Tobacco, Sundries, and Advice

So I run across this place tucked into a small corner near Nationals Stadium, and immediately I am intrigued. Advice? I need some. I look on the Dude's price menu but there is no price listed for counsel.

I go up to the guy (who does look like the picture, by the way), sitting in a chair, arms crossed, and I inquire about how much he charges for advice.

"Free," he says.

I pour out my troubles. Been dating this woman, things are going really well until she abruptly stops returning my messages. Should I contact her?

Dude shakes his head. Doesn't even uncross his arms. "That ship has sailed."

I thank him and buy a Peroni.

The Dude has spoken. So shall it be done.

The Power of Ichiro

Ichiro tells us how many opposite field homers he's ever hit

You know the calendar has flipped over to another Spring Training when Ryan Braun is accused of taking PEDs, A-Rod is rehabbing from surgery, and yet another journalist has written about how Ichiro could hit 25-30 homers if he just wanted to because he hits so many in batting practice.

This year's first offender is the Bergen Record's Bob Klapisch. Take it away, Bob:

“[Ichiro] can hit the ball farther than any of them,” is what one bird dog said this week. Of course, there’s a huge gulf between those make-believe blasts at 5 p.m. and what the Yankees actually need from Ichiro once the game begins. But the point nevertheless has traction: What if Ichiro really did change his approach to take advantage of the Stadium’s short right-field porch over a full season?

Actually, there’s statistical proof that suggests Ichiro morphed last summer, nearly quadrupling his home run ratio after being traded to New York. Ichiro managed one HR every 100 at-bats with the Mariners, but, upon becoming a Yankee, hit one every 26 in the Stadium.

Those aren’t exactly Barry Bonds-like numbers, but they nevertheless suggest there’s more to Ichiro’s offense than meets the eye. His career high was 15 HRs back in 2005, so it’s not impossible to imagine 25 or so blasts if he so chooses.

Ichiro smiled modestly at the suggestion that the Bombers need him to recalibrate. “I’ve been going with one style for my career, and I think I’ll stick with it,” he said through an interpreter.

If any of this sounds familiar, it's because reporters said the same thing last year. And also the year before.

The problem is, regardless of how far he hits the ball in batting practice, even when he's ostensibly trying to hit home runs, they don't go particularly far: just around 380 feet, according to Home Run Tracker. Doubly annoying is Ichiro's typically coy answer about how he's sticking to his style. What style is that, Ichiro? Oh yeah, grounding out weakly to the second baseman.

Dear Brooks Brothers: Please Read "Blink"

I just read Malcolm Gladwell's Blink, and despite hating The Tipping Point, I thought it was pretty good. There's one section about a wildly successful car salesman whose secret is little more than trying not to pre-judge customers:

"Prejudging is the kiss of death," he says. "You have to give everyone your best shot. A green salesperson looks at a customer and says, 'This person looks like he can't afford a car,' which is the worst thing you can do, because sometimes the most unlikely person is flush."

Indeed, I went to Brooks Brothers a couple of weeks ago ready to buy a jacket. I didn't care how much it cost - $700, $1,000, $3,000, whatever. I just wanted a jacket that I really liked. So I walked in and it was like I was invisible. I passed two associates who completely ignored me. Then an old white guy came in behind me and they practically volunteered to hold his dick at the urinal. I was wearing jeans, a suit jacket, and oxford shoes; I wasn't dressed poorly compared to anyone else. There were a couple of coats I liked, but I didn't see my size, and fuck if I'm going to beg someone to take my money. Good job, assholes. Now Nordstrom has my Christmas bonus.

Brooks Brothers is the worst, but the other consistently bad retailer is the watch store Torneau. I've been ready to buy shit there and I've left after nobody asked me if I needed help.

On the other hand, at Best Buy, they bug me too much. Maybe it's an Asian thing.

OKCupid Update:
17/50

Rejection Therapy: OKCupid

All right, so I hate rejection. Hate it. I guess nobody really likes it, but few take it as hard as I do.

I ran across this Bloomberg story the other day about a guy who goes around filming himself asking outrageous requests of people in the hopes of accumulating 100 total rejections and thereby desensitizing himself to it. What a great idea! I used to be terrified of public speaking, but after an...immersion therapy of sorts, it doesn't bother me anymore. In fact, I sort of enjoy it.

So, in the interest of self-improvement for the new year, I've decided to do something similar. I don't have time to film myself in public (plus the guy is Asian so I'd just be a copycat anyway), so I needed to find a way to a) quickly expose myself to a wide array of people, and b) make the stakes genuinely high (i.e., no applying to 100 nuclear physicist jobs because I know they'd never hire me and I have no emotional skin in the game). Then it hit me: OKCupid - it's perfect. It's free, it's fast, and as long as I make a genuine effort to write sincere messages to women I think I'd truly like, all rejections are core repudiations of my personality and/or physical appearance, for maximum burn. Nice!

Operational guidelines:
I. A "rejection" will be counted if:
a) Three days have passed after an initial message with no response
b) At any point in correspondence, gal in question bails, never to be seen again
c) A response is received but is negative in tone or content*
d) I get to count the ten I've already amassed

*Judges' rulings are final.

Edit: I can't even find 100 women I want to contact, so I'm paring this down to 50. Even that's going to be a challenge, once you take out the angry chicks, cat lovers, and Jews (I actually love Jewish women. Love 'em. But when have you ever seen a Jewish girl and an Asian guy? Never, that's when), there are like three people left.


   

Online-Dating Women: Please Be More Interesting. Thx

All right, so I think guys get a lot of well-deserved flak for writing online dating profiles that are cliched, clueless, creepy, and probably all sorts of other words that begin with "C." No argument there.

But I don't quite get the sanctimoniousness of women, given how fucking predictable and interchangeable all their profiles are. Usually they just break down into a few archetypes:

The Chip on Her Shoulder:
This one usually opens with something about how MEN CAN'T HANDLE AN INTELLEGENT [sic] WOMAN. Look, I know you're proud of the fact that you were the first in your family to graduate from Flyover State University, but the surest sign a woman isn't really that smart is that she tells you. Sort of the same way you can tell a man isn't rich. I have known some truly brilliant women who are undoubtedly amongst the most intelligent people in the world, and none of them ever complained about men not being able to handle them. Just stop dating dumb people.

The Sperm Bank Customer:
This broad typically has so many nitpicky requirements you'd think she were running a eugenics experiment. "Must be 6'1" or taller, white, good job, owns a car, has his own place, funny, charming, gentlemanly, doesn't mind that I'm fat." You're attracted to what you're attracted to, fine, but don't complain when you die alone.

The Fauxbtrotter
She makes sure to post the four photos of when she went to visit touristy shit like the Eiffel Tower and the Sphinx so it looks like she has an awesome globetrotting lifestyle when she's not tending to her three cats. Scuba diving photos and skydiving photos belong here too. On the other hand, post a photo of you straddling the border of India and Pakistan and you win instant respect.

The Artist
All of her photos are in black-and-white, and the most you can see of her is a silhouette. Is that her breast or her knee? She would prefer you not know.

The Lazy
She posts enough photos that you know she didn't sign up accidentally, but she didn't bother to fill out any of the text fields. Still gets bombarded with messages.