Archive for March, 2008

31
Mar
08

Happy birthday, Kim!

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Categories: Shawn
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Kim and Rollie had been to La Regelade once before, and loved it. And so we were celebrating Kim’s birthday at the West Vancouver restaurant. Little did I know that my order would prove to be so controversial.

 

To backtrack a bit, she and Rollie are married, and have been for about three years. They’re one of the few happy couples I know. Kim I’ve known for an embarrassingly long time—going on two decades now. Our senses of humour mesh in a particular way. Recently, she called me up and left a message on my voicemail: “I’m making pies.” It wasn’t an invitation, you understand. She was just letting me know she was baking pies.

 

I’ve never known anyone to be as obsessed, or perhaps enthralled is the better word, by food. Comfort food in particular—she’s been know to rhapsodize, down to the very last detail, over an imaginary turkey dinner. To me, she is the original foodie—she’s been one since before I knew the term existed.

This was my first time at La Regelade [www.laregalade.com], but I was finding I liked the atmosphere, which I would describe as “French bistro-like,” in that the restaurant was dimly lit and loud and there were cartoons of funny little men with mustaches and berets on the walls and our waitress had a French accent. My immediate thought upon entering was: “What a great place to surprise and thrill a date. If we were to go Dutch.” Megan, a cute brunette friend of Kim’s, was the other birthday party guest.

I’m not normally much of a meat eater, but I’d heard Kim go on about the beef bourguignon enough that I felt duty-bound to try it. I was a little surprised when Kim ordered the coq au vin instead, but didn’t really think anything of it at the time. Besides, I was busy trying to figure out whether or not Megan was single. Having dinner with a married couple will do that to you, especially when topics of conversation include how they met and their plans for renovating their house.

 

After our main courses, which were rich enough to impress upon me the need to go to the gym the first thing the next day, we were joined by Cathy and Cheryl, two of Kim’s co-workers. Cheryl had just come from a date set up by a matchmaking service. She wasn’t planning the wedding. “He immediately ordered a double vodka, and had three more,” she said. “He looked like Rod Stewart, but with a diamond in his tooth. And he kept going to the bathroom. And he wanted to watch the hockey game.”

Cheryl has a husky smoker’s voice; she and Kim had gone to high school together, though they’d lost touch for years until they’d found themselves working together.

“So why did you order the coq au vin?” Cathy finally asked Kim. “You were talking about the beef bourguignon all day.”

 

Kim pointed at me. “Because he ordered the beef bourguignon,” she said. “So I had to change my strategy.” She explained what I’d been too oblivious to understand earlier–that if two people order the same thing, both helpings are put in one big stewpot for sharing. “I knew if we had to share it, I’d have one helping he’d have two helpings. So it wouldn’t be fair.”

 

We were all stunned into silence. “So what,” I said, not unreasonably. “As long as we’re both full?”

 

This didn’t seem to mollify the birthday girl. So, ever the gentleman, and with dessert on the way, I offered to exchange my leftovers for hers. Kim’s eyes lit up, and then narrowed suspiciously, as though I was trying to pull one over on her. Some might call this look “the hairy eyeball.” “Did you get potatoes too?” she asked, in a tone that implied she had, but I might not have, and she didn’t want to end up with a container of beef bourguignon and no scalloped potatoes (which, by the way, were worth bargaining for).  

“Yep, they’re in the bag here.”

“Okay.”

img_6243.jpg (left: Megan drizzles on the chocolate while Kim demonstrates her poker face.)

And so, after my berry tart, and the girls’ “wells of love” (some kind of pastry drizzled with chocolate–see pic), Kim and I exchanged bags. I was just becoming aware of a considerable difference in weight, with hers tipping the scale more than mine, when I heard, “No wait, give me mine back!” She seized back her heavier bag, and handed me my Styrofoam containers of potatoes and beef bourguignon.

 

“Nice try,” she said. 

   

25
Mar
08

Words to the wise from the real-life Hitch

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Categories: Shawn
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I first saw David Wygant in action at Lance Mason’s Real World Rapport Summit in San Francisco last month. In a demonstration of approaches during the three-day conference, the enthusiastic, fast-talking former New Yorker (and, as legend has it, the inspiration behind the Will Smith character in the movie Hitch) blew away his competing pick-up artists. In an afternoon demonstration of his prowess, Wygant struck up natural-, and effortless-, seeming conversations with the attractive female test subjects in whatever setting—“Airport!” “Coffee shop!” “The gym!”—audience members suggested.

A veteran of the suddenly booming dating coach industry, Wygant is unique in that he advises both men and women. (He’s also been quoted in a variety of magazines and made dozens of TV appearances.) After various false starts I caught up with him on his cell in his adopted hometown of Los Angeles to chat about his rather strange occupation, what makes his coaching and downloadable programs (such as the Men’s and Women’s Mastery Series) different, and what men and women need to know in order to become dating adepts.

How did you get into this?

I came to this occupation 10 years ago when there wasn’t an occupation. I wanted to do something that I loved. I loved really relating to people, teaching them things. I wanted to find something I could spend my life doing instead of just making money. I’ve been an entrepreneur my whole adult life. Money was never an issue for me. But I wanted to do something I enjoyed, something that moved me in a lot of ways. There was nobody out there at the time. I think Zan [Perrion, Vancouver's own "enlightened seducer"] and I realized we were doing it longer than just about anybody but Ross Jeffries [the granddaddy of the whole pick-up community]. I just don’t believe in tricks. I believe you just need to spend your time learning inner confidence and becoming that man that attracts people instead of relying on hocus pocus. You don’t need hocus pocus! And you need practice. The problem with our culture is it wants instant results, and instant results just don’t work. There is nothing that is ever going to help you instantly. It takes time. And that’s fine. That’s why people really like my stuff. They see real results, but it takes them a lot longer. They don’t mind because they know it’s lasting.

Is there a stigma attached to people who seek advice in this area?

The clients I get are people who are more self-evolved. These are men—and women—who really want to take their life to a deeper level. I’m getting guys who really want to learn the art of attraction, who want to become confident. I’m getting guys who want to become what I call real men.

How is what you teach different when it comes to men and women?

There’s a big difference between men and women. First off, when I’m teaching men, I’m teaching them how to be good conversationalists, how to listen, how to observe. I’m teaching them deeper ways to connect with the opposite sex. If you ever go out and watch two women, they’ll get into a conversation that will flow. It revolves around getting deeper from one topic to another. When a man talks to a woman he tries to go in there and he basically breaks her train of thought. He’ll start talking about random stuff. A woman will be in a grocery store picking out coffee and the man will walk over and say something ridiculous like, “Who cheats more, men or women?” What I do, when I coach men, I’m teaching them the art of learning a conversation and actively listening so they can talk to a woman based on what she’s already feeling and thinking. When I coach a woman, I’m teaching her to understand how men think, why they’re wired certain ways, and how to attract that man so he’s able to come over, and you still have all the power to select the man you want instead of being chosen all the time.

A lot of these so-called “dating gurus” have expanded their business and hired assistant coaches. Have you done this?

I’ve got one coach that works for me, and that’s it. Otherwise, no–this is my business. People come, they read my stuff, they buy my products, they want to be coached by me. I want to make sure they’re getting a fantastic experience.

Do you like the term “dating coach”?

No. I prefer “communication consultant.”

Are you still learning, or have you reached the limit of figuring out the male-female dynamic?

I don’t think you’ve ever reached the limit of anything in life. If you’re listen you’re always learning. I can tell you one thing. I’m a helluva lot smarter than I was 20 years ago. But I’m not as smart as I’m going to be in 20 years.

What changes have you seen in this industry?

Because of Neil [Strauss, author of The Game], or “Style”–and you know how I feel about nicknames, I think they’re for four-year-olds. I like to nickname women because it creates intimacy, so whenever I meet a woman I like to call her “Coffee Girl” or “Chocolate Girl” or whatever. But men with nicknames in the dating world? It’s ridiculous. Brand yourself. But honestly, I think the industry has changed unbelievably. I would thank Neil Strauss in this article and personally for writing a fantastic book which really brought this out to the forefront, so people actually go out and think dating advice is a cool thing to get. Because it is cool–you don’t need to be shy about it.

Take us through one of your weekend intensive bootcamps.

Friday night the troops gather at my house, some of the guys even stay at my house, under lock and key. We do role-playing, we do storytelling. You learn to flirt with beautiful women I have come over to my house. At the end of the Friday night everyone gets the DVD version of what they’ve just done. Saturday we go into the field, we go to every day places. We go to farmer’s markets, art galleries, bookstores, supermarkets, drycleaners, clothing stores, you name it. Every student has to buy a digital recorder, everything they go through, we do an audio summation afterwards. If they went up and approached a woman they get it broken down by me so they know exactly what to do when they’re alone. Sunday is a lot of approaches; I’m no longer teaching you, I’m following you.

What have you got coming up?

I’ve got a new product called 20 of My Best Openers coming up. And I’ve got a brand-new website being launched in the next two weeks.

You can find out more at www.davidwygant.com.

17
Mar
08

Save the last dance for me

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn

“What are we going to again?” asked D., my former wingman when he came to pick me up.

“Oh you know, it’s a salon,” I said. “Sex-themed.”

Actually, I had enough idea of what to expect to be as vague as possible in my description.

I’d had enough trouble recruiting someone to come with me. At first, M. was gung ho. But then, predictably, she opted to spend Saturday night with her dog instead. I didn’t feel like bullying Wingy into coughing up the 35 bucks admission, and I would sooner give money to John McCain’s campaign fund than pony up for El Cheapo’s ticket cost. So I turned to D., my former wingman.

We arrived at the space, a fencing studio on the second floor of a building near downtown, early, around 8. Chairs were set up near the front; there was no stage. Kliegs blazed the front area with light. We stepped up to the bar, ordered a couple of vodkas (with blueberry juice—we’re health nuts) and grabbed a couple of seats.

A salon, in the dictionary (and Russian novel) definition of the term, is “a gathering of intellectuals etc. hosted by a celebrity or socialite.” I could’ve explained this to my friend, but it would not have prepared him for what was to come.

Our host–Julia S., a blonde, quite pretty sex educator with a husky voice–got the salon started with a few words about sex, and how from a very early age our natural inclinations are oppressed and suppressed by society and family. Then the first act, a poet, came out, took off all her clothes and stood under a makeshift tree composed of two girls and one guy, all nude, holding up tree branches. She recited a poem about sexuality and nature.

Julia returned and talked more about sex, then introduced the next act. And so it went, over the next hour or so, as we were enlightened by a comedian riffing on how all women are sluts (until Julia objected, and he changed his terminology to “dirty whores”); a 64-year-old BDSM practitioner, who appeared in his chains and leather pouch and extolled the virtues of pain; and a burlesque dancer who, after her performance, talked about body image (she’s rather more voluptuous than the average burlesque dancer). I was quite entertained by the whole thing, but then, I had some vested interest—after all, I’d been dating our host off-and-on since the end of January (thought lately it had been way more off). So when, during the shimmying by a flamenco dancer with a sour expression trapped on her face, my brother-in-arms turned to me and admitted he wasn’t having the time of his life, I figured maybe it was time to duck out for some food.

Following our late snack at one of favourite downtown eateries, Bin 941, the question was, did I want D. to drop me off back at the salon? He was going home to his girlfriend. I envisioned myself walking up that flight of stairs to the dueling academy, and standing in the back by myself watching Julia give her sex talk and introduce a few more acts. Then the salon would be over, and she’d be surrounded by friends and well-wishers. I would stand around wondering whether to help put the chairs away or have another drink.

Eventually, that awkward moment of what to do next would come—and for all I knew, she already had plans that didn’t involve me. Nothing had been said, after all, about what would happen at the end of the night, and I was in not position to make assumptions. Did I really want to find myself in the back of a cab at 1:30 a.m. on a Saturday night, heading home with nothing to show for my night but a stomach full of vodka and a head full of images of naked hippies?

“Ah, I’ll get a ride home, if you don’t mind,” I said.

08
Mar
08

Real World Shawn

By lenatic Leave a Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Um excuse me? Shawn, you came and met ME this week…why are you blogging about men in kilts? No comprendo.

(Quick question here: Why do these men in such apparently dire need of female companionship spend all their time in intense strategy sessions with other men? Shawn, you were the EXPERT on the scene, so…enlighten me.)

But enough about me. Let’s talk about that dude.

First off, he was evasive in planning a meeting. We were supposed to hang out last weekend, he was going to call me, I waited on edge to show him the FUN and FLIRTY side of Los Angeles, and then after the weekend was over I got a message saying…A funny thing happened on the way to LA. I didn’t make it.

Eh? Either your airline is incredibly benevolent, or you just got killed on change fees & are being incredibly blase about it. Ergo, you must be a man of means. Suddenly I’m more interested…

THEN I get an email three days later: How’s your Tuesday night looking? Up for showing a couple of out-of-towners a good time?

I sorta-kinda have plans to visit my grandies, but decide against it. After all, Shawn is my long-lost colleague, and I am honor bound to show him a Good Time. (Though not the kind of good time you’re thinking, you dirty bird.)

Soon thereafter I get a call from an Unknown ID that turns out to be Shawn: “We are not in LA. We are in Pasadena. Maybe Thursday?” 

Pasadena and LA are basically the same thing–and certainly Pasadena is equidistant to Hollywood from Hermosa, where I live. But I decide not to explain this, because I have been at a wine tasting in the OC and appreciate the opportunity to get some zzzs.

Wednesday morning around 9AM I receive a text message from a number that has never before messaged me : I am in LA!

Who is this? I almost ask. But then, through adding 2+2+2+#+Facebook+Thu-1, I am able to deduce that my long-lost Shawn is in town at last. At this point I don’t know whether he’s early or late or right on time.

Without further ado, I instruct Shawn and his mystery ‘friend’ (will it be a guy or a girl? Could it be Wingy?) to meet me at J Lounge downtown, where my friend’s friend is having a cocktail party. This seems to please him.

We are supposed to meet between 8-8:30PM–me with my friends, him with his. And this is where the universe and I gang up to deliver payback. At 8PM I’m still working, while my GFs are at LACMA doing arty shmoozy things. At 8:30 I’m working, Shawn’s arrived, my cell phone is 99% dead, and my friends are still at the art event.

I try to call Nadia from land line, but she is unwilling to talk. “Text me his number,” she tells me. Meanwhile Shawn texts me: “At least give me a clue what they look like.”

As I’m trying, my phone dies. I call him from the land line, give him her number, and hope for the best.

At 9:30 I roll into the bar to find 50 strangers in biz-casual clothes cackling away in loud Spanish at the bar, and two pale men in striped shirts looking uncomfortable at a table. As I’m peering around for Nadia, one of the men says…

“Are you looking for us?”

I glance at the man sitting quietly next to the speaker, and realize that I have found my cyber-partner in crime…

 THEN what happened? You guess:

A) I discovered Shawn was really married

B) I discovered Shawn was really gay

C) Shawn and I fell in love and eloped to Acapulco, where we are now

D) Shawn and I fell in love, consummated things in the parking lot across the street, and then realized we didn’t really mean it & went our separate ways.

E) None of the above….

 I’ll let you take it from here Boob Soup Attraction Coach Faceoff Person…

06
Mar
08

Real World Rapport Summit Day 3

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Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , , ,

11:00 a.m.: Lance is up there, showing us a new approach. Sheba, the Persian supergirl, sits at a table reading a book (one of the previous day’s props during Lance’s romance novels bit). I’m walking in on the middle of it, but apparently the routine is one where Lance spots his subject from across a room–a cafe, say–then slowly gets up and walks towards her. He looks down at the ground and focuses his nervous energy. He doesn’t crack a smile; he just walks up and says, “I had to come over and talk to you.” She puts down the book and he waits, silently, until she says something. It’s important not to crack a smile, he says–that will dissipate the sexual tension. But, speaking of tension, when I arrive this a.m. there are no seats and the back area is blocked by a sign reading, “For Pickup 101 and speakers only.” I take this as a personal message, and decide to spend the afternoon indulging my nostalgia for Polk Street, where I spent much time while apartment sitting in San Francisco ages ago.  3:00 p.m.: Beer, a swimming pool, the sun–who cares about the rapport summit? I’m too intent on enjoying my last afternoon in San Fran. However, I do run into some of the participants as they mingle outside. Jdog, one of the speakers (the dude with the pen 15 routine), f’rinstance, is out there near the pool on his phone. Also, I talk briefly with Tad, a participant from Edmonton, where he does improv comedy, and has worn a kilt to the conference room the last couple of days. Perhaps a form of what these guys call “peacocking”? He says the afternoon has been “intense.” 8:00 p.m. Back at Zan-adu, Don Diego is covering the lamps with coloured tissue paper from his all-purpose Victoria’s Secret shopping bag. This gives the room a pleasantly seedy bordello effect. “Is this in one of your e-Books?” I ask. (He’s written about 100, he says, for Neil Strauss’s Stylelife Academy.) “Yes,” he says. “My hotel party eBook.” Turns out he’s kidding, but it doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me. 09:50 p.m.: Well, I’ve missed almost all of Sunday. But I’m in time to catch the last minute of Lance’s sit-down conversation with Badboy, a Croatian ladeez man, also featured in Strauss’s The Game. Badboy is talking about when is the right moment to kiss her. “The moment you find yourself thinking, ‘Should I kiss her,’ you should,” he says. “In fact it might even be too late.” And: “Nightclubs are stacked against you… They’re a hostile environment.” And this: “Don’t think about yesterday’s mistakes. And tomorrow is just a dream. Seize the day.” A round of applause follows Badboy’s inspiring words, and then Lance announces the end of the day. Everyone mills about–PUAs (pickup artists) getting reacquainted, students asking more questions of their faves, supergirls deflecting pickup methods. 12:45 a.m.: The party in in full swing up in Zan-adu, with Lance, Zan, Don Diego, Daniel Johnson, Karisma, and a few others. (Zan has somehow talked Karisma into coming back to the hotel, even though she’d already left. Hmmm. The guy’s got talent.) We’re getting loud, and Iain from hotel “engineering” has come by to warn us we’re disturbing the Cathay Pacific flight attendants in the neighbouring rooms. Dylan is pouring him some of Don Diego’s champagne; Iain is surprised and somewhat shocked, even excited, when he realizes he is in the room with professional PUAs. He comes up, by accident I believe, a great name for them–”Premier Fuck Gurus” or something. He shows us the left-shoulder tattoo of his baby daughter, and that’s it for me–things are getting too weird, and I’m not up to conversing with anyone. I sneak out quietly, leaving the superstars of pickup artistry to plan, philosophize, and strategize–not on how to pickup chicks, but on new ways of marketing.

04
Mar
08

Real World Rapport Summit Day 2

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Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

9:30 a.m. (saturday march 01, San Francisco): Pickup 101er and Summit MC Daniel Johnson brings out Eric Disco and Alexandra to work on an exercise in vibe-ing with four volunteers from the audience. It’s really fascinating to see these guys stumble and stutter and fumble around. One of the dudes onstage is a 50s-ish guy named Bill. There’s something about getting “coached” from young whippersnappers like DJ and Disco. As usual, the emphasis is on “being in the moment” and listening. Breathe, relax, focus on what she’s saying. 10:30 a.m.: All the presenters (or whatever you want to call them) wear the same clothes as yesterday for continuity. In 2-3 months Pickup 101 will be selling DVD sets of this summit, and I guess different clothes would ruin “the vibe”. Lance has on his pink dress shirt and grey slacks, and today is talking about romance novels. He builds them up thus: “what if you could test out every seduction scenario on millions of women to see what works?” His answer is, look at the bestseller lists and see what romance novels are at the top. 11:30 a.m.: It’s a beautiful day out there and I’m getting antsy. The romance novel talk was interesting enough but San Francisco awaits. Besides, I’m not feeling as welcome as I had the previous day.  I was at the summit under Zan’s aegis, after all (that is, I hadn’t paid the $1,500 or whatever the rest of these dudes had paid), which had been fine when he’d actually been sitting there with me at the back. But without the Zan seal of approval I feel like some of these Pickup 101ers might be wondering what the hell I’m doing here.12:30 p.m. In case you haven’t notices, these times are more or less random. But I’m pretty sure that, around noon, I was on a submarine with Zan and his buddy/business associate Dylan. I’d tracked them down and, after looking for a “pirate store” ZP has fond memories of, we’d walked around Fisherman’s Wharf until we’d found a tourist attraction called the U.S.S. Pampanito (I think that’s its name). The boys couldn’t resist and, as they were generous enough to pick up my ticket, I thought what the hell. Make of this what you will, but I’ve had a fascination with subs since I was a little model-building kid. Dylan takes a bunch of pictures of us as we squeeze through the compartments.3:00 p.m.: I’m catching some rays on Columbus, making my way to City Lights bookstore and asking every girl I see for a lunch recommendation. This isn’t the actual assignment Lance has given us; his suggestion was that we go out and find a girl, or two, sitting at a restaurant. We walk up, ask what’s good on the menu, and after her reply say, “Okay, but if it’s not good I’m coming back to tell you.” The idea being, the question is a way to open and, by walking away, you become unthreatening, and the women are more open to you when you return–and ask if you can sit with them. After the romance novel talk, Lance had told us about discovering this methodology when, as an engineer, he’d worked in another part of the city and was getting sick of the daily commute and wanted to meet someone closer to where he worked.  6:30 p.m. A couple of people I don’t recognize are upfront with a few of the participants. A tall gangly guy is addressing a dude named Eduardo, sitting across from a tall-ish blonde, about “feeding the wolves.” The gist of it is, when you’re talking to someone you like, there are two wolves you can feed–the one that is your negative voice (second-guessing, self-doubts, etc.) or the one that is your positive voice. At least, I think that’s the gist of what he’s saying. Kendra, the blonde, and the tall dude, Dekker, are from an organization called A.M.P.–”Authentic Man Program.” I’m impressed with Dekker’s authority. 8:00 p.m. I’m even more impressed when, over dinner (once again at nearby Wharf place Boudin’s), he addresses Zan’s friend Kasia, from Vancouver, with, “I came here to connect with you.” If I tried this line I would be laughed out of the restaurant (so says the negative wolf). Dekker has a very charismatic intensity. He quotes a James Galway poem, “The Bud”, and tells us that he spent two months in a monastery, and that the two hours where he was actually able to “quiet” his mind wast the best, most blissful time of his life. 9:00 p.m.: “How many of you have been waiting to see Zan go on a date?” asks Lance. He’s all fired up at the idea: Zan, he says, is one of his heroes. The Z-man has selected Alexandra, the dark-haired Pickup 101 dating coach and, for this weekend (because other supergirls couldn’t make it) supergirl (Lance’s name for the girls who work with him) to be his date. What we witness isn’t magic, exactly, but it’s ZP’s technique–he starts out with, “So tell me. I’m curious–why did you come out on a date with me?”, and then moves into, “So tell me something about yourself.” It seems to work to some degree, at least, because Alexandra tells him that she’s from a family of magicians, and that she’s been doing magic tricks since she was 5 or 6. The “date” lasts about 10-15 minutes, and doesn’t include any other revelations. I’m a little worried, actually, that Dekker, whose “date” is scheduled next, might steal the show from the Z-man. 9:30 p.m.: I’m called away to the phone, and when I come back into the room something curious is happening. Dekker’s up there with Karisma, a pretty but uncommunicative, maybe shy, brunette. He’s staring at her with his usual intensity and she’s obviously uncomfortable. This does not look like a fun first date from where I’m sitting. But then Dekker gives voice to what everyone’s thinking when he says, “this isn’t fun, is it?” and Karisma says “no.” The tension in the room is relieved, and Dekker points out that that was the moment he and K finally connected, when they could both laugh about what a bad time they were having. Still, next to this, the Z-man’s display was golden.10:00: Lance sits off to the side while five supergirls stand at the front of the room. He instructs the guys in the audience to focus on the girls and project on them their fears, desires, etc. Unfortunately, after seeing Lance demonstrate his goofy (but effective) “Do you have the time?” approach, I can’t take this part seriously. 12:01 a.m.: We’re in Zan-adu (my name for Zan’s hotel room), and the party is on. I’m in a room full of some of the best (or best marketed) pickup artists of the modern age–British dude JDog, the stylish Don Diego Garcia, of course Zan, plus Dylan, Zan’s friend Kasia, and a few more. The vodka is flowing freely and I’m trying to pay attention while observing JDog and DDG at work. But all I remember the next day is J’s “Pen 15″ trick–asking a girl if she knows what Pen 15 is, asking for her hand, and writing “Pen 15″ on her arm. Of course, what actually goes on her arm, is “penis.”  

03
Mar
08

Smug married Americanos?

By lenatic Leave a Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , , ,

I read both the Bridget Jones (sp?) books and was appalled by the ‘Smug Marrieds’ depicted therein, thinking (rather smugly myself, it must be admitted) Thank goodness we don’t have people like that in the good old US of A! Looking down their noses at the unfettered and untethered, giving us the benefit of their unrequested advice, and just generally being pains in our out-partying-of-a-Saturday arses.

Imagine my chagrin when an erstwhile colleague of mine–a former reality show producer who used to specialize in getting college students so drunk that they’d boink each other in full view of an 8-cam production crew–re-emerged as a bona fide Smug Married. Not only does this guy send me baby photo albums via email, but he reads my Single-Girl-Meets-World columns everywhere they’re published (and there are more places than this modest little blog) and then sends me snarky emails wanting to know whether I’d like a “real male opinion.”

Excuse me, but when were you ever a real male? I want to ask.

But I don’t. Instead I just tell him that my girlfriends–who are variously professional card sharps, mag hags and high-ticket Manhattan pole dancers–have far more insight into the red-blooded male mind than he ever could.

He concedes my point rather graciously, having already gotten my editor’s email address. Which, I think, was all he was ever really after. Even Smug-Marrieds-with-baby need income. (In fact, they probably need it more than the rest of us.)

Yet I fume. How did I ever get roped into debating the etiquette of singlehood with someone whose only experience of it this past decade was via dailies and log books? Why does he want to talk to me about strip clubs, when we never broached the subject in four years of mutual un-marriedness? Why am I debating with him at all, in fact? If I enjoyed snippy back-and-forth exchanges, I would be an aspiring talk show host, not a columnist.

Anyway. Everyone has a right to their own opinion. However, if I’m going to have some dude’s 10 cents forced upon me, I think it’s my right to get something in return. For instance: A nice dinner. Squiring me around to Bar Mitzvahs and other family events. Failing that, maybe a few hours’ worth of household chores? I’m willing to negotiate. And I hate taking out the trash.

The thing is (the thing is the thing is the thing, as my crackleberry ex-roommate used to stutter), Smug Whatevers don’t think you should want anything in return. They think that their Smug Opinion is a treasure in its own right.

Why? I fail to see how this Smug Married man ever one-upped me. He’s 10 years older than me, not financially better off, and not living a more stimulating or more fulfilling life. He’s just…married, with a 7 month old baby.

 This is all very good, and I’m happy for him, and I hope it brings him the peace he was so lacking when I knew him. But as long as I’m not contacting him with grooming tips and querying advice and 101 Ways Not to Piss off my Times Editor, I think he should lay off the “So why do you really hang out late-night in strip clubs, Lena?” emails.

(Answer, for all you pervy but not well-read people out there: B/c I spend a lot of time in Las Vegas, where Spearmint Rhino is as socially acceptable as Starbucks.)

I think this is a fair request. Especially since I broke down my strip club reasoning in my last Times column, and if he’d really been reading it, instead of just trying to Smug Debate me, he would have his answer.

But in thinking about it, I’m realizing…maybe he’s not so smug at all. Maybe he’s just alone at home with a baby, remembering his single days, and bored.

01
Mar
08

Real World Rapport Summit: Day One

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn

Feb 29 2008: The Real World Rapport Summit, the Sherator Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco

10:00 a.m. (or thereabouts): Daniel Johnson, a David Spade type but 20 yrs younger and one of dating coaches with Lance Mason’s Pickup 101 (the host of this three-day event) comes out to whip a crowd of about 80 guys (ages 20-50s) into something like a frenzy on this Friday a.m. Thanks to Zan, I’m sitting in the back with the rest of the dating gurus. This is my chance to pass myself off as someone who knows something about dating. Hopefully no one will ask.

10:30: Lance in pink shirt comes out to tell us what’s gonna be going on. The whole conference is geared towards meeting women during the day. To that end we’re in a hotel conference room in San Francisco more or less 12 hours straight. However, there are the Supergirls.

11:30 a.m.: Out come the Supergirls: Alexandra, Karisma, Yuko. They take a seat on the red couch onstage. Lance talks about “male cleavage”–confidence. Brings up three guys from the audience to demonstrate their “male cleavage,” then gives them some tips about keeping their jaws slack. It’s important “for changing states.”

12:30 p.m. Lance tells us the three reasons to meet women during the day: it’s easier, they live in your neighbourhood, and they’re already doing things you like to do (he’s obviously never been in a comic book store). “Dating gurus” Grant Adams (net2bed) and David Wygant (apparently the inspiration for Will Smith’s character in the movie Hitch) arrive and take a seat in the back. I bask in the aura of three dating gurus (Zan’s back here too). Lance starts talking about “backpocket openers”–a default opening line you can pull out under any circumstance. Then, he demonstrates one of the Supergirls by asking her the time as they’re about to walk past each other, then before she can give it to him he says, “You know what? actually, I just wanted to flirt with you.” seems to work for him. Wygant gets up there and demonstrates his technique, which is to ask for a sip of her coffee (assuming she’s holding a cuppa). At a restaurant, ask for a bite of her food, or ask her if she’s going to finish it. “She never does,” he says. He’s got the timing and delivery of a standup. A Pickup 101 dude with crazy hair, Eric Disco, asks for directions, and depending on her answer says whether or not “this will work.” Sean, a big guy who looks like Seth Rogan, demonstrates his technique–getting her attention, saying something that makes him feel good (“Oh good, I’m glad that’s over, that’s the most awkward part” he says after introducing himself).

3:00 p.m. Pickup fatigue starting to set in. A guy named Benny comes over to the table at the back. Grant Adams is madly typing away on his keyboard. Benny asks who I am. “I’m with Zan,” I say. “Who’s Zan?” he asks. Benny just spent his lunch hour (when we were supposed to be approaching girls) on the phone. “Girlfriend problems,” he explains.

3:45: Brent Smith gets up there with the Supergirls and demonstrates his approach. He goes over, says hi, asks a couple of questions, and invites them out for a champagne party later. No gimmicks, no trickery, but he has California golden boy looks, a better looking Owen Wilson. Still, he claims that what he does can work for anyone, no matter what they look like–they just have to believe it can happen. Sounds a little too The Secret-ish to me.

4:30: Lance recommends making everyone your dating coach. If there’s a coffee shop you regularly go into where you don’t flirt, start flirting. To recalibrate someone’s response to you, simply say, “I’ve been thinking about our relationship…” Sounds funny.

5:20: Daily openers with Wygant, Eric Disco, Daniel Johnson. Wygant is on fire; he is by far the most entertaining of the bunch so far. No matter what the scenario–at an airport, on a treadmill with headphones on, bookstore, on the subway, he’s got a routine. What’s more, it’s a routine but it’s also completely spontaneous. He makes it look easy; he’s inspiring. His clothing store bit, where he walks up to the clerk, holds up his hands in abject surrender and says, “Help me!” is pure gold. He’s got some cool exercises too, ones that I as a writer can relate to, about observation. For instance: watch five minutes of Oceans Eleven. Stop. Write down what you just watched. Go back and see how much you observed. That’s how much attention (say, if you wrote down 10%) you pay in your daily life.

7:20 Supergirls are back out for an eye contact exercise that’s one of the best demonstrations of the day. Lance stand by the three of them looking over and instructs them to give various looks back–disinterested, disinterested but polite, interested but not right now, interested. It’s very illuminating; something that might register on the subconscious is being brought to the surface. Lance has a good line about Sheba, how she gives a look: “I’m ending the conversation [with the eyes] but I’m showing you how cute I am.”

8:30-10:00: Dinner break. We go to nearby Bourdin’s, but there’s too many of us. Lance takes all the speakers and Supergirls into a back room, leaving a bunch of us chumps with Don Diego Garcia. The Stylelife Academy (founded by The Game author Neil Strauss) guru walks us through a chart he’s made up of a seduction model. The colours are pretty and he talks a pretty good game. He also wears a shoulder holster with no gun and tells us he lost his virginity 20 years ago at 15 and has experienced a dry spell of no longer than 3 weeks. I hate him.

10:00: Back in the conference room for a “vibing exercise.” Three volunteers from the audience get onstage. Eric and Daniel demonstrate the art of conversation, of taking a word and building it into a back-and-forth that takes an emotional turn.

11:00: Alexandra, one of the Supergirls who is actually the only female dating coach with Pickup 101 (and is dating Daniel), is on the phone. I walk by and she says it’s her grandmother’s birthday and hands me the phone. “It’s her 18th birthday,” she says, which totally confuses me until she reminds me it’s a Leap Year. “She’s only had 18 birthdays” suddenly sort of makes sense except I can’t do the math at that point and anyway I’m talking to Alexandra’s gram in Seattle wishing her a happy birthday. Then it’s up to Zan’s room for a debriefing and some vodka. Many revelations and impassioned speeches about the beauty of women later I stumble back to my room for a fitful slumber.

 

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