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


The Microcosmic Reason I Hate Apple

Here is the perfect microcosmic example of my macrocosmic hatred of Apple's flawed, "We know better than our users." philosophy:

If you type the possessive "its" on an iPhone you will see it converted to the possessive contraction "it's" unless you take the additional action of canceling the replacement. The iPhone isn't intelligently considering grammatical context, it's just dumbly replacing it every time you try and type it, and Apple doesn't trust you to disable its auto-correct feature or believe you have the intelligence to correctly handle adjusting the individual replacements it does.

That is the epitome of Apple's arrogant user-interaction philosophy, and why I hate them.



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.



The Meaning of Pizza

My tummy hurts.  I just ate too much of a pizza, a pizza I had delivered from Chicago.  From the best authentic Chicago pizzeria in Chicago, Lou Malnati's Pizzeria.  Shipped overnight, packed in dry ice.  Hard not to eat too much of it.  I bought it to craft a moment.  But, the moment came and went, unhappened.

I met a harmless girl at the cafe a few weeks back.  We had a perfect, orchestrated social interaction.  I was like a conductor leading the interaction.  It was one of my finest social moments ever.  I hate the humans, a little bit.  Which is to say I love them like God did back in the day.  Back when they pissed him off and didn't do what he wanted and he didn't understand why, so he smote them all except for that Noah fella and all them critters.  I don't plan on smiting anything, besides the grievous ethical problems, I'm just not that energetic.  But I suffer God's misunderstanding of humans, from time to time.  So, these little perfect moments mean something to me, when everything sings with a harmony that feels like it was always and forever just unheard.  And I get excited thinking I found my groove.

And so I bought the pizza.  She was a recent transplant from Chicago, weeks recent. And I smoothly asked her to join me on the weekend for the Hollywood Forever Cemetery movie with some friends.  And she eagerly accepted.  And I got the pizza because in the course of our conversation she'd recommended it, and told me you could get it online, and so I did after some initial considerable confusion with me thinking she said "Illuminati's Pizza" and "Lou Minati's Pizza".  Because it's been years since I had a decent Chicago pizza, and there's only once place in the whole of Los Angeles that does a Chicago style pizza, and it's in Silverlake, and I wasn't sure how authentic it really was (it resembled not at all the Armand's Chicago-style pizzeria of my Washingtonian youth).  And we talked a few times leading up to that Saturday, but then the day came, I called, and she suddenly had other plans.  She flaked, but asked me to ask her again.  Humans.  I don't know what to make of them.  I should make it clear my intentions were not unusual or extreme.  This wasn't meant to be a date, I had no specific interest in her beyond her being interesting, the banter being fun, so let's pal around.  I didn't find her attractive, but she was not necessarily particularly unattractive either.  (All this I say relative to me, I have no idea what the rest of the world thinks of her.  They probably found her prettier than I did, my tastes being a few degrees off the norm.)  She was in that gray area where given the right interactions I may have come to find her prettier, but I had no such ambitions, my interest was purely platonic.  And she flaked, and even though she very pointedly said she hoped I'd ask her again, when I did, I got a similar result.  She was busy again with work, and her brother, and she is now traveling about the country on work errands.  And, to my way of thinking, and I think the world's thinking as well, if she'd had any significant interest in hanging out, it would have happened by now.  Ah well.

I don't mind that nothing came of it.  I don't mind perhaps not being her cup of tea.  I have no expectations that I be anyone's (though am grateful that I am some people's).  And perhaps her new job is demanding, and her new apartment requires setting up, and her brother...  but I just wish society didn't so much rely on subtleties and subtexts.  Because I drown in the excess of available cues.  And I miss out on quite a few friendships and dates as I always err on the side of caution.  It's like if you know your sense of smell isn't so good, it's better to be safe than sorry and scream "Fire!" when you think you smell even the slightest hint of smoke; it's like the identical opposite, actually.   I won't call her again.  Two attempts on my part was enough.  Who needs the bother?
I should perhaps stick with the people who make more native sense to me (though there are few).

The pizza was good.  Some people (like my dad) have this charming notion that everything happens for a reason.  Ah, pretty, lucky little imbeciles.  If I believed them I would say, "I met her solely so that she could introduce me to Lou Minati's pizza."



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.