Archive for April, 2007

What if men and women just talked to each other?

Saturday, April 7th, 2007

I had a negative experience with a woman recently. What makes this experience negative was not just the result, but the fact that the result was completely avoidable. Through a series of missteps, misstatements, and lack of clarification, a pleasant evening got ruined before it started.

A coworker of mine five years ago once crystallized the problem perfectly. He is a black man in his early 30s, and despite the fact that racial issues were often discussed in the office, he never took part. One day I aksed him why he never offered comments. He replied “Well Eric, here is my philosophy. The problems between black and white are nothing compared to the problems between men and women. Whether black or white, as long as you are a man, there is a chance that I can understand you.”

I truly believe that a large part of the world’s conflicts are based on a lack of understanding. We can pretend to walk a mile in others’ shoes, but that is fantasy. While I believe the war on terror requires a military solution, the battle of the sexes truly can be handled through diplomacy. Maybe this is fantasy, but what if men and women just talked to each other, and better yet, listened to each other. Both sexes would be happier.

As for this woman I was supposed to take on a date…it started with email communication, followed by several pleasant telephone conversations. There was laughter on both sides, and normally this would be a positive thing. However, until two people actually meet, they should not get too “comfortable” with each other. Even after they meet, a certain level of distance is healthy. When both people get comfortable quickly it is fine, but when only one does, the other will push back. Once awkwardness sets in, the damage is often irreversible.

We were supposed to have dinner at 8pm. She needed to reschedule to 6pm, because she was supposed to meet a friend at 9pm. At first I said yes, but then I found out about a dinner party that would be taking place at 6pm. I called her and asked her if we could do lunch instead. She was not able to do that. I suggested we go together to the dinner party. She stated that she felt for our first date, we should be alone (It is vital to know if the two people are “hanging out,” or “going on a date.” This must be clarified or it will lead to disaster). She suggested we get together the next night.

Her suggestion was reasonable, but in an attempt to do too much too quickly, I suggested we just push 6pm back to 7pm. I could make a quick cameo at the dinner party, and then we could go out. She agreed. We were supposed to meet at the restaurant. I suggested we could just meet at my building and then walk to the restaurant. She preferred meeting at the restaurant. I asked her if 7pm worked for her, or should we just do 6pm. She then said “ok, now I am getting weirded out.” Once a woman says that, there is no going back. The damage is done, and even if the date happens, it will be tension filled. This is where the famous line in “Cool Hand Luke” (later done by Guns n Roses in the song “Civil War”) comes in to play. “What we have here is…failure…to communicate.”

I assumed she was uneasy because of the difficulty in settling on a time. Had I just asked her why she was uneasy, she would have told me it was because I invited her to my apartment. All I had to do was ask, and then I could have eased her concerns. Also, she could have told me “I have rules. I do not go to a guy’s apartment on the first date.” I would have immediately respected that.

We live in a world where women get raped, beaten and killed by strange men. Just because I know that I am as safe as can be, she has no way of knowing that. A few pleasant conversations on the telephone does not mean people know each other. This is where the genders break down completely.

Many women would say “Never go to a guy’s building you do not know. Meet at a public place. Be careful.” What they do not factor in is that sometimes going to the building can be safer. I live in a highrise condo building with 24 hour security guards. Rather than park on the street, the woman can approach the gate, where the guards can tell her where to park. Her car is safe underground. She can then go to the lobby, where the guards can call me to let me know she has arrived. I can then have the guards ask her if she prefers me coming downstairs or her coming upstairs. If they come upstairs, I show them the view, and then we leave. Given that the guards recognize her, a man would have to be a complete moron to do something bad, because there are too many witnesses. Then again, some men truly are morons.

There are no villains in situations like this. The woman believes that the man is trying to get her up to his apartment so he can violate her in some manner. The man is thinking that rather than have her wait at a restaurant, they can walk to the restaurant together, which builds pre-dinner rapport.

While I knew at this point that even though we had agreed to the date, I felt the awkwardness had poisoned the situation. I called her later that night and left a message, and I emailed her telling her that I regretted the earlier confusion. I explained that I did not mean to be so difficult with the time. I then got an email back asking what kind of guy invites a strange girl to his home. She canceled the date.

I had no idea what her worries were because I did not ask. She did not get her worries eased because she never told me what they were. Women might say “a guy should know better, I should not have to explain it to him.” Men might say that “women expect us to read their minds, I am not responsible for their past bad experiences.”

I could have asked “what are you concerned about? Did I say something to offend you?” This is not a sign of weakness. It is showing genuine concern. She could have stated that she does not go to a guy’s apartment. I would have explained that I was only inviting her to the building, and that we could have met in the lobby in the safest environment possible. If she would have wanted to meet at the restaurant, I would have been fine with that. Her concerns were valid, but so was my suggestion. The fact that I invited her to join me at a public dinner party, followed by her desire to be alone, in my mind communicated my level of harmlessness. It did not do the same for her.

Some might say that this non-date was a positive experience, because any time one can learn and grow from a situation allows that person to handle things better in the future. I think this is nonsense. This experience was negative because I lost the chance to make a friend. Maybe there would have been a romantic connection, but I was genuinely hoping to make a friend for life.

I could dole out blame and say that we were both 50% responsible for this deterioration of an initially positive interaction, but assigning blame is useless. Had we both just communicated better with each other, we could have had a pleasant evening.

The next time a woman says she has concerns, I will ask her what those concerns are. The next time a woman gives me concerns, and does not ask me what they are, I will just tell her. Things are not always “painfully obvious,” and in most cases, they should not have to be. I will not stop inviting women to my building, because many women simply do not have a problem with this. While there is real danger and terror in the world, most people are good people. While this one particular woman’s concerns were valid, they do not speak for all women. Just because I am safe when inviting a woman to my home, does not mean all men act this way.

Losing a potential friend is a sad experience. It is sadder when it is completely avoidable. Perhaps we will both communicate better in the future. I genuinely wish her happiness in life, and if I ever run into her at a party, the only thing I can do is be nice to her. We are both good people, and by being better communicators, we will be even better people.

eric

El Dorko’s Chicago trip to Temples…Jesus, Moses and the Almighty (B.B.) King

Saturday, April 7th, 2007

While visiting Chicago, I have had the experience of 38 degree weather in April. A couple days ago it snowed. To quote rock group Poison “I wanna go. I wanna go home now.”

To take my mind off of everything that makes this city appreciate my trips everywhere else, I decided to go to Temple, or as us Hebrews call it, Synagogue (also known as Shul). While Passover normally makes me cranky because matzoh tastes like cardboard, I figured being in a new Temple could only have positives.

Something seemed wrong right off the bat. For one thing, the service started on time. Perhaps Jews in Chicago want to start early so they can get home before it gets even colder. The singers were high above the congregation. Then the Rabbi came out, and he was wearing all black with a white collar. While this did not seem right, it was a reform service, so I figured it was interfaith night. The Rabbi then thanked the crowd for attending services on Friday night, which seems odd given that Jews have Friday night services every week. So on this Passover, why was this night different from all other nights? Well for one thing, it was Good Friday. The Rabbi then mentioned services on Sunday. Jews pray on Saturday, but with daylight savings time, anything is possible. Yet not only Sunday, but Easter Sunday? Why was that relevant? Then the rabbi crossed the line and asked the crowd to love Jesus.

Now I am not a fan of Jews for Jesus, but this Rabbi had better have a good explanation for deviating from the Old Testament. At that moment out of the corner of my eye I noticed that this Synagogue had a deep resemblance to a Presbyterian Church. My biggest clue was the sign that said “Welcome to (Insert name here) Presbyterian Church.”

I was about to yell “What the Hell?” but I realized that this would have been as productive as going to a NOW meeting and demanding that the attendees cook me dinner. I turned around, and the woman behind me asked me “Wrong place?” I nodded, grabbed my coat, and left. As I walked towards the exit, and out the first door, I approached one of the elders and told him that I did not mean to go to Church. My swashbuckling, black clad alter ego superhero “El Dorko” brought me here.

The High Priest (He could have just been a random Christian doorman, but he was quite tall, which is as close to a High Priest as I know) was not judgmental. There were no threats of eternal d@mnation. He simply asked me where I was trying to go. Apparently the Jewish Temple was across the street. I explained to him that I was Jewish, and that while I had a deep respect for Christianity, it was not my faith. I do not normally walk out of a service 5 minutes in (unless I am bored and their are no hot women at Temple. Like young single guys go to pray).

He explained to me that he thought I was simply an honored guest. I asked him what he meant, thinking that finally I had proof of how much Christians love the Jews. Apparently wearing a Yamulkah (skullcap) means I am a visiting Roman Catholic dignitary from the Vatican. My Yamulkah was the same red color as the one the Pope wears. I was wearing a bright blue Israel necktie with a Star of David on it, which meant only one thing to the churchgoers…I was a Christian supporter of Israel sent from the Vatican to show solidarity with the people of the book.

I then explained to the elder that while I also respected Catholicism, I was simply a Jewish fella with a lousy sense of direction and apparently an even lower sense of common. My people had wandered lost in the Desert for thousands of years, and now the Diaspora was keeping me so close to a Synagogue but so far away. For those of you who think crossing the street is easy, this was Chicago in April. I did not have Pharoahs chasing me, but it was incredibly cold outside, and I hate cold weather.

As someone who does not to Church often for obvious reasons, the parishioners were warm and friendly. They were not angry zealot bible thumpers. If helping your neighbor means anything, it meant something to the several people who helped me go exactly where I needed to go. Across the street sounds simple, but the Synagogue was inside a mall, between Macys and some CPA firm. No wonder people convert to Christianity. It is easy to find a Temple when the letters are written in big bold letters to the point where everyone except me can find it.

There are several ways confusion can be avoided. Reform Temples could stop acting like Churches. Get rid of the band, the orchestra, and the opera singers. It is a violation of Jewish law. Synagogues should look like Synagogues. Christians should stop wearing Yahmulkas. It is a violation of something undefined somewhere.

Some would suggest that I should just be more alert. Oh sure, blame the Jew for everything. I got to the Synagogue, saw the lack of a crowd, and did not even walk in. I did what any other individual facing a crisis of faith would do…no, not Islam…the one place where people in Chicago of all stripes can hear the music of the lord…the House of Blues. B.B. King was there, and he said “Baby I was wrong, to ever let you down, but I did what I did before love came to town.”

It was a beautiful service, and many in the crowd were too drunk to notice the beauty of the singing. Actually come to think of it, given the amount of alcohol consumed, maybe this was not a restaurant bar at all. Hallelujah! I had made it to the Synagogue. I think it was a Chabad (Ultra-Orthodox Jewish) House, which would explain the mass quantities of alcohol.

Another beautiful Friday Night Shabbos at the House of Jews. Chicago truly is a beautiful magical city. Actually, no it isn’t. It’s April and it’s 38 degrees. I wanna go…I wanna go home now.

eric

The National Football League–Why Football Matters

Friday, April 6th, 2007

In several hours, the National Football League will reveal its schedule for the 2007 season. Shortly after comes the drafting of players, and several months later an actual game is played. At some point an 0-6 team will go on the road and shock a 6-0 team in front of their home fans. ESPN Uber-announcer Chris Berman will look in the camera and say “That’s why they play the games.” On any given Sunday, competitive balance provides hope for a thrilling upset.

As thrilling as those moments are, the real NFL is the one that contributes to the betterment of society as a whole. On September 11th, 2001, life was temporarily brought to a standstill. The stock market had to decide when to reopen. Television comics had to decide when to go and be funny (Jay Leno and the rest all waited for David Letterman to decide how to proceed). In the world of sports, everyone turned to Commissioner Paul Tagliabue to decide when and if games should be played. Former Commissioner Pete Rozelle allowed NFL games to be played 2 days after JFK was shot. He claimed it was his worst decision as commissioner. Paul Tagliabue gave the league one week off, and then had games resume a week later. What transpired was sheer beauty.

American flags were everywhere. Fans cheered players from opposing teams. Yet despite their being 32 teams in the NFL, many fans were fixated on the New York Giants. The Giants (and Jets) had to pass Ground Zero every day on the way to practice. Yet instead of feeling guilty for playing a game while the NYPD and FDNY were suffering, they felt emboldened. This was mainly because New York’s Bravest and Finest wanted the Giants to play, and they wanted them to play hard. The Giants went into Kansas City (a difficult stadium to play in for road teams) and beat a good Chiefs team 13-3. It was the emotion of their defense that won that game. As the players knelt in prayer after the game ended and hugged eachother, the New York Giants for 3 brief hours carried an entire state on its backs and across the goal line. No, this was not a victory over Al Queda, but it was a victory for the American spirit that the game was played. As every NY Giant defender pounded the KC quarterback to the ground, one wondered if the FDNY and NYPD heroes pictured Al Queda getting sacked.

When Hurricane Katrina struck, New Orleans was devastated. In came the NFL to the rescue. First, they donated a million dollars right off the bat. Then they realized that while players in New Orleans had lost their homes, those players could be a force for good. One player took residents of the city on shopping sprees. One gentleman who had a job interview the next day bought $250 worth of clothing, including a nice new suit. People were given a sense of hope. In the first week of that season, the New Orleans Saints traveled to Carolina to play the Panthers, a team many (correctly) regarded as a Super Bowl contender. Before the game, a blood drive was held, and the people of the Carolinas donated in abundance to their Louisiana brethren. On the last play of the game, the Saints won 23-20. It was the upset of the year. No, it did not fix the city…but for people trapped in the Superdome, it was 3 hours of a respite.

One year later, the Superdome that was used to house those devastaed by Katrina was finally ready to host a football game again. The Saints were hosting the Atlanta Falcons, at the time regarded to be an elite team. Before the game started, a preacher gave a fire and brimstone speech of determination and resolve. “In spite of flood waters, in spite of plumbing that doesn’t work, in spite of it all…we are still here. We are still here. We are still here.” This was followed by a rousing rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching in.” The crowd went crazy. This was not just a football game. It was a city announcing to the entire nation that they were ready to compete, and compete hard. Then the game started. 90 seconds into it, the Falcons lined up to punt, and the Saints smashed through the line and blocked it for a touchdown. Just like that, 7-0 Saints. Before that moment, guys named Gleason and DeLoach would not be recognized on the street. Then in a flash, they had created the best blocked punt in football history, and one of the greatest moments in all of sports. The Saints won the game 23-3, but the real victory was after the game. For an hour, the fans would not leave the stadium. Neither would the players. The players did laps around the field high-fiving as many fans as possible. The Saints came marching in, and they were here to stay.

To see a good, decent man like Tony Dungy win a Superbowl so soon after suffering the worst tragedy any parent can face (the suicide of his son) makes me believe that somewhere out there, alot of what is good and right in this world does matter. To see glowing obituaries of Eddie Robinson (May God bless you in Heaven Coach) for his 55 years at Grambling shows that when done right, teaching football can be a way of teaching the values that make for a better life.

Football is more than just hard hits. It is about loyalty, teamwork, and and getting up after repeatedly getting knocked to the ground bloody, battered and bruised. One feminist writer said that to understand men, one had to understand football. To understand life, one had to play football.

At some point in the future of America, there will be more tough times…perhaps even tragedies. As long as there is a National Football League, I believe that a very small percentage of that pain will be reduced for enough people to make it a relevant healing. While the Super Bowl is for the Championship, and The Pro Bowl showcases the best players, it is the games after 9/11 and Katrina that give the NFL, and football in general, its noble legacy.

I eagerly await the schedule of the 2007 season, and with even greater eagerness, I await the first kickoff of the first game in September. No matter what challenges we face in life, we can meet them. We are Americans. We are led by real heroes, such as Firefighters, Police Officers, and EMTs. Those heroes, in their darkest days, turned to football.

That is why they play the games. That is why I watch the games.

May God Bless the USA and the NFL.

eric  

      

From Disneyland to Damscus…Nancy Pelosi and Bashar Assad sitting in a tree

Friday, April 6th, 2007

Nancy Pelosi, you’ve just won the House of Representatives and become House Speaker. What are you going to do next?

(In incredibly over the top voice that would make the Spice Girls seem like rocket scientists) I’m going to Damascus!

At this point the fellow shooting the commercial yells “cut” and explains to her that the line is Disneyland. Like explaining to Betty White’s character on the Golden Girls the difference between a Lebanese and a Lesbian, Ms. Pelosi seems to confuse a pleasure trip for the entire family with a nation that sponsors worldwide terrorism.

One of the reasons that I was not initially concerned about Nancy Pelosi becoming speaker was that I was under the illusion that since democrats at this point in history stand for nothing, they would not disrupt society by actually doing anything. Sure, they could make bombastic speeches. They could conduct endless investigations on republican non-scandals. They could even claim that their supporters that have nothing to do but attend protest rallies do not represent them. However, the one thing democrats were not supposed to do was actually govern. They were not to try and enact actual policies. When they do this…they lose elections.

Nancy Pelosi is going to find out what Newt Gingrich found out over a decade ago…there is only one President. Oh, and Nancy…you are no Newt Gingrich. Newt had ideas. He had core beliefs that the American people were comfortable with. When he rolled up his sleeves and got to work, he dragged Bill Clinton kicking and screaming into a balanced budget. When he tried to become a de facto Prime Minister, Bill Clinton clobbered him in the court of public opinion. The reason for this is simple. The President is the Commander in Chief. There is no other.

When the President tells America, rightfully so, that Syria is a terrorist nation, and that it is illegal…yes illegal…to do business with them…what gives anyone the audacity to take a trip there. I would expect this type of behavior from Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, because they do not actually work for a living or have any responsibilities. Nancy Pelosi is the Speaker of the House. She has work to do.

So Nancy now understands what her fate is. Unlike Presidents, who get to ride on Air Force One and meet foreign dignitaries and make world history, Nancy is simply the tallest member of 435 legislative grunts who have to sit in subcommittee hearings and read multi-thousand page documents that no one seems to care about. This can be tedious when there is a complex legislative agenda such the 1994 Contract With America, but it is even more boring when there is no agenda at all. Having meetings to determine what to actually believe, say and think is not for people who want more out of life than keeping C-Span employed.

Ms. Pelosi, as much as you enjoyed your visit to Syria, the cold hard reality is that nothing you did on that trip was consequential. George W. Bush is President. You are not. Once you leave the shores of the USA, you are a Paean. You are a nobody. This is not to demean you, but to remind you that an overblown sense of self-importance does not go over well with voters. You are a congresswoman from San Francisco. Period. That is it. Taking junkets to Syria for the sole purpose of undermining the President is bordering on sedition. When Jimmy Carter does it, it is not as bad, because no one took Jimmy Carter seriously when he was President, so his proclamations mean even less now. You however are seen by some as being relevant. Therefore, keep your disagreements with the President within the confines of the USA.

Some people are focusing on the fact that the trip was a failure. She made promises to Syria regarding Israel. Israel rapidly contradicted those promises. This made Ms. Pelosi look foolish. The real issue is that if the President bans people from doing business with Syria, that is an executive order. If General Motors or IBM or Coca Cola had been caught doing business with Syria, the CEOs could have gone to jail. Nancy Pelosi’s visit to Syria was plain and simple…again…a crime. What makes it even worse than that is that the 3rd most powerful person in the USA actually believes that dialogue with Syria works. Has she ignored their history? Did she not notice that by putting on that head scarf that she was submitting to Sharia law? Did Bashar Assad promise to stop funding Hezbollah? Did he turn over the murderers who killed the former Lebanese Prime Minister (of course not, he would be turning in himself).

What Nancy Pelosi fails to grasp is that it is easy to be a revolutionary. Governing is harder. She led the democrats to victory in 2006 (although it can be argued that if they had lost, she would have been the reason why. She is a liability). Now comes the time to govern. 2008 is a long way away. If George W. Bush is the enemy, than Nancy Pelosi should stay the course. If she believes, as most clear thinking Americans do, that having tea and crumpets with Islamofascists is a bad idea for America, she should do what liberals do best when they want to be popular…go on vacation and hope the republicans self-destruct.

Disneyland awaits you Ms. Pelosi. It is the friendliest place on Earth. They employ Rosie O’Donnell. You could have tea and crumpets with her and discuss the Iranian President Armageddonijad. What you cannot do is give aid and comfort to America’s enemies. Ms. Pelosi, despite your title as Speaker, you need to do what is right for America and politically smart for democrats. You need to stop speaking. You are a good misguided kid Ms. Pelosi, but it is time for the adults to handle the business of governing. So take a time out and go play with Mickey and his friends. The President has a nation to lead.

eric

I like strong smart women (Did I really just say that?)

Wednesday, April 4th, 2007

One of the qualities that God blessed me with was a cavalier attitude. I take things seriously, provided I feel like it and it will directly benefit me. Like many men, my favorite type of women were dumb, hot ones. They did not ask questions, they did not prattle on endlessly, and they made for great arm candy. Yet despite my best attempts to avoid growing as a person, I started gravitaing towards women of substance. This was not a happy decision.

I remember being 18 and attending a Jewish university. Some of us would go to Mount Saint Mary’s in the pickup truck, trolling for what we called a “taste of catholicism.” We would arrive before their classes started and ask the girls “How many of you are Catholic?” They would look at us like it was a trick question, at which point I became delighted, knowing they were even dumber than we initially suspected. We would ask the question again, and all of the girls would raise their hands. We then asked how many of them were disgusted by this fact. Three or four women would have their hands up, and we would tell them “get in the truck. It’s conversion time.” How I miss those days.

Upon reading an article by some feminist writer who criticized the Spice Girls (Anyone who criticizes Posh Spice for any reason should be shot. David Beckham is proof of why getting rich is vital in a capitalist society). This writer explained that girls should use their brains to attract boys. While initially dismissed this as nonsense, her point about men was valid. “Of course boys get excited about what is up a girl’s skirt between her legs. Who cares? They also get excited over jelly donuts.”

I realized that this woman was 100% correct. Then I forgot what the article was about as I thought “You know, I could use a jelly donut.” However, the advice she offered did not resonate for too long, because thankfully I was given a short attention span (MTV rocked!). The problem was not that the smart women were doing anything right. It was that the dumb women could not stop doing things wrong. The smart women were winning by default.

When I was dating an arm candy moppet several years back, everything came to a head when a group of 12 of us were sitting around the table discussing Middle Eastern politics. She wanted to talk about Britney Spears’s Pepsi commercial. I broke up with her the next day. The problem with dumb girls is they do not know when to be dumb and quiet. The sex was fine, but every once in awhile an intelligent conversation would be necessary.

Things got worse when I tried to relax by my building’s jacuzzi one night. A woman, drunk, giggling, and popping out of her top (normally a trifecta of delight) asked me if I lived in the building. When I replied that I did, she told me that she found that very hard to believe. She said “I have a friend who looks just like you, and he does not live here.” I did not have a shotgun within reach, and I was hoping she would simply let her chest do the talking for her. I explained that I was a different person. She pointed out that I had a different name than her friend, a different career, and had a different accent. After I repeatedly pointed out she had the wrong guy, she looked at me intensely, close enough for me to go “motorboarding” between her, and asked me “Tell me the truth. Who are you?” In a desperate attempt to end the conversation, in my worst tv superhero impersonation I replied “I’m Batman.” At this point she scolded me and said “No you are not. You are not Batman. You lied to me. Everything you have said to me is a lie. You don’t even live here.”

While pounding my fist in frustration at the realization that I had to listen to her and she would not be getting naked (the worst of all combinations), I thought “Maybe she is right. Maybe I don’t live here.”

I once fell for a woman who had laryngitis, but then she got her voice back. I wondered what it would be like to date one of those women who had their tongues cut out during the war. It must cut down on backtalk.

Somewhere along the line I began running into women who, despite being intelligent, were not insufferable. I met women who were smart and assertive, but not lesbians. Conversations took place that actually had value. Some of these women even had morals as loose as their dumber counterparts (although still not as loose as mine, unfortunately).

I guess people need to give eachother a chance. If blacks and whites can sing “we shall overcome,” and the Catholics and Protestants can reach peace in Northern Ireland, and James Carville can marry Mary Matalin (boy did he luck out), then I owe it to myself to date smart women…besides, if they nag me, I can always find a dumb one that is too dumb to argue.

eric

Turn Iran and Syria into 50,000 Hole Golf Courses

Tuesday, April 3rd, 2007

When the late Gangsta Rapper Ol’ Dirty Bast@rd was accused of violently beating up his girlfriend (as opposed to the non-violent method), David Letterman poked fun at those who were surprised by this act by posing the question “Isn’t that what Ol’ Dirty Bast@rds do?”

Some things, like the truths our forefathers spoke of, are self evident. It is what it is. A = A. You are what you are. This brings us to those who wonder why Iran would kidnap 15 British soldiers. For those who do need to be hit upside the head with a bar towel to know they are in a bar, the answer is simple. Iran did this because they are Iran. That is what they do. Do we really need to interview Ahmeninajad and look at his resume to see that he went to Mullah University where he studied kidnapping 101?

There are times in life for negotiation. Even as a teenager in the 1980s, I believed that peace between the USA and the Russians could be achieved through diplomacy. This is because the people who gave us such beauty and culture, from ice skating, to chess grand masters, to poetry, did not want to blow up the world. Once they found out we did not want to blow up the world, we were able to talk to them. Ronald Reagan was tough, but he was also the Great Communicator. He was liked and trusted, and the world benefitted.

North Korea requires negotiations. The North Korean people do not want to die. Heck, all they want to do is eat. It is going to require patience and discipline, but the North Korean leaders know we have no desire to destroy them. If they would just tell us what the heck they want, be it cable tv or complimentary call girls when you supersize your meal, we can work with them. America will defend itself, but at some point they will realize we have no desire to fight them. They have nothing we want.

Having said that, when dealing with Iran and Syria, there is no diplomatic solution. There has never been a time in history where negotiating with either of these two pimples on the world’s rumpus has ever worked. The only thing that works is force. Arab Muslim governments discover the beauty of negotiation when they are getting destroyed on the battlefield.

For those people misguided enough to believe that Khadafi Duck in Libya dropped his weapons program due to 20 years of negotiations, let me be clear. For all his bluster, Khadafi was a pragmatist. He enjoyed being among the living. He saw what happened to Saddam Hussein, and like a man being hassled by his wife after a long day of work, declared “I just want to put my feet on the coffee table. Who needs this aggravation?” In 1986, it is safe to say that when Reagan bombed his home, it took out Khadafi’s coffee table, and probably his comfortable air mattress.

President Bush declared that anyone who helps or harbors terrorists is a terrorist. Iran and Syria foment terrorism. To list the examples would be tedious. Just go purchase an Iranian thesaurus and see if it contains anything besides “Jihad,” “Infidel,” “Allah Akbar,” and “Zionist Donkey Agressor.” To these people I say “I get it. You dislike us. Too d@mn bad.”

So given that negotiation with these nations has never worked, and that force is the only solution, it is time we put Iran and Syria on notice that they can be wiped off the map as well. By turning those nations into 50,000 golf course with plenty of sand traps, we can also perform a public service in America. Given how colossally boring golf is, sending golfers overseas means less golf on American soil. That is a side benefit. Iran and Syria by 2010 could be Cuba in the 1950s.

Yes, I am advocating imperialism. They think we are imperialists anyway, so we might as well act like it, at least for a few weeks. We should set up Coca Cola, McDonalds, and brothels, and make sure they are inundated with Baywatch episodes and Anna Nicole Smith news reports.

As someone who hates killing, and hates war, I hate being murdered more. While it is possible that somewhere in the backlog of history, somebody in charge of Iran or Syria might have accidentally contributed something to the world that could loosely be considered positive, more than likely this did not occur. Waiting for another such aberration of humanity from these miscreants is not an option. Every day Iran and Syria exist in their current form is a day the world comes closer to extinction. We have to strike while we can. Iran’s army reminds me of Marvin the Martian trying to blow up the Earth with the Uranium 238 space modulator. Syria’s army consists of an Ali Baba character in a Bugs Bunny cartoon yelling “Hassan, Chop!” when Bugs and Daffy try to steal his treasure.

So rather than light scented candles and sing Kumbaya as soldiers get kidnapped, we might want to do what we did in Iraq…find the bad guys, and b*tchslap them.

Iran and Syria want to kill us because that is what killers do. We need to defend ourselves and the world, because that is what the world, despite it’s fake and irrelevant criticism, needs us to do…defend free people everywhere from evil.

So let the bidding begin from contractors all over the world. It is time to start leveling their infrastructure and building that 50,000 hole golf course. If we don’t, we will continue to be attacked by Ol’ Dirty B@stards, because like water being wet, that is what Iran and Syria do.

eric 

Snuffalupagus, Michigan J. Frog, Unicorns, and Republican Jewish Women.

Sunday, April 1st, 2007

From the Easter Bunny to Santa Claus to the adorable Tiger in the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, the line between reality and fantasy is often the difference between an imagination and a lack of one. On South Park, Stan Brovlovsky is committed to a mental institution when noone else is able to see his friend “Mr. Hankey.” Decades earlier, a man discovers a talking frog named Michigan J. Frog. The frog sings “Hello my Ragtime Gal,” only in front of the man, but nobody else. Again, the room with white walls is his destination. On Sesame Street, Big Bird saw Mr. Snuffalupagus, but noone believed him. This always surprised me, because they believed Big Bird existed. If a ginormous yellow creature could exist, why not a ginormous orange one that was equally ungraceful? Unicorns are also a myth, except to those who have seen them. According to Al Gore, republicans and their friends in big business destroyed the environment, killing off the Unicorns (No, not really…but then again, perhaps the last Unicorn mated with several animals and became the elusive “ManBearPig” that Al Gore hunts for on “South Park.”). The Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot should be mentioned only to overstate the point. There. Done.

This brings me to the elusive Holy Grail. No, not the one that Sir Lancelot failed to get, and Sir Gallahad succeeded in finding (I say Lancelot got the better of the deal. That Guinevere was a hot piece of fictional tail. Drinking from her Holy Grail beats drinking wine out of a goblet or a chalice any day).

The Holy Grail I refer to is the nectar that is tasted from that rarest of creatures…Republican Jewish Women. I have seen them. They do exist. My search was a long and exhausting one, but I have traversed this land of the red, white and blue, and I found some. It was not easy.

This quest became important because my initial option of pursuing every woman on the planet was limited upon my entering the world. As a member of the Hebrew faith, over 99% of the women were off limits. Although I figured all Jews were united under a common cause (trying to avoid getting killed by about 2-3 billion enemies), apparently the majority of Jews in the 1960s became hippies, took alot of drugs, and produced a generation of liberals (It is a subject of debate as to whether the drugs caused liberalism, or whether being politically liberal caused them to take the drugs). Jewish republicans were to be viewed with suspicion, as an enemy within.

For awhile I would hide my political affiliation on dates in the same manner as a guy would not disclose drug use or felony convictions. Somewhere along the line I figured if homosexuals could come out of the closet, I could as well. I began traveling America, determined to find republican Jewish women. Every once in awhile, I would run into one, and it was a nightmarish occurrence that kept repeating itself. These women were Jewish…republican…and boring.

No God. Anything but boring. Ugly people can get plastic surgery. People can gain or lose weight. Yet being boring is forever. Sure these women could talk politics, but that is all they could talk about. They were humorless. Could it be that as the children of hippies, liberal women were more…dare I say it…fun? Every girl I had ever dated was a democrat, and alot of them were fun to be around when politics was not being discussed. They appreciated things such as jacuzzi-romps, tantric massages (the Japanese call it “Reiki,”) and other interesting actions/positions that only non-uptight women could appreciate.

It was then that I realized that even though I am a conservative, I believed in a liberal dose of sex and carousing (ok, I realized it when I was 11, but my allowance could not foster that lifestyle). It was not just about sex though. It was about stimulating conversation. It was about fun. One Jewish republican woman was concerned on the telephone when I referred to her as “straitlaced.” She said that while she was a serious person, she was not stuffy. When a person has to announce that they are not stuffy, just call them Stovetop and serve them on Thanksgiving with giblet gravy.

So what is a Jewish Republican male who detests hippies but likes their spirit and immorality supposed to do? Finding a Christian Coalition woman was not the answer. Alot of them are even more straitlaced. Finding a Jewish leftist and sparring every day…too stressful. Then I saw an advertisement for the Republican Jewish Coalition. I knew republican Jewish women existed, but alot of them were scared of being attacked (Go on Jdate and read the profiles where under politics it says “unspecified.” They are most likely republicans). The Republican Jewish Coalition was a place where people could proudly express who they are (Some people want to form a Democratic Jewish Coalition, but that is as necessary as going to Libya and forming a Muslim club).

The RJC has allowed me to meet top political leaders. It has allowed me to make business contacts. Most importantly, I have had the pleasure of meeting republican Jewish women that are smart, fun, and totally drop dead gorgeous. One of these women resides in New York. She is taken, but I am sure she has friends. One woman from Florida actually liked football. Not just the stereotype about tight pants, but understood the game itself and watched it weekly. Another woman from Pennsylvania was so stunningly blindingly beautiful that I briefly forgot my own name. Luckily her name was similar to mine, so by staring at her nametag I was able to refresh my memory. None of these women were vegetarians. They were not into yoga. They did not wear tie-dyed t-shirts. They were funny. They were intelligent.

In addition, other people there had daughters, nieces and other republican Jewish women that I should meet. Like Norm Peterson on Cheers asked to watch the bar, I allowed my arm to be twisted repeatedly.

I left the RJC Conference with my faith revitalized. My religious and political faiths were always strong. My faith in my quest to pursue the Holy Grail is now stronger than ever.

Upon asking one republican Jewish woman in Los Angeles to join me for a jacuzzi soak, she replied that it sounded overwhelmingly tempting. My response to any woman thinking this is “well then get tempted for crying out loud!”

I soon leave for New York on a business and pleasure trip, where a smart, corporate, funny and gorgeous woman (who is a flaming liberal) wants to have dinner with me. I have crossed over to the dark side before, but it is a relief knowing that this is now a pleasant option and not a necessity for survival.

As Steven Tyler of Aerosmith in the song “Full Circle” sings, “If I could change the world…like a fairy tale…I would drink the love…from your Holy Grail,” I realize that the Holy Grail is within reach. So to all the republican Jewish women of the world, I say this…asking you to rip off your clothes right away may be premature, but at least rip off your masks. Be as proud to be republican as you are proud to be Jewish. Let the world know you are politically brilliant and fun.

I am interested in one of you…and only one. I know how to cook, and am trained as a masseur. The jacuzzi water is perfect tonight. I am alcohol, smoke, drug and liberalism free.

Hineni. Here I am. Hineni (Rock You Like a Hurricane). Hineni. You are Jewish, republican, and ready to be kissed like the chalice that Sir Lancelot died for and Sir Gallahad found.

eric