What Do Women (Really) Want?

As you may know, I’ve recently gone through what I hope is my final at-bat in the world of on-line dating.  A moment of reflection. Of the many things that struck me about what women are looking for is how often they wrote that they would like to meet a man  who could “make me laugh”.  Of course, this isn’t news to anyone.  (How many Seinfeld  episodes contain either Jerry’s or George’s remark…”I know she liked me…she laughed at all of my jokes”).  But it renewed my interest in that dynamic,  i.e.  a woman wants a man who will make her laugh and a man is eager to be that person .   There aren’t  too many other things that work so well between the sexes.  But it begs the question …”why is this so?”  And… how come, from what I hear, is it so uncommon for a man to say outright that he’s interested in meeting  someone who  makes him laugh?  How and why did this happen?  And,  even more  to the point,  is it true? 

It’s hard to imagine that this has always been the case.  In primitive cultures, men were often characterized as “hunter, gatherers”; women portrayed as “keepers of the hearth and home”.  My research on this has  turned up neither the term,”hunter, gatherer, comic” nor “keeper of the …., and audience”.  Apparently some time in last several thousand years this interplay has developed.  Of course, it’s  also possible that  this phenomenon isn’t  universal and may be limited to certain societies and cultures.  I wonder, for example, are Inuit men who have  good senses of humor,  getting all the hot cool babes in Alaska.  That would be interesting to know. Maybe someone with even more time than I seem to have can delve into this and come back with an exhaustive study.  I’m really much better at raising questions, anyway.    

And then, there’s the whole notion of whether what women say they want is what, in fact, wins the day.  I recently saw a performance by a very clever singer who addressed this in a song  entitled, Bossy Man.  His premise is,  that despite egalitarian sensibilities we’ve  come to embrace, women still want to be  in a relationship where the man is in  charge.  Where the man  calls the shots.  Listening to  Bossy Man, I couldn’t help but think of how often I had read that a woman wanted to meet a man who “is vulnerable”.  On paper this sounds fine, but believe me, what’s really meant is they would like to meet someone who is somewhat vulnerable….. not too vulnerable. Fortunately,the amount of vulnerability that is acceptable is easily determined by the equation: v=lX6nx³÷ qsi ².  (Of course, if the guy is really,really cute, the equation is moot.) 

 But, to get back to the matter at hand– women putting a premium on meeting a guy who is funny– I wonder, say, would most women prefer  Woody Allen (I know,I know-really poor choice) to Robert Redford (not such a good choice either)?  I doubt it.  Even though Redford is notorious for not being funny, my bet is they would choose him hands down. Or Chris Rock over Denzel Washington?  Probably not.  Or Jerry Seinfeld over George Clooney?  No way.  So maybe, what we’re learning here is that we men have to take what women write with a grain(load) of salt…..to read between the lines.  Actually, as I think about it, it’s not “we men”– it’s you men.  Happily, I’m so over all this.  You guys are on your own. 

Very funny but......

  

Cute, but not so funny

Lifestyles of the ……

A few weeks ago, I went to a party at the home of some friends of mine who live just down the road from me in the country.  They have a gorgeous place–a barn that they’ve renovated with a huge living room that’s perfect for the parties that they throw.  When I got there, I didn’t know anyone but struck up a conversation with a guy named Peter.  These friends, Karen and Pat, have a tennis court where I frequently play; so it’s not unusual to meet other people who play on their court.  Peter asked me how I knew our hosts and I explained that I had gotten friendly with them from playing tennis together.  When I asked Peter if he also  knew our hosts through some tennis connection,  he told me that it was a business relationship, not tennis, that brought him to the party.  He then offered, “I don’t play tennis…which is really ironic since my step-father was Don Budge“.  For those of you who are too young to know (and for those of  you who are old enough to know but probably have dementia), Don Budge is one of the tennis gods–the Roger Federer of the 1930’s and ’40’s.  I was blown away!  If Don Budge had been my step-father, believe me, you would know about it before I even told you my name.  

I had some fun with Peter about this and moved on to some other topics.  But not before, in some desperate attempt to let him know that I also had some celebrity in my background, I told him that an ex-girlfriend’s uncle had been the sailor in the famous Edward Steichen photo in Times Square on VJ day.  I don’t think Peter was impressed.  Before we finished our conversation, I learned that Peter owned a lot of property in the New Paltz area and was probably pretty wealthy. 

As the evening wore on, I met a number of other people I hadn’t known before.  Each one seemed to be more well off than the one before. I met an interesting couple who, among other things,  had and flew their own airplane.  This was followed by a very brief meeting with a woman whose “boyfriend” owned a number of airports in the area.  That’s right….airports.  Jeez!!  Not a country bumpkin in the crowd.  I tried really, really hard to explain that my house down the road was my vacation home, a second home.  I don’t think anyone was impressed.  It occurred to me that if I was going to feel like a piker, I might as well be in the Hamptons.  

Still, all in all I had a really nice time.  At the end of the weekend, on the way back to my other home in Brooklyn, I stopped off on the Upper West Side to meet someone.  Sometime during dinner, as we were comparing biographies, J mentioned to me that her mother had been a Miss Subways. For those of you too young to remember (and for those of you who are old enough to blah blah blah,  you know the rest……), Miss Subways was a beauty pageant held  for New York locals  from the 1940’s through the 1970’s.  The winner’s photo and brief biography would be displayed in subway cars throughout the city.  Sadly, this is exactly the kind of thing that impresses me. 

When I finally arrived back at my primary home I was feeling a bit insecure and  very sober about the lack of celebrity in my life.   Even as I understood this kind of thing is really unimportant in the scheme of things…. I was still disturbed by that void.   And then it came to me!  I remembered… remembered that my father had been this close to being elected the Justice of the Peace of that metropolis,  Kerhonkson, NY!   Don Budge, Don Shmudge.    Hah!

Don Budge

Uncle Carl

Miss Subways

Almost Justice of The Peace

 

The 60% Solution

There was an op-ed piece in The Times the other day by David Brooks that upset me.  He suggested that if the Democrats lost the Senate election in Massachusetts and had their majority reduced to 59 votes from 60, any effort to pass health care by using some procedural shenanigans would be “political suicide”.  I found this interesting and kind of hypocritical. After all, if the Republicans use their 41 votes to filibuster any health care reform bill, is that not preventing passage by another kind of procedural shenanigan? (You don’t have to answer that).  Apparently, being in the minority and blocking all kinds of legislation is just “business as usual” and has no political risk….but moving  Obama’s agenda along while having only 59% of the Senate instead of 60% in agreement on  policy issues is “suicide.” Is this not ironic? I wrote a letter to the editor making these points but the anti-Semitism at The Times is so deep-seated that I doubt it will see the light of day.

As I’ve mentioned before, I have almost no interest in writing about politics.  This, in spite of being a “political junky”–at least, up ’til now.  I’m currently  in the process of re-examining my overwhelming interest in the political theater.  This is an inchoate (god, I’ve always wanted to use that word–first time;  hope it’s close to a correct usage) analysis but maybe together, we can figure this out.

My greatest interest is in national politics;   I barely follow the stories any longer of what’s happening in Iraq (apparently, my attention span is about seven years) and my interest in Afghanistan is waning.  I’m starting to develop a theory that my concern with the national political horizon is psychological….that it is less about being an informed citizen and more to do with satisfying some less-than-healthy parts pf my psyche.  So, here it is (be gentle):  Much of what has gone on in this country in the last ten years has been enormously frustrating to me.  But, the silver lining in that cloud is that I’ve been able to have boundless feelings of righteous indignation.  These feelings provide a kind of satisfaction…a comfort, that have their own solace.  And… and (pay attention–this is the important part) are so familiar!

This neurosis is not mine alone.  I think one could argue that the whole notion of “rooting for the underdog” is just more of the same.  All, part of a piece.   Think about it–the underdog hardly ever wins;  so why be invested in an event which almost certainly will leave you unhappy and frustrated.  The answer is simple–your mother didn’t hold you enough.  (Or maybe too much).

As all of us are,  I am, a work in progress.  For me, dealing with the false satisfaction of being denied is one of my “final frontiers”.  Changes like this can be glacier-like but sometimes baby steps are what gets the ball rolling.  So, I’m doing what I thought was once impossible… I’m going to start rooting for the overdog.  That’s right, I’m becoming a Yankee fan. Let’s Go Mets Yankees!!

Loud And Vague

I wish I could take credit for the title of this post.  I can’t.  It was spoken by Enaj,  one of the members of my writing workshop.  I can’t remember the context in which it was said….but our entire group fell in love with the dichotomy it posed.  For my part, I couldn’t help but wish that I had used it as the name of my blog.  (Believe me, ironicman is not what I’d like to be either called or known as). We also thought it would be a great name for a law firm–imagine:  ”Hello, you’ve reached the offices of Loud and Vague. Can I help you?”      

About my workshop group.  We are the remnants of an organized class that we all took together….there are eight or nine of  us.  A very disparate group, mostly women and mostly young (at least, a lot  younger than I am).  It’s a bit disappointing, but I’m not the oldest member.   But, as with every writing class/workshop that I’ve ever  been a part of, I am certainly the oldest man.  Being an anomaly is not something I set out to become….but  I take to it fairly well and with a certain amount of grace, I like to think.     

The people in my  workshop  are very smart, interesting people who also have something to say.    I’m not being artificially nice here just because they might read this.  They won’t.  (For reasons unknown to me, they are not  regular readers of the blog).   We meet every two or three weeks at one another’s houses on a rotating basis.  The thing is…. lately, it’s become much more of a  social group.  Less and less writing is going on–more and more eating and drinking.  As a matter of fact,  there’s more writing going on in my drinking workshop than in my writing one.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing; if you’re like me, you know how hard it is to make new friends   So…any port in a storm. 

 I’ve included a photo of the group…taken by timer with Aswini’s camera (it looks like I’ve tried to protect her identity, but I haven’t).  I don’t know how she did it, but most of us in the photo look so much less attractive than we are.  I think she must be using an Ugli camera (off-brand) she got in Cambridge (UK) where she’s now studying.  Aswini is the youngest member group; despite that, she and I get along really well.  In fact, if I were thirty years younger, Indian, smarter, lived overseas and a few other things….well….  it’s that close.       

The most important part of any workshop (after the food) is the critique and analysis offered by one’s peers.  It’s best to check your defensiveness at the door (a skill I’m still learning). The following is something I wrote about another workshop I was in.  It applies to this one as well.  (It’s so cool having my own blog–I get to quote myself.)    

     A number of years ago, a woman  I was seeing invited me to a wine tasting being held by a wine club she belonged to.    I’d been to tastings before, but none were anything like this.  I found myself in a private room of an Upper West Side restaurant with about a dozen oenophiles.   Not only were they serious, they were joyless, as well.  This is not a setting in which I shine.   We were there to evaluate Bordeaux’s. The labels were hidden; we all sipped the various wines and offered our critiques. The comments included some of the descriptions I’m familiar with, “fruity, oaky, complicated, tannic, etc.”  But along with these I heard “it tastes like a left bank Bordeaux”.  I know I’m a boob about this stuff so I didn’t say anything, but I remember thinking that which bank it came from  might depend upon which way you’re facing, no?  The descriptions became more and more esoteric culminating in a description of one wine as being “angular.”   If I didn’t know it before, I now understood that I was in way over my head.  When, it was my turn to give an opinion, I usually muttered something oh-so sophisticated like, “Liked it.  I liked the way it tastes”. 

   When I’m offering  critiques in  my writing workshop, I often feel that my remarks don’t have much more depth or nuance than “I like the way it tastes.”  Yes, of course there’s the tried and true “show, don’t tell” but frankly, my own experience with hearing that criticism has soured me on its use.   The other members of the workshop have a much better handle on this—-they have very reasoned ideas for their comments and I envy their insights and incisiveness.  I’m sorely lacking in this area.   Just to save face, I may need to pass along a comment along the lines of:  “I found your essay very full-bodied, tawny and somewhat angular. Keep up the good work.”  

  

"The almost writing writers workshop"

Coming Out…

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.  Or at least, not at this time.  My son Jesse, called me a few months ago to tell me that Stefanie, his wife, was pregnant.  So, here I am…outing myself.  I’m going to be a grandfather.

Of course, I’m thrilled for them.  A bit less so for myself.   There’s a couple of reasons that I’m not over the moon about this.  First,  I see this as just another nail in the coffin of the aging process against which I endlessly struggle.  Yet another sign that I’m no longer forty….or fifty or fifty-five  (you see where this is going).  But what troubles me even more is,  that at this particular time in my life, I’m single.  Not ’single’, as in ‘not married’ but single as in, unattached.  I had never expected that to be the case when this moment came along.  And, if they’d had the kid a year or two sooner (or god knows how much later) things would be different.    This is one of life’s markers and it would be so much more exciting to celebrate with a partner. But as they say, everything in life is timing.

I can only see this as complicating my dating life.  While having a puppy may be a real draw for meeting women,  somehow I don’t see pushing a baby stroller with my grandkid in it as the world’s biggest turn on.  I know it wouldn’t be for me.   Somehow grandmothers and sex are not two words I use in the same sentence (other than the one I just wrote).  When I think “grandmother”, I get an image of my bubbe  with her flapping triceps area  and can’t imagine ever getting an erection again.

And then again, there’s the problem around choosing a name to be called. I suggested to Stefanie that I just  be called “Neil”.  She looked at me like she wanted to kill me.  (My guess is the same would go for “Lien”).  Jesse is very easy-going— had I said I want the kid to call me “Al Capone”, it probably would have been okay with him.  So, now I’m scrambling for some name that doesn’t sound like “Gramps” and doesn’t  conjure up an image of an amalgam of Walter Brennan, Gaby Hayes, Wilfred Brimley and Burl Ives (you could probably throw Methuselah into the mix also).  I will be the  only real grandfather….so at least  there doesn’t have to be that “Neil” part that comes after the term, à la ”Grandpa Neil” or “Poppy Neil”.  My former wife Aliehs’s husband may want to be called “Grandpa David” or something along those lines , but I’m going to insist that it be “Step-Grandpa David”.  (kind of just rolls off the tongue…no?).  I’m sure this is going to make me very popular in that household.

One name that’s been floated is  the Yiddish term ,”Zeide” (put a gun to my head first); I wrote an old friend asking if she thought that zeides had sex;  she said that she thought so.  I pressed her and asked if she thought THIS zeide would have sex.  I haven’t heard back.

Someone in my office knows of a grandfather called “Pop Pop”.  When I hear that , a vision of Orville Redenbacher enters my brain.  So, no, no to “Pop Pop”.  Someone else I know says that when her grandmother re-married all the grandchildren referred to the new grandfather as “Sir”.   I swear!  I’ll let you have that conversation with Stefanie.  Or better yet, aliehS’s husband can give that a shot.

I’m sure that it’s obvious that I don’t know my ass from my eyebrow when it comes to this stuff,  but I bet  there’s some alternative out there that I haven’t thought of,  that may fit the bill perfectly. It occurred to me, for example, that  there are all sorts of African names that I haven’t even considered.  Actually, as I think about it,the idea of being called “grandpa” in Ethiopian is kind of exciting.

… My Ass From My Eyebrow

There was an article in The Times a number of months ago that really intrigued me.  Nicholas Kristof wrote about an assortment of illnesses and abnormalities that were showing up as a result of some troubling chemicals called phthalates that  appear in modern life, often in  plastics, hair conditioners, toys, fragrances., etc.  There is some evidence that these phthalates “feminize” male fetuses.

There is something called “anogenital distance”—-the distance between the anus and the genitals, which is typically twice as long for males as for females. (Don’t you love science!)  Apparently, the presence of these chemicals is shrinking that distance and is causing a  “feminization” of  some baby boys…..resulting in undescended testicles and less penis volume.

I know this is no small or laughing matter so it’s with some caution that I continue. (But, anything even near  the penis is always of enormous interest to me).  A couple of things:  How in the world did anyone ever become aware of the difference in anogenital distance (AD) between men and women.  Is that the result of some locker room talk?  Or is it some sub-specialty of some other sub-specialty? This is just the kind of thing that keeps me up at night.

I bet that the difference can’t be huge–it’s not like the AD for men is a foot or two and women is half that.  My guess is that it’s more along the lines of maybe,  2″ and 1″ or something like that.  Just to be clear….and to ensure that people will continue to shake my hand (and more),  I haven’t  taken an actual measurement either of myself, my friends and/or romantic partners. (Also, probably a turn-off to show up with a retractable tape measure–at least, on the first date).

I imagine the scientists who do this kind of research are always looking for assistants for the “ass” “leg work”.   The real estate business continues to be (when seasonally adjusted) really slow.  And, I seem to have an aptitude for numbers.  I also happen to love latex gloves…  so maybe there’s an opportunity here for me to pick up some extra spending money. I’m not sure how one would look for that kind of work.  As best I know, Craig’s List doesn’t have that category (yet).

Just one more thing… in my never-ending and seemingly futile attempt to coin new terms, it would really be nice….and I mean really nice,  if collectively we start to make the transition from….”not knowing my ass from my elbow”  to … well, I think you know what I’d like.

Everybody Lies

I’m a real fan of the TV series House.  Hugh Laurie plays a cynical, acerbic doctor whose  mantra when trying to track down the origins of a patient’s disease is that,  ”everybody lies”…meaning you can’t necessarily trust the information they’re providing.

I’ve been on-line dating for a while and I’m ready to talk about some of my experiences.   One thing is clear….(almost) everybody lies;  your favorite blogger also.  Not face to face, but in their on-line profiles.   It might be about their height (it’s more likely for men to lie about this); their relationship status–separated, divorced, never married; their body type; but mostly, they mis-state their age.  It’s not unusual to meet someone for a drink or dinner and be informed early on that ”I’m not really  ’x’ years old but rather ‘y’. ”  (In the history of on-line dating, ”y” has never been less than “x”).  This has happened to me pretty frequently  over the last several weeks.  Usually, I counter with, ‘well, I’m actually a few years older than I said I was”.  (see Note)  And then we joke about the absurdity of the situation we find ourselves in.  But, a friend suggested to me  that the next time this happens, I should counter with…”I lied also….I’m really a woman”.  I think that could be fun.  And believe me, this enterprise needs to be  a lot more fun.

Another hallmark of the on-line dating experience is the lack of any normal rhythm in reaching out to someone, them getting back to you, talking on the phone, and then the coup de grace, the holy grail…meeting!  I find this particularly frustrating.  When I get agitated about this, Luap tries to calm me by saying things like “people are busy”, “it’s the holidays”, etc..  What he never says  is anything along the lines of  ”maybe she doesn’t think you’re cute (enough) and has real ambivalence and there are twelve people who she may be more interested in than you.”   I love Luap.

I had the following experience:  When I first went on-line, I wrote to someone who I thought was interesting.  She didn’t get back to me (in the cyber world this is de rigueur for a “not interested”).  But a few weeks later, I did get a note back with the typical…”nice to hear from you;   yes we have some things in common, etc.  Would be nice to hear back.”  She neglected to include her name.   She had continued our “conversation” as if I had written her yesterday.   So, since apparently, I am not as busy as the rest of the world, I wrote her back within a few hours. Another two weeks went by before I heard from her.  Again, with the usual pro forma stuff and again including an invitation to hear back from me.  My feeling was at the rate we were going, I would be arriving at our “drink” with a walker.  So, I wrote the following:  “Dear whateveryournameis , I think this relationship is moving a little too quickly for me.  I’m feeling a little suffocated.  It’s probably best that we slow things down.  The no name thing is particularly intriguing.  Kind of  an interesting variation on the ‘every woman should have a little mystery about her’ theme.”  If you hear back from her….please let me know.

Note: At the time that I confess that I’m older than my profile indicates, I  explain that I’m also a bit taller than I had stated.  Kind of a “good news, bad news” thing.  Sounds like an equal trade-off to me.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like……

I know that it’s been a long time between posts.  I’ll take your lack of concern as a sign of respect for my privacy. Thanks.  Ordinarily, these entries have a central (although sometimes meandering) theme.  This one doesn’t….and honestly, if they were all like this one is going to be, I wouldn’t blame you for giving up on me.  It’s written simply to remain in contact.

It’s been a tumultuous couple of weeks.  The debate over health care reform has twisted and turned me in so many ways.  Apparently, I’m very persuadable (sometimes, this is a good thing).  I listen to Howard Dean and I believe the entire watered down version should be scrapped.  And then, some liberal Senator (say, Sherrod Brown) says it’s a good start and something wonderful has been accomplished.  And I’m board with that.  But rather than figuring out where I stand by educating myself on the merits of this or other issues,  I’ve found that  the wisest thing for me to do is just take the opposite position  of De, the resident Republican in my office. Works every time.

And then of course, there’s Rachel Maddow…who I’ve fallen in love with.  There’s a couple of problems with that…she’s way younger than I am, already has a partner and she’s a lesbian.  The last two I could probably work around….the age thing will never go away.  Too bad. And what conversation about health care reform would be complete without some mention of Judas Joe Lieberman.  In the world of, “is it good for the Jews or bad for the Jews” –a world I sometimes  inhabit—-his actions are way beyond being ’bad’ for the Jews.  The man is a scumbag.  (It’s interesting that some off the epithets that I used as a kid have held up so well.  The good ones have real staying power).   

This brief hiatus from the blog (collectively, we have to come up with a better term…I’m thinking ‘clog’) has partly been caused by the fact that I’ve begun dating again.  This, I needed, like a luch en cup.  (ask your rabbi or your German friend sitting next to you). I’m on-line for all the world to see.  I’ve done it before and it’s every bit as awful as I remember.  I’ve been trying to come up with an analogy for what the experience is like.  The most immediate thing  that comes to mind is a parallel with  going to the dentist for a teeth cleaning;  it’s a really, really uncomfortable experience but you walk out with clean, sparkling teeth.  So, why endure the process?  Simple…as per the Woody Allen joke, I need the eggs.  I think we all need the eggs.

But in the land of unintended consequences, another benefit has surfaced.  Some of the women I’ve been in touch with have been sent the blog link (the blog Neil seems to do better than the real Neil) and claim to like it and will continue to follow it regardless of what does or doesn’t happen between us.   So, in my never-ending attempt to build readership, I’ve found this other vehicle.  More than likely, I will take these women for drinks and dinner.  Which means that I’ll probably be paying more per reader than  Mike Bloomberg spent for each vote he got.  But that’s okay.

And lastly, a brief office update.  Nire’s pregnancy …she’s due in March.  She’s growing and glowing.   She must think she’s having twins because instead of eating for two, she seems to be eating for at least three.  But, she looks wonderful. We haven’t decided on a name. She and Luap are being very cagey about this…as if it’s their decision alone…but I know they’re just preparing a bunch of options for the office to vote on.  I’m very keen on the given  name of  ”Luap” (just think what that would be backwards).  We’ll see.  We had our office Christmas party at a wonderful restaurant in the neighborhood.   We’re very, very close and loving….yet, when the bill came I found myself sitting alone at the table.  That’s okay too.

As my friend Jane says,

Peace, Love and Warm Pies

Neil

Sex, Nudity and Adult Sorrow

From the title, you might think this is just another one of those self-referential posts I’ve been writing lately.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I was watching TV last week and just prior to the show starting there was one of those viewer advisories, which often say that the show may contain  violence or adult language.  However, this one was different.   The caption said that the show that was about to follow might contain:  ”Sex, Nudity and Adult Sorrow”.  I swear this is true.  I’m not sure what show it was that  I was about to watch….it may have been The PBS News Hour or possibly, Californication.   I’m pretty sure it was one of those.

I was surprised at the effect the words themselves had on me.  Whoever made them up knew what he/she was doing.  They’re absolutely perfect.  Think if it…could there be a better word for “sex” than sex?  I think it has something to do with the “x”.  A letter that isn’t used that much; a bit exotic (there it is again); worth 8 points in Scrabble.  Really…..I can’t imagine any other set of letters that would convey the mystery, pleasure and intimate exchange involved in that act.  It conjures up, at least for me, an entire evening of flirting, touching, fantasizing and seduction.  (Often preceded by a nice meal)  God, I wish I had invented that word.

And then, “Nudity”.   Do I have to say more?  Just the word has me off envisioning naked bodies. Mostly…actually, only women’s bodies.  Honestly….and don’t repeat this….just the sight or sound  of the word  gets me hot.  My mind does some kind of somersault and I wind up in my teens looking at  my friend Natie’s Playboys.  How I miss those simple times.

I never knew that there was such a thing as “adult” sorrow.  But the distinction makes a lot of sense.   And really, if you think about it, it’s so much more serious than childish sorrow.  It just seems that, when you’re older, there’s so many more things that can go wrong and  so much less time to straighten them out.  And the word…oh, that word “sorrow”,  just saying it turns one’s mouth and lips into a frown.  Again,  whoever that genius was, he/she hit the nail on the head with this one.  “Sorrow”…say it two or three times and I bet you’ll start to tear up.  I know that I do.

CATCH A TIGER BY A (cock)TAIL (waitress)

I hadn’t planned to write anything about Tiger Woods’ shenanigans.  But in the middle of last night the title came to me and I just thought it was too good to keep to myself. (Narcissism reigns!!)

While this dust-up is microscopic compared with the to-do about Michael Jackson’s mysterious death, it still has taken up way more than its fair share of media coverage.  I’m really not that interested but what does interest me is thinking about the stories that are being waylaid while the celebrity coverage goes  on unabated.  But, as I’m thinking about it,  it’s  probably only another story about a more minor celebrity’s goings on  that is  being  thrown overboard.  So….I guess there’s no great loss here.

I, myself was once the victim of  being shoved out of the news by a more compelling news story.   In the early eighties I was working as a real estate agent.  I had a client that I had become friendly with  who was a segment producer for The Today Show.  He asked me if I wanted to be interviewed for a piece about the real estate market (which has for so long been a mainstay of conversations at cocktail parties.)  Of course, I agreed and he wound up bringing a film crew to the office where I was working.  I was incredibly articulate and had some brilliant insights (by my standards) in answering questions that were put to me.  All that, and a full head of dark, curly hair.  I really thought this was my chance at that talk-show host job (a la George Costanza) for which  I knew I was perfectly suited. 

The segment was supposed to air the following morning.  That evening, Anwar Sadat was assassinated.  And along with that calamity, went  my chance at my “fifteen minutes”.  Rotting away in some file at NBC.  What remains is  nothing more than  a blog posting   published twenty-five years later.