(That’s not really part of the story, but I wanted to explain why this memory even came to the forefront of my mind)
So I was telling another friend about Jeffy’s wonderful career, and I said something to the effect of “He works for a 6 foot-tall woman who hacked one of her breasts off”. (Get it? Like he works for an “Amazon”? Hey, they can’t all be winners.) Regardless, of course, I’m referencing the myth that Amazon women would remove a breast so as to better be able to pull their bowstrings back.
What does this pertain to? Nothing, really, but having already covered my Junior High thoughts on dating, I figured I’d mention an insult would actually use to torment girls back in the 7th grade:
Ambidextrous Amazon. (Get it? Like they cut bo…yeah, okay, you get it. Sorry. Just checking.)
If running a BBS didn’t knock the girls dead back then, obviously esoteric references to the battle tactics of a mythical warrior-tribe should do the trick. No wonder I didn’t kiss a girl until my senior year.
This past weekend, my friend Amanda (and, weirdly enough, my completely-unrelated-friend Stacey) went to something called the “Bachelor’s Ball”. Apparently there have been one hundred some-odd of these things previously (this one was touted as the “103rd Annual”).
Now, I know absolutely nothing about it, or who puts it on, or where it was held, although I vaguely remember hearing that it was at some hotel in Beverly Hills. I was told that the tables people were assigned to were set up by theme. How cute. Amanda’s table had an “aviator” theme; leather jackets, scarves and goggles, oh my! Stacey’s table had an “In and Out Burger” theme, complete with shirts that had slogans like “You can’t beat our meat” on the back. How clever.
But knowing what I know about how men handle dating in Los Angeles, the idea of a secret-handshake club having a “Bachelor’s Ball” once a year for a century, wherein they encourage the coeds to dress up in thematic costumes — sluttily, of course — and go drink at some swank Beverly Hills Hotel sort of reminds me of that first scene in the movie Blade.
Or maybe the girls don’t exactly wander in the hotel to pulsing rave music, only to get covered in blood from the sprinkler system and eaten alive by vampires. But something tells me the two scenes are at least somewhat similar.
Have you ever actually “drawn straws” for anything? Have you ever seen — or even heard of — anyone doing this? It still appears in movies and television as a viable way of selecting someone/thing, but I don’t know if I’ve ever met a single person who even so much as heard a rumor of someone actually doing this in real life. I mean, should I go update the imdb.com “goofs” page for the movie Clue and say “Anachronism: No one has used drawing straws as a means of selection since 1834.”
Because that’s true, right?
Anyway, I apologize for the less-than-stellar return to blogging. I received a text-nudge that I had been negligent, and I’d been thinking about taking it up again for awhile anyway. And with the randomness this site has caused in the last month (including a pseudo-celebrity dust-up that we’ll get to soon), I figured it’s time to break out the old blogging pen again.
So be on the lookout for some updates. More football picks, reality TV foolishness, and all the creative wit and humor you’ve come to expect from your favorite blogger this side of the Pecos.
And if you’ve actually “drawn straws”, feel free to let me know. I’d also like to know what Millard Filmore was like in real life and what side of the Pecos I actually reside on.
Since yesterday was April Fools (Fool’s? I’m too lazy to look it up) Day, I’ll drop a little dating knowledge on you guys, Jigga style. (Some of you lucky enough to have read my old journal may know this already. If so, keep quiet, aite?)
It’s a pretty simple system; much easier than something like Frank “TJ” Mackey’s “Search and Destroy” program, and it requires absolutely no up-front cost or commitment. And it completely eliminates most people’s reason for not asking people out: the fear of rejection. With my method, there’s nothing to worry about!
There is, however, one significant downfall of the system, which will be painfully evident in a second. So, without further ado:
JeremyAbramson.com™ presents Jigga’s Foolproof Dating Method
Step 1. Wait for April Fools (Fool’s?) day
Step 2. Ask girl.guy out
Step 3 (if s/he says yes). Go out. Enjoy. Send Jeremy a huge box of chocolates thanking him for the revolutionary dating system
Step 3 (if s/he says no). Tell him/her it was all a big April Fools (Fool’s?) joke.
Step 4. Repeat until success.
So it only works once a year. And if you’re just reading this now, since it’s already April 2nd, you’re probably going to have to wait until next year. But it’ll be worth it, right? I mean, it’s foolproof!
But honestly, if that creepy dude from eHarmony can make millions on lonely people, I don’t see how I can’t at least get some goddamn chocolate.
I was impressed that someone could be so specific and picky about who they wanted to date and what they wanted in a relationship. So I got to thinking: what do I want out of a relationship? Then it hit me…:
Ice cream cake.
What I want, right now, is ice cream cake. And if that nutbar can post all that crap about what she wants from a potential mate, I should be able to too.
Tall, dark, handsome guy looking for an icecream cake - 29
Here’s the thing…I’d like an ice cream cake. Not the whole thing, of course, but a nice sized slice.
Here’s where you come in: you’d bring me the ice cream cake. Now, I’m guessing most ice cream cake dispensing locales are closed now, so I’d settle for a sundae. Maybe some ice cream, some sprinkles, and chocolate sauce. Actually, I have some chocolate sauce. So just bring over some ice cream and some sprinkles. I prefer the rainbow kind, but if you wanna do the chocolate kind, that works too. Oh, I just remembered Magic Shell (you know, the stuff that hardens when it’s cold). So bring some Magic Shell too. It’s much better than plain Hershey’s syrup.
So, obviously, you can’t be lactose intolerant. As far as “what I’m looking for” in a woman, that’s really all there is, at this point.
As for me, I’m 6′4″, 205, athletic build, attractive, Hispanic, Jewish, and getting my Ph.D. Although none of that really matters, as far as eating ice cream is concerned.
At any rate, I hope to hear from you soon, and hopefully we’ll agree on a flavor!
So far, no responses, but it’s only been up for a couple of minutes. I assume I’ll be deluged with offers. I’ll keep you all posted.
I’ve been sick for the past week. I had the flu, which makes perfect sense, since it’s a). flu season, and b). I never bothered to get a flu shot. Now, while being sick isn’t any fun, the one thing that makes it downright unbearable is listening to people say, upon hearing of my illness, “yeah, that’s been going around lately”.
It’s been “going around” lately, eh? How, exactly, did you come upon that little nugget of knowledge? Inside fucking tip from the CDC?
You know, let’s just get this out of the way, okay? It ALWAYS rains this much, there is ALWAYS something going around, and traffic HAS always been this bad. Okay? Always. Every year. Never changes. Aite? Can we just agree on this and move on? Please?
At any rate, I think we’re going to launch a new feature next week. So watch for the premiere of JeremyAbramson.com™ presents: When Boredom Strikes! It should be good times for the whole family!
Everyone knows I’m a huge sports fan. My number one team is, of course, my beloved Sacramento Kings. And while they seem destined for another 15-year run of mediocrity — or worse — there are a select few of us true fans that hold out hope.
Of course, by “hope” I mean “Isiah Thomas will trade us Channing Frye and Jared Jeffries for Ron Artest. By “hope”, I mean “Brad Miller marries David Stern’s daughter, and somehow manages to implement a weird rule where he can be waived and not count against the cap.” And, by “hope”, I mean this:
As someone who had to endure the Olden Polynice era, the drafting of Pervis Ellison, and Doug Christie’s wife, I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
I was bored, so I went and did eHarmony’s Bazillionty-dimensional Personality Profile thingee.
And I actually did it honestly. You know, like, not lying when it asks things like “I root for certain people to fail” or “I hit sometimes when I’m angry”.
Okay, I made that last one up, but I think it certainly should have been on there.
But wouldn’t you know…eHarmony can’t do anything for me. I’m part of the population that, apparently, has no real match. Not that I’d ever in a million fucking years sign up for the site, but still. I found this part especially interesting:
Some people may see your practical style as lacking compassion. When your compassion is tempered, as it is at times by your discerning questions and careful consideration, it may seem to some like you have too much head and too little heart. And when you use time and energy to take care of yourself there will inevitably be some who see you as selfish and uncaring. But your approach is neither heady nor selfish. It is you. And unless your approach is causing you consistent problems in important relationships, there is really no reason to change. Your distinctive manner of having clear expectations for the relationships in which you will exert your energy is true to the core of you.
Sigh. If only eHarmony could have actually found me someone who appreciates my “distinctive manner”. Either way, I can’t wait for the next time I get into an argument with someone for being insensitive. I’ve got some serious ammunition now. “See?! See?! I’m not being heady! I’m not being selfish! I’m just being me! eHarmony freakin’ SAYS SO! Now stop complaining about whatever tiny logistical minutiae you’re bitching about today and bring me some Taco Bell. Ya fattie!”
Let me be honest, right off the bat: I’ve never taken a women’s studies class.
Of course, one could also say I’ve never taken a men’s studies class either.
To that, one might then be inclined to reply, “Hey, you have taken a men’s study class. It’s called ‘history’”. And then there’s usually some quip about the “his” in “history”.
The only response to that, of course, is to write your local congressman or woman, begging for state-imposed sterilization of people who would actually say something that trite and meaningless. (While you’re at it, I’d appreciate if you also include people who use the phrase “old soul” and people with bumper-stickers on their car, but I guess we shoudn’t be greedy).
But again, the point is that I’ve never had a women’s studies class.
I bring this up because not having had the pleasure of such an educational experience, I can’t really speak to the “point” of women’s studies in general. However, I’ve spoken to many people who have taken such classes, and the main (only?) justification they provide for such things — and I’d like to say I’m paraphrasing here, but the sad reality is that this really is all there is to it — is that “history”, for the most part, is written by men, about men, for men.
Bold claims, all. The last claim I would take slight issue with, as most people (male or female) who spend their life studying some aspect of history are probably excited that anyone (again, male or female) actually cares about their work. But perhaps it’s true.
The first claim might be true as well. Most historians are probably men, so they do most of the writing of history books. Besides, many women who would be historians, at least these days, are too busy writing women’s studies books to be bothered with history. But I would certainly grant that most history — especially the sort that was written as it was happening — was written by men.
Which brings us to the central claim here, both literally and figuratively. That is that history is written “about” men. Some people, for whatever reason, take umbrage with this, and I don’t really understand why. This strikes me as tantamount to complaining about how the New Testament is “mostly about Christians”.
I guess I’ve never read a book on, say, Queen Victoria, and thought to myself, “wait a gosh durned second here. WHERE ARE THE DUDES?!” Like, it’s a book about a Queen. Last time I checked, most of those were women. Or at least lived in West Hollywood, and I don’t believe WeHo was under control of the British Empire in the mid-nineteenth century, so it’s not really part of the conversation. A chick was queen, so you’re gonna end up reading a lot about her.
It’s pretty hard to refute that over 90% of the interesting shit to happen to the world, at least in a historical sense, was done by dudes. Art, literature, war, science. All dominated by men.
“But Jeremy!”, you might say, “don’t you see? You’ve proved the point. They were all dominated by men because men were in control! If women had been….”
At this point, I’d like to mention an old Cuban saying my other was fond of: “If my grandmother had wheels, she’d be a bicycle.”
See, history is supposed to be about crap that happened, like, before, uh, now. Right? You can get into the whys and hows, but for the most part it’s about the whats and the whens. Time, unless people in women’s studies classes do a lot of psychotropic substances I’m not aware of, is gender-neutral. Figuring the gender of someone perpetrating a “what” is pretty straight forward. (Unless, again, we’re dealing with WeHo, which I don’t think we are). So that means that if something happened way back when, and it was important, and it was some guy that did it, it probably makes sense to talk about the guy, right? I mean, I guess we could talk about the guy’s mother, or the girl he took to prom, or any of the countless other women who have likely influenced his life, but that’s more of a biography. If we’re talking a historical account of what this dude did, at some point is it really about, uh, what he did?
(This is, of course, presupposing that there isn’t some Da Vinci Code-level cover-up at work here, and it turns out that, like, Napoleon was a chick or something. A while I might buy the whole thing with Watson and Crick the fact that most women weren’t allowed to vote in this country, much less do anything interesting 100 years ago, doesn’t really give credence to those sorts of theories)
That isn’t to say that women are (or were) incapable of any of these things. I’m a firm believer that women can do anything just as well as men can. Except, of course, connect stereo equipment and play basketball. I think we’ve sorta got a monopoly on those. But it’s really a toss up with just about everything else. So it’s not about women’s talent or ability, which last time I checked, wasn’t in question.
It’s about what happened. (You know, like “history”, right? Isn’t that what the word means?)
So I can totally understand a historical sociology class discussing the climate in, say, the 1700s that lead to Newton and Leibniz discovering calculus instead of some girl named Marsha. That makes sense. But to bitch about how all the history books ever talk about is Newton and Leibniz because they’re dudes is completely pointless and nonsensical.
Much like, to bring things full circle, taking a women’s studies class.
(Special thanks to Melaina for the inspiration for this post. When historians talk about my blog, I certainly hope they mention hers as well. Wouldn’t want to be gender-biased, would we?)
