The Misadventures of Quinxy truths, lies, and everything in between!


The Headphone Magic Trick

I had a real life magic trick happen to me today...  It was pretty neat!  I'll call it the "Re-Appearing Bose Earbud Trick". It will lose a lot in the retelling...  but here goes.

The trick began last night when one of the rubber earbud caps came off my Bose headphones and disappeared.  Poof!  I knew it was lost in my car or at the motorcycle shop, I realized it was missing the moment I walked into my house last night.  I looked everywhere for it this morning but it was clearly totally gone, never to be seen again.  This afternoon I went to my desk drawer to fetch a replacement.  The headphones ship with 3 pairs of rubber caps, one set for each of small, medium, and large.  Since I had been using the large set, I expected to need to replace the missing one with a medium one.  But no!  The medium ones were there, the small ones were there, and there was one large one there, just like the one I was missing!  It was as though the ear bud cap had been removed from me yesterday by magic and secretly snuck into my desk drawer by magic.

I'm still trying to figure out how this trick was done!  I think I know, but I don't want to believe such a mundane explanation.

Truly this probably reads like a very boring story, it's too subtle...  but I think interpreted by a good writer it could have been a sublime little story.


Filed under: humor 1 Comment

Things I Hate & Love About Women: Volume XXIV

I started to write a very short list of two or three semi-humorous, semi-curious things I look to avoid in women and it somehow morphed into a longer, stranger list which would surely suggest many a neurosis to a trained psychoanalyst.  Ah well...  If one such therapist is reading, enjoy, and tell me what I've got and what pill will cure me. 🙂  Obviously there are no hard and fast rules in love, I'm sure I'd forgive a girl nearly every item on this list if I loved her so and so.

I dislike:

  • Pointy "witch" shoes.  The ones that were popular a few years ago.  Freaks me out.  I do not want to date a witch!!!  I don't not want to date a woman with voluntarily deformed feet.  I don't like sharp angles.  I mean, if you are an ice climber and these are for ice climbing, awesome, otherwise, NOOOO!
  • Makeup.  I never like it, but if you insist on wearing it, please don't use it to look unnatural.
  • Red nail polish.  I'm not really a fan of nail polish in general, but if you're going to do it, have fun, pick unconventional colors.  The classic red is so done...  Glow in the dark nail polish is a winner, black is a bit goth but I won't mind, grey might be cool, even orange or blue.  No nail art, though!
  • No long nails!!!  I don't mind if a girl's nails are an 1/4" of an inch or something, the better she can play guitar with, but if your nails are long enough that you can't do some things, or they break, then ick!  I have no idea why long nails would be fun or sexy for anyone.  It's a whole lot of scratchy, scratchy, pokey, pokey, uselessness.
  • High heeled shoes.  Not a fan.  I like tall women, sure, but I'd rather you just be your real height.  We can pause sometimes on stairs and pretend if you want to imagine you are taller.  I like Chuck Taylor Converse shoes on my women.  Or other funky, fun shoes.  I never want to hear a girl say to me, "Oh, I can't walk that far, because my shoes..."  We are ambulatory people!  Wear shoes you can walk, run, dance, play in!  I don't like those odoriferous Petri dishes they call Uggz.
  • Beer taste on the lips/breath.  Ugh.  Wine taste is slightly preferable, but still not my favorite.  My favorite?  Jolly Ranchers.  I wish all women were always sucking on Jolly Ranchers, but from a variety pack, ideally reflecting their mood towards me.  When they smelled of watermelon I'd know it was on...
  • Lacy underwear or underwear with flowers.  What makes that stuff sexy?  I have no idea, they turn me off.  Grandmothers wear that sort of stuff.  Oddly, though, I find fishnet stockings sexy (though I've never encountered any in real life).  I hope I'll be surprised with fishnets some day.
  • Dainty watches.  I hate that women are encouraged to wear tiny, dainty, functionless watches.  Poor dears, they deserve the same rights to wear watches with tons of features like the men's.  I once had a crush on a girl in a college physics class because she had a watch with a chronograph!  A year later I was in a math class with her and I discovered that my crush was all built on a lie!  The chronograph dials on the watch were just printed on the watch dial.  The story of my life.
  • Women who live within the limits of an inherited, "Women should do...".  Some people just seem to think the world should be a certain way, and I'm no fan of that.  I think the world should be the way you want it, screw society and its expectations; hard to do, but fight the good fight...
  • Women who "know" they are very attractive.  Nothing is uglier than arrogance.  Confidence, being comfortable with yourself,  feeling secure, those are grand things.  Arrogance is quite another.  Too many people on both side of the gender fence get their ego a bit stroked as a youth and spend the rest of their lives making people around them miserable.
  • Women who use their feminine wiles to get men to do things for them (pay bills, buy dinners, move furniture, etc.).  Using people sucks.  You're one step up below an escort, at least escorts can be respected for their relative honesty and straightforwardness in their social exchanges.  I haven't run into many of this sort, though.  I did make a friend who soon after  revealed to me she was sleeping with a guy because he would fill up her gas tank, and she was sleeping with another guy (at the same time) because he would take her grocery shopping, and another who...  Oh dear, she was physically a beautiful girl, but not so much inside. Our friendship was short lived.
  • Cowboy boots.  I'm sure cowboy boots are probably perfectly suited for cowboys.  But there is no excuse for any non-cowboys to be wearing them.  A woman or man in cowboy boots in a city makes as little sense as them wearing ski boots.
  • Smoking.  Ugh.  You have taken from me every ounce of interest I might have had in you and crushed it like you do your cigarette butts.  You smell like an ashtray, you taste like an ashtray, and you reek of addictive behavior.   Not for me.
  • "Nude" Pantyhose.  Ugh.  I used to think I hated pantyhose generally, but now I realize it's just the "nude" or sheer kind I dislike, mostly because I don't like something pretending to be skin color, that's just creepy like a snake shedding its skin.  And then at the crotch area the stitching on sheer pantyhose is right there, with flaps, and extra material, and I don't know...  it's just weirdly complicated and unattractive.

Things I love with women:

  • Winter wear!  Hats, coats, sweaters, mittens/gloves!  How I love layers!  Women look pretty in them, and when the time comes for their removal it just makes things so much more fun!  And put a woman in the snow, and wow!  I like it when pretty white flakes of snow land on their noses.  I would have been a very randy Eskimo.
  • Women who like driving.  There's something sexy about a woman who takes pride in her driving.
  • Sweetness, tenderness, vulnerability.  'nough said.
  • Multicolored socks/stockings.  Japanese girls sometimes rock this look.  But I don't know any.  And I am a little afraid of the Japanese when it comes to the bedroom and their tentacle porn.  🙁
  • Dancing.  I'm a bit too self conscious to really enjoy dancing myself, but I like women who don't have that shyness and might move me past mine.  I was once in a a gas station, in line, waiting to pay with my girlfriend of that time, and she started to dance subtly to whatever was on the radio they were playing.  It was a truly beautiful moment; I loved her so very greatly in that instant.
  • A yielding sexual aggressiveness.  I don't want a woman to be all corpse-y, that's no good.  But, neither do I want to be their bitch (nor they mine).  I advocate for a position of relative, exchangeable equality, with each person taking that controlling interest at different times, a communism of sex.  To each according to their sexual needs of the moment, from each according to their sexual ability of the moment, etc.
  • Creativity.  One of the most attractive things for me is creativity (however it is expressed, in their art, writing, or just the play of brilliant banter).
  • Freethinkingnes-ish.  In theory I like women who are freethinkers, but freethinking can also lead to freeacting which might include daily orgies and drug induced stupors and I'm not so keen on those.  I'm looking for someone who's probably a bit like me, freethinking in mind, but more conservative (cowardly?) in action.
  • Smilers.  I love women whose smiles elevate me, and everyone else.



Does a dog have Buddha nature?

Zen Buddhism includes a koan which asks the question, "Does a dog have Buddha nature?"

From what I gather, their answer is, "No."

But, I say, "YES!"

If I was a sculptor or a painter/drawer of any merit I would redraw Buddha as a dog and construct some vast and believable conspiracy which explained that the real Buddha was in fact a dog who wandered into a Hindu temple, lay beneath a Bo tree for 20 dog years and attained enlightenment, which he demonstrated by being released from desire; he longer reacted when the people of the temple offered him treats.  And everyone began to transcribe the dog's lesson, and reinterpret his meditative behaviors, and his glorious liberation from suffering, and want, and see him only as living in the perfect now.  But their first book of his teachings sold very poorly, so they made a few minor edits and Siddhartha Gautama turned from dog to a man.  And the rest is history.



Hyphenated Last Names

If you're about to be married and one or both of you lovely people  engaged in coupledom is considering merging your last names into one hyphenated monstrosity, I beg you, don't!  It's a stupid idea.

Whatever beauty your last name may have had is utterly lost in the union of the two, and this brilliant system you've come up with is woefully short sighted, as it doesn't scale.  Are your children going to inherit your hyphenated last name?  What if they end up meeting some lovely person who is no more a fan of giving up their last name than you or your spouse was?  Then they'll add on yet more hyphenated last names?

Be decisive, be bold.  Keep your original last names, pick the better of the last names, or make up a brand new and interesting last name you both will like (that will not harm your children), but whatever you do, don't hyphenate.



Settling into Self & My Mancrush on Damian Kulash (OK Go)

I was just listening to OK Go, which led to re-watching some of their amazing videos, in particular This Too Shall Pass (Band Version), and This Too Shall Pass  (Rube Goldberg Version), InvincibleDo What You Want, Get Over It, and more.  I must confess to a big mancrush on their lead singer, Damian Kulash. At this hour of night, seated outside my local writer's haunt, sipping peppermint tea, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in my lower back, from a muscle strained during a week of noble exertions, I am in a curious mood. I will admit to the lesser parts of myself. And to the part of me that wants to be Damian Kulash, wishes my face knew how to contort into his charming smiles, wishes my body knew how to move between the poses of his lusts (and plays at person-ified loves), wishes my brain could reduce life down to his sparer, baser words, wishes my voice could project his cool, wishes others would find in me the gravitational pull others (and I) find in him, and wishes my brain seemed as engineered for this world of busy, busy, busy peopled now. But I am not Damian Kulash. I am me; and that is, and must be, enough. The beauty of life must come from the struggle to be, not the becoming. And I am not bemoaning who I am, I have a sincere affection for me. But I may forever be finding new comforts in old skin; a protracted settling into self.


Update 12/12/2017:
I'd completely forgotten I ever wrote on this topic until today... Some years ago now, maybe in 2012 or something, I discovered much to my complete shock, I actually had known Damian Kulash. He was in my school. He was four years behind me, but I interacted with him a bit. I think I knew him mostly because his sister, Patricia (now Trish Sie, the OK Go choreographer) was in my class in elementary school and I was friends with her; she then went to my middle and high school's sister school.


The men and women who smoke cigars are…

...assholes. I define an asshole as one who routinely exercises their capacity to be an asshole, not one who is one 24/7. Hitler was an asshole, but he was also nice to his dogs. (Mandatory Godwin.) The reason that cigar smokers are assholes is because they have (generally) selected themselves into that group. They smoke a cigar consciously or unconsciously because of its association with power and privilege. They smoke cigars, and smoke them in public where I am observing them, comfortable in the knowledge that almost everyone (even cigarette smokers) are particularly annoyed by cigar smoke. In my experience only one capable of being an asshole pursues the accoutrement of power and privilege and is so comfortable unnecessarily offending others.


Every rule has exceptions, and I'm sure there are many people I've yet to meet who deviate from this one... but they appear to me a slim minority.


Tagged as: , No Comments

Did you see her?

I'm sitting outside at the cafe the other day and I strike up a conversation with this normal looking guy next to me.  He had a netbook similar to mine, and we got to talking about them.  The conversation expanded a bit and he was asking me for advice about jailbreaking an iPhone to do tethering.  All of a sudden he stops me and says, "Did you see her?"  I reply, "No, who?"  "Oh man, you missed out!  The woman who just walked by, wow!"

While I am staunchly heterosexual and enjoy a reasonable and quasi-artistic appreciation of the women who might happen by me in any given moment, I can't help but be a little confused by these sort of reactions I see from men. How exactly was that interaction supposed to go?

Was I supposed to say, "Yes, I did see her, thanks for checking to make sure I did.  Damn, she sure was beautiful.  Would you like to talk about what specifically you liked about her physically?"  Or perhaps I was supposed to say, "Oh, thank you, yes, I see her now, phew, let me go ask her out!"   Or perhaps, "Oh, yes, I bet she's just your type, would you like me to fetch her and introduce you?"  I don't know, it just seems like there's nowhere you can reasonably go with that conversation.  How do I benefit from having seen her?  How do we benefit by talking about her?

But I also don't understand strip clubs.  I don't understand why someone would go somewhere to pay a lot of money to get "all worked up".  I mean, it seems more logical to me to either make peace with being a "John" and find yourself a suitably affordable woman, or pursue a disease free evening at home with yourself, your little gentleman and his five friends, and a "bad" movie.

I suppose next time someone says something like this to me I'll just try to roll with it and see where it does go...

Tagged as: No Comments

High-Heeled Horror Show

I'm not fond of high heels, on women (or men, I suppose).  The other day I fell into a deeper analysis of why I dislike them as I saw several women in high heels walk past me at the cafe.  While I dislike the design of most, not really being a fan of the fancy or slutty ends of the female fashion spectrum, I realized that most of my dislike comes from what it does to a woman's walk.  Walking is usually a beautiful thing, the rhythmic coordination of a hundred muscles and a dozen or two joints shaped over tens of thousands of years of evolution to be the graceful and efficient movement it is today.  And then a woman puts on high heels and it's like she has undone 25,000 years of genetic fine tuning, making her articulations a clunky, unsteady mess.  Add a little fatigue or alcohol and the performance art piece grows uglier.  Some women can work it, no doubt, but few rise to the level of grace required to achieve parity, and I wish they would all just stop!


Filed under: humor No Comments

My Pet Peeves

We all have pet peeves, those people annoying me particularly are those who engage in...

  • Chewing food with open mouths.  Good lord.  I do not want to see the glorious process by which food is turned into slurry!  I do not want to have to remember to look away every time you take a bite and begin your mastications.  Honestly, were these people raised by wolves?
  • Tossing chewed gum on the ground.  You may think it will biodegrade, but take a serious look at the concrete around you one day, it's got lots of little oblong dark spots left by people who believe the same nonsense you do. 
  • Smoking.  Smoking and smokers are by my definition: annoying.  Most smokers further annoy me by tossing their cigarette butts on the ground under the theory that no one will mind and it will eventually biodegrade or be swept up by someone.  Smokers are usually fundamentally selfish people.  They believe others should tolerate their smoke, their breath, their butts, their breaks, their coughs, their...  Get over yourself.   
  • Coughing or sneezing without the token hand/elbow stifling.  If the event completely surprises you, ok.  It happens to the best of us.  But some people choose to do nothing, or are completely oblivious to the messages their bodies are sending them about upcoming events.  (People who fart indiscreetly under the same premise of surprise also bug the hell out of me.  If I can tell it's coming, you can too.  Take the necessary steps to do it surreptitiously or not at all !)
  • Checking or using their phone when we're dining or getting coffee.  If I haven't seen you in a week and you feel the need to respond to every little beep of your phone, we're not going to long be friends.  Glance at your phone, sure.  Respond to texts, Facebooks, or take calls from strangers, that's very rude and I have no patience for you.
  • Talking excessively about their significant other in ways which seem codependent or defensive.  I love love.  I love that you're in love with your flavor of the month or lifetime.  Yay for you!  But seriously, sound like the whole and independent human being you are, with a separate life and separate interests. 
  • Owning little, useless dogs.  There are many exceptions to this rule, since there are many excellent little dogs; I am not besmirching all little dog owners.  I am talking about the whole purse dog psychology and fashion which is ridiculous bordering on cruel.  Dogs are not a fashion accessory, they are noble beasts descended from wolves, meant to tear the throats out of deer.

Anyway, those are a few of my many pet peeves.


Tagged as: No Comments

Peanuts (the comic): An Analysis of My Hatred

Peanuts (the comic) is the perfect storm of all my core hatreds.  I detest things which get grossly disproportionate attention.  I detest things which have no characters I can relate to.  I detest swishy jazz music (love dixie land, love Satchmo, like Ellington, hate those free form make-it-up-as-we-go stoned-out-of-our-gourd-but-our-audience-won't-notice).  Peanuts has wasted god knows how much printed page space for god knows how many years and elicited in its entire run sixteen and one half chuckles, four of those were from drunk people who were reading it upside down.  Charles Schultz made millions upon millions.  Newspapers paid millions upon millions.  And have you seen that "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown" play?  I was forced to see it twice as a kid.  You know what happens in it?  Nothing.  You know what costumes they are wearing?  None!  Snoopy is just a dude, wearing a white shirt.  No dog mask.  No tail.  No barking.  And Charlie Brown is just a dude with that stupid yellow shirt with the zig zag.  Oh my god.  Make an effort, people.  That's what that sort of jazz does to you, that's who goes to see it!  And everyone on Peanuts sucks.  I love dogs.  But if Snoopy was a real dog I'd euthanize him with extreme prejudice.  I hate him worse than Scrappy Doo, and thinking about Scrappy Doo churns bile in my belly.  And who else is on that show? Bunch of little shits. You've got smelly guy, piano guy, psychiatrist girl, pull the football bitch.  I mean Linus was the only major character I didn't absolutely hate, but he was still pretty god damn smug about his smarts.  And all it is is swishy jazz, swishy jazz, swishy jazz.  When adults talk, when stuff happens, etc.  And what the fuck is with the WWI Snoopy cousin flashbacks with the flying doghouse?  Mother of god, get the damn dog some PTSD medication and treatment, he's been suffering for 90 freaking years now.  Anyway, that's the gist of why I hate it.  I could go on for hours, especially if I got drunk at a Peanuts-themed bar.  Ohhh..  And WTF is the name Peanuts for?  Name it Snoopy for god sake.  The good people of Hanna-Barbara didn't name their show Cashews when it was really about Scooby Doo.  What a pretensious asshole Charles Schultz was.  He and Hitler are the only good reasons I can think of for not curing mortality.  To think of an infinitude of time and space stuck with those two...  Ugh.