2004-12-08
Cousin Joe called in a favor today, asking me to take care of his holiday presents for clients. After a brief absence from the office, God, it took me about half an hour to realize how very much I miss the day to day goings-on.* Joe and Tom debate the merits of sending a Christmas country breakfast gift basket to a client as opposed to a variety of Omaha steaks.
TOM: "Andy, what would you rather get in the mail: a couple of great big fat juicy filet mignon... or breakfast food?"
JOE: "Yeah, but there's a difference between gettin' a steak and a goddamn big old fuckin' basket of fuckin', you know, ham and shit."
TOM: "I'm sending him the steaks."
JOE: "Send him the ham, jizzbag, ya jizzbucket. You know that one, Hobie? Jizzbucket. That's from Dragnet."
* Tom's advice to his friend who's dating a lesbian stripper porn star: "That's the problem with lesbian stripper porn stars. Can't trust 'em. Never."
* Mercilessly berating Nicole for heretically insulting Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas album.
So I was watching Oprah today - which is what happens to people who don't take their daily dose of cable - and they were featuring this guy named Greg Behrendt who's co-author of this book called, He's Just Not That Into You : The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys. Have you heard of this book? This guy - and that's really all that he is. His own words, "I'm not a doctor, I'm not a psychiatrist, I'm just a dude." - this guy has written a book that's rocketed to the top of the Times nonfiction bestseller chart which makes this general affirmation: LADIES, you are unhappy because men are completely and totally FULL OF SHIT!
Greg basically blows the lid off of all of the excuses that guys use to let a woman down easily. EXAMPLE: "I love you, but I'm not in love with you." According to Captain Dipshit, that first "I love you" = I don't want to hurt you. The second one = (everybody now,) I'M JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU!!
Here's what really chaps my ass about this. You remember that show, "Breaking The Magician's Code" where the masked magician revealed all of magic's big secrets, and all the professional magicians got pissed off and demanded that FOX cancel the program? This is exactly the same deal, though instead of the masked magician we're stuck with a metrosexual 40 year-old with hair that looks like it was streaked by a four year old cerebral palsy kid, and a magician's right to his own mystery isn't infringed upon but my God-given ability to indirectly tell an unattractive/boring/crazy woman to take a walk is!
I hate that this book is so popular. I hate that the next time I say, "I just don't want to ruin our friendship," the object of said rejection can fire back, "Andy Hobin, do I look like I just fell off the back of the turnip truck? You're only lobbing that softball at me to mask your true feelings, which in practical terms are, I'm so unattractive to you that you wouldn't fuck me with a stolen dick! But at least I'm still fun to GET DRUNK WITH!"
My social ammo cache has been reduced to spitballs.
Look, the man's a genius, and my hat's off to him for getting very rich by managing to be the first to capitalize on a concept that - really - is no secret to anybody. And even smarter, he took his filthy message to OPRAH, a great audience for two reasons:
1. He's surrounded by an audience of women. An audience that says yes Greg! Tell me that it's not my fault! Tell me that it's never my fault! After all, HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO ME! I receive you into my hands like manna in the singles desert! Filleth my cup!
2. He's surrounded by an audience of women. Not a single man in close enough proximity to stand up, point an accusatory finger his way and say, "You sir, are full of shit!" And that is precisely what I would have done, had I not been 300 miles away in south county St. Louis, sitting in my leather recliner with an unbreaking mouthful of Char's homemade jumbalaya.
"Well," I impotently mused, "at least the jumbalaya is damn tasty," as I began carefully handicapping my future encounters with the opposite sex.
-Andy