Strictly For The Teenage Boy

OK, so recently I wrote a long, sappy letter to my daughter for when she plans on dating.  And of course, I incurred the wrath of some.  One, who, until recently, I was pretty sure was, by all accounts was one of the most amazing creatures I had ever had the pleasure of getting to know.  Regardless of outcomes, I took the experience and used it to shape me.  That's what we do.  We get close to the fire, we get burnt, we learn how to avoid the danger or at least better prepare ourselves for the danger.

So, here you young man, you are now in your teens and you have got all of these conflicting feelings and thoughts racing through your brain like 3000 open tabs on your desktop. First all, slow down and take deep breaths.  I want you to enjoy this time because this will be the easiest it ever gets.   This is the last time you will ever have a chance to not be completely befuddled and bewildered by whoever it is you are attracted to.  In this case, because it's where I have experience... albeit not much... we are going to focus on women.

After the initial shock sets in and you finally realize they drive you insane, you can start to fully appreciate this gender and all it holds.  I cannot claim that I have any expertise anywhere.  It's obvious I am complete schmuck when it comes to what it is you're supposed to do or how you are supposed to act when it comes to women.  The best I can tell you is, put yourself in there shoes.

I don't mean literally like some Mel Gibson movie.  I mean, consider yourself the other side of this equation.  How do you feel?  How do you want to be treated?  Do you want someone looking at you like you're not as intelligent as them?  Do you want special treatment because you are supposed to be weaker?  Do you want to be feel as if there should be a ladies tee box in life because you just happen to be a woman?   So, why would you treat a woman any different?

If you're going to insist on picking up the check at dinner, regardless of how she feels, then you should pick up the tab for you and your guy friends when you go out?  I mean why not?  They are your equal.  Why would you treat them any different?

Now, I am not saying that you shouldn't be prepared or expected to be that way, because not everyone has this outlook, but just don't discount that the girl in this equation may be a little less willing to be subjected to an outdated practice.

Start to realize that if you want to be taken seriously and seen as someone a girl would want to be with, then you need to be the kind of guy that she would want.  Not the kind of guy you think she needs.  Here's the thing.  Any man can be needed.  So can any woman.  But, if you are unique and treat a person the way they should be treated.  Then you may be the person they WANT.  Now, granted it may not be in the cards.  Sometimes chemistry is harder to figure out than anything else.  Just because you think you've put in the required amount of effort, doesn't mean you are the right man.  It just means you did what was expected.

Stay loose, too.  Don't get too uptight.  I learned this hard way. Luckily, you can take every failure and use it to become better.  And you should.  Don't think for a minute that the next time will be any different if you make the same mistakes.   Make all new ones.   Sooner or later you're going to start doing things right.  It will suck that those you consider to have been worth the extraordinary effort are not looking for that kind of relationship and you can get discouraged fairly easy.  

But above all, don't let stupidity be an influence.  Some friends may tell you that you should treat a woman poorly in order to get her on your side.  Well, that's plain dumb.  First of all, let's say it works.  Then what?  Are you going to continue acting like a douchebag?  Why?  What do you stand to gain?  And even if they are continually in bad relationships, why would you want to be the guy?  Be better.  Be so damn good you can't be ignored.   And if that's the kind of thing they are destined to attracted to, why would you want to be there?  Remember, would you want to be on that side of the equation?    How would you want to be treated?

Learn and apply.  Be better.  Be a real man.  Let your actions be what defines you and remember that it's not just about you.  But be true to yourself or suffer the continual compromise of that which makes you special.  Be extraordinary.  And if that's not what they want, walk away.  You'll never convince them and why would you bother?  If it's a test, don't take it.  If it's some kind of hoop that will prove your intentions.  Make them known and walk away.  Don't be where you're not wanted because all you will do is make matters worse.   It's OK to wanna fight for something you think is worth it, but you can't make fetch happen.   Don't chase.  Walk away.  You're better off. 

Tellin Y'all It's sabotage

Being a shirt designer in the realm of pop culture based designs, I have had a lot of time to learn about intellectual property and trademarks and copyrights.   And while I do understand that protecting your intellectual property is important, you have to realize that there are some fights just not worth pursuing.

Goldieblox recently came under fire by The Beastie Boys because of a commercial that showed girls bucking the pink plastic kitchenware toys of the 1950s-2010s and turning to ingenuity, creativity, and science to show just how smart and cool they are.   They did it to the tune of the Beasties’ “Girls”.

This was brilliant as a OK Go / Rube Goldberg themed ad with the catchy tune in the background with the lyrics changed.   The problem is that The Beasties have a policy of not letting companies use their music in ads, and like most artists this includes music used without their permission.  But the Beasties and Goldieblox battled over who sued who first and, in the end, Goldieblox complied with replacing the music in the ad with an instrumental, you-get-it but-it’s-not-infringing-on-anyone, tune that still manages to evoke the idea of “Girls”.

What the remaining Beasties fail to realize is that this is the age of the Internet and social media and they simply invoked the Obi Wan Kenobi Threat.  “If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”  How?  GoldieBlox’s YouTube channel took down the other ad but you can still find it.

Not to mention, every news outlet’s own YouTube channel and story that picked up on the commercial shows the original video or a full story about the lawsuit, featuring the original commercial with the original song.  
 

 

But... the story takes another twist.

Remember how I said the commercial was reminiscent of OK Go?  That’s because the mechanical marvel was designed and built by Brett Doar, GASP “a stinky boy with cooties.” Who built the Rube Goldberg device for OK Gos “This Too Shall Pass” video.

So… who is the loser in all this mess?

Is it the Beastie Boys, who lose an ounce of respect from fans, especially females, for picking on little girls?  (Which they didn’t.  They went after a company who neglected to follow intellectual property rules.  The girls were the face of the story and thereby collateral damage.)

Is it Goldieblox, who got beat down by the establishment for trying to promote girls are equally as smart and creative as boys and got slapped for not following intellectual property rules?  (Which doesn’t matter because the consciousness of what they tried to do lives on in the form of undying Internet pixels and increased sales due to awareness.)

Or is it girls who are, once again, relegated to being an object.  The company wanted to promote the idea that girls are equally creative and smart as boys and in executing this plan, hired a man to do all the work while they just looked cute and cool.

Or is it the public who rises up and shares “LOOK AT THESE GIRLS!” “GIRLS RULE. BOYS DROOL.”  all over social media while neglecting to understand intellectual property rules, marketing to the masses under the guise of promoting gender equality, or simply creating buzz by social engineering.

Me, I’m just here showing a cool video in the face of the man…  because the Internet is forever and we’re all stupid to believe we are in control.

You gotta fight for your right.  Know what I mean?

Tekkoshocon and other objectifiable things

Ah yes, Pittsburgh, home to the furries and also Tekkoshocon. 

Now, this may piss off one side or the other, I’m not sure.  In any case, here goes.

I’m a guy.  I’m as red blooded as the next stereotypical version of a guy.

I watch Game of Thrones for the breathtaking locales and expositional dialogue as much for everything else.

I’ve played video games for decades and I loved Tomb Raider when it came out. 

All of these ideas are pointing towards the sexual objectification of females in media.

(This is the point where I totally get shit wrong about cons and manga and anime and comics but bear with me.)

If I were to walk around Tekkoshocon, I’d be looking.  First, because I’m not used to seeing people dressed up in costume outside of Halloween.    Secondly, because well…  It’s gonna happen.  You know it is.  And by that definition, shit be effed up. Necessarily

Let me put it this way.   And, I know this is the wrong genre, but let’s say a girl dresses up for a con like Power Girl.  Does she warrant unwanted behavior based on her clothes?  Will she receive unwanted behavior based on her clothes.

No. Probably. 

Now, take that same girl and put her in a costume she found on the Internet under the “Sexy (Insert Benign Occupation Here) Costume”  and do you think that changes anything?

My point is that one, the system is broken.    

Whether or not that girl chooses the superhero costume or the sexy garbage worker costume, she is opening herself to unwanted negative behavior.  Does she deserve it?  No.  But if I were to walk around some neighborhoods with hundred dollar bills hanging out of my pocket, I should expect some unwanted negative behavior.  Doesn’t mean I deserve it.    It’s totally my right to do it, but shit may happen.  I should be ready for it.   If I just happen to walk around a neighborhood that I don’t belong in, everything tucked in my pockets, I may get some looks, but the chance of it ending badly is probably lessened.

The system is broken in the objectifying case because media is to blame.  The artists, the writers, the game developers, actors, directors, all of them have held such a male centric target demographic for so long that they need to evolve just like everything else in this world does.   Comic Book artists created girl protagonists that are strong, but a majority of them are drawn with rather improbable proportions.    Power Girl is probably a great role model.  Powers, abilities, does good deeds.  She just happens to be drawn with a large chest and most of her top missing in key areas. 

And while I am still missing the point between comparing comic books to anime or manga in this case, my point is universal.  There will be people who dress up for these cons as the characters they identify with or want to emulate.  Some will dress to impress, either with complexity or… simplicity in their costume.    Unless they dress to conceal their entire body, say in a full costume with mask, they want to be noticed.  They want to be looked at.  Maybe for thumbs up on their creativity or effort in constructing said costume.  Yet, some will be there to get the nerd juices flowing.   Be ready for some of that unwanted negative behavior, though.

It’s 2013 and we still don’t get it yet.  Men still run the world.   If a woman does it as well or better, she’s either a heartless bitch, a fake, or a lesbian.    I know that sounds horrible in that context but think about it.    If a woman created a comic book character or whatever and it was purely for reasons of strength and intelligence, and did not show up scantily clad to save the day, people would assume she’s a feminist or one of those people who spell women wrong.    Whether or not  the material was top notch, it would get panned or not receive the following it would deserve.

Look at Ripley from Alien.   The character wears a jump suit for the entire movie.   Loses everyone on that ship to the Alien.   Faces down certain death.  Survives. Wins.  Spends the end of the movie in a tight tank and a pair of panties while duking it out with a giant creature with a phallic chomping second mouth.    Even the inspiration for Alien came from the Sci-Fi monster movies of the 50s and 60s, most where the monster is carrying the damsel, who is objectified by her manner of dress and restraint.

Horror movies use the concept of the final girl.  Halloween sort of sparked that idea with Laurie Strode.  The final girl is usually virginal and pure... because that's sexy while maintaining an innocence.   The monster is there to take her innocence, in which we mean kill her.   The promiscuous girls get killed.  It's almost somewhat religious or allegorical in nature.  Yet, most movies have final girls that are the embodiment of what sells, which is sex.  Ripley at the end.  Jessica Biel in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake. 

The gaming industry introduced Lara Croft, much to the delight of gamer boys in their teens and 20s.   Over the years, as the technology rendered a more lifelike Lara, her dimensions changed.  Her shorts got shorter.  Her tops got tighter.   Even Angelina Jolie helped boost that image as did the promotional models who appeared as Lara at cons and events.  With the reboot, they’ve toned down the image of Lara, but really all they’ve done is made her younger.    Lara had become Demi Moore and the fans (Ashton Kutcher) still wanted the same looks on his gal, just 20 years younger.  

Girls who play video games have a lot of stigma to overcome either through the industry’s male centric characterization or the few brash and stereotypical representatives who ruin it for the core subset of the gender.

Girls either get picked on for trying to play the same games as boys or they get hit on or objectified.   Quite frankly, you have to understand that for every nerd who is a nice guy, there are ten others who are too socially awkward to understand that just because a girl plays video games, it doesn’t mean they stand a chance.   Common interests don’t make up for lack of chemistry and compatibility.    And both genders have to also realize that anyone who plays games can like any game and still be considered a gamer as much as the core subset of gamers need to realize that yes, in fact, Angry Birds is a game.  As much as they hate that Farmville gets used to denote a gamer.  I  know.  I don’t get it myself, but whatever.

The point is, don’t objectify the person you see.  Do see the person, objectively.

And don’t stare at the girls in cosplay.  They don’t like it.

Ballad of the Bud Under the Bed

The house as it looked in 1987

Somewhere outside of Virginia Beach, in the community of Sandbridge, located in a house on Bluebill Dr, sits a can of Budweiser, 22 years past its expiration date, underneath a sofa bed. It sounds unlikely, but I’d like to think that it is still there waiting for me to return one day to drink it. I know the truth of the matter is that the can was probably discarded not long after that fateful week in 1987 when my friend and I stole it.

I was just 12 years old and the both of us were determined to get wasted. Our families had rented this house for the week and my friend and I shared the bottom floor bedroom that consisted of a bathroom and a sofa bed. We were no stranger to sharing living quarters as we had both spent a week, the previous year, in another house in the same community.

The seeds of anarchy and delinquency may have been planted the previous summer, over quiet discussions in our room. I remember a blaring radio playing the Beatles cover of "Twist and Shout", which had become popular again thanks to Ferris Beuller’s Day Off and Back to School. We may have used the noise from the radio to mask our strategic plotting, though I don’t remember the specifics. In any case, we were ready to spring our plan into action this year as we had the bottom floor all to ourselves. We could come and go as we pleased, just by sneaking out the front door. We could escape into the night and do the things that kids our age do out and about in the summertime night like walk around and wonder, “Okay, now what?”

But we didn’t. We were committed to the task. Our plan was simple and only had four goals.

1. Steal a beer from our parents’ stash in the upstairs fridge.


2. Hide it in our room until we were able to consume it without getting caught.


3. Get drunk like adults did.


4. Gain some insight into adulthood, letting the mysteries of the universe reveal themselves.

That’s what we thought would happen. At our age, we figured that there had to be some all important reason to consume alcoholic beverages. We were warned against it as children, yet I can remember on occasion my Father would sit me on his lap and let me sip small quantities from his can, much to my Mother’s dismay. In fact, there is a much recalled incident at family gatherings about a time when my whole family was kicked out of a Lum’s restaurant, because my Father gave my brother a tiny sip of beer. Surely, there was some cosmic conspiracy over this act and we were about to find out why.

First we had to take a look at our surroundings. The house provided just the right amount of concealment for our plan to go off without a hitch. Coming through the front door you could turn right into the garage or turn left up a spiral staircase to the main floor. Going straight would lead you into our room. Actually, the house was quite nice. From what I remember it was a house that might have belonged to the realtor and had just been put on the market as a rental. It wasn’t on the ocean and in fact it was on the opposite side of a canal that fed into Shipps Bay. We had a paddle boat docked at the back and an in ground pool, complete with deep end and diving board to entertain us. Now we had an additional part to our plan. Get drunk and go swimming. The reckless abandon, by which we had conspired to be bad, was astounding.

Early into the week we managed to complete step one of our dastardly deed. It was a quiet evening and while our families were swimming or otherwise distracted, we snuck a can of Budweiser from the fridge. Racing back down to our room, we needed to conceal the contraband. We couldn’t proceed to step three since it was still early in the evening, so we halted at step two by placing the can underneath the sofa bed. It was easily accessible, yet undetectable to the naked eye. When the time was right we would continue with Operation Inebriation.

During the rest of the week we continued to enjoy our time at the beach, always keeping a thought towards our plan. There were two instances when we almost cracked open that can, prematurely. “No,” we thought. We had to wait for the right moment. It was like one of those 80s adventure computer games. We were given an object that could only be used once and at the appropriate time. When the time was right, we would know it. Until then, maintain appearances, don’t let on what we had done and don’t tell anyone else. That meant keeping secrets from the other kids in our group that were also vacationing at the beach but at different houses. Holding onto that secret was at times exhilarating and also excruciating. We had this forbidden object just inches from where we slept at night that could elevate our cool factor into the stratosphere and yet we feared telling them because they might inadvertently blab to an adult. That would have been instant death to our plan and us, for that matter. Still, we kept visible within the circle of friends and went about our week.

Our friends were staying in houses right on the beach and even though we had the pool, they had the view. Actually, the one had a great view of the house directly across the street. The only other guy friend our age was staying at this huge house directly across the street from a place with two girls. We had come over for the last night of our vacation for a group dinner. We found our friend hanging out on the topmost deck, plugged into his walkman, blasting Def Leppard’s "Hysteria." It had just been released that month and he was already wearing it out something fierce. He didn’t even notice us sneaking up on him. When he did acknowledge us we asked him what he had been up to and his response was, “Watching some girl show me her underwear.” We both did a double take and then looked across the street at the house facing us. There, in front bedroom, were two girls waving at us and making silly body movements.

My partner in crime and I looked at each other in agreement. Those girls could share in our plan. We could have a party. We didn’t exactly know what we could do. I mean I had grown up watching stolen HBO, so I kind of knew what this all meant. I never actually imagined being in a position that resembled it, though. I began to think this could actually be the best vacation ever. We had an in with the girls. Just get them to come down and talk with us and we could let them in on our plan to get drunk. The beer was still sitting, hidden, in our room at the house. We could all sneak away and hang out at our place and go night swimming. It had to have been the best plan ever thought of by a 12 year old in the history of adolescence.

We quickly started making the universal sign for hello by flailing our hands around like we had no bones in our arms. They continued to duck down behind the balcony wall, holding up an errant bra that they had brought with them from their room. A bra, regardless of being removed from the person twirling around, was still like catnip to a teenager. We continued to use semaphore like movements to try and signal them down to the beach. Eventually, they got the hint when they saw us descend the staircase from our balcony and sneak across the street to their side. Not wanting to alert the adults, we snuck around the outside of their house in a wide circle. We ended up on the beach about a hundred feet from the steps up to their house and then ran all the way to meet them.

“Hey.” We said, out of breath.

“Hey,” They said, not knowing what to make of this rag tag bunch of misfits before them.

“So, like how old are you?” Good. Good. Establish a baseline. We don’t want to give alcohol to them if they are too young to handle it. Of course, everyone knows that the constitution of a 12 year old far outweighs one of a ten year old.

“I’m twelve and she’s thirteen” One of them said.

“Excellent,” I thought. Being the youngest of the three guys, I felt a sort of inclusion into the group with the confirmation of one of the girls being the same age as myself. I was worried that, if they were older than me, I would not stand a chance competing with my older, wiser friends. Yet, I still held the ace in my pocket…or more to the point; underneath the sofa bed at our house, a couple miles away.

We conversed for a little while longer, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves from inside the house. I feverishly searched for a way to introduce the idea of going back to our place for a late night swim and beer bash. However, they admitted that it was time for them to go. Alas, the opportunity never presented itself to include them in our scheme and they disappeared forever, another footnote in the annuals of summer flings that almost were. But we didn’t dwell on the matter. We had bigger fish to fry.

After dinner, my friend and I returned to our house and began to pack up our things. We knew what lay in store for us and didn’t want to have to try packing after our long night of consumption. We thought it best to get everything out of the way, freeing us from performing tasks that required dexterity and balance the next morning.

Being the last night in the house, we thought it appropriate to give the pool one last swim and spent a couple hours that the night contemplating our place in the universe while doing cannonballs off the diving board.

The eleventh hour had drawn on and we retired to our room. We decided to try and stay up as late as possible, outlasting our parents. We didn’t want them to come down and check on us in our drunken state. We took turns manning the staircase outside our room, keeping watch for adults or nosy siblings. Soon, the house went quiet and we too had ultimately just collapsed from sheer exhaustion. The heavy meal, the late night rendezvous and jog up the beach, as well as the swim was the final nail in our coffin, taking every last ounce of energy we had left.

The next morning brought on the hustle and bustle of packing up cars and checking on rooms to make sure nothing remained. We insisted to our parents that we had checked our room completely and that nothing was left behind. Neither one of us had a moment to snag the beer from under the sofa and stick it in our bags. We figured, if anything, we could transport it home and then sneak out to the park one night and finish what we had started. Unfortunately, we had no chance to stealthily slip the suds into our sacks and it remained behind like a fallen soldier in combat. The battle was lost. The opportunity missed. The beer left under the sofa bed, in the house on Bluebill Dr., in the community of Sandbridge, just outside of Virginia Beach, sat like a testament to what might have been.

While we may have only met two of our goals that summer, we took that first step towards being initiated into adulthood. As teens, a stolen beer is a rite of passage. It's intoxicating just to take it, undetected, not knowing that first stolen beers are usually nasty and warm and really don't do much for you other than make you sick. Those last two goals were a fictional representation of what we held in our minds as absolute truths in life.

It wasn’t until 22 years later that I finally understood the fourth goal. Yet, I confess, I never completed it. The mysteries of the universe were still that to me, a mystery. I still don’t understand why we thought that one beer would be enough to get us both drunk. I still don’t understand how we were going to travel, on foot, to a house somewhere in a two mile radius from our position that night. Neither of us bothered to pay attention to directions. Perhaps those are mysteries that only a kid can understand. Kids still believe in their immortality and the awesome power of a summer vacation giving them wisdom. Kids are kings among pessimists, always thinking that the future is bright and go on forever, like a sandy beach in summer.

The house as it looks today, 2009