Bromance vs. Girlfriends: biology or society?

Re: Chester Cheetah’s comment on “Can’t we just be friends?”

Very smart people put a lot of time into studying the questions as to whether white people were really different than black people too. Just because the academic elite like to publish new and sensational ideas doesn’t give them status as absolute scientific fact. The amount of biology at stake here is MUCH less than people like to imagine when they want to maintain the idea that “that’s just the way things are.” Women are more emotional and lovey-dovey than men, and women form different kinds of relationships. I just spent an entire semester looking at the research in this area, and you know what my conclusion was- looking to biology to explain the kind of sex differences we want to explain is just a bunch of crock.

The typical assignment of female nuturer/male strengthener is VERY socially based. Don’t even get me started on the androcentric interpretations that we’ve slapped onto other species in an effort to say that that paradigm is “natural” when a closer examination reveals a very different distribution of the roles.  That aside,in parent-child relationships the man is usually cast as the protector and provider while the woman is cast as the homemaker and nuturer. How does THAT translate to same-sex relationships? (“Hey Bro, I want to protect you, man. And make sure that you have, like, food on the table and stuff. Cool?” “Hey girlfriend! I am coming over to clean your room today! And do your dishes, and pat you on the head because you got a good grade, okay?”)

I’m not saying that men and women aren’t different at all. I’m just saying that we have expectations for the way they should behave (whether these are accurate expectations or not), and these expectations color the way we see male/female behavior; we consider as awkward or abnormal behavior that does not conform to our expectations. I think it is reasonable to believe, however, that these expectations we have are, in fact, largely based on a long social tradition and maintenance of the status quo. Call me a ball-buster, but that’s how I see it.

As far as the show itself goes- I wouldn’t be surprised to see some cattiness arising. I’ve known some really gossipy (straight) guys who talk more than girls! That being said, I don’t like watching cattiness, be it male or female, and I like “Rob and Big” as a good example of a healthy male relationship…but that has its problems too. Think, big, black sidekick…

Photo courtesy of flickr.com

Washington’s Bookie

Nowadays, the key to popularity in the media is to make strong, incendiary statements which generate raving support from one side and are either dismissed or viciously countered by the other side.  This is most true on the internet, where opinions seem to change even faster than the news and are supported by any number of different sources.  By being carefully discerning, one can read political commentary the reinforces all their previously held beliefs without subjecting themselves to any differing opinions.

This is especially true in the blogosphere.  Sites like HuffingtonPost.com, FreeRepublic.com, and NewsBusters.org thrive on loads of selectively biased contributors and readers to increase their web traffic.  Everyone is surrounded by those who share the same opinions and neither side is interested in reading what the other side has written.  As a result, political discourse in this country is at its most intense and its most immature.

Enter RealClearPolitics.com and, my personal favorite, FiveThirtyEight.com.  RCP is the behemoth in indepedent politics.  Its primary focus is on poll aggregation, thus giving a quantitative assessment of the most current American opinions.  It also provides its own content and links to posts from a variety of different political blogs.

FiveThirtyEight.com (the name comes from the number of eleectoral votes in Washington) also focuses on aggregate polling, but it strips away all the fat.  The site was founded in March 2008 by Nate Silver, a sabermetrician-turned-political-analyst.  Silver uses his statistical expertise culled from his experience as a baseball statistician and applies it to the political sphere.  Based on current polling data, he runs thousands of simulations to determine the probabilities of various outcomes.  In the recent presidential election, for example, Silver posted figures for the likelihood of Obama being elected, the Democrats winning a super-majority in the Senate, Obama being able to win the election if he lost key swing states, etc.

Silver, along with his blog partner Sean Quinn, regularly contributes posts outlining his methodology and keeps the political commentary to a minimum.  This approach mirrors PECOTA, a statistical algorithm developed by Silver that assigns an aggregate value to baseball players based on their stats.  While others might describe a player as having a great arm, a good eye at the plate, and an intrinsic leadership ability, Silver just sees the numbers.  Likewise, while others may talk about a candidate’s charisma and pedigree, Silver talks numbers.  If you’re in any way interested in quantitative analysis, FiveThirtyEight.com is a must-read site.

Can We Just Be Friends?

I was watching TV at home over Thanksgiving Break, and I saw MTV had a show were average Joes compete to become friends with some of the guys from the Hills called Bromance.  I thought to myself, “Bromance? That’s really homoerotic… For absolutely no reason at all.”  The term bromance has caught fire and now any close guy relationship is a bromance, and it makes one wonder: what the fuck happened to just being friends?  I have no problem with homosexuals at all, but I don’t want to get bromantically involved with someone. What happens if one of us gets a girlfriend? Are we cheating on the other “bro”?  Are bromance break ups just as rough as real break ups? So many men have problems being faithful to women, can we really trust men to be faithful to men?  Can you have a one night stand with a bro? Like, you meet a guy at the mall.  He is really cool so you invite him to a baseball game, and then after you drop him off at home after the game you never talk to him again.  Would that bro feel used? I think I am going to stay away from bromance… I don’t know if I can handle the heartbreak.

xoxo

-vˆ2

Have You Ever Made Love to a Weirdo?

So I’m relatively new to this whole blogging thing and to me its like when you first start sex.  Like, don’t get me wrong… I’m a well endowed blogger, but like when you first start having sex and it’s not at all mind blowing. But its still nice, so you keep trying the same 2 moves for a while just to see if the lack luster first time was just a fluke or like nerves or some shit… and no, its still not that great.  Then you meet that older woman, who decides to take you under her wing and turn you into a world class lover.  And she like, takes you through the kama sutra and you watch soft core porn, so you can learn how to truly please a woman.  And the sex gets better and better and better… for her, and at first you are kinda proud that you give her the best orgasm she has ever had. Then you realize, “I have been fingering and eating this girl out for like 3… 4 weeks. Can I at least get a handjob?”  Eventually you and the older woman part ways (because thats always how it is on like… those pornos that come on Oxygen at 2 in the morning. The woman just like bounces and leaves you in the bed naked… and steals your wallet and shit) and you are like “Fuck!”. So eventually you get yourself together, and you get back on the dating scene and what not, you meet a girl, and you leave so you all can get busy.  So on the way to your place, all those things that the older woman taught you are going through your mind and you think “I am going to blow this girls mind”. So you go through the necessary flirty bullshit once you get to your place because it was a long drive and you both had kinda lost the urge to do it. Ok, so its go time and allllll that stuff you learned from the older woman, you know, on how to be the worlds greatest lover… it goes clean out the window, and you start doing those same 2 sex moves that you were doing back in the day when you first started. And you know what? It was still the same result, but afterwards you feel proud because fuck it, they are your shitty sex moves… and hey, you got a nut.  I forgot where I was going with this… OH YEAH! BLOGGING! Its kinda like all that… minus the sex of course. Sure I may use the same two lame moves for a while, but just give me a little while. One day I will be a blogging porn star!

xoxo

-vˆ2

F-ing girls.

Why do so many women act like its a source of pride that they treat their men like pieces of shit?

“Hahaha I made my sick husband sleep in the basement because he was coughing! I’m awesome!”

“I made <enter generic pussy name here> ride the train with me for 2 hours even though he had to turn around and go home after I caught my flight because I just felt like making him do it! I’m the shiz-nit!”

“Yay! I made my man fix my air conditioner while his out of town friend was visiting even though its 60 degrees outside and there was nothing actually wrong with it!!!!!!”

Ohhhhhh… I respect you!

Bitches, your pussy-whipped boyfriend/husband/lover being pussy whipped… this does not mean you are loved more or better looking or a better catch. It means that he’s a pussy and that he’s desperate enough to think that you’re as good as he’ll ever do. Yeah, thats what it means. And baby, thats all it means.

Now, we’re all a little bitchy to our partners now and then… bad days happen, pregnancy happens, PMS happens, lots of things happen to make us fly off the handle every once in a blue moon. And most of us, feel bad or at least a little guilty about it. But these chicks, they act like its f-ing awesome that they stick a dildo into the ass of their boyfriend’s spirit everyday!

I suppose with the whole “Why Men Marry Bitches” phenomenon, this should come as no surprise. There was once a time in my short life where “bitch” was an insult. Now, it appears, it is an aspiration.

But as bitter as I sound, this is actually a blessing. Go ahead, take those desperate saps off the market and do with him whatever you like. I’m gonna go off with my real man, who actually has a pair of balls. I win.

FOR SALE: senate seat

I’ve got a Democratic senate seat for sale! This is the position once held by president-elect Obama that helped propel him into his newfound glory. Do you have presidential aspirations? Want to follow in his footsteps? Then this is the position for you! You too could be an Illinois senator!

Payment options:
1) A substantial salary for myself, either at a non-profit foundation or a labor union organization.

2) Placing my wife on a paid corporate board.

3) Campaign funds. I accept cash money up front!

4) A cabinet post or an ambassadorship for Yours Truly.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime, not to be missed! Remember: “I’m just not giving it up for fucking nothing. I’m not gonna do it!!”

My social network has crashed

Every night between the hours of 8:00 and 9:30, Facebook crashes because there are too many damn people on there.

Of course that is the time when everyone checks who has poked them today, or how many event invitiations in other states they have, or how many new friend requests they’ve gotten, but Facebook should know this by now and be prepared for the traffic.  How am I going to be able to see how many friends I have (i.e. how many people love me) if the site keeps “experiencing an error” ?

I love me some cancer sticks

This is a quote from Toni D. Simon (by way of Sex and the City):  “What’s wrong with cigarettes? Nothing.  They’re fabulous.”

Pastrami on rye

(17:40:02) Comrade Ogilvy: omg i’m so hungry
(17:40:07) Carlotta Chintz: awww
(17:40:11) Carlotta Chintz: is there any food in the house?
(17:40:16) Comrade Ogilvy: i’m craving pastrami on rye
(17:40:40) Comrade Ogilvy: there’s no meats left
(17:43:53) Carlotta Chintz: haha
(17:43:56) Carlotta Chintz: i know the feeling
(17:44:03) Comrade Ogilvy: i want pastrami dammit
(17:44:04) Carlotta Chintz: our fridge, although full, is surprisingly empty
(17:44:13) Carlotta Chintz: what am I supposed to do with a head of bok choy?
(17:44:13) Comrade Ogilvy: and there’s only a couple delis in town
(17:44:15) Comrade Ogilvy: LOL
(17:44:18) Comrade Ogilvy: chop it up
(17:44:20) Comrade Ogilvy: and steam it
(17:44:22) Carlotta Chintz: blech
(17:44:27) Comrade Ogilvy: season it with some bonito flakes
(17:44:29) Comrade Ogilvy: and salt
(17:44:32) Comrade Ogilvy: and a bit of pepper
(17:44:51) Comrade Ogilvy: the only veggies we have are potatos and carrots
(17:44:58) Comrade Ogilvy: and i dont’ feel like peeling either
(17:45:04) Comrade Ogilvy: i just want some pastrami on rye damnit
(17:45:10) Comrade Ogilvy: with spicy mustard on both pieces of bread

I’ve had an insatiable craving for pastrami on rye since last evening. Not just any crappy pastrami sold at a grocer either. I’m talkin’ ’bout the real deal: primo pastrami. I’m craving those big navel cuts of beef brisket that are pickled, seasoned, smoked, and hand cut. You know, a real pastrami sandwich.

After speaking with a couple local connoisseurs, it seems Macri’s Deli in Mishawaka is the place to go for good cuts and tasty sandwiches. However, with lake effect snow currently in effect, there’ll be quite a risk driving all the way over there in the ZZW30 (that’s an MR2 Spyder, for you non-petrolheads out there), especially with the tires in their current dubious condition (read: bald).

Would the quick jaunt over to Macri’s be worth the risk? Maybe so, maybe not. Just as long as I stop typing and actually get my ass out there before dry pavement succumbs to snow and ice… I need my f’n fix!

Mom- You used to embarass me. Then I met my friend’s mother.

My relationship with my mother is, by far, the most complicated relationship in my life.

My hysterical, co-dependent affair with my ex looks like the very picture of normalcy next to what’s going on between her and I. 

Over the years, she says my erratic behavior has conditioned her to an emergency response.  “I just don’t know what to do with you, Carlotta.”   Well I don’t really know what to do with you either.  My best friend, I can’t just tell you to piss off, because then who would listen to my whining and moaning about the unfairness of it all?  My slavemaster, I can’t stand to be around you for more than three hours, because inevitably during that time period, three directives to “stop playing and do some work” will have been directed my way.

Yes, she still tells me to stop playing.

I used to think that my mother was a self-righteous, interfering nuisance.  And then I met some of my friends’ mothers.

Mrs. Chintz is now a saint.

The utter dysfunctionality of those relationships mirrors and magnifies that which exists in my own relationship.  Except that I would never dare scream at my mother, “Just shut up!”  Nor, “What the fuck do you want from me?”  Nor would I ever tell her to her face, “I hate you.”

I would have been slapped across the mouth.  With good reason.  If my kids (should I happen to produce such spawn at a later point in my life) ever even thought about talking to me like that…

Sure, my mom has a tendency to micromanage.  She calls me six times a day.  She pesters me about what I’m doing with my life.  And that won’t go away.  And I’m glad that I have company in the overbearing mothers boat.  But she doesn’t try to control the minute details of my life.  Or manipulate my emotions.  Who I date is my mistake.  Where I eat lunch is not her problem.  That ridiculous thing I was wearing two days ago is a result of my own lapse in judgment.

I can keep my autonomy and still keep my best friend.