There's nothing really special about this blog.  I was just having a conversation with MaryD and it reminded me of something, so I just mused away while I typed.

A little while back, I was having dinner with someone I just met in a nice quiet restaurant.  We'll call her Nicki.  We're going through the usual discovery process involved in these things and, of course, what I do for a living comes up (okay, in fact, she already knew, but only in a general sense).  She was curious about the different shows I've worked on.  Now, truth is, I get a bit embarrassed talking about that because, well, I do have a pretty good resume'.  But I'm between a rock and a hard place because if I talk about the resume', it sounds like I'm bragging or showing off.  But if I don't, well, I'm not really being honest about it.  I have to be honest so I tell her.  And, as usual, the one credit that gets the most interest is Xena. 

Her eyes lit up.  She tells me she used to watch the show when it started, but lost track of it after the first year (something about moving after college, how DARE she let a small thing like starting a career keep her from Xena!!!).  Now, I've talked to many people about Xena, but this was the first time I ever heard someone say the name "Xena" as if she was purring it.  I didn't think it was possible, I mean, try it.  It doesn't really settle into the back of the throat where a normal "purr' would reside.  But she dropped it down, the two syllables dropping into her throat with a real resonance.  And, perhaps, the twist of her lip on the second syllable might have added a reinforcement to the sound.  And, hell, it was sexy!  I made some comment about the rising temperature in the restaurant.  She smiled…. "Xeee-nah…. Xeee…nah…"  It made me chuckle and we both laughed.

Anyway, she commented on how much of a bad girl she thought Xena was.  And how Gabrielle was such a "nice" girl.  She admitted that she was very attracted to Xena, but that Gabrielle seemed like the kind of nice girl she would want to have as a friend.  "So," I said "Xena is the Bad Girl, so she's attractive to you.  Gabby is the Nice Girl, so she would be just a friend?"  Nicki nodded  "Yeah, I guess Gabrielle would be better for me in the long run, but… Xeee-nah…! " 

What she was stating was the classic Bad Boy/Nice Guy phenomena!  So, I tested her "What about Callisto?"

The room temperature shot up twelve degrees with her reaction.  "Ohhhh… yeah…  Callisto… very bad…  very hot…"

That figures.  I understand it all too well.  Because I have also been known as… (long embarrassed pause…) a "Nice Guy".

And, since "Nice Guy" is a curse that can be shared by both men and women, I shall henceforth use "NG" to mean "Nice Guy/Girl" and "BB" to mean "Bad Boy/..uhm... Bitch."

Yes, I know, it's a terrible admission, but I am a NG.  Then again, anyone who has read some of my personal blogs have pretty much caught on to this.

Now, I want to make sure you understand.  Being a NG doesn't mean that you aren't a jerk sometimes or that you are just a perfect little gentleman.  Heck, I might be a NG but I do have my own particular edge.  No, it is more a reference of how you treat people and, specifically for me, women.  And, also, BBs are also judged unfairly as they may, in fact, have many good qualities but might be less attentive to needy women/men and so they are judged more harshly.  So NG or BB is more in the eyes of the beholder.  Though, I wish more women were beholden to NGs….

So what is it with this phenomena?   Oh, come on, we all know it's true.  I have stories among stories of women I have "dated" only to find out we weren't "dating", we were just "friends" going out…  A long time ago, another girl I was "dating" (we'll call her Peggy because, well, that's her name) told me all about her ex boyfriend who treated her horribly.  Then she went through a list of the kind of guy she was looking for.  Now, I'm pretty dense when it comes to people talking about me, but even I knew she was describing me.  And she even ended it by saying "someone like you."  I responded with "well, what a coincidence, I just happen to BE me."  Her response?  "No, no, you're my friend."  Not able to resist, I replied "So you'd rather be in love with your enemies???"

I'm her friend…. *sigh*

Which brings me back to the dinner I was having with Nicki.  She had illustrated the problem by her observations and attraction to Xena and Callisto (in case you haven't picked it up, she is an "equal opportunity" person where her attractions are concerned).  What was it about Callisto and Xena that made them so attractive to her, as opposed to Gabrielle (Lord knows, I wasn't even going to ask her about Joxer!). 
"I think what really made them sexy was attitude.  I mean, there was a 'don't screw with me' attitude.  You'd really have to hold their attention somehow without getting in their way."
"And that's sexy?"
"It's attractive. In a bad way.  And I'm pretty assertive myself." (duh!)  "Oh," she went on, "and the outfits. Especially Callisto's.  Wow."
"So you aren't attracted to the 'nice guy', eh?"  She thinks about it over her pasta (damn her, she's one of those people who can eat pasta without hanging onto it) and says "Maybe.  But if they're too nice, I lose interest in them." 
"I see" I reply "So would it help if I reached across the table, slapped that fork from your hand, grabbed your hair and told you to shut up?"  "No!" She said.  Then "Wait… what was the part about grabbing my hair?"

Okay, away from that again… back to the discussion.  The BB/NG thing.  I never really thought of Xena and Gabrielle as being portrayed that way.  Okay, between the characters, I don't think it was the case. I certainly never wrote them as being attracted to each other for those reasons.  They're relationship was much deeper than that and, besides, it's not like Gabby didn't do some pretty crappy things to Xena now and then.  But Nicki's reaction to the characters was interesting because it matches so much about my observations about my own relationships.  And I wondered how many of the Xena fans might have divided their allegiances between the characters on the BB/NG line?

But back to me (it's always about me, isn't it?) MaryD, in our chat, just blatantly told me "You're too nice a guy, mate" (she can say "mate", she's an Aussie… they make it sound natural).  "You need a nice girl." She continued.  Now, the problem is that I'm not attracted to BBs.  At least, not the ones you think of.  I am can be attracted to the wrong people, that's true and I've more than proven it in my past.  But the BB doesn't have a bit of attraction to me.  And, I'd like to think, the classic BB isn't attracted to me.  Probably because I am a NG.  But are the people who are attracted to BBs really NGs or are they just FU'pd?

Okay, wait… let's figure this out…. There has to be some sort of unified rule about this… like genetic law or blood typing… NGs are to BBs, but BBs aren't to NGs, but BBs can be to BBs as NGs can, but rarely are, to NGs.  If NGs and BBs do manage to work out, does it mean that one isn't really a BB or a NG after all?  Perhaps it's a time related problem!  The longer a BB/NG matching continues, the more likely the BB becomes a NG, but the NG rarely can become a BB without terminating the relationship!  But a NG/NG pairing of former BB/BB is still a stable pairing because they would both be NG to the other relative to themselves!  Yes! I think that's it!  By God, I think I finally have the basics of a unified theory of the BB/NG relationship!

"You don't happen to have one of the Callisto outfits, do you?"
Nicki broke me out of my dreams of a Nobel Prize in Relationship Physics. 
"I would look so great in that outfit." She says with pure conviction.
"What, you want to try it on?"
"Yeah!"
Visions of this girl wearing the Callisto costume danced through my head.  But, sadly… "No," I told her.  "Afraid not.  I do have the original Sheena costume, though."
She continued eating. Then, looked at me with a mischievous smile and said  "Sheee-nah…. Sheee-nah…." 

Well, in one more week, we will be having the Xena Picket Day at NBC/Universal Studios.  For those who don't know, that's when Xena fans from around the country (and the world!) will be joining the actors, directors, writers and producers of Xena on the picket line!

Today, as a bit of a pre-picket experiment, Renee O'Connor (who played Gabrielle on the series) came to the line and walked with us.

Let me say, for those who have never had the opportunity to chat with Renee, she really is a most amazing person.  Very kind, smart, well spoken, attentive and friendly person.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, she's also attractive with a hot body, but you guys already knew that.  It's strange to think that she and I have had an intertwined connection for the last twelve years!  But though that is the case, she and I rarely get to actually chat.  When we were shooting Xena, I was here in Los Angeles.  She was, of course, in New Zealand… or Greece… or Chin… or Japan… or wherever Gabby was sent a'wandering with Xena.  So it's always a delight to be able to spend some time just chatting as friends. 

And we did chat, about the business, about the strike, and personal things, catching up on our day to day affairs.  So often in this business we don't get to do that with the people we work with.  So you enjoy the moments when you can shrug off the business and be real with each other.

Oh, yes… of course. Pics of Renee on the line.  What was I thinking?  Of course you want to see them.

Renee is showing off the Xena Water from the Xena Refreshes campaign!





Katherine Fugate and Renee!





And Renee, me and Katherine!

And, did I mention?  Renee brought PASTRIES!!!  She knows how to endear herself to Writers.

Now, for those people who are curious about the picket and, especially, for those who are planning to show up, I have a website posted with Xena Day Strike Info.  You can find that information here:

Xena-Day Picket Page

But one thing that I want to post here is something that everyone who is coming should read (it's also on the website).  It is a list of rule and decorum for the picket line.  If you are a Xena fan, you'll get all the references.  If not… well, you'll still get the idea.

And, yeah, yeah, I hate rules, too.  *sigh*  But here they are.

1. There may be a sign-in book.  Please, if you can, sign in and leave a little note.  If you don't find the book, come looking for me (Steven L. Sears) and I'll most likely have it with me.  If you don't know who I am, ask anyone for the man under the hat.  They will know who that is.  There will be picket signs.  We'd love you to carry one.  Not mandatory.

2. No sword-fighting with the above mentioned picket signs.  Nor will there be any re-enactments of Gabby's learning curve with the staff from " Hooves and Harlots."

3. Please PLEASE respect our celebrities.  They will be friendly and chatty, of course.  And you are certainly welcome to take photos as they march, but don't put them in an uncomfortable position by asking for a posed photo with them.

4. The same with autographs.  Please remember why we are here.  It puts our celebrities in an uncomfortable position to be signing autographs, please don't ask them.

5. Please go back and reread 3 and 4.

6. There is no number six.

7. We will be marching along a sidewalk, but please do NOT impede anyone's right of way.  We are a polite group and we want to be considerate of others.  If people are entering the facility, allow them to pass.  Don't jeer them, say anything negative or give them the Xena pinch.  We actually have a lot of supporters on the inside of NBC who still have to work.  Let's not spoil that goodwill.

8. There will be NBC security.  They are doing their job, they aren't the minions of Dahak, so don't hassle them.  If they ask you to move from an area that is near to the building, just smile and move.  They haven't been unreasonable, but they do have to do their jobs as well.  Most of the time, we march on the sidewalk, but stay away from the seating area directly up against their wall (you'll see it when you're there).

10.  Even though we are supported by the majority of the public and industry, there are a few people who are very unhappy and angry at the WGA for striking.  More than likely, one or more people will yell something negative or insulting from their car as they pass by.  Just ignore them or wave and smile.  They mean nothing, don't dignify them.  Most of them do not understand the power of a Xenaverse unleashed, so have pity on them and refrain from going "Horde" on their ass.

10. There will be many veteran Writers there who will be happy to help you out with any questions regarding the picketing.  And take the opportunity to talk to everyone.  You never know who you might be walking next to.

11. Spontaneous Xena yells are sure to break out.  Go for it.

12. Finally, though we are involved in a very important struggle for the Greater Good, we want you to have fun and enjoy yourselves (yeah, even with all the rules!).

I'll see you on the line!

First, before I begin this blog, for those who have shown concern... Xebow is doing quite well.  Quite well. I was amazed and the comments and personal e-mail in regards to Xebow's... uhm... situation.  He wishes to thank you.  If he was a real person.  Which he probably isn't.  Most likely not.  But could be.

Moving on...

I was going to start this blog with my usual disclaimers and to say that this is a "Y" chromosome blog.  Because this deals with the rough and tumble world of the manly, sweat ridden, adrenalin pumping, physically warlike and brutish sport of FOOTBALL!

Yes, manly, manly, manly, manly.  Except… that it isn't really just a "man's" sport anymore.  One of my best friends, a female, knows more about pro football than I ever will.  Another recent acquaintance of mine, a female, spent our first two dinners talking about football.  And when I go to the bars to watch my team play (college football is my thing, FSU, of course) I am surrounded by women who may look petite and demur, but are screaming and jumping like an overspent Roman bookie at a gladiatorial deathmatch.

Granted, it's still dominated by men, but that dominance is slowly eroding and women are getting much more involved than they used to.  At one time, any guy who mentioned the idea of having  a female around during game time would receive an automatic suspension of his Manhood Card and be required to wear a pink tu-tu during the remainder of the season (and those things are uncomfortable to sit in).  Besides, women would upset the balance of comaradarie.  Watching football with your buds means a return to the basic nature of manhood!  All pretenses of culture and social propriety are shed when the TV flickers into life and you see the spinning logo of ESPN or CBS Sports.  The grunting begins, low and uneven at first, but rising in tempo and coordination until the sound blends into a uniform tribal chant.  No masks, no pretensions.  It's manly honesty at its best.  No one cares when you last washed that shirt, no one is concerned about grooming or debris in your beard.  A belch can be appreciated for what it is and the talent involved in producing it. 

But how can you possibly be a "man" during a game with a woman in the same room?  No more jeering at cheerleaders we have no possible shot with; no more freeelance cursing in half sentences; no more spontaneous finger-pulling competitions; no more party tricks involving passing salsa through your sinus cavity.  Heck, we'd actually have to keep our hands outside our belts.

But that has changed.  And in a major way, women are not just tolerating us anymore during football season.  They are joining us and, in some cases, putting us to shame. And I like it.  As I happen to be a big college football fan, it brings my two favorite interests together. 

Yes, I admit it it.  There is nothing hotter than a "sweet young thang" wearing a Nerf helmet with one half of her face painted garnet and the other half painted gold, waving a sponge rubber "Number One" glove and screaming so hard the buffalo chicken wing barely stays in her mouth.  What man could resist?  Certainly not me.  I'm serious.  Keep it in mind for those who wish to jump start a romantic night with me. 

I had actually planned a recent romantic photo session that involved a helmet, football jersey and little else…  woof. 

Ah... give me a minute... yes... her... helmet... jersey... very sexy...

Okay... I'm back.

Now this isn't a blog about how woman have finally achieved equality with men by lowering themselves to our baser emotions and primal selves (funny how it never works in the reverse, eh?).  No, this is about football.

Which is, I admit, a very strange game.  For those who do understand the game, have you ever tried to explain it to someone who doesn't?  And for those who don't, have you ever been saddled with someone who is determined to explain it to you?  A while back, I had a girlfriend who didn't know anything about football, but said she wanted to understand it.  So I made the mistake of trying to teach her.  This is how the conversation went:

ME: The way you win the game is to get the ball from one end of the field to the other.

HER: And that wins the game?

ME: No, that is how you get points. At the end of the game whoever has the most points.

HER: So you get a point every time you get it to the other end?

ME: No, you get six points.

HER: Why six points?
ME: I don't know.  It's six points.
HER: That doesn't make sense.  Why not one point?
ME: It isn't.
HER: So you just score six points.
ME: No, seven, really, because you then kick the ball through the goalposts to get an extra one point.
HER: Why?
ME: Because.
HER: No, why one point.  Why not another six points?
ME: It just isn't.  It's just six points plus one point.  So what you usually get is seven points.
HER: Doesn't sound like much of a game if all you're doing is going from end to end and kicking balls.
ME: The game is in the strategy and how you play.  You can't just walk down the field.  The other team is going to try and stop you.
HER: How?

ME: By tackling you.  Or preventing you from getting a new set of downs.
HER: Downs?
ME: *sigh* Downs.  When you have the ball, you are given four downs to move the ball ten yards.
HER: Downs?
ME: Downs.  It's when they stop you. 
HER: Why do they call it "downs"?
ME: Because the ball is down.  I think.  I never really considered it.  But you have four chances to move it ten yards.
HER: Why ten yards?  I know, I know, because, right?
ME: Look, all you have to do is move the ball ten yards in four tries and it resets the downs again.  In other words, you get another four downs to move it again so you can get close enough to the other end to either get a touchdown or kick a field goal.
HER: For one point.
ME: No, for three points.
HER: But you said…

I love London.  Who wouldn't?  But I've never been there.  So why do I love it?  We shall address that shortly.

As the son of a military man, one of the things that I grew up with was the fact that, every three years, we would have to rotate to another military base, uprooting everything and heading across the country or around the world.  One of those tours of duty was in Germany, a city called Worms.  Yes, yes, let's all get over the name of the city now… I'll give you a few minutes to get it out of your system… right, we didn't have worms; Worms had us… so on and so on.

Okay, over it now?  Good.  Anyway, we lived in Germany for three years.  In fact, I was so young when we lived there that German became a second language to me.  All my friends spoke it and, according to my parents, I was pretty good at it.  I've long since forgotten how to speak it except to say that I don't speak German in German.  But the memory still lingers today as I find German to be a very romantic language.  Strange, but true.  French... eh.  Apologies to France, but I don't think of French as the language of love.  To me, it sounds like you're trying to sing an Enya song while sipping on pudding from a straw through your nose (you'll have to think about that, but it does make sense in my mind).  I know, for most people, French is so... romantically French!  As I've often said, you can say "I hate your family and think your mother looks like a wart" in French and it sounds like you want to make love.  You can say "I love and adore you forever" in German and it still sounds like you want to invade Poland.  But not to me.

Anyway.  We were stationed in Germany for three years.  During that time, my Mom and Dad were very big on travel.  They wanted my brother and me to see as much as we could of the world.  But, as a military family (and country folk) my parents were also into camping, so they would pack up the car with a tent and all our gear and we would head off.  This was not as simple as you might think.  It meant packing up a family size tent, sleeping bags, lanterns, cooking gear, portable table, portable chairs and all sorts of home away from home items.  Seem daunting enough?  Okay, take all that, including a family of four, and pack it all into a 1962 Volkswagon Beetle.



Yes.  That's our car and tent above.  Most of the aforementioned furniture and equipment is inside the tent because, as I remember, we were heading to the beach and my Dad stopped to take this vactation photo.  My mother used to dispute the actual usage of the word "vacation" as she seemed to still be expected to do the cooking and wash the clothes.



My Mom... our car... our tent... and she's airing out the tent before she starts the cooking.  "Vacation". I see her point.

The beach I mentioned was on the Mediterranean, so this would put us in the south of France, I believe.  A beach known to me as the site of one of the most intense battles in the history of warfare.  The famous Battle of the Red Trunks!



Look in the middle nearest the beach... yes, that's me.  Trying desperately to keep my trunks on.  I have no idea what was going on, but those trunks... the ocean just wanted to pull them off me.  Not that anyone on that beach would have noticed.  It eez a French beeeach after all.  What, you can barely see me?  *sigh*  Okay, here's a close up:



Yes, that's me. Okay... take a minute... get it out of your system... I'll wait.... yes, yes, yes.... done?  No?  All right, hurry it up...

Okay?  Recovered?  Good.  It's easy to see I had a body destined for forensics.  But look at the meat paws on that kid... whose hands are those?  Looks like I was juggling stinging bees with those mitts.

But I digress.  We traveled to many places and, as you've seen, my Dad loved to take photos.  I have thousands of slides which I'm still working to scan into digital form.  He was obsessed with it.  Might be where I got the passion for photography.  Although the genetics of photography do have limits.  I won't say I'm great at it, but I know that I'm pretty good.  My Dad... well, let's say I have the largest collection of thumb images known to Man. 

But as a result, I have photos and memories of so many countries.  Such as Venice...





(that's us in a Gondola with some other family, I'm on the right)

Italy… Ah, Italy!  I do want to go back to Italy!  The history is amazing!  I only wish I had been old enough to appreciate it back then!  But we did get some great shots.

This shot is very interesting.....



The reason it's so interesting?  Well, there is a story associated with it.  Look to the slight left of the photo, at the foot of one of the Coloseum legs.  See a man in a yellow shirt sitting on a bench?  (I think it was a yellow shirt... well, you can see him sitting there).  I was fascinated with that man because he didn't move from that spot. I don't know if he was waiting for a bus or not.  Just sat there.  Later on in the day, we went into the Colosseum and my Dad and I ended up standing right over that bench on the parapet above it.  I looked over the side and, sure enough, that man was still sitting there.  But now, it was beginning to annoy that three year old mind of mine, so I did what I believe any three year old would do... I kicked a rock over the edge.  Apparently I scored a direct hit, based on my Dad's reaction.

Yes.  The last known persecution in the Colosseum was me getting my tail whacked on the parapet.

We also went to Pisa to see the famous tower:



I know the shot is dark and I have a better one of the tower, but if you'll look at the lower right of the Tower you'll see my Mom, my brother and me... and, yes, my Dad was making us do the stupid forced-perspective "make it look like you're holding it up!" photo. Interestingly enough, that same technique was one that we used several times in shooting Xena.  But, unlike my Dad, we were better at lining up our Xena shots so it actually worked. 

But we also managed to go up in the Tower, which was very exciting for me.



Again, I'm the smallest of the bunch.  I think my Mom took this picture. And I remember she wasn't as calm as my Dad pretended to be up there.

And the Alps.  The famous, majestic, beautiful range of mountains between France and Italy.  And here is my favorite shot taken in the Alps.



I know, you were expecting a shot of the mountains, but this is my mother at a small restaurant  in the foothills, and I love the way she looked in this shot.  The Alps are impressive, but this is how I remember us there.

And finally, much to my embarrassment, Holland.



Yes, my family were Travel Geeks.  I admit it, there is too much evidence. (I got to keep the shoes!  Very exciting!)

One of my favorite photos was taken at a small attraction outside Amsterdam where entire cities were miniaturized.  This photo:



I don't know why, but I like this photo... with me looking up, hands behind my back, probably dreaming of what it would be to climb that tower and swat at airplanes.  My imagination in a city scaled down to my liking?  Very dangerous.

As much as I might make fun of my Dad for the way he took photos, I have to say I was so incredibly lucky to have a father who left me with these recordings of those times.  And parents who wanted their children to see the world as much as possible.  More than that, to EXPERIENCE it first hand.  Camping across Europe might seem a bit rough, but it meant we interacted with the other people also traveling.  Germans, French, Italian, Spanish and more from all around the world, as well as dealing directly with the locals.  My parents didn't want us to hide in a hotel or behind the windows of a tour bus.  I didn't appreciate it then, but I do now.

But in our three years of living and traveling in Europe, we never got a chance to go across the English Channel and visit England.  My Dad kept saying that we would, but it didn't happen.  To this day, I've not been there. 

Well, that might be remedied in the next few months.  It's not official as of yet, but I have been asked to attend the Xena convention in London in May!  Okay, I was more than just asked, I was told I would be invited, but since it isn't on the Creation website yet, I'll still make the disclaimer "assuming it really happens".

Now this is a big deal for me!  I've been wanting to go there for a long time (assuming it really happens).  Certainly I've had chances to go, but the timing never seemed to match up with my schedule or, since I don't like traveling alone, with a partner.  But the Xena convention kind of brings it together (assuming it really happens).  The convention is only for a weekend, but I can't just leave it at that.  So I am in the throes of planning an extension of the trip (assuming it really happens).  I'll be taking a friend, but she isn't a Xena fan so she probably won't be at the convention.  That requires a balance of the schedules so she either arrives just after or leaves just before the convention.  And do we continue to stay at the convention hotel since I'll already have a room?  And how much would that be?  And what language do they speak in England?  Things to ponder!  So I'm very excited.  This will finally complete my tour of Western Europe (assuming it really happens). 

As far as what to see there, well, I'm still figuring that out.  Me, being the kinda' guy I am, I'm already thinking of the historical sites, the chance to look at history hundreds of years in the making.  But I've always had this romantic notion of visiting the Theatres and seeing the London stage.  We shall do both, of course, but the devil is in the details.

And I'll finally have a chance to see a Queen who's not wearing spandex pants and roller skates!

Very exciting... muchly so.  And when I get back… photos.  Lots of photos.  Perhaps some photos of my thumb as a tribute to my Dad.

Assuming, of course, this all happens.

Guys… specifically guys or anyone with a "Y" chromosome, you are warned.  Sappy and embarrassing stuff to follow.

I love the rain.  I think I've said that before, in a blog far far away.  But, true, I do love it. And the wind.  Love that, too.  I call the rain Tess, I call the wind Maria.  And the Fire?  Joe.  (Thanks to Lerner and Lowe – "Paint Your Wagon")

So, Maria and Tess… they's a coming.  Supposedly, we've got a combination of wind and rain heading into Southern California, very intense wind and rain.  I say "supposedly" because weather prediction in Southern California is an art.  Much like fingerpainting with pudding would be an art to a three year old.  Most of the time, we'll hear about the huge storm about to hit the Southland, for days, we'll be warned about it, sandbags will be lined up in front of stores, people will hoard groceries, final respects will be made to anything that can float and travel, and when it does finally hit… kerplop.  There it was, seventeen drops of actual rain and we're back into sunshine.   And those seventeen drops of rain will still cause more damage than most Midwestern towns after a tornado.

See, Southern California is just not built for rain.  Why should we?  We so rarely get it, when we do, we complain about it, then when it's gone, we don't fix the problems we complained about when we had it.  Much like sex in marriage.   I'm from Florida, where you had a thunderstorm pull in every day at 2 p.m., rain or shine. And by 2:30 p.m., I was gone and the sun was back out.  Florida is built for rain.  It's used to it.  But Southern California, no.  It's a truism that it takes Southern California drivers, on average, three minutes to locate the switch that turns on their windshield wipers.  And, even then, we end up turning on our lights, our turn signal, and shifting our cars into another gear before we figure it out.  It's just not something we do very often.

Which is not to say we never get rain.  We get it every year, usually in one or two months, and it can be intense.

I remember two true deluges here since I've lived here, when Tess really came to town.  One was in 1982, I believe.  I was living in a small apartment on the ground floor.  I had a backyard that you had to go down two steps to reach.  That winter, the storm was so severe that the water crested into my living room.  The second one was a few years ago, when I had to pull up all the carpeting in my misnamed sunroom because it had been soaked.  I also had to throw out everything that was in my basement because, for the first time ever, the mountain my house is on had been saturated and my cellar filled up.  When the rain finally stopped, there was a real gulleywasher that went down my street for more than a month as the mountain drained out.  I kid you not, it was an intense river of water for over a month.  I would make small paper ships and toss them in the water to see them race downstream (eventually creating the third largest Navy in the world where the water hit a drainage grating).

Now, the wind, Maria… she's been here several times.  Every year, as a matter of fact, she shows up in her full Spanish regalia, as the consort of Santa Anna, and hits us full steam off the mountains.  Most of the time, she does it in the summer, when her breath is like a blast furnace.  But lately she's been changing her calendar a bit and has come at unexpected times.  A few years ago, she came to town and took out three trees in my backyard.  And these were not shrubs or saplings, these were TREES.  Big old suckers, thick and in their prime.  Maria just tossed them to the ground (and at least had the mercy not to hit my house).  I spent weeks chopping them up into something I could deal with. One of them is still in the backyard, all neatly chopped and stacked against a wall.  A few nights ago, they clocked Maria doing her stuff at over 70 miles per hour!  Several months ago, my area of town had 80 mile per hour gusts.  To put that into context, a class one tornado starts at 73 miles per hour. Eat your heart out, Chicago!

So, you'd think with that kind of a background, I wouldn't be so happy to see Tess and Maria.  But every year… I am.

I love the rain.  I love the wind.  There is something so romantic about them, I just can't resist them.  And, yes, part of that romance is the edge of danger that they bring.  Just enough to get your breath going, but hopefully not enough to actually inspire fear.  Very romantic.

What? Romance?  From moi?  Yes, as much as I hate to admit it, I am a bit of a romantic.  I just don't like showing that side of me because… well, it's kinda dangerous, especially when you show it to the wrong person, I know that all too well.  But I can, at least, academically admit that it is a state of being that I often feel.  There.  I was able to say it.  Truth is, I have a lot of sap in me.  I think it's one of the things that lends itself to my writing.  It's a lot safer for the characters I create to show it than me, that's for damn sure!

But… there are certain things that bring it out, things that break down the walls.  The right person, of course, with a smile and voice that can light up every crevice of your soul… yes, very romantic.   But Maria and Tess… they weave a special magic.  They stir a special feeling of romance in me.

Now, when I'm alone, of course, it is the kind of wistful romance, the kind that reminds us of the need we have for connection with someone else.  That little bit of us that was only created to be shared with someone, but missing that someone that would allow it to be completely realized.  Just a hint of it, a small baby's breath of a taste.  Like a dancing light in the shadows, you can almost make it out, almost touch it, but will not be able to hold it.  I can listen to the wind or the rain all night and sigh wistfully to myself, imagining… something.  But something just out of reach.  Still, something that recalls past feelings and future desires.  I'm not sure why it moves me so.

But when you are with the right person, that person who has already drawn those hidden parts of your soul to the surface… in the darkness, together, listening to the rain… and the wind… it brings a smile to myself just thinking about it.  The tap… tap… tap… and patter of the rain against the glass.  Underneath that is the dull moving sound of the wind as it rises and falls.  The two of you listen, silently commenting on it, holding hands or holding each other.  Whispering and giggling as Maria and Tess dance outside the window.  It's like, together, you can hear a little orchestra playing a song that you and only the two of you can hear.  A tune that will be played once and never repeated, never the same way.  A shared love song that is uniquely yours and no one else's.  If you could hum it, you would.  But you can't, so all you can do is remember the feelings it inspired in you.  And, though you can't remember the song, everything else will remind you of it.  The scent of your lover's hair, the feel of the sheets, the way the cold air is released from under the blankets and replaced by the warmth of your bodies, the touch of her skin and the sound of a whispered giggle in your ear.

Yes.  I love it.  I always will..

So I'm hoping the Tess and Maria will come to visit.  Odds are, their visit won't be what's promised.  But it might be enough for me to touch those feelings again and remember. 

And it will make me smile.

Yes, we've got strikes, we've got strife, we've got small gnomes playing cricket in our backyard (perhaps just a problem I'm currently experiencing), but here's an issue that requires immediate focus and debate.

Is there legitimacy to the "three day" rule?

For those who are bit lost, the "Three Day" rule (henceforth referred to as "The Rule") states that upon meeting someone you find fascinating, interesting, compelling and eminently datable, you must wait at least three days before calling that person.

This presents a quandary for people such as myself but are stated as a required aspect of interaction by others.  It's yet another social requirement that seems to fly in the face of individual desires.  Much like wearing a tuxedo to a wedding where your soon-to-be-wed buddy and you have never EVER seen each other in anything more than jeans and T–shirts.   Though it's required, it just doesn't feel right.  It's a puzzlement.

Now, listen up, because I am really interested in your response to this.  Male and female, all preferences, all humans and non-humans.

So, for my friends who insist on following The Rule, they tell me that calling too early means you are desperate and sends the wrong message.  Calling too late shows that you are uninterested and sends another, equally wrong, message.  When queried on this, they tell me that The Rule has been tested throughout history, it isn't something that was decided by committee, but by millenia of practical dating experience.  Now, me, I don't have millenia of dating experience, I'm having to just get along with a fairly spotty half lifetime of experience.  Apparently CroMagnon man would wait three days between beaning a prospective mate on the head with a club before dragging her into the cave.  This is so ingrained in our genetic evolution that it shouldn't even be a discussion.

My friends insist it's a part of accepted relationship behavior, that stalling the required three days is the magic three bears solution.  Not too hot, not too cold, just right.  My experience dating bears has been even more spotty, but I'm assuming they have wisdom in this area.  (Although it does explain a little bit of Yogi and Boo Boo's relationship.)

Anyway, as they explain it to me, it does sound valid. Knowing a bit about human psychology, it is true that things that seem too easy often are taken for granted.  And, as they are taken for granted, they have less importance.  This is seen most obviously in any of my aforementioned spotty relationships.  But that's referring to the long term situation and not the first meet situation of which we speak.  Or, at least, of which I speak.  I have no idea if you are speaking right now. If you are, I can only wonder why as I think this is a very important thing to discuss and you shouldn't let your attention wander.  Unless you are one of those who moves their lips while they read, in which case I guess that is your way of focusing.  But other than that, please stop speaking while you're reading my message.  Unless you aren't. 

Uhm… okay, I have digressed.  Still…. Stop it.

So, The Rule.  As stated, it does make a certain amount of sense in social dymanics.  But… what if you are someone like me? And if you are someone like me, why are you still reading this?  If you are like me, you'll already know where I'm going with this.  And STOP SPEAKING! 

But assuming you aren't completely like me, take me for example.  I'm a pretty upfront person when I like someone.  I'm not a person who likes to play games and this seems like a game to me.  If I want to say I like someone, I do.  If I want to call them the next day, I want to be able to do that.  For me, it's a part of being honest with yourself and with each other.

Unfortunately, though, what most of us perceive as being honest for ourselves is a form of honesty that isn't really intended for others to know or share. I am reminded of the scenes in "Tootsie" when the lead male character (pretending to be a woman) heard the object of his affection say that she wished a man would just be upfront with her, just come up and say he found her lovely and sexy and wanted to make love to her.  Just honest like that was what she wanted to hear.  Now, of course, she thought she was telling that to one of her female friends.  So when the male pretending to be the female friend actually used that approach on her… he got a drink thrown into his face.   Sure, that's the idealistic honesty we want, but not the realistic honesty we can deal with.

So it might be similar here.  And with that, I know that most of you will agree with the idealistic notion that I have, but let's try to forget that and keep it real.  I'd rather know that I'm going to get the drink in my face than believe in idealism.  I know I'm an idealist but I'm not going to say that my idealism and belief in that same honesty from another is always correct (again, reference my aforementioned relationships).  The Rule does, it seem, have some sort of truth to it.  Or, rather, violations of The Rule does seem to have valid repercussions.  Contact too early and it does seem to lead to disinterest.  Contact too late and it is often read as disinterest.  Never contact at all and you end up at home watching gnomes play cricket on your lawn.

So let's take a guy, and we'll call him Mr. Xebow.  Don't know why we'd call him that, but we will.  Not out loud, though, as you aren't supposed to be speaking right now.  Just use that name for convenience.  And don't assume that I'm talking about me. I could be, but I might not be.  Even if I was.  But I'm probably not.  Maybe.  And if I was, why would I name myself Xebow? 

So Xebow…. He decides to stop into a bar one night to listen to music.  It's a quiet night and he's just in the area and wants a diet coke (yes, Xebow doesn't drink... hey, it's my story, okay?).  As he's sitting there, a young couple sits next to him. It's a piano bar and very romantic, so it would seem natural that this is a couple or a date.  As Xebow listens in to the conversation (unintentionally, but it's not like they are keeping it low) it becomes obvious that this is a date… a first date… an uncomfortably long first date for both involved.   Xebow can't help but notice that the girl is very animated and interesting and the guy is fairly quiet and intense.  After a few minutes (and one of the more interesting versions of "Fly Me To The Moon" ever performed on piano, drums and harmonica), they stumble through some sort of "well, it was nice and I have to get to work tomorrow" and the guy leaves.  And Xebow finds himself sitting next to… the young girl.  She tosses down the remainder of her drink and gets ready to go.  As she does, she drops her keys and can't find them on the dark floor.  Xebow has a flashlight on his keychain and, in a moment of quick thinking, extracts it, illuminates it and helps the girl find her keys.

A contact has been made (much to Xebow's surprise) and they begin to talk. And, instead of leaving, they both stay until the bar shuts down (and after several Ratpack classic interpretations on piano, drum, harmonica).  Needless to say, they are enjoying each other's company.  And, without prompting, Xebow is presented with the girl's contact information before they head off to their cars.

Okay… now what?  Call?  Don't call?  E-mail?  Don't e-mail?  Be honest and write a note immediately?  Be coy and wait three days? Or be really casual and wait a week?  What does Xebow do?  What does Xebow do?  What does Xebow do?  And doesn't that question sound really really strange if you say it outloud several times? Not that you would as already discussed.

Now, for me (remember I'm not necessarily Xebow in this story), I would say that a small simple note would be fine, something to say he enjoyed meeting her and hoped they would continue the connection would be fine.  But that's the honest me.  My Rule friends would be appalled at that notion.  Well, not appalled, but they might hit me on the side of my head with one of those "are you serious???" stares.  Which, I might add, does hurt.  The hitting, not the stares.

And Xebow, he's in a dilemma because he doesn't know what SHE is thinking.  Is she a Rule person?  Or is she tired of people who play games and see him as a gameplayer?  Or is she not interested at all and it doesn't really matter?  See what he's going through?

Now, granted, these observations and concerns from the male side of the equation as I happen to be male (as is Xebow, if he was me… which he probably isn't…).  So I'm a bit lost on the female interpretation of these things.  Funny, though, if I was writing a female character, I wouldn't be so confused about it…. Hmmm… I wonder where that comes from sometimes…

So I put the question out there for everyone.  Three day rule?  Or not?  Let me know.  Soon.  And I'll tell Xebow.

Later on, we'll be discussing the Two Week rule for stalking your Ex. 

"Honesty is the best policy" – William Shakespeare (also Benjamin Franklin)

"You can ask me anything you want about me, anything at all.  I won't lie to you, the worst I'll do is say I can't answer the question, but I won't lie.  Any question, but the key is whether you really want to hear the answer." – Steven L. Sears

The above is a phrase that many people have heard from me.  I've said it at conventions, I've said it to friends, I've said it to relationships.  It's my way of trying to keep myself honest with myself. And, since I'm not one to voluntarily open up around people, it helps to keep me from retreating behind huge walls.  It's my "Honesty Policy".

And, by the way, I want to separate what I'm talking about with the kind of people who feel compelled to tell the truth even when it is unsolicited.  That's just being blunt and rude.  Not what I mean. Mine is a passive thing given only on request.  And, most of the time, it's about answering questions about me, not about my opinions of others.

This is a dangerous blog.  At least, it could be for me.  It's a rather long blog about me and the the effects of my honesty policy.  Again, it is a peek into my inner dialogue with myself, something I don't allow very often, so consider that before you read it.  It runs the real risk of being self-centered and boring.   And, as always, I have a problem writing things about me as a person, so it will probably ramble and reflect my nervousness as a result.

Recently, I got a phone call from a friend… well, someone I dated a while back.  We're talking a few years ago.  She was a "dancer" at the time…. Yes, that kind of dancer…. But we seemed to hit it off and had a great 13 days of a 14 day relationship, if you can call it that.

And, to that, how long does it have to be to qualify for "relationship" status?  Is it the length of time or the quality of the time you share?  I've had two week "relationships" which I think back on fondly, but I've had ten month "relationships" which were, upon reflection, a definite waste of my time and love.  Hmmm…. Interesting thing to ponder… I mean, I can say that I've never had a "one night stand", but would someone consider that a "relationship" if it was a wonderful night?  For that matter, I got pulled into a dark corner at a convention by a fan who wanted to kiss me… was that a relationship?  It was a shock, to be sure… (quite a delightful shock, I might add, thank you very much Ms. X!).  I guess if I could figure that question out, my life would be simpler.  Certainly my friends would worry less about me.

But I digress.

So, this friend, we'll call her Sue.  I was actually quite surprised to hear from her.  To give a quick recap without details, we got along great for thirteen days, then one day, things changed and we stopped seeing each other.  There was no argument, at least not from me, and that was that. So now, three or four years later, she calls.  Ostensibly, the call was about a photo session I had done of her on a trip up to Big Bear.  She wanted to get original copies of some of the photos, especially the ones I had worked on for artistic purposes (still have a few of them on my walls here).  She was nervous and seemed a bit unsure of herself, something I attributed to the manner with which we ended it.  But all she would say was that she had many dark things happening at that time and confronted them and grown quite a bit since then.

I do have a higher average of meeting those kinds of women…."fixits" looking for a temporary daddy instead of a relationship and not knowing the difference between the two.  Ah, well… another digression.

Where was I?  Yes.  Sue.  So we decided to meet for dinner to catch up, so I could give her the photos.  She looked very much as she did those years before, with longer hair and a bit more wisdom in her eyes.  She was no longer a dancer and was teaching now, in fact had traveled the world in her new career.

Now before I go on, this isn't going to end in any passionate embrace or resumption of things.  So don't start thinking along that path!  But it was great to see her again.  We laughed and joked and made references to our lives.  And she asked me some questions, obviously, about my life, but when it came to that time when we dated, she seemed quiet and embarrassed.  Then she said something that stuck in my heard; She remembered me as "too sweet and too honest" for her.   She repeated the "honest" part.

Huh?  "Too honest"?  What could that mean?  I wondered… is honesty a flaw?

Let me say again, I'm not talking about the kind of honesty that has someone walking up to you and commenting on how you look like you dress yourself in front of a funhouse mirror (which I have gotten rid of, by the way), I'm talking about the "ask me and I'll tell you" honesty.   And, even then, I'm diplomatic when I do it.  In Sue's case, I don't think that it was a matter of saying things about her that was a problem, but it seemed to be about saying things about me.  Whenever she would ask me anything about me or my life, I'd answer it.  But is that a flaw?  And why would that be "too" honest?

I was "TOO sweet and TOO honest" for her. That implies relativity.  Relative to her life, I was TOO honest (and "TOO sweet", though I haven't figured how I could be considered "sweet" at all).  Was that a comment on her or on me?

Now, in a related situation, I was once told by an ex-girlfriend (and now friend) that I made her nervous when we were together because that kind of honesty is hard to take.  Not because it isn't welcome, it's because it's now expected to be reciprocal.  In other words, she felt that she had to be just as open and real as me and, worse, wasn't too sure that I would like the "real" her.  It was like walking on eggshells.  She described a situation where she wanted to take a toke of grass and asked me if I wanted some.  I said no.  She asked why and I told her that it just wasn't my thing, never had been.  I had never even inhaled pot and had no interest in it.  But, I had no problem with others using it, in fact I felt it was stupid to make it illegal.  Now, I remember the conversation and I remember what happened afterward.  Suddenly she was nervous and antsy.  She kept repeating why she smoked now and then, that it wasn't a big deal with her, and so on.  And she put the pot away and didn't end up smoking it.  What happened?  According to her (and I have to say, it makes perfect sense) she had felt that, by comparison, I had made a quality assessment on her.  You see what I mean?  In her eyes, I was stating that I didn't need pot.  But, she felt, I was now looking at her as if she had an addiction (which I wasn't).  In her eyes, she couldn't live up to my standards because she confused my choices as being my standards in others.

Not sure that was clear, but I don't know how else to explain it.  As she told me, it made her feel bad about herself.  That's the important part; she felt bad about herself.  And… some of that rang true when looking back at Sue.

So it's the second part is the important part of my "honesty policy" that's the crucial part.  "The person has to make sure they want to hear the answer" part.  Most of the time, people don't want the truth, they want affirmation of what they want to believe.  When the answer doesn't match the expectation… well, that's the danger of having any sort of a truth policy.  And it's compounded when someone starts making comparisons, especially if they aren't so happy with their own choices.

Obviously you see the flaw in all that.  You shouldn't compare yourself to anyone else (least of all ME) or determine your own worth by someone else's choices.  You make the best choices you can for yourself (as long as you don't hurt someone else in the process) and be proud of who you are.  I dated a psycho-therapist once and I asked her if her profession was ever a problem on dates.  She said that it was, she couldn't turn it off, and that her dates always felt they were being examined.  She then commented on how it didn't seem to bother me.  I said "Oh, I have plenty of flaws.  I just happen to like them."  Now, closer to the truth, I have many many flaws, but I recognize them and try to deal with them.  I don't hide them from myself and, even in that, I'm not perfect.  But I am more comfortable with myself as a result. And I question myself daily on my choices.  It keeps me… honest.  But even when I mention the flaws, according to my friend, I look so damn flawless in confronting them!  That, she said, was the most irritating thing.

So, should I change that policy?  Should I abandon the approach?  Pull back on the honesty contract? Maybe not even mention that I have one?

You probably already know my answer.  No, I can't change it. It's a part of me.  The benefits for me outweigh the difficulties.  If I look at is as a flaw, I also have to look at it as one that I am happy with.  Everyone has a sliding scale of honesty and my best friends are more closely aligned with mine (Oh, but to find that in a relationship!!!  The Holy Grail!).

So, with that, I'll throw the honesty out there to you all.  I sometimes have time to write a blog but don't have a subject.  So for those who read these things (and have managed to stay with it until now!) you can ask any question at all about me and I'll blog about it honestly  (send me the question in mail, not in the comments, though) The only caveats are as I stated before, I might not answer it, but if I do, it will be honest.

And you have to make sure you want to know the answer…

Last Saturday night, I was… a Wingman.

I didn't really know what it was before last night, but for those who don't know, a "Wingman" is a guy who serves as the backup to a friend when cruising clubs and bars.  There are many duties that a Wingman might have, but one of the most important is to give the primary flyer some room to work.

This is how it works:

The two of you go to a bar, or a club, or whatever.  The Primary Flyer spots a likely subject, but she is surrounded with friends or is there with a friend.  As every cruiser knows (although I admit, I didn't know) it's harder to work your "magic" (it is referred as such) when the target of opportunity is distracted or has a friend who, usually, has more common sense than the target of opportunity.  Therefore it is the Wingman's job to occupy that common sense person whilst the Primary Flyer works his "magic" on the target of opportunity.

Got it?

Okay, I should point out here that I'm not much of a cruiser.  In fact, I'm not one at all.  I don't visit the clubs or bars on the prowl for nubile young flesh (not that there's anything wrong with nubile young flesh).  Just not the way I'm wired.  I mean, let's be honest, if I go up to a woman in a bar with some sort of line, no matter what that line is, no matter how witty and clever it is, it still reduces to this: "I know nothing about you except you got smokin' hooters, want to pretend we have something in common?"

Or something to that effect.

But that's not me.  As stupid as it sounds in this world of instant gratification and functional masks, I don't like wasting my time on a Dance with a stranger (as opposed to dancing with a stranger, which I'm fine with!).  Yes, yes, I know, that seems to contradict the fact that I'll end up spending a ten month relationship with someone who turns out to be a stranger, but that's a different situation.  No, I like to know that there's something about the person that I do find interesting aside from smokin' hooters.  And, in fact, the actual hooters don't have to smoke or have any combustible possibilities as far as I'm concerned.  I'm not a smokin' hooters kinda guy.  I like a smokin' brain.  A smokin' face.  And a smokin' butt wouldn't hurt...  However, the only thing I can be sure of when I see someone across the room is whether they have the aforementioned smokin' face (this is assuming that they are sitting).  But a part of what makes a face "smokin'" is whether I see any sense of personality behind it, a sense of a mind, or something more than just a pretty face.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  So, first, I go over to Tom's house.  Tom is a friend of mine (and, yes, I'm using a fake name here… you might not know him, but his name is fairly unusual so you'd remember it if you DID meet him).  I've known Tom for a long time, first met him when he was living with his girlfriend for ten years.  They broke up a couple of years ago.  Now something to understand about Tom.  He's about my age, successful, has a fantastic house, single, and does very well with the ladies.  Tom is also looking for something more permanent, but in the meantime… he wants to party!  And Tom does very well.  VERY well.  Some of his stories would make an entire article in Penthouse Forum.  So I wanted to see the Master at work.  Hence this last Saturday night.

As I was told, the plan was this: We were going to go to a bar in Pasadena called "Twin Palms" and watch the band, scope out the "babes".  As a total digression, let me say that "Twin Palms" was also the name of a trailer park I worked at when I was twelve years old.  Means nothing to you, but I couldn't get the thought of grey and blue haired retirees sitting in their lounge chairs under green and white canopies outside their Silver Stream trailers out of my head as we drove over to the club.

So, anyway, we entered the club, and it was, in fact, a happenin' place.  Apparently the entire club was underneath a huge tent, something you didn't notice at first.  There were tables all over the place and, in fact, Twin Palms is also a restaurant and served food right out in the club area.  The age range was pretty wide, but I would say the median age was in the middle thirties. And the band was great.  Tom didn't like them, he kept deriding them as a "Wedding" band, but they played a lot of familiar tunes and I found myself singing along and dancing in place.

So I turned to my Obi Wan and challenged him "Do your stuff".  He laughed and just said he wanted to walk around a bit, which we did.  And I began to see how he did things. 

Now, keep in mind, that I overthink things, especially when I meet women. Yes, you may be a bit surprised at this, but when I'm interested in someone, I'm pretty much terrified.  You wouldn't know it from my demeanor as I'm pretty good at keeping appearances, but I tend to start thinking and overthinking things, like the pathetic hero of a Woody Allen film.  And, when someone is interested in me, I rarely catch on.  As a friend said to me "What, do I have to hit you on the head with a hammer?"  In fact… yes.  I am not too bright in that area.  Seriously.  I've probably missed out on some great relationships because I'm so dense, but there it is.  And when I think I have it figured out… I'm usually wrong.  Now I know these things about myself. I've had to live with them a long long time.  So I was anxious to see how Tom dealt with those issues.

He didn't.  In fact, he didn't have those issues.  And for a very interesting reason.  You would have thought it was because he was confident and casual about things.  He has "game", as they say.  Well, that's true, but it's how he built that confidence.  In fact, I would go so far to say that most men who have that same confidence build it the same way.  What way is that?  It has little to do with building self-confidence, it has more to do with lowering their respect for women.

Yes, as shocking as that sounds, it's true.  But let me explain it so it doesn't sound quite as bad as it sounds (although it is).  Remember what I said about the opening line and the "smokin' hooters"?  That's an example of it.  She isn't a person, she isn't a mind, she isn't a personality, she is just "smokin' hooters".  Because that's all you really know about her.  The "game" isn't how confident you are, it's how you can dance around the obvious and pretend it isn't.  But to even approach the girl, you have to reduce her to the status of "prey".  To euphemisms such as "smokin' hooters", or "Blondie" or some other label which is handy.

And for you females, don't start laughing, the ones here do the same thing.  They just do it differently, weighing different factors, using different labels.  They want to see the dance.  They don't care that you have been dehumanized, they don't care.  Because the dance the male puts on is just as dehumanizing.  It's like some sort of huge improvisational theatre performed by Drama Majors for an audience consisting of their own insecurities.  Truth is, most Drama Majors are like that because they have insecurities and want to replace it with attention.  The more attention to pay them, the more the Drama Major comes out. It is, after all, all about them.  The more you play the game, the more they will respond.

But it is, still, a game.  All a performance.  All Drama Majors.  How else are these people supposed to meet?

The Anthropologist in me is fascinated.  The Steve in me is terrified.

I'm a person from another time.  I hate the term "romantic", but I still have romantic notions in my head.  That can be (and has been) used against me because it isn't about a dance, it's about real trust and sharing (and you are always at risk when you give those things).  It doesn't mean I jump into things, but it does mean that I don't have an easy segue from one to the other.  This "dance" for example, is such a segue.  Just not one for me.  It seems to be designed for the exact opposite of what I am looking for.

So where does that leave me?  As my friend said "You have too much respect for women."  Hm.  Perhaps, in some overcompensating way, maybe I idealize too much.  But Tom... at one point I heard him say "She's a friend of mine, too!"  The girl (we were calling her "Blondie" at that point, part of the process) got all worked up that they had someone in common and became even more chatty and, seemingly, interested.  At one point, she was pulled aside by her friend for a conversation and I turned to Tom and said "So you guys know someone in common?"  Tom laughed and said "No, I have no idea who she's talking about. Doesn't matter."  I said "What if she figures out you're lying?" He said "I'll laugh about it and make like I thought she knew.  Doesn't matter."

And that was the point.  "Doesn't matter".  She was just "Blondie".  Whether he succeeded or not, she was unimportant.  She "didn't matter".  I don't want to sound better than that, but to me, people do matter.  The women I met that night (and I did meet some, go figure) were ones that, I hoped, had more than a label attached to them.  I wanted them to be real so, aside from my nervous insides, I wanted to be real to them.  I'm more comfortable when I know the other person isn't expecting a game or dance from me.  I don't want a Drama Major.  But, let's be honest, that's rare because that is why they are all there; men and women.  To see and experience the Dance.  Of course it "doesn't matter", the people aren't real to each other in the first place.

I didn't fit in.  That was obvious.

Now, don't think that I am disparaging the people there or, even, the Dance.  As I said before, how are these people to meet?  What else are they supposed to go on to make contact?  And don't feel sorry for me, as I said, I've known these things about me for a long time.  I like to think it cuts down on the quantity, but replaces it with quality.  And, even then, it's not perfect.  You can meet people who are "real" and, still, make the mistake of trusting the wrong people with your heart.  Some people are just better Drama Majors than the ones at the bar.  Believe me, I know this as well.

So how did it all wind down?  Well, Tom didn't score.  At least not at that bar.  I won't qualify anything that happened to me as "scoring" or not.  I had some nice conversations and we'll see where they lead (one of the advantages of being the Wingman is that you do talk to the women with more common sense).  But we did leave that bar and went to another one where Tom had been seeing one of the waitresses.  It was a more quiet affair with a four piece band that had been playing this joint for the last 30 years.  Tom's friend, the waitress Mickey, was very pleasant and I thought she had a great personality.  Her friend, Belinda, was also quite cute and we chatted the rest of the night away, playing logic riddles on each other.  No performance, no Dance.  Things seemed easy and relaxed.

In no small part because Tom and Mickey were dating, there was no pressure, it was casual.  So I commented to Tom that I liked his girl, Mickey.  She was cute and had a great personality.  His response?  "I was hoping you'd hit it off.  You can have her.  I'm working on Belinda now."

Ah.  I forgot my place.  The game was on.  The Dance wouldn't die.  And, even here, I am… the Wingman!

So, let's see where we are now.  It's early December and Larry Craig is still not gay.  And, in support, at least four men have come forward to attest to how not gay he was when he solicited them.  Good on ya', Larry!  Stick to your guns!

But I digress… or obsess… one or the other.

Today, I am sleepily trying to pass time at the car dealership. I've been up pretty late for the last few nights IMing and chatting, so I'm a little woozy at the moment, trying not to drop my head to the keyboard.  What ever happened to those college days?  When I was in college, I could stay up all night and still put in a coherent day in class.  And we didn't even HAVE the internet or IM back then.  Back then, if you wanted to chat with someone, you actually had to be in the same room with them.  Considering the restrictions on co-ed dorms, it wasn't as easy as you might think.

Again, I digress…. Most of this post will be digression and tangents. I'm free thinking here… randomly associating… okay, I'm just trying to stay awake.

So, the car dealership…  No, for those who know me too well, I'm not buying another car.  I have taken my Expedition in for its first regular servicing.  Yes, I have a Expedition, a very large vehicle. 



Surprises some people, all things considering, but I bought it as a vehicle with which I could load and move things and, also, as a vehicle for my next planned trip around the country.  A trip I still intend to do once I find the right person to do it with, something I obviously haven't done as of yet.

I did do it once before and, I have to tell you, it was a great trip.  It was in 2001 and I was dating a girl named Spencer.  We had a month or so and I had just bought a Chevy  Avalanche (another large vehicle) and we took off to drive across and around the United States, no real agenda in mind.  If we saw a sign for the Biggest Ball o' Twine Museum, we'd pull over to take a look.  But it was one of the best trips I had ever taken and I remember it fondly.  Spencer and I, at the time, had been together for about four years and, though we didn't last another four months, it was one of the high points of the relationship. Nothing like traveling with someone you really enjoy.

But the really remarkable thing about the trip is the time that we took it.  It was August through September…. Of 2001.  Get the significance?  Let me put it this way; we were in Williamsburg packing our bags to drive into Washington D.C. when she got a phone call from her father telling us to turn on the TV.  We did and saw the second tower being hit.

And we had reservations in Washington D.C. for that night.

Then there was a report of a bomb at the Pentagon (we now know it was another plane).  I called the hotel and, obviously, no one was going into the city so we canceled the reservation and headed around D.C. into Maryland, where we stayed at a Bed and Breakfast at Antietam.

Now, to further compound what was already an incredible day, our room overlooked the Antietam Cemetary.  For those who don't know, Antietam was the site of a major civil war battle.  So many men died in one day of fighting there, it has been called "The bloodiest day in U.S. history"  I remember turning to Spencer and telling her that Antietam might no longer have that "honor" (as it turns out, it still does).

The trip itself was incredible just by virtue of the things we saw and did while traveling across the country.  The events that occurred during it, and our placement relative to them, made it… well, I really don't have the words to describe it.  I have said many times that we drove east across one country, and drove west across another.  Everything changed.  I can't tell you how I feel knowing that I was able to witness that change across the country first hand.

We all have stories of where we were on September 11, 2007.  That's mine.  And I still can't properly put into words how it affected me.

But, anyway… going from that subject, we did see a lot of great things.  Not just National Parks and the such, but more obscure things like the SPAM museum. Yes, folks, in Austin, Minnesota, there exists  a museum dedicated to SPAM.  And, I have to tell you, it was one of the best museums I had been to.  It had a short movie about SPAM, a diorama of the Monty Python routine, and a great gift shop.  And the people there are very VERY proud of their SPAM!  It seemed a little kitchy the way they would beam as they explained the many ways that SPAM helped win World War II, or how it is the most popular food in Hawaii.  But it made me grin to see it.  I mean, how many of us truly take pride in our luncheon meat?

Oh, by the way, here's a photo of my Avalanche while we were at Devil's Tower Monument. 



Looks very brochure-esque, doesn't it?.  To take this shot,  I had to stand in a field which happened to be a prairie dog town.  I can't tell you the cold chill that went up my back when I looked around and saw all these little furry heads sticking out of their holes, all around me, staring as if sizing up how many of them it would require to take me down.



See what I mean?  That's a rodent with an agenda.

But, even with the unfortunate timing, the trip itself was great. (Yes, Mrs. Lincoln, so was the play!)  And though the relationship didn't last, taking a trip with company was a major part of it.

That's a thing for me and traveling.  I'm not one to travel alone; never have been.  I enjoy sharing experiences.  That's why this particular trip will wait for the right person who is worth sharing it with.  She hasn't shown up. Yet.

Still, I wait here at the dealership for my car….  Which I kind of like.  Walking around a car dealership is like walking around Disneyland for me (hmmm… Disneyland… haven't been there in a while…. Anyone up for a road trip?)   I like seeing the new models and considering possibilities. In fact, I've never had a Volvo and I just saw one that I thought "Hmmm… maybe…." (and the answer is "no", at least not until the strike is over and I get another job).

As you know, most guys have a car fixation.  Has to do with manifestations of personal anatomical deficiencies, I'm told (hmmmm and I have an Expedition…).  But I used to have a REAL automotive fixation.  At one time, I was buying a new car every two years.  And I owned more than one.  I was REALLY into it.  I remember driving onto the Universal Studios Lot one time and the guard, who had seen me most days, saw that I was in a new car (a BMW M Roadster, by the way) and he looked at me with his arms outstretched and said "ANOTHER car???"  I replied "Hey, I'm a TV Producer and I don't do cocaine… the money has to go somewhere!"  I mean, I've had more cars than other people have had… uhm… other things that aren't as many as the cars I have had (the analogy is too subjective).  A waste of money?  Yep.  I don't disagree.  Fortunately, I have managed to get off that kick (and I was smart enough to still keep track of my finances).  Much to the sadness of Galpin Motors.  I think they were counting on me to show up every two years with a check.

How long does it take to change the oil?  I'm beginning to look furtively at the woman behind the counter, as if my gaze can prompt her to call my name and tell me my precious anatomical-deficiency-replacement is ready.  Is this what it feels like to be a parent on the first day of school?  I mean, come on, it's just an oil change!  What are they doing to my baby????   It only has five thousand miles on it!  It's just a youngster!  It's still innocent!  I can't even imagine it up on the rack with those men… those greasy, uncaring men underneath with their air drills and grease guns…. !!!  I haven't even… uhm…  properly broken it in yet.  Ahem.

And what is it with the music they play in these waiting rooms?  It's like they are playing every song from the delete folder on my iPod.  How many damn songs did "Flock of Seagulls" come out with anyway?

Yay!  I just got the call!  She's ready!  Yay!

Galpin Motors, by the way, is a great place to buy a car.  Seriously, I've probably bought about seven from them and been responsible for another seven that they sold to friends.  I like this place.  They like me.  I wonder if they would want to take a cross country trip with me?