Back in Print... (confirmed)

I got an email today from my editor. It turns out that a piece I submitted to him will indeed get published in October this year.

It’s good to be back in the game, especially since my last piece published was in December last year. Funnily enough, October was when my first piece was published.

I am sure the moment I mention that the article is for one of Australia’s largest independent videogame magazines, most of my readership will roll their eyes, mutter something about “boys and toys” and then click on.

But hey… it’s a bit of extra money in my pocket, and I get to see my name in print again. I feel validated.

Intelligence = Power?

Men are smarter than women, it seems.

If I were a chauvinist, I would be leaping up and down with joy and proclaiming that stuff that we’ve known all along is now confirmed true… but I’m not one.

Besides… news.com.au published this story, and that has effectively scuttled any credibility that it might've had.

For nigh on a decade, I’ve been of the opinion that any discussion on which gender is somehow superior is… in a word, stupid.

In two words, fucking stupid.

In a society that pats itself in the back for preaching tolerance, and engendering a harmonious environment so that all people can live in comfort, that we still feel compelled to polarise the populace into two segments seems... stupid. Like, fucking stupid.

Yes, the two genders are different. There are strengths and weaknesses of each. Hell, if my future role is to simply remove the lids from jars and take out the rubbish, I’d be a happy man… as long as I get man’s wages. Heh. Kidding!

But, this whole “men are smarter” thing does rely on some pretty questionable evidence ie an IQ test of 24,000 students. Now, IQ tests in my experience have hardly been an accurate representation of how “smart” someone is.

For instance, I know a man who scored 142 on an IQ test, but he would dig stuck bread out of a toaster with a fork.

Yet, I can’t help but think that the “who is smarter” bit is ultimately pointless. For one, intelligence doesn’t equate to wisdom – which is better? For two, it’s never what you know, it’s who you know. And three, it’s not the intelligent ones who are most applauded in society.

It’s the good looking people who are most revered, respected and honoured. Just compare the coverage of Bali druggie Michelle Leslie (see post below) with the coverage of that bloke who got caught with hashish. Yeah… I don’t know his name; that shows how important he is. There was no news coverage, so he must’ve been ugly.

Ultimately though, the measure of which gender has the power in society can be summed up as thus:

Walking down North Terrace last year, a stunning young woman in a charcoal-grey pinstripe suit was walking the opposite direction on the other side of the road. As it was a safe perving distance, I watched her long, confident strides and her raven black mane with admiration.

… and I nearly walked smack into a bus shelter.

Years ago, I was driving on North East road. It was a hot day. A blonde woman was standing on the sidewalk, talking with friends. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts. I didn’t see much else, because I had to jump on the brakes suddenly to prevent slamming into the car in front of me.

So, are men smarter? Just ask the dopey looking bloke who is staring dumbfounded at passing women, drool slightly trickling out the side of his agape mouth.

---------------
EDIT: I've just been perusing the reader response to the news dot com article, and it's confirmed. We are living in the Dark Ages.

Position Vacant

Want to see the tropics? Want to experience the fine cuisine that can only be obtained from sitting inside a gaol cell? Want an entire country to be your friend? Want to get your face into the media, both television and print media?

The Inane Asylum has the Job Opportunity of a lifetime*.

As one of the fastest growing drug cartels** in Australia, a vacancy now exists for young, gorgeous girls who wish to embark on a career of landing on the front cover of FHM, or those who wish to become the darling of an entire continent.

As a drug mule, you will be privy to areas of Bali not normally seen by everyday tourists, and you will experience a taste of Balinese culture*** rarely explored by Australians. Your face will become a national icon, and your name - along with many other variations of the word “breast” – will be typed into search engines for months.

Successful applicants will know how to break into tears in front of cameras, must be able to apply makeup within small confines, and must have family naïve enough to believe you would never touch drugs.

Modeling experience not necessary, but would be a bonus.

Please send all enquiries to the Inane Asylum, enclosing photos of the applicant huddled in a corner, tears streaking down their face****. Rich financiers are a bonus. Males need not apply, as you deserve every punishment your drug addled arse can take.

* Almost literally
** no, not really… but for the sake of this post
*** If being held at gunpoint is part of “culture”
**** In a 300 x 200 glossy.

"Journalism"

Yesterday, right before I left for work, I snuck in a brief look at Channel 9’s Today Show. Normally, watching the Today Show leaves my eyes burning, my head pounding and my ears ringing.

And yesterday was no exception.

I caught the arse end of a story relating to pornography being available in Public Libraries. Now, some of you might think it erroneous of me to comment on a story I didn’t get the full gist of, but hey… the Today Show pisses me off.

They were interviewing a spokesperson for the Public Libraries, who cited lack of proper controls over the internet access, and that adult content could be easily viewed by any ol’ Joe/Joe-ette. This sounded like an interesting and insightful interview, but I didn't count on the attendance of the female prat who was conducting the interview.

I can’t quote her word for word, but this is what she said… paraphrasing is minimal here…

“But here at Channel 9, we’re in the information business… and we don’t have any problems with [people looking at pr0n]” the blonde creature squeaked out the television speakers.

What… the… fuck…?

Of course, what I fail to put across in my post here is that absolute smugness in this woman’s delivery of that question. Obviously it was to incite some kind of back-foot response, so that maybe she can get together with her friends down the vodka bar and they can squeal about how she roasted that Public Library chick.

Ah yes, gotta love the method of interviewing that goes for shock reaction rather than actual intelligent probing.

Back on track… Now, I’m no Dr. Anything, but the last time I checked there was a large difference between a television network that is run by the richest man in Australia, and a Government funded public library.

Did you know why they want people to be quiet in a public library? Because - if you listen hard enough - you can hear the sound of squeaking wheels coming from inside their computers. This squeaking is from the hamsters running around to power the things. That’s right… they can’t even afford grease for their hamster wheels.

Also, the last time I checked, the public don't use Channel 9's computers to look at the internet. I think the worst thing to show up on their search lists would be "ethical journalism", "lefties" and "unbiased opinions without sensationalism"... things which Channel 9 seemingly are vehement in their opposition of.

As far as I know, the only thing stopping the public from accessing questionable sites in libraries is the threat of a wrist slapping... not being fired.

But, I’m not Dr. Genre either, but the last time I checked, Channel 9, or even the Today Show wasn’t in the “info-biz” either. I thought they were more of the “Entertainment Business”. But hey, I guess it’s only semantics.

In order to gain some insight into the “information” that the Today Show offered, I decided to peruse their archives.

And who could do without such valuable information as the following?

Fat Wives Have Their Husbands to Blame

Today show's wedding of the year!

James Bond gadgets

Thank whatever Gods are out there that we are privileged to view such “information”. Thank the other Gods that we have blonde women with long legs and fake tans delivering our “information” to us in such an unintelligible manner.

Hell, if this woman is “informative” enough to make it onto television, then maybe there’s hope for some people out there with “talent”.

Violent Changes

Gawd, what a crazy couple days.

I’ve started this new job, and it’s going to be hectic. Whereas before, I was huddled over my computer screen, killing time between smoke breaks, now I’m run off my feet and on the phone to all corners of the state.

It’s good to feel useful again.

I wasn’t exactly tops at my last job, and I couldn’t really get enthused about the work. Funnily enough, I was in the business of publishing materials that taught English as a second language… and funnily enough, I want to go to Japan to do just that.

But before I left the last job, I was on the phone to some people from overseas. I just love some of the stereotypes that Australians have as a result of a certain hot headed, knuckle-dragging celebrity.

“Don’t get into any fist-fights…” the guy from our London warehouse told me in departure.

“You’re going to telecommunications, eh? Don’t throw any phones at people!” Another said, the smirk on his face obvious in his voice.

Yeah, thanks Russ.

I’ve also heard a couple quips from some British people on television. If they’re not thinking Australians are a bunch of sheep lovers, they think that we’re violent. All because of an “Australian” who goes about throwing punches at most passer-bys.

For those who don’t know, Russell Crowe is actually from New Zealand.

Of course, I have to let you know my response to these smart-arses who decided to take-the-piss out of me right before I moved onto my new job.

I talked very softly into the phone, so it appeared as though the line was bad. After they said something about the line being bad, I slammed my phone receiver on the table. Repeatedly.

I’m sure their ears are still ringing.

Australians are violent indeed… Pfft…

Oh, X… you guys will win the Ashes.

A list to offend

Posted on Honeysmack’s blog was a list of 30 things that guys should know about girls. It has some fair points, I believe, and I couldn’t help but throw my hat into the ring.

However, this has seemingly dobbed me into writing my own list, but vice-versa – ie 30 things girls should know about guys. Frankly, I see nothing but a stern dressing down from the females who frequent this blog… but hey… I’m only a male.

Bear in mind that the only qualification I have to forge such a list is my chromosome make up and my two brains, so this list is borne from my personal experiences… expect a little ire… don’t take it personally…

1. If you tell a man that “nothing” is wrong, despite the fact that your body language, red face, livid eyes and shouting tone of voice suggest otherwise, he will only assume that nothing is, in fact, wrong. Men believe verbal language before they believe body language.

2. Do not use the technique known as the “silent treatment”, unless you’re hoping to forge a relationship of spite.

3. Guys like sex. Lots.

4. Guys like lots of sex. Lots.

5. If you want help, ask for it. Guys often dislike being chided for getting in the way, so we sometimes simply stay out of your way. We believe that the female psyche is often volatile depending upon moods, societal concern, stress, political worries and dare I say it, cycle, so we are of the belief that the only time a woman wants help is when she asks for it.

6. The male psyche is quite different to a female’s. There are times of malaise in where a man will simply stare blankly ahead in a momentary period of rest, or a mini-meditation. If you ask a male “what are you thinking about?” during this torpor, he will respond blankly with the word “nothing”. This is the truth.

7. If you don’t believe that he is thinking about nothing, then he is probably thinking about something you don’t want to know about… or sex. Lots.

8. The male ego is a precious thing. Boost it every now and then with some positive reinforcement.

9. Motorsport and ball sports are a sacred right to view for many males. He’ll go to a chick flick with you, but respect the sacred ceremony that is the “weekend footy”

10. If he regales his friends with stories about you, it isn’t to deride you. It’s because he’s proud to have you. Either that, or he’s an ugly prick who will never, ever get a woman as hot as you.

11. If he does something sweet, it’s because he wants sex. Lots of it. The male must remain as appealing as possible to incite the mating ritual. Also, the male is aware that a good cure for a headache is sex. Think of another excuse.

12. Lying about menstrual cycle to negate his lustful advances is not on. Ever. Never… Period…

13. Appearing “pussy whipped” is an innate and primal fear of every male. If he’s ever dismissive of you in public, be assured you’ll get the affection back ten-fold once behind closed doors.

14. He has female friends, and most likely they are ones he finds somewhat attractive (he wouldn’t keep them around otherwise). Take heed that he chose you over all of them, and that is actually a compliment.

15. A guy’s tough exterior is only skin deep. Insults cut him like you wouldn’t believe. Unless he’s an emotionless tool.

16. He looks forward to his birthday, because he knows he can ask for sex without scorn. Be prepared for it. To be honest, it’s probably the only present he wants…

17. If it’s serious and you must meet the parents, his mother is always going to scrutinise you. Smile and be a happy person, and if that doesn’t work, then keep doing it.

18. Before you came along, his head was in a trough full of food, and the vacuum cleaner had more dust on it than in it. Comment on the cleanliness of his unit, and how dinner smells nice.

19. Your paying the entire bill at a restaurant brings his manliness and his ability to provide into question. If the bill isn’t split, then he must pay for it in its entirety. Don’t challenge him on it.

20. If threatened by another member of his gender, especially regarding you, be prepared for the verbal equivalent of elk butting heads. The mountains will echo with the cracking of horns locking. It happens sometimes. Link arms with him.

21. The first outfit you chose was more than good. You looked stunning. You’ll get that exact same opinion even when he’s surveying you from inside the car, honking the horn for you to hurry up.

22. A boy’s night out is equally as important as a girl’s night out.

23. A man’s dog is his best mate. They drink together, play together and sometimes work together. You must get along with his dog.

24. Drive his car with the tentativeness as though you were lullabying a baby to sleep. He’s very precious about it. If you want to show him how brilliant a driver you are, do it in your own car and not his pride and joy. Remember… he’s precious.

25. If you want to surprise him for whatever occasion… just get naked.

26. Nagging may get the job done, but it’s immensely frustrating. Instead, promise him nudity and watch that leaky faucet seemingly fix itself instantaneously.

27. He hates clothes shopping. For either him or you. With a passion.

28. If a female is bothering him, you have every right to scratch her eyes out. This has a two-fold effect; he will be assured that you’re really keen on him, and him watching two women wrestling on the ground will probably turn him on.

29. In a lot of cases, he won’t understand the appeal of some of your music. You will never agree on this. It’s only a small thing.

30. He probably won’t like your cat.

Some of those things are tongue-in-cheek, and some are not. If you’re offended by any of these, then that item is tongue-in-cheek. If you think it’s insightful, I intended it that way.

And naturally, I don’t speak for all males…

Message in the Not Mail

Has anyone heard of the therapeutic technique in where you write a letter to someone, but not actually send it? It’s good to get things down on paper, just for your own sake. It makes it easier to articulate your thoughts, and then plan on the action you must take.

I’ve tried it, and yes… I can conclusively say that the technique is actually bullshit.

So, I’ve gone and designed my own technique. It’s called, Writing A Letter And Then Blogging It So That The Entire World, Except The People It’s Directed At, Can Read It.

I call it the “Sky Writer Says Fuck You” technique.

So, without further ado.

Dear girl who works in the café down the street from my workplace.

I don’t know who the fuck stoked your fire, but looking at me like I’m failing at suppressing some terminal bout with flatulence doesn’t really enamour me to your business. I’d be tempted to give you a tip if you perhaps didn’t slap my food into my hand as though you were passing the baton in a 100 metre race… but… wait, no that’s a lie. I wouldn’t tip you full-stop. You’re not cute, and I’m shallow that way.

(tipping isn’t customary in Australia…)

Dear Male P Plate Drivers

Just because I drive a car that looks prettier than yours, it doesn’t mean I want to have a drag race with you at every set of lights. I don’t feel like I have to prove my driving prowess, or my car’s power output to little twerps like you. Besides, have you seen the cost of fuel lately? I’m not made of money, you know.

I don’t think Daddy would like it if I told him what you really do with his car when you tell him you’re “ducking down to the shops for some milk”.

As you also have to wear those lovely plates on your car that automatically brand you as a knuckle-dragging, antisocial terror, I know which one of us would get pulled over by cops first. Heh. You may be younger than me… but I’ve got… um… I’ve got… er… hmm.

Fuck off.

Dear The Instructor On Tuesday Night

An instructor is there to inspire others, to teach people the ideals and philosophies behind the subject. They are to encourage, support and provide feedback.

Instructors do not force their pupils to jump through hoops, show off how much better they are at the subject, nor do they portray some “I’m Top Shit” air and show off. Just because you got your black belt recently, it doesn’t automatically mean that you’re some fuckin’ oracle, and that we are all in awe of you.

In fact, I picked up some flaws in your teachings, but I didn’t want to tell you. I’ve seen the way you look with contempt at people of a lower belt than you, so I doubt you’d listen to me. I learned long ago that ability lies with what’s in your head, and not the colour wrapped around your waist.

If you’ve got a problem with this, I didn’t say it. It was the guy next to me. Go beat him up.

----------------
I feel better.

Depp Impact

Johnny Depp’s work of recent times has been lauded, due to his inexplicable ability to bring something unique to the characters he portrays. From the staid entrance in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape through to the unanimously applauded depiction of Keith Richards in Pirates of the Caribbean, people simply cannot get enough of his talents.

And it is sheer talent, and imagination that he possesses. Let’s face it. He’s changed the way I look at actors, as I was once of the impression that for an actor to be considered “good”, they must play a character that has some form of mental illness.

Forrest Gump, I Am Sam, Rainman, The Hours… need I say more?

He’s made acting into a craft; an artform – instead of merely reciting lines well enough to make it convincing. His ability simply surpasses the vague gestures of the characters played by Hanks, Penn, Hoffman and Kidman et al.

He shows that acting is as much a creative skill as painting, writing or composing political election speeches.

But his uniqueness has brought about a heightened amount of scrutiny it seems.

From the reviews I’ve read about the upcoming Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, his channelling of Michael Jackson has left some people with a… wait for it… bitter taste in the mouth.

Whether you take that line as a neat little play on the chocolate theme, or some other sordid line regarding the allegations of which Jackson was absolved, it’s up to you.

Some people are finding it difficult to fathom that Willy Wonka is some creepy fellow, instead of the chirpy little urchin that dances gaily about in the novel, or the eerily reserved visage from the first movie. But I guess that’s just the thing.

Too many people are comparing this to the first adaptation of the novel that starred Gene Wilder, which was incorrectly named and featured some bogus scene of Charlie and Grandpa Joe flying about, belching.

I don’t remember reading that part… the soda was mentioned briefly in the novel, from what I can remember, but they never participated in drinking the stuff. Either way…

But again, Depp has assumed a persona that he believes befits the character - a rather brash selection of a real person, I’ll admit - but one I believe that is fitting. The subsequent discourse of whether Depp’s portrayal of the confection hermit is befitting has only served to reinforce how great an actor Depp is.

Any piece of art that is revolutionary, forward-thinking, and memorable is often a piece of art that is controversial. Depp’s composition of Willy Wonka has definitely spoken volumes for his aptitude in his art.

Anyone who derides his performance in this movie must have erroneously formed a preconceived idea of what Wonka must be… which is stupid.

I wonder how the people reacted when Picasso first unveiled Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, cos I imagine people would’ve had some preconceived ideas of art in their heads before viewing.

Oh, and one last thing… and this is off on a tangent… but I’ve been meaning to say this for a while; Roald Dahl was a far better children’s author than JK Rowling… there, I said it.

Back In Print. Maybe.

After much absence from contributing to magazines, I decided to throw my hat into the ring and knock up a quick article.

It’s been nine months since my last piece was published, so I sincerely doubted that the editor would remember me, and subsequent discussions with other freelancers in Sydney didn’t exactly paint an optimistic picture.

The editor had always been most helpful with me in the past, and quite approachable considering the prominence of the magazine. I’d initially thought he would’ve been quite snobby, but I was wrong.

He was on holidays until today, and I didn’t think I’d hear back at all, but I just got an email from him, asking how I was going and that he’ll take a look at my article.

Still… that’s not confirmation of a published article, but if other editors are anything to go by, he didn’t have to reply at all.

Maybe this is the kick I need… I need to get writing again.

I cast my mind back to when my first article was published. Seeing my name in print had a certain… er… what’s the word… geez… uh… I dunno. Gawd… and I’m a writer???

It felt… good. Duh…

Until you realised that it was just text.

Meh. Either way, even if the article gets rejected, the editor’s simple gesture of getting back to me is a tiny piece of positive reinforcement that I should continue on, until I get published again.

Like I said before… one step at a time.

What was everything to me...

I guess we all need goals to strive for; something to inspire us to keep going to grasp the star that seems just beyond our reach.

For the past month or so I’ve been lying flat on my back, resting on the broken leaves, and soaking in whatever spoils I could obtain from my withered life.

Yet the battered foliage has bore some fruit of desire.

As I cast my eyes around me, I can see the medals of surviving such an ordeal. The new laptop whirs in front of me, beckoning me to resume work on the novel. A myriad of new suits hang on my wall hook, swaying lightly in the breeze of the heater, just wanting to be worn – hoping to make my appearance glossier.

The new car keys sit on the bench, desperate for another drive to inspire.

At the bottom of my laptop screen in the Task Manager, I can see the Excel Spreadsheet that has mapped out the rest of my life financially, even taking into consideration factors simply beyond those who cannot perceive the future.

Photos from my sojourn in June remind me of events afore, and that eerie time of limbo. However, I walked out of that period inspired to surmount many hills and jump gleefully atop the many summits.

But at the moment, I rest.

I stare up at the sky, and I can only see a few stars, but none are within reach at this point in time. They are far too distant to even bother trying to extend my arms.

Long time objects of desire now adorn my walls, a clear reminder of my new path. There are no more forks in the road. There are no more branches in the path. No more choices. No more grasping. Not for now.

Even from the mixed metaphors in this post, I can see the malaise seeping in. But I have chosen the path with less underbrush, and I must tread the dust.

One step at a time.

Is this malaise? Is this boredom? Or am I simply tired… tired of climbing hills?

Muse’s song “Dead Star” blares out of the speakers in my face, which seems relatively apt at this point in time. Where is the muse in my life? Why are all my stars seemingly dead?

The lyrics assault my ears: “You used to be everything to me, and now you’re tired of fighting…”

But in this case “you” isn’t a person… it’s my goals.

Brother... *sigh*

Whilst this topic may have been discussed ad-bloody-nauseum, I can’t help but feel that I must say something about an opinion article written today on news.com.au.

And people must know by now that news.com.au is one of my favourite whipping boys.

I must commend Sophie Marchant’s brash and shameless outing of herself as an avid Big Brother fan, as I know that many people hide their affection for the show behind the hoity-toity demeanour that the beast actually repulses them. However, I might merely suggest that she’s might've got the wrong end of the contestants' point stick.

Whilst some of them might actually go on this show in some form of brazen attempt to gain popularity in forging out a career in “the biz”, I cannot help but think that this really isn’t their overall goal.

I mean, where else can you get an all expenses paid trip to the sunny areas of Queensland so you can sit around drinking, playing games and basically acting House with a bunch of other, like-minded people?

People value experiential things more than material ones… so all in all, I think these contestants just want the experience.

The last time I checked, no other holiday agency offered the chance to live like a celebrity for the minimum of one or two weeks… and for free, except for a little cost to the dignity.

So why splash out all your hard earned cash on a trip where you have to watch your finances like an eagle on a field mouse, when you can have a TV network pay for the entire she-bang?

Why do touristy things when you can act like a complete tool, and then have a TV network practically thank you for doing so? You know, “Thanks for being a prick to that girl; the audience lapped it up like a thirsty dog at a dam. Here’s a car for your ‘work’, now run along.”

And the cost of entry, like I said, is the priceless surrender of your pride and dignity.

Is the value of an experience of a lifetime equal to what your giving up? Some say yes.

Big Brother: The Holiday for a New Generation.

Note: This post has been formed solely upon what I've picked up from news articles relating to Big Brother, and I haven't yet sat through an entire show for the past three seasons. Yes, that's right. I like Big Brother for the articles...

Accentuating Cutesy

In my post flu delirium, I had to catch a bus into the city to go pick up some crap that I needed.

Usually, catching a bus in Adelaide is equally as tormenting as catching the SuperFlu, but today I walked off feeling relatively amused.

There were a bunch of kids of high school age travelling with me. As kids this age are wont to do, they were speaking really, really loudly. Fair enough… I expect that of them. However, one of them seemed to be an exchange student, and she had a fairly thick accent… if I had to gander a guess; German.

She had that German accent tinged with an American one. Obviously had an American English teacher.

Anyways, she made a remark about another passenger’s sunglasses, and then regarded herself as rather “fashion-able”.

No, not fashionable. Fashion able. “Able” pronounced like I was saying “I am able to string two words together”.

However, I did not look upon this linguistic faux pas with scorn, or derision, but one of endearment. Her accent actually made it sound pretty cool.

But then I stopped to think. If I has said the same thing, people would think that my grasp of the English language rather deficient, and that I'm some form of moron.

However, it does make me want to travel to a country that has a language I cannot speak well.

I like the idea that if I say something stupid, people will look at me as though I’m cute… instead of looking at me like I’m deranged.

Brush with Fame

It seems that every single year in this city, we have a huge warning coming up about some new fandangled, bigger-than-last-year, this-time-it's-personal, holy-crap-it's-coming-right-for-us Super Flu.

And every other year, I seem to bypass it.

Except this year. And it's only a sore throat, and a slight cough.

But it still doesn't stop me from feeling like shit. I can't even talk slightly, or have some coughing spasm (which are quite prevalent) without searing pain coursing down my wind pipe.

But enough about that.

So, I've been struck down by a flu of some sort. Whilst I can't say for sure whether it was this Super Flu that the current affairs show were banging on about recently, I would still like to think that I've had a brush with a celebrity:

"You know that Super Flu that was all the talk on TV a few nights ago? Well, he dropped by MY place. Gave me phlegm and everything! We're heaps good friends now!"

Man, I'm delirious. I think this Cough and Flu syrup could probably double as LSD or something.

I'll stop now...

The Idiot's Guide to Flipping Switches

Just when I thought that I’d run out ways to conceal my writer’s block, and was contemplating writing a post about the new word I’d invented (It’s “Bludget”; n; the monies put aside by a company to account for bored procrastinators), I get tagged by ChickyBabe of The Chicken or the Egg.

What are my Turn On’s and Turn Off’s?

Well, here they are, if anyone was curious.

Turn On’s:

1. Women
2. See 1
3. See 2
4. See 3
5. See 4
6. See 5
7. See 6
8. See 7
9. See 8
10. See 9

Turn Off’s

1. Idiocy
2. More idiocy
3. Like this kind of idiocy
4. And that last one
5. People who think idiocy is funny
6. People who can’t laugh at idiocy
7. People who get “bought” and “brought” mixed up
8. People who can’t finish a list properly
9. See 8
10. See 9

Now that I’ve got that stupidity off my chest, I might actually get a bit more serious about the task at hand and reply to this in the true spirit of its intent. Oh, and if any of you think I’m deriding people who partake in the items in my “Turn Off’s” list, just note that I understand that it is the way you are, I don’t expect people to change… I just don’t behave like that.

Turn On’s:

1. The confident strides of a woman in heels
2. Women in pin stripe suits
3. Women who wear glasses are extremely appealing
4. The allure of what you don’t see
5. Long hair that drifts lightly away from the face as they walk
6. Clothes that accentuate figure
7. Sweet scents
8. Very little use of make-up
9. Large eyes that bore into you
10. Femininity

Turn Off’s

1. Loud discussions of sex in public places
2. Not taking “no” as an answer
3. Loss of self control due to intoxication
4. Bragging about said loss of self control as though it is some kind of brilliant achievement.
5. Refusing assistance when it is obviously needed
6. Interrupting during a discussion
7. Not listening to an alternate opinion (if differing) and assertion that their opinion is the definitive one.
8. Selective hearing ie only listening to one facet of what is being said
9. Asserting opinions of current affairs with little consideration of the many facets of the issue
10. Prejudice against other religions, race, sexual orientation, political factions, countries, cities and/or gender.

Isn’t it funny how the things listed in the Turn On’s are physical and visual traits, yet the Turn Off’s relate to someone’s personality, which has largely been formed from their environment?

Not very tolerant of me, is it? I guess that fits into that last one of my turn off’s. So there you go… I don’t turn me on. So I guess you can’t accuse me of being a narcissist.

But if I ever claim that it’s the personality that counts, you can cite this post as proof that I’m full of shit…

This is when I should nominate others to partake in this list, but I will follow X’s lead and simply leave it open to whoever would like to participate. I hate to think that I’m forcing people to write specific things in their blogs.