Rail Passed, People are Pissed, These are Funny

Last week's election will be remembered as a day when Honolulu really helped or fuct itself.

On the November 4, 2008 ballot was a question asking Honolulu voters whether they would like a $4-$5 billion rail.

It passed.

Apparently, people are still extremely upset with the election result. From the looks of it, one would think the apocalypse is near. Amidst the ranting someone put up some hilarious motivational signs:


And my favorite:

Britni Danielle

For some reason I have a giant crush on Britni Danielle. Read her blog here . . . wait don't click it yet. Why? Because there's a giant penis on the most recent post. You probably want to wait a day or two so you don't get cock-slammed. If you click it today, (Tuesday November 11, 2008) don't say I didn't warn you. http://britnidanielle.blogspot.com/

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Note: Britni's blog is dead; it has been replaced with a Microsoft Windows Tips Blog. Bummer for you. I've also discovered that if you type in "Britni Danielle" into google, this page is the second link. Thanks for using google and thanks for coming to my humble little blog. Fortunate for you, I'm epic enough to post up a link to her new blog: http://britisstillshameless.blogspot.com/

You're welcome.

Popcorn Hour Update (more excuses)

I was all good and ready to post up my Popcorn Hour A-110 review when the entire thing just crashed. I had just finished transferring files to the hard drive when I plugged it into my tv and the darn thing wouldn’t start.

I had to re-flash the firmware (whatever that means) to get the box up and running again.

I think it works fine now, but I’ll need more time to revise my review.

Liquid Bandage

Liquid bandage is just about the coolest thing ever. I’m always cutting my fingers. Once I shoved the metal edge of a tongs under the nail of my middle finger and cut a deep gash. Yes, it did hurt that bad. In fact, months later, I don’t have full feeling in that fingertip.

Anyway, I hate having band-aids on my fingers. Band-aids stink when they get wet and I can’t do crap when I have stickers on my fingers. So, for minor cuts I use New Skin liquid bandage. It’s essentially medical grade crazy glue that seals up open wounds. I can wash my hands, work, and do anything as if the skin was already healed.

And no, it doesn’t sting.

Pickup Artist 2 Needs to Warm Their Boys Up (that sounds naughty)

Before the final challenge of each episode, there’s usually a few seconds of the guys riding in the bus. It shows them “practicing” in their heads on their ride to the club. Whenever I see that, it makes me want to cry.

How the heck can anyone, even the most social people, do that? Those guys need to be yelling, laughing, and getting into a social mood.

So here’s the tip of the moment: say hi to everyone you see as you walk to the club/bar/party/etc. Say hi, yell, be goofy, and do crazy things. The RSD boot camps make their students do crazy animal sounds. If you want, do that too. Then when you walk into the club, you’ll be warmed up and ready to go.

Be Your Own Model

I used to admire people and try to be like them. One of the most common models among pickup guys is High Hefner. Hefner is the king of social proof. What can be more impressive than walking into a club with an entourage of eight blonde big boobed women? For that reason alone I occasionally watched the Girls Next Door—a show about Hefner’s three girlfriends.

Well, the past few months have shown that Hefner’s three girlfriends weren’t exactly well, his girlfriends. First, Holly (GF1) broke up with Hefner and seemingly instantly started dating magician Criss Angel. Celebrities don’t instantly start dating each other, they say they’re friends for a long time and then slowly say their dating. Hmmm. Today I learned that Kendra (GF2) is engaged to a football player. Engaged? To me that means she’s been having some sort of relationship with the football player for a while. NFL football players don’t just propose to anyone. Lastly Bridget (GF3) is actually already married to someone else. The two are separated, but they’ve been married since 1997.

Point is, what I thought was an awesome situation is really just a train wreck I didn’t know about. The more I tried to model someone, the more I learned about him, and the more obvious his disastrous life became.

I went to a club and saw Bill Bellamy. I thought, this guy’s got more status than anyone else here, but yet all he did was sit in the VIP area without a single girl. Even though I’ve never considered modeling Bill Bellamy, I did think that if I became a celebrity I’d at least have an easier time meeting girls. Nope.

So the point of all this is that people have an idea of someone in their head, but that idea is rarely reality.

From now on, I’m, not going to model anyone but me. More specifically, I’m going to model the me of the future. How would the me of 2 years from now act? What would he do? Would the me of 5 years from now be scared of that? Would he take that crap?

I’m going to create the person I want to be and then he’ll be what I’m trying to become. Now that doesn’t stop me from taking attributes from other guys and modeling those small things, but I’m not going to try and become someone else—no matter how amazing his life currently looks.

Is An Elimination Reality Show The Best Format for VH1’s The Pickup Artist?

After reading Kevin Feng’s blog entry about being the second guy eliminated, I began to wonder if the VH1’s The Pickup Artist should be an episodic elimination format.

First, I was shocked he got eliminated so quickly. When I wrote that I thought the others were going to blow past him, I really thought it would take a few episodes—not two.

For those not paying attention, The Pickup Artist is a reality show where contestants are eliminated at the end of every episode based upon (essentially) performance.

So Kevin’g blog said he was nervous, “really really really really nervous.” Why? Because another guy got eliminated.

Problem is that no guy should be nervous about running game. One of the keys to success is indifference. If the guy doesn’t care whether the “set” “hooks” or not, he’ll be halfway to success. If a guy rolls with not giving a shit if he gets blown out, he probably won’t get blown out.

Other the other hand, if a show puts contestants feet to the fire and says, “if you don’t get a number, we’re giving you the ax,” how s insanely stressful is that? Lots of the guys are massively nervous walking up and talking to girls without the cameras rolling.

So what if the Pickup Artist was an 8 episode show without eliminations? What if every episode just ranked the contestants? Make the loser clean the bathroom or do something embarrassing, but don’t deny him the opportunity to learn. I think it would be funny to see the loser of each episode wear a dress for the entire next episode.

Ever since Survivor premiered in 2000, all reality competition shows seem to follow the episodic elimination format. For Survivor, that was all fine and dandy, but for a show that focuses on helping guys, maybe elimination is not the best idea.

Season 2 of that show

Season 2 of the Pickup Artist premiered Sunday. Blah blah blah.. I was going to say that I think Kevin is going to win just because he’s more advanced than the rest of the guys (he was the VHI1.com chosen one), but now I think he’s going to plateau and a few of the other guys are going to blow right past him. So the story goes, Kevin is “in the community” so that might explain a little of his initial success.

TSB Magazine had a podcast with Tara (the “wingwoman” on the Pickup Artist 2). She came out and said she was hired for the show. Yup. The first season made Tara look like she was Mystery’s good friend and that he trained her and a whole bunch of other things. It just so turns out that she didn’t even know Mystery before the show was made. She auditioned for an unknown premise show and was casted.

This leads to the inevitable question “why can’t Mystery find his own wingwoman?” Not to say I’m awesome or anything, but if I had my own show I could easily find half a dozen girls to be my wingwoman. Major incongruence. Major incongruence.

In Hawaii, the Pickup Artist 2 has new episodes at 9 am on Sunday . . . and tons of repeats for people are busy at that time.

Chinese Rice Cake

Ten fifty-four in the morning and I’m hungry as balls. I woke my ass up early for an 8:00 meeting and finally made it back to the office just so I could write my follow up e-mails.

My stomach was about to eat itself.

So the building next to mine has a little snack shop with those really awesome Chinese rice cakes; the spongy kind, not the layer ones. Well, I walk in, buy my food, and walk out—into the equator-bright sunlight.

I round the corner and SMASH my shin into the concrete bench. It hurt like a bitch. The bench was the same material as the concrete floor and in my squinty-eyeness I didn’t see it. I hobble along like someone with blood flowing down his shin and try to look like I didn’t actually leave an inch patch of skin back there.

Lo and behold a homeless man was lying down at the bus stop no less than 15 feet from where my skin was still sticking to the concrete bench. He looks at me. I look at him. He looks at me.

I say, “Look out for that corner, it’ll hack you up.” and walk by.

As I get about 40 feet away, I hear yelling in an accent best described as a combination of Indian, Filipino, and Daffy Duck; the homeless man is yelling at me.

I--being more curious than smart--walk back to him.

He starts yelling at me more in his Indian-Filipino-Daffy Duck accent, but then he pulls out some sort of French attitude.

From what I could tell, he said, “This is my bench, I can lie here, do you have a problem?”

I yell back “I give you permission to lie down on that bench!” And he gets EVEN more pissed.

Realizing that getting into a brawl with a homeless man during the 5 minutes I snuck out to get a snack wouldn’t look good on my dossier, I casually walk back. He then comes running after me.

At this point, I really want to just kick his ass. He may have 50 pound on me, but I have health, youth, and nutrition. . . . but alas I didn’t.

I wussed out, ran into my building, hit the elevator, and escaped.

I think the moral of the story is don’t talk to crazy homeless people, but I could be mistaken.

Escape Plan Not Necessary

A few days ago my office receptionist was asking me “how do you leave a date that’s going really bad?” Apparently she had been listening to the radio and the D.J.’s were discussing the same thing.

The obvious answer is to text a friend and have him/her call you back with an emergency. Or worse, climb out the bathroom window.


And then I realized, why would anyone ever put them self in that kind of situation?

Dates should be fun and spontaneous—not planned and drawn out. They should only last as long as they’re enjoyable and if the other person is lame, just end it.

How to end a date? First, don’t plan a long one. Plan something short like a trip to the mall, coffee, go to the beach, or the museum. Then if the date is going well, propose something else and be spontaneous about it.

A guy should always have a second and third location in mind. But he shouldn’t bring it up unless the date is going well. If she likes him, she’ll bounce to the next place and another and another.

For example: “I gotta get a shirt for a dinner next week, wanna come to the mall with me?” . . . “I’m getting hungry, let’s eat (somewhere not in the mall).” . . . . “I was going to check out this short film contest tonight. There going to have these pieces made by the art school and students from around the world. I heard its really good.” . . . . “My friend is DJing at the Ultra Lounge; come with me.”

Always have something planned. There’s nothing worse than a girl saying “what do you want to do?” And the guy saying “I don’t know.” Neil Strauss recommended that people read the Weekly and that was probably the best advice I’ve ever heard on what someone can do in a city. So before a “date,” read the Weekly to find out what’s going on and then if she’s cool, do stuff with her, and if she’s lame, ditch her and do stuff with someone else—and then hope you don’t see her out that night.