s shortcomings entail. They should watch them play sports, and realize that they’re paid absurdly high amounts of money to do only that and nothing else, whether it’s fair or not. I can almost guarantee there has never been a sports contract that included a penalty for cheating on one’s spouse. If they do something wrong, it should be treated like it would be if a normal person did something wrong, which is to say it would get no attention. I realize the media is a watchdog and ambassador of truth and everything, but these kinds of unimportant things should stay under wraps. You know, for the kids.

And I guess I just spent this entire article giving them even more attention, so maybe I should practice what I preach.