About Last Night, Part II

The last post ended with my friend, Dickmar, asking my other buddy, Ballsey, and I if we ever got into conversations with our respective significant others about whether or not certain male celebrities were good looking. It’s interesting because this has been a conversation my wife and I have been having for years, and I think it’s been going on with all the other couples in my group of friends as well.

One of my friends put it best. When he was in high school, he had a conversation with one of his best friends and he said, “How can girls find boys attractive? I think you’re ugly.”

Friend responds, “I think you’re ugly, too.”

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to understand the reasoning. Why are women attracted to men? Men can be gross, hairy, and stinky – well, at least I am. Actually, I’m not hairy, which was a curse as a kid but a blessing as an adult. Boo-yah! Women don’t like monkey men! Conversely, I get lesbians. Women are soft and nice. They wear make-up and smell good. What’s not to love? So what do women see in men? When I ask my wife, she says things like, “You make me laugh,” or “You’re sweet.” The last time I checked, those aren’t physical qualities – unless, she’s saying she’s attracted to me because I’m funny looking. “You’re chubby face is sexually attractive to me.” I want cold, hard reasons. Your belly, while not a six pack, is solid. Your eyes are the same green as the Green Lantern’s ring. Your hair is like rabbit fur. I could translate that to other men. “Oh, my wife probably thinks Ron Howard is cute because his hair feels like rabbit fur.”

I ask my wife quite frequently if she thinks this actor is hot or that musician is attractive. She always seems indifferent to these questions and humors me with a short, unsatisfactory answer. I get Brad Pitt is a good looking guy, but what exactly is it? I could give detailed, point-by-point explanations why I think Mila Kunis is attractive, which I’m sure Wife appreciates.

One of the examples we came up with is Ryan Reynolds. All of the men agreed that he was good looking, but the reasons why were because he’s ripped up and funny. Those aren’t really reasons to think someone is good looking. Carrot Top is pretty jacked and… I guess I just found the hole in my logic: he’s not funny.

Josh Duhamel was the next example. We, again, agreed that he is handsome. We had a harder problem coming up with why we knew him. Someone suggested that maybe we knew him because he was married to Fergie. I think that’s it. He’s married to a pop star in one of the worst bands to ever be inflicted on the American public. Regardless, what separates him from a soap opera star? I mean, is he any more handsome than Jason from General Hospital? Also, he’s a thin, athletic guy, but really if anyone worked hard enough they could be thin and athletic looking. How is he different than Sam Cassell or Dante Bachette? *Note: These are funny references. Look ‘em up.

Justin Timberlake was another example. He’s a ripped up guy, true, but why would one say he’s better looking than say, Nathan Lane (if he finally got in the gym! I mean, right? Who doesn’t want to see a taut Nathan Lane?)? By the way, I was reading a Rolling Stone article about him a couple of years ago when FutureSex/LoveSounds came out, and he said his goal was to be considered the David Bowie of this time period. What?!? I couldn’t think of two people that are more different. One played trippy music and reinvented himself time and time again before that was common place. JT is an ‘N Syncer from the Disney Channel with an urban accent (for some reason) – just a little different. Also, David Bowie plays several instruments. How can we consider one sexy who’s a musical fraud? *I will concede he could be a good actor.

I’ve asked my wife multiple times if she thinks Michael Jordan is attractive, which she does not. I think if I were a woman I’d think he’s hot. He’s the greatest basketball player ever. On top of being the best, he’s super rich with a Hitler mustache. Outside of the box, baby!

I don’t get what women see in men. Luckily, I’m already married, so I don’t have to worry about more than staying in shape, keeping clean, and brushing my teeth. So…

 I don’t know how to end this post other than I’m not gay, I swear.

Though there is nothing wrong with being gay.

About Last Night, Part I

 

I’ve mentioned before that I think I would have less trouble killing a person than killing a vicious animal, say a wolf. In Texas, I think it’s accurate to say that most people hunt or have hunted in their life, and I don’t see anything wrong with that. My brother-in-law is an avid hunter and I’m cool with that. All I’m saying is that I would have trouble hunting, killing, and gutting something. On the other hand, I can eat steak all day. I don’t find this hypocritical because while I don’t want to kill and gut an animal, eating it is a different story. I look at meat like paper. Paper is something entirely different from a tree to me. Trees are the nuisances in my yard, crapping leaves all over the place. Paper allows me to doodle and draw pictures of eyeballs. Two different things. The same thing goes with meat; I see a delicious steak and not a cow eating grass in a meadow. I guess it’s an ignorance-is-bliss kind of mindset.

My whole point in creating that set up is to introduce this conversation I had with 4 of my friends last night. Obviously, I didn’t have a court stenographer taking notes so this is how I remember the conversation a few pints in.

This starts in mid-conversation.

Dickmar: Johnny, is the one who said he’d kill a person over an animal.

Me: Yeah, I’d have no trouble killing a man coming at me with a knife with murderous intentions versus a wolf with the same intentions – sans the knife – if I only had one bullet.

Pajamas (Dickmar’s wife): You couldn’t take a wolf. They’re really big.

Me: No way. They’re like dogs. I think I could take a dog. My pugs are pretty east to outwrestle.

Pajamas: Wolfs are just slightly smaller than lions. Do you think you could take a lion?

Me: Lions are really big. There is no way I could take a lion but wolves aren’t that big.

Pajamas: A lion is like 500 lbs, so I bet a wolf is like 300 lbs.

Me: No way. 300 lbs is a little less than Shaq. There is no way a wolf is that big.

Pajamas get out her iPhone and looks it up. According to the omniscient phone, wolves range from 80 lbs to 120 lbs.

Me: See, they aren’t that big. I’m 250 lbs, so I could easily take an 80 lb animal. I would shoot the man and then let the wolf bite my arm and then punch it on the top of its head (I motion with one forearm out and my fist making a punching motion across the top of it).

Pajamas: Wolves hunt in packs. You’d have to take the whole pack.

Me: That’s not the scenario: one wolf, one man.

Pajamas: Well, they hunt in packs so what would you do?

This is where my memory of the conversation starts to veer off from reality. I’m pretty sure this was said but not necessarily in these words.

Me: After killing the first wolf, I’d wear it’s carcass as a cape and smear its blood on my face. When the other wolves see this, they would know that I am the new pack leader. As pack leader, I would find the most nubile she-wolf… (Stopping, as to not reveal too much of my iron fisted plans of wolf pack domination or rather just to not embarrass myself any further – it’s still up in the air).

Me: Where are you getting this information about wolves and their fighting abilities, anyway?

Pajamas: Twilight.

Me: Who do you think is better looking Jacob or Edward?

Pajamas: Jacob

Me: Really? Jacob’s nose is weird looking, and the cut off jean shorts and long hair just look ridiculous.

Dickmar (staunch, unblemished record of heterosexuality): As you’ve gotten older, have you gotten into conversations with your wife about which Hollywood hunks are the best looking?

Part II of this important conversation will be concluded tomorrow.

Werther's Originals - The Sweetest Crime

My wife and I were at the store recently and I noticed an older, pony-tailed gentleman complete with faded forearm tattoos pushing carts into the store. I mentioned to my wife that he was probably an ex-convict – nothing wrong with that. Wife vehemently disagreed with me; she thinks the old guys at grocery stores are all guys who just want to get out of their homes and see people – even bastard customers. She has this idea that they're all lonely and in need of human contact. In her eyes, after they get home from work, they sip a nice glass of chocolate milk while rubbing a cross between their thumb and index finger reminiscing about all the fine people they helped that day. Nice, sweet, pitying wife.

Here is my conspiracy theory on the subject. The supermarkets across the nation have arranged programs with the prison system to hire anyone who isn’t a murderer or rapist. By the way, I haven't seen Shawshank Redemption in a while but that is probably what planted the idea in my head. Regardless, it seems like a reasonable explanation.

A man has a hard life as a teen, and ends up in and out of jail until he starts committing bigger crimes – some light stalking and maybe mail fraud. After serving his time, he emerges from prison a reformed man. Secretly, he’s just biding his time, waiting for the right time to hit that damn Kroger hard, but he’s too cowardly plus the gritty food in prison destroys his dentures. Don’t even get him started on that food and what it does to his ulcers! In the mean time, he sacks groceries with a huge chip on his shoulder as he tries to mentor his teen colleagues in the ways of a criminal, but they don’t listen. All they care about is their rap music and doing the minimum amount of work in order to not get in trouble. Well, he’ll stick it to the system – every day, one pack of Werther’s Originals. “It’ll add up,” he tells himself, “The sweetest crime.”

I’m not sure who’s right here. My wife has a nice opinion; you know, that intrinsic optimistic viewpoint about the goodness in people. She doesn’t know people like I do. For you see, I grew up on the streets. While she worked a cushy job in the mall – yeah, the MALL – I toiled away on the food assembly line at Pizza Hut. While she rode horses as a youth, I was forced to play sharks and minnows at my neighborhood pool. She attended the lavish Communication College at the University of Texas, and I went to the lowly Liberal Arts College at the University of Texas.

She doesn’t know the working class like I do. Life is all cupcakes and ponies to her. If she only knew the muffin and butterfly life that I lived, she’d have a better understanding of this situation.

Science, it was a Good 30 Years

This is John Larroquette. It'll make sense later.

I don't know how most things in the world work, and I don't care. I don’t get why helium is accessible in its natural state (why doesn’t it float away?), how human consciousness exists, or how a motherboard works. I’m certain that I could come up with reasonable (though incomplete and possibly incorrect) answers to these questions, and I’m sure many of you who are smarter could tell me for sure. Well, I don’t want you to tell me anything.

When I took science classes in high school and college, I must have spent most of the time daydreaming or drawing pictures of eyeballs (hey, I don't know why either) because I only have vague memories of what I learned. To be honest, I earned good enough grades, so I must have memorized the material, regurgitated it for the test, and quickly cleaned my memory’s slate; I felt like the lyrics to Sure Shot by the Beastie Boys were slightly more important.

I have a couple of friends who work as engineers, and they often get into discussions that involve scientific knowledge. Now, I'm not saying I'm stupid and can't figure the obvious things out, but needing to know is not a priority for me. I liken it to people who don't pay attention to politics. Some people just aren't interested or care about all the minutiae of our government. Some people aren’t interested in comic books. Some people aren’t interested in Haruki Murakami, Ernest Hemingway, or David Cross. Some people aren’t interested in physical fitness. Well, science is like that to me. Why do I care that plants use photosynthesis to make food? How would that ever have any importance in my life? Frankly, it's trivial knowledge to me, and I'd rather use the RAM in my brain to remember other trivial knowledge. For example, did you know the comedian Louie Anderson was relieved from his Family Feud hosting duties for soliciting a male prostitute who happened to be an undercover cop? Do you know why that information is better than knowing about photosynthesis? The latter is funny to me. I can't tell any funny stories or jokes about photosynthesis. Watch: Do plants ever absorb sunlight and think, Sun again? I had that yesterday. I'm in hell here: I can’t move or have variety in my diet and bees are rubbing their wieners all over me (as is my understanding of pollination). See, not funny.

I want to emphasize that the pursuit of knowledge is a fantastic thing, and I’ll promise not to forget the science basics I’ll need to survive (i.e. turning the steering wheel hard in a random direction will usually have grave results). Also, people should try to learn as much about science as they can – preferably to make pants with an ass that even that damned Hulk couldn’t shred. We also need new, fancier cell phones. My iPhone doesn’t do enough and I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait more than 2 seconds for a page to load up.   Seriously, I read as much as I can but I'm just saying I've gotten to a point where I'm done with trivial science knowledge. I will accept that planes fly even though I don't really get it. Why does it matter? I never wanted to be a plane maker any way. On the other hand, I will spend my time working on my writing skills, teaching English to high school kids, being a good husband (and dad one day), keeping the cast’s names from Night Court memorized, and working on my Paul Lynde impression. Really, I think we can all agree that the scientific community would much rather have me making a John Larroquette reference as Uncle Arthur from Bewitched than working on a longer lasting boner pill.

Note: Thanks to my dad for writing the blog for me while I was in Las Vegas. He did a fantastic job, and I think he had some fun. Maybe a Daddy Johnny Ute blog will be in the works? Is mom next?


You're always welcome to write a guest post, dad!

Young Johnny Utah

I had intended to write an anonymous guest blog for Johnny Utah while he was away, but after he mentioned the guest blogger was his Dad, I was flooded with a request to tell a story about him. So, here goes.

My unbiased opinion of Johnny is that he was one of the world’s greatest kids. However, partially as a result of my imperfect parenting, he did go through a period of spoiled behavior. His mother and I had a tendency to let him get a little something whenever we took him anywhere. Nothing much. Something like a piece of candy, or a small toy.

When it got to the point that he would throw a fit if we said no, we decided we would have to do something about it. So we began to cut back on the times we would let him get something when he was out with us running errands. We did not stop cold turkey, we just eased back.

One day Johnny’s mom took him with her on a trip to the hardware store/nursery. I have no memory whatever of what she needed to get, but she got it and went to the checkout stand. Johnny had asked for one thing after another while they had shopped, and his mom had said no each time.

In the rack of things the store displays at the checkout stand, hoping customers will see something at the last minute they need, Johnny found just such an item. Making a last ditch effort to get something, he asked if he could have it. His mom looked at it and then said no. He began to pout. He had the most pitiful look on his face. The kind of look that melts a loving parent’s heart. Tears began to well up.

Johnny’s mom took it from him and looked at it more closely, and asked, “do you know what this is?” He looked at her a little sheepishly, and said “what?”

It was a small package of “Jobe” plant food stakes. After she explained what it was for, he said “oh”. He was a little less disappointed about not getting it.

I am proud to say that Johnny grew into a man who never buys anything if he cannot tell what it is.

Las Vegas

Johnny Utah would like to be here writing his blog today, but he would like to be having fun in Las Vegas even more. So, I am writing a blog for him (since he did not invite me to go).

Las Vegas sounds like a lot of fun. I have been to Nevada, but I have never been to Las Vegas, so I am basing my opinion on what I have heard other people say. Everyone I have ever heard talk about their trip to Las Vegas said they came out ahead, or at least broke even. It is amazing those big casino hotels stay in business.

The only person I know who has a story about losing a lot of money in Vegas is my friend Ted. His story is not about him losing money though, it is about his brother losing money. He said that a few years back when he and his brother were both single they went there for a weekend. They discussed strategy ahead of time, and decided they should set a limit on what they were willing to lose. They agreed on $2000 each. Ted said he played different games, winning some and losing some. He said his brother hit a bad streak and lost all of his cash, and then got an extra $500 out of an ATM. He then handed his card to Ted and asked him to hold it for him, and not to give it back, no matter what, until they got home. Ted agreed and put the card in his pocket. They went their separate ways.

Later that night, Ted’s brother found him, and said he lost the extra $500. He needed more money. He wanted his ATM card back. Being a good brother, Ted would not give it to him. The brother insisted. Ted held firm. He walked out of the building with his brother hot on his heels pleading and cursing. Ted walked faster. His brother kept pace. Ted then broke into a run. He ended up being chased several times around his car and mugged by his brother.

My own experience comes from a car trip through Nevada. My wife and I stopped for lunch in a small town, and afterward she wanted to try a slot machine. Next door to the restaurant there was a small casino (you cannot throw a stone in Nevada without hitting one). She selected an interesting looking machine and fed it a twenty dollar bill. The machine had a display that kept track of how much credit the player had. As she played, the amount went down a little, then up a little, then down… (you get the picture). It took less than 10 minutes to lose twenty dollars.

She turned to me and said, “Hand me another $20”.

So Johnny Utah, do not be misled by what everyone says. I have no doubt, money can be lost in Las Vegas.

Going to Vegas!

Look at Professor X’s wheelchair. I find it funny that there is an “X” on the wheel of the wheelchair. I can imagine him going to some wheelchair fabricator asking to get his chair pimped. “Yo, I need some gangsta shit if I’m going to be the leader of the X-men. Know what I’m sayin’? How will people know who’s boss if I’m just rollin’ in a normal wheelchair? I’m willing to spend up to $3000 for you to pimp my ride.”

Who would have thought that Professor X was that vain?

On a different note, I’ll be going to Las Vegas with my wife and a couple of other couples tomorrow. I have asked my father to guest post for me while I am gone. I have absolutely no idea what he’s going to write, so I will be checking my blog religiously while I’m gone to see what he writes – maybe a little history about the Great Wall of China or perhaps a tale of my nieces and nephew. Who knows! Good luck, dad!