It appears I have betrayed you once more, dear reader, fleeing from my responsibilities as a blogger for other duties, and in so doing leaving you hanging in the wind. Sure, I can promise I'll never do it again, but we all know that's a lie, if not a particularly convincing one. But allow me to say that I won't let virtually another month lapse between posts again. I promise.
At least part of my absence is explainable, though. You see, I was in the Sierras playing Dungeons & Dragons for a week straight. Yes, nestled in the trees and rock, in passages where no cellular reception dare stray and where savage men with long beards and no hygiene rein supreme, there I was feverishly rolling my twenty-sided die (poorly, more often than not) and seeing my paladin spread righteous justice throughout a corrupt and evil land. Oh, if only the rest of my life were as simple as that week, where virtually every decision can be made through the fortuitous roll of a die. I sit now at my desk on campus, trying to make myself work on my dissertation, but clearly I have failed my Will save. Somewhere in the world a twenty-sided die has skittered across a tabletop, coming to rest with a 1 staring skyward like the fiery eye of Sauron.
So if I can be of no service to myself, allow me to be of service to you and continue our journey through the trite and staggeringly inane world of Tom Chiarella's "The 75 Skills Every Man Should Master." And let me warn you: these ones are worse than the last batch.
21) Argue with a European without getting xenophobic or insulting soccer. Reminding them that we bailed their ass out of World War II (or stomped their ass, if you're talking to a former Axis power) is completely fair game, though. I recommend telling them they'd be speaking German now if it wasn't for us. If it's a German, compliment him on his lederhosen.
22) Give a woman an orgasm so that he doesn't have to ask after it. Forgiving the pronoun confusion and all the deliciously Freudian things it suggests, as a Catholic, I can't endorse this whole communicating during sex thing. I'm even on the fence about eye contact. Instead, may I humbly suggest a gong placed on the nightstand, which upon orgasm, your partner hits with a mallet. Should one find oneself in flagrante delicto without your gong present, simply shouting "Yahtzee!" should suffice.
25) Drive an eightpenny nail into a treated two-by-four without thinking about it. Thanks for "sexing up" this one, as "hit nail into wood" might threaten to undermine the man who considered this an essential aspect of his identity.
27) Play gin with an old guy. While I would prefer drinking gin with an old guy--and recommend not calling hiim "old guy"--this item only becomes truly hilarious when you take it in stride with the subsequent tip.
28) Play go fish with a kid. Fair enough. His first bit of elaboration recommends "You talk their ear off," which is great when you glance above and see he warns that the "old guy" will "drown you in meaningless chatter, tell stories about when they were kids this or in Korea that." Oh I see. This older gentleman's story about serving in a war or living through the Great Depression is 'meaningless chatter,' but the author's stories about "when you were a kid this or in Vegas that" are utterly apropros: "So after we dumped the hooker's body in the laundry shoot we went downstairs, did some blow, and took a piss on the roulette wheel. Do you have any 8's? How old is your mom, kid?"
30) Feign interest. Preach on, Dr. Chiarella! Your take on masculinity is refreshing and fascinating! It's doesn't make me want to drive an eightpenny nail into my eye socket at all!
33) Hit a jump shot in pool. By now, we should not be surprised that this superflous and largely impractical shot is just the type of thing to catch Sir Douche's attention. A new revelation, however, is that our gracious author seems to have difficulty describing fundamental spatial relations. Observe: "Make the angle of your cue steeper, aim for the bottommost fraction of the ball, and drive the cue smoothly six inches past the contact point, making steady, downward contact with the felt." Actually, if you drive the cue six inches past the "bottomost fraction of the ball" in a steady downward motion, you'll put your cue through the felt and into the slate underneath. Bloody hell, is there anything this asshat knows how to do well?
40) Speak to an eight-year-old so he will hear. This, of course, bears upon the Go Fish fiasco from above, so allow me to help our befuddled author with how to accomplish this feat: call the kid "Child," regardless of age or gender, or perhaps "Hey you, tax deduction"; shout at them, reaching spasmodically for your belt as if about to wrench it off and brandish it menacingly in the air; confide that you're actually their father, but don't let daddy know, then wink at their mother over their little shoulder, pat them on the back, and tell them to get lost.
More to come, sooner rather than later this time. I left a significant number out this time around, as I was literally choked by contempt and couldn't will my fingers to type; feel free to comment with your own response to those others, assuming you can stifle your gag reflex.
