The Odyssey (except replace boats with chicken busses)

I apologize for the lack of updates. Those who know me (why else would you read this tripe) are aware that was traveling in Central America a few weeks ago. As developing nations, civil war, diarrhea and ridiculously disparate income levels are a comedy gold mine, I figure I can kill two birds with one stone.

I took a surfing lesson while in Costa Rica. I’m not generally one to brag, but I was awesome. Surfing (or, as they say in Ess-pang-yol, “hacer surf”) is not terribly easy, but when I say “awesome,” I don’t mean “competent” so much as I mean “relatively certain to revolutionize the sport.”

Allow me to elaborate. Surfers wax philosophical about one the sport’s hardest tricks, “hanging ten.” For those without my surfing acumen, hanging ten involves moving to the front of your board and dangling your toes over the edge. I decided that sounded a bit pussy, so I created my own trick, which I call “flailing twenty.” Unlike hanging ten, flailing twenty requires that your entire body leave the board and enter the ocean. I not only mastered the trick, but was able to perform it while swearing loudly and swallowing large amounts of sea water.

My travel mate Jake, not to be outdone, managed to complete the flail twenty and, with amazing consistency, whack his head on the board upon resurfacing. We lovingly named this trick the “daño en mi cabesa.” We could tell by our instructor’s yelling and screaming from the shore that our new style put his livelihood in serious jeopardy.

But the vacation wasn’t all fun and games. We learned a lot about cultural differences between gringos (Spanish for “American that needs a shoe shine”) and ladinos (literally, “one for whom ‘now’ means ‘in forty-five minutes or when the bus is full, whichever is later’”).

Here in the Minnesota, much political debate focuses upon the recent decision to issue pistol conceal and carry permits. In El Salvador, the question is how many locks to put on the gun cabinet in front of the dance club. They don’t bother concealing them; they give them to a concierge the same way we would a jacket to the coat check clerk. In some ways, this gun culture is nice, particularly when the assault rifle toting guards use their, ummm, influence to persuade some native giving you the ‘sieg hiel’ to move along.

All in all, the trip was a success. No one mugged us, our Spanish improved and we saw a lot of mountains and chickens and Central American people.

Great Expectations?

Since I am a twenty-something male, it should come as no surprise that I visit websites designed for twenty-something males. Online dating services, understandably, advertise heavily on these sites:


Today’s twenty-something, is, after all, a busy professional, etc., etc. But the advertising proffered by the services

lack in two main ways.

First, I am well aware that the women featured in the above two advertisements are not, in all likelihood, actual members of the services advertised. Single women who look (and dress) like those above are either:

1) between professional hockey player boyfriends, or;

2) charge a thousand dollars a night.

Second, and more importantly, as a straight male I would far rather see advertisements featuring attractive men.

Allow me to explain. Online dating is perhaps the one industry in which showing the product you hope to sell decreases the likelihood that you have it to sell in the first place. After all, the advertisements above appeal to whom?

Men.

So when a man sees the ad and joins the service, what does he find inside?

A bunch of other men interesting in ogling internet boobies.

Joy. If I wanted to chill with a bunch of hyper-masculine, lonely straight males I’d hit up Brother’s every Thursday. But think of the reverse. A woman who sees a (tasteful) advertisement featuring an attractive male thinks: ‘there must be some attractive males there. Finally, a dating service for me!’

Promoting this thinking is advantageous in two ways. First, there are more women period. Second, the fact that they expect tasteful attractive men makes it easier to fool them into thinking you are one.

So dudes, resist the urge to prove the advertisers right about their classification of you and only sign up for the dating services whose ads feature the studliest of studs.

An Open Letter to 89.3 The Current

Minneapolis has a new, brilliantly diverse public radio station. I listen to the station for its variety, and some day, when I am no longer struggling through school, I will even become a member.

But diversity always comes with problems. Today, I was assailed by such problems one time too many, and I feel the need to air my grievances.

Allow me to begin at the beginning. This afternoon was sunny and unseasonably warm for Minnesota, so as I drove past one of our many urban lakes, I rolled down the windows of my car. As I rounded the north side of the lake, the DJ announced the start of the next set, which featured Omega Watts, an up and coming hip hop group I enjoy. I turn up the radio and sing through the song. The sun hits my face as the next song starts, blaring out my open windows. Your Love is Better Than Chocolate by Sarah McLaughlin.

Now, I don’t have a particular problem with Sarah McLaughlin, but seriously, you cannot play a crank-up-the-volume-R&B single followed by a sensitive girl piano song about love and chocolate. Not only does Sarah kind of kill the upbeat mood, it makes those of us you enticed to turn up the radio look like pansies.