Short Shifting the A4 and other thoughts.

Last night was a good night. I went over to John's place (Saturnine on Audizine.com) and he helped modify my stock shifter so my shifts are shorter and more precise. I love the feeling now, and I can't imagine how I lived without it. Sort of like the Acura CL Type S' shifter, but shorter. The 1-2 shift is still a little long, but much better in any case.

It took longer than we thought, given that I had a 6 speed with pushdown reverse, but not too bad. Dawn showed up midway and had the same thing done to her car. Dawn and I both felt a little helpless watching John modify both of our shifters while we looked on. While watching John do his thing, Dawn told me about some of her previous dating history. I won't go into any details, but it never ceases to amaze me how dumb guys are. How they can mess up a date with Dawn, who is a very sweet, generous, and attractive person, is beyond me. Someday I will have to blog about the basics of dating, probably a joint effort by my wife and I.

I forgot to mention that I drafted my fantasy basketball team on Wed night. I got the first pick, so I was able to draft Kevin Garnett, who is my favorite basketball player on my favorite basketball team. But the league is so diluted these days that I ended drafting Gary Payton, Karl Malone, and Kobe Bryant. So now I have 3 players from a team I hate. On top of that, there are no centers in the league, so I ended picking up a center late in the draft, who'll be the weak spot on my team. Oh well, at least I get to cheer for KG!

Wednesday was also Bachelor night. Terry was kind enough to cook an excellent Korean meal for us. He wants me to say, though, that really he can't cook. He also wants me to say that that particular night was a freak of nature, and that any expectation that he cook again would be foolish. He claims to have cooked only one other time in his life.

No matter, it was still very nice of him and very good. For him to go buy the food, drive an hour to our place, make a meal for like 10 people with 10 different types of Korean food, and reminisce about his Grandma seems to me like the generous Terry that his friends know. And he only had one beer that night! He still gets to keep his mancard.

Well, back to work.

Hooters

Well, last night a few of us gathered at Hooters for some wings and some beer. I had never been to Hooters before, so I didn't know what to expect. Chi, Terry, Dawn, Chris (a friend of Chi's), Norm (Bobba Fett from Audzine.com), and Leonard (lawong from Audzine) showed up to this gathering. We had fun, partly at the expense of Terry who continued to impart upon everybody his theories about women. Terry is a great guy. He just has controversial viewpoints.

Those of you who know Chi must be wondering how she could even step into such a place. While not a feminist (strictly speaking), she certainly doesn't feel that women need to be using their bodies to earn a living. That being said, she also feels comfortable in their presence and is quick to point out when a woman is hot or not. So coming to Hooters was not a problem for her. I think mostly though, she came out to be with me (she never flakes). That's why I love her.

The Hooters women look pretty good. Though not as good as I thought. As expected, they all wore their famous tank tops with bras that accentuated cleavage to some success, but it all seemed a little contrived. After the initial minute of gauging their looks, I didn't notice them the rest of the night. Neither did Chi.

The wings were great. But for some reason, I only ate 6 of them. Which was bad for me, given the fact that I was drinking that night. I ended up drinking only 6-8 glasses, but I was pretty faded near the end. I blame it on Terry and an empty stomach. He ordered two extra pitchers of beer at the end right when everybody left, leaving me and him to drink the rest. That did me in for the night and for this morning (moderate hangover). Terry cracks me up. Homeboy took the BART to SF and then a cab from the BART station to Hooters just so he could drink (instead of driving). He knew we'd take him home.

All in all, it was a good time. We'll be doing it again sometime, so I'll probably post about it then. I definitely appreciate Dawn, Leonard, Chris, Norm and Terry coming out. Plus, we learned some more rituals of drinking. Dawn showed us about the look me in the eye toast (if you don't, superstition has it that you will be cursed with bad sex for 7 years if you have any at all), which I found hard to do with other guys. Terry reiterated the principle of never pouring your own beer, which I discovered after he took over my pitcher while I was pouring. After all these years, I still learn new drinking rules everday.

The Art of Flaking

Flaking is a difficult thing to do right. Flaking, by my definition, is a socially acceptable broken promise. In the elation of an inspired idea of an event, the flakers will cheer "I'll be there!" With thoughts of good times and excitement to be had, the victim of the flaking will diligently focus their efforts on the planning and recruitment of other friends to partake in the planned night of tomfoolery, shenanigans, and debauchery. When the anticipated time arrives, however, the victim will often stand alone, happy in the loyal company that surrounds him or her, but disappointed in the small fraction of attendees.

But if flaking were the litmus test for friendship, we'd all be alone. We've all done it before. We've all flaked on somebody - our best friend, our confidant, our boss, our dogs, and even our significant others. So the act of flaking itself is not the defining variable of friendship. Although it may seem that way initially.

It's the Art of Flaking that really defines your true friends. Those that practice this artform the best go on to have valuable and lasting relationships with a strong sense of loyalty and trust. They are often the ones you tend to trust and value the most, as they can almost always be counted on. There are several principles of the Art that ultimately place a holistic value on friendship.

Principle No. 1: Minimize the incidence of flaking.
If you have to flake, do so at a rate that stays below the flake radar. Flaking once every one or two months is hardly noticeable. But hearing, "Oh, well, you know... I won't make it tonight" for the third time in one week becomes a little too much to bear. If you have to flake more than once a month, double up in a week. Doing this makes it seem a little out of character, and, consequently, easier to understand.

Principle No. 2: Choose the least important events to flake.
"Man, I just don't think I can make it to your wedding. I know I'm the best man and all, but I just feel tired." "You know, I wanted to make it to your first night on a Broadway stage, but my boyfriend wouldn't let me." "Damn man, I can't believe I missed your bachelor party. I had to sod the lawn. Hope you understand." All of the above are unacceptable acts of flaking. Important events should not be flaked on. On the other hand, the least important events often go unnoticed, or even better, are often easily understood. "Hey man, I totally meant to help you clean your gutters out the other day, but I had a date with some twins." "I can't believe I forgot to come over and help you reorganize your wedding photos. I'm really sorry, but Friends was on." These are examples of easily understood and often forgotten flaking episodes.

Principle No. 3: Apologize aggressively.
Flaking isn't sleeping with your friend's spouse. You can actually apologize successfully for it. As you've probably already guessed (I hopefully attract only smart readers) there is a correct and incorrect way to do it. The incorrect way is to be passive. Making your friend/significant other/family member call you and call out your flakiness is beyond embarrassment. If I have to call you, and tell you that you flaked, and listen to your ineffective apology, and somehow still do it without getting angry... well, you should be more embarrassed than a nude teenage boy at a playboy mansion party in the cold. However, if one realizes one flaked and calls immediately after the act of flaking has occurred, redemption can be had. The apology needs also to also sound like its the only thing on your mind. "Eh mang, sorry. What about them Vikings?" This would be fairly ineffective. Better than being passive, but you gotta throw your back into it! "Dude. How could I have done this to you?! Man, I am SO sorry. I know how much you were hoping we could hang out. I can't believe my own self." Much better and much more committed, diffusing the situation effectively. One can't help but feel relieved for the flaker him/herself. They must have been going through existential dissonance deep down inside right?

Principle No. 4: Have an undeniable, honest excuse.
Flaking needs to be put in perspective. No one can reasonably expect someone to attend a party when their loved one has suffered an injustice or injury. Nor can anyone be faulted if they are on death's door, praying to the porcelain god for abdominal salvation. There are just times when flaking is necessary and maybe the last thing on the flaker's mind. However, some excuses defy lameness. "Man, I just couldn't make it, cause.. cause I had a headache man. It was bad. I saw lights, elvis, demons. I can't even describe it." Your response: "Dude, I saw you hittin' up the adult bookstore when I drove past ninth and century." Inexcusable. "Damn girl, I was set to go to your party, but you know, my bunyans started hurtin', my dogs looked sad, and my TV stopped workin. And you know I have to take care of that." Your response: "What the hell are you talking about? My moms told me she saw you showin' the neighbor the neighborhood - but from your bedroom." Oh sh*t. At this point, bribery laced groveling may be your only saving grace. Finally, have somebody else confirm your excuse. Have a picture. Have a videotape. Have your best friends give tear-laden testimonials. Anything.

Principle No. 5: Employ self flake prevention.
Give someone your jacket, your cell phone, your keys. Anything valuable as collateral. It will guarantee that you will show up to demand it back, although this should be the last reason that you show up. And no, there is no layaway plan for flake prevention.

Principle No. 6: Swallow your pride on occasion.
This is the most important one. Yes, you may have to wax the car. Yes, you may have a date with Charlize Theron. Yes, it may be the season finale of Friends. But sometimes, you just have to swallow your pride and realize that keeping a promise may be more important than any of the above (although turning down a date with Charlize Theron should grant you knighthood by Queen Elizabeth). Friendship is based on trust, loyalty, and generosity. Missing out on individual gratification will often miraculously erase past memories of flakedom.

Now that I have gotten that off my chest, I just want to thank those of you who are masters of the Art of Flaking. Sort of the Jet Li of flaking. They include my wife (I don't think she has ever flaked), TC (the self proclaimed stud), William (may be controversial, but never flaked), Dawn (has successfully employed flake prevention), Mark (loyal to the bone), Christo (has always had good reason), and Jimmy (never flaked once, even when I needed him for glue gun help). Thanks for your mastery of the Art of Flaking.

The Man Card

Yesterday night, Chi and I had some friends over for her weekly "Bachelor Viewing Party." It's becoming more popular these days as more and more people come. The first night she had it, I wasn't even there. Terry and I were out at a bar with Dawn and Kevin, as I am not (and never have been) a fan of the Bachelor. As a self-described guy's guy, I figured that any guy worth his man card would never watch a show where there is one guy and a ton of girls with no nekkidness or group sex! It would seem to be a vehicle only for cattiness amongst not only the participants but the viewers too. But last week, I was forced to watch, as I discovered that my guy friends I thought were true guys actually wanted to watch the Bachelor. What?!

Last night, we had our 3rd weekly "Bachelor Viewing Party." As with the previous week, it started with me at the TV, alcohol in hand watching the MLB World Series (although technically last week it was the NLCS). At this point, I was in a state of transcendence. Not much can be better about watching a good game, beer in hand, on a comfortable chair, with a widescreen 51 inch HDTV. In fact, I expected that the game would end before the Bachelor started, giving me ample time to prepare myself for the onslaught of phoniness that Holden Caufield would love to hate.

At this time, Vicky was over already, and also thankfully enjoying the World Series. Figuring I was safe for the moment, I went to my computer to check up on some email and some Audizine.com posts. I came back, and Smallville was on. What?! How did that happen. Luckily for me, the chick Lana was hot. And the skinny dipping scene in the beginning validated me turning my man attention to the show, if only for a moment. Trying to justify my man card, I made sure to take note of all the good looking girls on the show, and of course, make comments about them.

Soon, my good friend Terry came over. Now, Terry is a guy's guy. Boy can drink alcohol like a thirsty camel at the only oasis in the Sahara. He also is somewhat controversial in his male "chauvinistic" mannerisms (although he really isn't). So when I kicked it with Terry in the past at bars, parties, etc., I always felt he was deserving of his mancard. Little did I know. Little indeed.

Expecting the "stop crying, you're just damn ugly" comments from Terry, I was a little taken aback when he started rootin' and hollerin' for particular women. What?! It didn't stop there. He admitted to his enjoying movies like Pretty Woman, The Sweetest Thing, Serendipity and to watching shows like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

And it didn't stop there. But I won't go any further, as its best heard from him. Let's just say I demanded that he give back his man card (or just give it to me) more than three times last night.

What is a man card you ask? Well, it's a privilege that is granted to every man when they turn 21. You don't carry it, it just is a part of you. Being a male doesn't equate to mancard ownership. I have plenty of male friends who I am close to who don't have a mancard for various reasons. They are wonderful people no less. Really it is a philosophy of life, if you will, that ensures a common understanding amongst guys' guys.

With it, you can be allowed certain transgressions. Didn't iron your shirt in the morning? Flash the man card. Admitting that you like watching lesbians in front of your girl? Flash the man card. Postpone a date with a hottie to watch your favorite football team on Monday night? Flash the man card. Piling up the your underwear in the corner of the bedroom when the hamper is one foot away? FTMC (Flash The Man Card). And last but not least, order a beer in a high brow restaurant? FTMC.

Of course, the man card should be used wisely and sparingly. Overreliance on it will result in the owner of the man card being surrounded by other single men only, as all of the good women would have been taken by then.

That being said, the man card is a privilege, not a right! There are conditions under which the man card may be taken away, by force if necessary. Waking up in the middle of the night with a woman on top of you and asking, "Why don't we just date?" Take away the man card (TATMC). Being surrounded by 5 or more women at a club and asking "I feel uncomfortable, I need to call in another man." TATMC. If you're watching the Bachelor and not thinking, "Sh*t, if I were the Bachelor, I'd be hittin' it with each one of em each night, or maybe a couple at at time." TATMC.

Now, some of you may be asking, "Well Richard, aren't you married? How does that affect your mancard ownership status?" Well, being married is the best part about being a mancard owner, if you marry the right person. My wife tolerates my mancardedness and even enforces it on occasion. Once married, you must enforce the spirit of the mancard. If you see another single male not living up to the standard set by the man card, you must warn them. Further crimes committed against the spirit of the mancard must be penalized by temporary suspension of the mancard, or (gasp) even complete removal of the mancard from the criminal's possession. Although no longer protected by the mancard, being married with the mancard at least guarantees some understanding of the man's mistakes.

This being said, I must say that being an idiot will threaten your status as a mancard owner. Blatant mistreatment of women, wearing pink underwear, or disregard for the safety of those around you will guarantee a mancard-less life. And yes, you can be metrosexual and still be a mancard owner, although on the whole, you'll just have to explain yourself more often than not.