Boardwalk Fridays

Last night, my friends and I were short on something to do in Pittsburgh, a rarity these days. Looking for something different, I remembered The Boardwalk, a riverfront conglomeration of ever-charging night clubs, recently started giving away free drinks and free cover on Fridays.

When we got there, we found out why. The place was DEAD... and probably has been on a weekly basis since the last time we went there (last year). The promotion clearly reflected their desperation for patrons as did the drinks we received... I'm pretty sure there was coke in my rum, but I couldn't taste it. After two, my friend and I were on our asses and got the bright idea that it would be great if we joined the two old women dancing to the band's cover of Usher's Yeah. I think we made their year, but we quickly got bored and left when one grabbed my ass. At one point, I decided it was too hot and I needed to jump in the pool... I was sober enough to ditch the cell phone first.

Moral of the story: the rumors are false. The Boardwalk pretty much sucks in the summer too.

The Health Matrix

A friend of mine, M, is an amazing nutrition specialist and personal trainer. Consequently, my diet and exercise habits of the past years have, by mere proximity, come under his expert scrutiny. What I discovered was that my modest attempts at a healthy lifestyle—avoiding fast food, limiting carbs, and lots of weight training and cardio—was still subjected to "what they don't want me to know."

M showed me an article on High Fructose Corn Syrup, a highly concentrated simple carbohydrate in liquid form that enters the body so quickly that the pancreas strains to produce enough insulin to absorb it along with all the other sugar in the bloodstream (diabetes anyone); cells, unable to consume the abundance of energy, convert it fat; and the consequent decrease in blood sugar causes further food cravings. It's so much less expensive than naturally grown sugar, though, that most profit-motivated companies employ its use, relying on consumers to remain blissfully unaware of its adverse effects on the body. If most consumers believed it was bad for them, they would, of course, avoid it, the reason for which most conspiracy theorists believe the industry moves to keep enlightening research on the topic from becoming mainstream. "They don't want me to know about it."

Armed with my new found tidbit of health information, I set off to my neighborhood Giant Eagle, a grocery store chain with a monopoly on the market in Pittsburgh, in search of foods devoid of liquid diabetes only to discover that, although an entire isle is dedicated to it, not one loaf of bread seemed to be HFCS-free until... finally... one from Roman Meal lacked the ingredient. Imagine my joy.... and later disappointment when M just recently informed me that it contained another adverse ingredient, soybean oil, a magical substance that increases estrogen production; fine for women, but it makes men more docile, weak, and emotional... not to mention the acres of rain forest in Brazil being slashed and burned to grow soybeans in an effort to satisfy America's health craze for soy products.

The slow progression of my diet towards healthier food has inevitably led me to Whole Foods, a coop grocery store several blocks beyond the Giant Eagle, which specializes in organic, local, and higher quality foods at, albeit, significantly higher prices. But the produce tastes better, the eggs are full of Omega-3 and DHA, I found a yogurt with an unbelievably high amount of protein, and I'm losing fat.

I can't help but notice how business takes advantage of my ignorance. In the space where I'm not paying attention, anyone will do the cheapest, crappiest job possible to make a quick buck.

The situation also translates to my field. MySpace, Intel, Verizon, and Microsoft all make the shittiest products in their markets yet "lead" my industry. Facebook offers better social networking. IBM makes better processors. Cingular/AT&T has a better cell network. And don't get me started on Microsoft. Most people, though, flock to these companies' products because of prevailing standards, compatibility issues, or popularity.

Perhaps it's the same everywhere, but I have to wonder why the cheapest, most cost-effective means of production aren't ever good for me?

I'm Just Not What?

Pittsburgh has three bookstores within a convenient distance of my apartment. Borders happens to be the closest within walking distance, which allows me to indulge a passing whim and engage a certain spontaneity. Squirrel Hill and the Waterfront both have a Barnes & Noble, superior only in as much as they let me simultaneously satisfy my Starbucks addiction. On the rare days when I get a moment, I go, grab a book and a cup of coffee, and read for an hour or two.

You might be wondering, what kind of books does he read ...women's self help, of course. Ha. Who isn't intrigued by titles like Why Men Love BITCHES, Why Men Don't Have a Clue and Women Always Need More Shoes, and Let's Face It, Men Are $$(%&$: What Women Can Do About It. Clearly, these authors have scoured the depths of the universe, the psyche, and the soul to find the end all, be all human truth and condense it into a 200 page, easy to read, step-by-step guide ... that yet almost always requires a sequel publication. And, hey, if you see a guy lounging in a bookstore reading Why Men Marry BITCHES with a smirk on his face, aren't you going to wonder what he's thinking.

The latest, which I finally got around to picking up, is He's Just Not That Into You. Where I was expecting it to contain the same amount of misguided bullshit as every other book, this one actually surprised me... to an extent. The general message, like any other trashy self-help book, warns of lying, manipulative, or abusive guys but, more than that, advises women not to waste their time and energy pursuing a guy who doesn't display a certain amount of interest in her, which I would agree with in principle. Most guys aren't worth the time, and by further demanding nothing less than what a girl thinks she deserves helps to develop self-control, self-respect, self-assurance, confidence, emotional maturity, stability, and a certain selectivity with guys is EXTREMELY sexy. There have been a rare handful of girls with this kind of personality who've come into my life, all of whom are or were friends I consider myself privileged to know.

The issue I take with the book is the amount of attention they expect the guy to give. The assumption is that women are perfect, and guys would be stupid not to drop everything else in their life to pursue a woman to the end of the earth. If the guy isn't giving the girl every indication that he's completely interested (and what guy wouldn't for a perfect girl), he's just not that into her and she shouldn't waste her time.

If most guys are so badly flawed, so much so that women need to enforce rigid standards of behavior, it's only fair to consider that women are flawed too. Most aren't worth OUR time. But for some reason guys shouldn't execute some sort of criteria of their own? That's unrealistic.

My point is that my trust, my time, and my care must be earned, experience has shown an almost certainty that the next girl isn't worth all that, and even if a great girl does come along, I'm not going to completely forget about the rest of my life just for her. I'm a busy guy. I have goals, and I plan to see them through. That's what it fucking means to be a MAN. Until I'm certain that the girl is worth it (and it takes a long time to determine that), my effort and energy will remain directed towards my own situation. I'd go crazy trying to allocate my time and effort to every girl I ever meet.

So the book is right in that women should exercise discrimination, but, at the same time, they'd do better accept that the guy is doing the same. So if "he's just not that into you," meaning he's not calling all the time, buying you flowers, and generally making sure you feel no tension about him, that doesn't mean he's not thinking there is potential in the relationship.

St. Patrick's Day 2007

Already one of the craziest days of the year no matter where you go, Pittsburgh only makes it more crazy. My day started at 7:30am, the time at which I realized I probably shouldn't have also gone out Friday night. My buddy, M, picks me up at 9 but needs to run back to his house for something. We buy a case of Guinness, throw it in the car, and we're finally off to downtown.

We park in Station Square, knowing we'll be back, and trek across the bridge to downtown (this is Pittsburgh, everything is across a bridge). Apparently, the city has one of the biggest St. Patrick's Day parades in the country. We only catch a glimpse as we're jumping the parade route. We are headed for Market Square, right in the middle of downtown. It's completely fenced off and packed like a nightclub despite it being so cold. Even Starbucks had to close (before I could get my mocha). And, of course, M, drinking his bottle of Guinness in the open runs into a cop who not only throws the bottle out but empties it in front of him as some kind of punishment. I definitely feel safer knowing that beer is safely on the ground. The world is safe for democracy once again.

We head into some tavern in the square to warm up and use the rest room. I get a text from a friend saying her and her friend are in Market Square. We meet up and hang out before heading out to try and meet our friends drinking South Side. The bridge, at this point, had become a sheet of packed snow and ice. After sliding across it, we decide we're hungry; so I call my friend to come join us at Buca Di Beppo's (Italian, I know... where's an Irish Pub when you need one).

It's 2pm before we finish. The Blarney Bash is full swing in Station Square. A band is playing on stage. Houlihan's and Buckhead Saloon are serving beer in the street. We make our way through the crowd to the car. Off to South Side.

Jack's is fairly full, but our friends have been bored there with all the old people. We finish off the Guinness that we snuck in and decide to bounce to The Town Tavern.

We're outside just in time to watch a guy get arrested while he screams, "You're in so much trouble," at the cops and his girlfriend keeps pleading, "He would never do that." I don't know what he did but who's not going to watch that. A random girl and her friend come up to me.

• Her: "Want to see my tatoo?"
• ME: "Is she hitting on me?"
• Her friend: "No, she's doing this with everyone."

At which point, the girl spins around and pulls down her jeans to reveal a shamrock and "Luck of the Irish" tattooed on her ass. "Did you just get that today?" I ask. She said she had it for a year. Thankfully, my friend, C, called me across the street at this point. Her ass was not attractive.

We head for The Town Tavern. I spot two girls coming towards us who ARE attractive; so I tell my guys loud enough for the girls to hear, "I'm going to go with these two.... where we headed, guys?" as I spin around in front of them... The Smiling Moose. We stop by a Hot Topic-esque store along the way so that the one girl, N, can pick up some Wicked-Witch-of-the-East stalkings. Then we're off to meet up with their friends.

We all hung out for about a minute before my two new friend want to go get food and the other three want to bounce to Jack's. We head to Pizza Vesuvio, which has got great pizza (go sometime), eat, and make fun of people walking by, one of whom was a guy in drag obviously as some kind of prank... but he could walk pretty damn well in platform shoes.

We head off to Jack's but stop at another store along the way for random stuff. M finally catches back up with me only to tell me that everyone decided to head home and sleep before coming back out again, and he's ready to do the same. I tell him to take off. The girls say they can take care of me (and that's the last he ever saw me... haha).

We finally get to Jack's, hang out, and bounce again after 20 minutes; this time to Diesel. The other two girls decide they're hungry on the way. So they stop at Pizza Vesuvio (I told you, it's good). Diesel turned out to be kind of empty. The girls easily made friends with a new guy who's... good at making new friends. I'm better. He doesn't stick around for too long (he tried to be too cool). The other two girls show up eventually. We hang out more until the live music starts to get going.

We part ways. I look at my phone, and it's 8:30. I text everyone saying I'm headed up to Station Square. I get up there, and the Starbucks is open. I finally get my mocha and minute before a friend, H, calls to say he's on his way. We cross the street to Buckheads. This is one of my favorite bars in Pittsburgh... except when they have live music. It's usually a terrible band with terrible cover songs, and they turn their music up loud enough to prevent me from leaning over to my buddy to criticize it. Fortunately, the band tonight plays sparingly. And this is about the time I witness a second arrest for the evening. Two girls go at it, their guys get in, and the guy swings at the cop trying to pull them apart. Dumbass. I missed the tasering, though.

H is decked out in a green boa they were selling at Market Square and sunglasses. Normally, someone comes up to comment on this kind of outfit. The girls who come this time, though, actually steal it... and I'm thinking, "when did we get back to second grade?" Turns out the chick who stole the sunglasses is getting married too. I feel sorry for that guy. H gets the sunglasses back, though.

Our other buddies show up, we hang out, and go through our usual banter with the bartenders, waitresses, and shooter girls we know, along with all the people we don't. At this point, though, the day starts taking it's toll on me.

Then my sister texts. She's on her way with her friends. They arrive around midnight. I'm dead to the world except that my sister is toting a new interest of hers. Her friend, L, assures me that he meets L's high standards of approval. Mine are higher... it's my sister. Still, in the 30 seconds I interact with the guy, the only red flag is his clothes. So I lower to DefCon 3.

2am rolls around and somehow my eyes are still open. Hug the sis and head home. The bed was never softer. Text from my friend: "Hope you had a good night."

Farewell X-Bar

It seems like only yesterday you opened, but, sadly, the long tradition you imposed upon our great city must come to its finale with the closing of your doors. I, for one, enjoyed the three short months of PG-rated fun for "the country's first X-rated night club." Your misguided attempt to advertise to my raw sexuality, disappoint me with your run-of-mill go-go dancers, prevent my conversation with any girls, and induce my intoxication with your blaring hip-hop... was deeply appreciated. Thanks for all the eye contact.

What's so X-rated?

The new nightclub on the block, X-bar (formerly Touch), touts itself as the country's first X-rated nightclub. My buddies and I go check it out opening night to find it no different than its predecessor. They now have more platforms for dancers sporting some decent lingerie. The bartenders are actually more covered than when the place was called Touch; although, the black corsets are decidedly hotter. And the rumored "human pet" was no where that we could see, which they apparently had before too.

So what exactly makes the place "X-rated?" In terms of movies, lingerie gets you what? PG-13 at best. Brief or partial nudity gets you and R. But X? come on. If you're going to make an outrageous claim like "the country's first X-rated," you should actually be, in some way, ...outrageous.

Nonetheless, the dancers are fun to mess with (we're nice), and the bartenders are kind of cool. The place generates a lot of testosterone, though. I prefer dealing with estrogen.

The Appearance War

Girls, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Are you ready for this? Hold on to your seat. Here it comes... Guys don't care what you're wearing! ...Shocking, I know.

Ok, let me clarify. Most guys are completely oblivious to the detail put into your appearance. We generally don't notice longer eyelashes, that your purse matches your shoes, or what color your nails are. Furthermore, baggy sweats, a baseball hat, and tennis shoes do little to dissuade a our interest. The long process of evolution has favored the guy who could identify an attractive girl at a distance, hidden among shrubs or trees, or in a crowded area. If you're hott, we'll notice (granted we have to be able to see your hip to waist ratio, facial symmetry, shiny hair, shiny eyes, and white teeth).

Despite our oblivion to finer details, you still go through the hours of preparation. Why? ...because in any group of guys, there is ONE alpha male, the leader, and you all want him. One of him, whole lot of you. To get his attention, you've got to be hottest girl in the room, and, suddenly, the details become important because cute, tight clothing, accessories, and color matching give you that slight advantage over a girl of equal beauty. He's more likely to spot and spend his time on the one who features her assets (even though he'd really take either one of you... if not both).

All that time spent on details is for competition with other girls. It's savage warfare for the attention of a few attractive guys.... The Appearance War.

An Old Man At Starbucks

I'm sitting in Starbucks working on a paper right now. Two tables away is an older man, sitting by himself drinking a tall coffee with the lid off. His blonde hair is parted on his left side, combed over to the right, and messy in the back where he couldn't see in the bathroom mirror. His bangs curve down to the leg of his glasses that sit atop a nose that has grown too big for his face. A big green winter coat drapes over his hunched over back worn into a curve from years of bad posture. He's wearing a green button down shirt with white pin stripes too big for his waist and tucked into forest green khaki's with cuffs at the bottom that sit just above brown velco loafers. He sits quietly watching college girls get their drink, walk by him, and leave.

I don't take him for a weird, old guy so much as lonely. I doubt a wife would let him dress in three different shades of green. While he does his best not to look awkward, something's missing... and he knows. I imagine that he always feels it. He wakes up every morning, showers, shaves, brushes his teeth, and combs the hair he could see. He reads the paper over grapenuts with slices of banana cut into it. He's quiet. All the while, that hole is there, and he's stressed to do something about it. The relief is this little excursion, this cup of coffee. It's his excuse, his reason, to simply be among people. I see him with hope as he puts on his brown velco loafers and his green coat. He ambles down the street to the Starbucks wondering what might happen today. He buys his tall coffee, and he waits. Nothing happens. He leaves.

I feel bad for him... Not for the bad outfit or his excursion, but for the waiting. I'm really no better. Everyone in here is compelled to give himself or herself even the possibility of something happening. I single this man out because, in what seems like sixty years, nothing happened for him. It never really happens for guys. We have to stand up, go out, and do it ourselves. We have to start the interaction, initiate the chemistry, and attract a girlfriend. This man never learned how. I wonder where he went, what he went back to. Is he happy?

Touch Nightclub.... No more?

On our way to KROBAR, my friends and I noticed that the doors for Touch were closed and the sign has been taken off the side of the building. The place looked dead.

We knew the incident that took place there had an effect on their business when they started Pennies from Heaven night, but we didn't think their business was suffering that much. And yet, a day or two ago, a flyer comes to me about some event that taking place there... and I'm confused.

Does anyone know if they're actually closed?

The Database

The Behavior. So a guy's standing with his buddies on the street and a girl comes walking by. With his peripheral vision, he'll first subconsciously make a snap decision on whether she's attractive or not. If she is, he'll briefly stop whatever he's doing turn and look at her coming towards his position then go back to what he was doing. As she gets closer, his mind is timing her, and, when she walks directly in front of him, he'll stop and glance at her side. As she's walking away, he'll time it again and turn to look at her back side.

The Database. Every guy, through the course of his life, needs to evaluate every attractive girl he sees against every other attractive girl. His subconscious mind snaps a front, side, and rear image of the girl, all of which get thrown in long term memory. I think the goal is to average out the body types of every attractive girl he ever sees as his ideal body type, his ideal mate. It's also what let's him see the smallest body part of a woman and know if she's a potential mate.

I can see how guys who developed this ability increased their chances of finding a girl with good genes, meaning it's a trait that got selected in our population.

Smoking Ban

Allegheny County Council voted to ban smoking in all public places last Tuesday, and I, for one, couldn't be happier. I lived most of my 21+ years in NY where the ban is statewide. It made the club/bar experience so much better. Aside from the obvious health benefits, I could come home without having to stuff my clothing into a biohazard bag. So here's to a lower dry cleaning bill. YAH!!!!

Under most circumstances, I'm all for more freedom. In fact, I think all recreational drugs should be legal. Roe vs. Wade precluded a right to privacy with respect to our bodies, so that if you want to destroy yours, that's your choice. As long as I don't have to inhale your second hand smoke, drive next to your intoxicated ass on the road, or pay for your recovery, you can do as you please. We all share the same air, though. One smoker imposes his choice to smoke on everyone else in the bar who's decided against it. It's common courtesy not to, but that just doesn't happen. So I welcome the ban. Smokers blaze on! Just not around me.

The Economics of Social Dynamics

Imagine you're a nightclub or bar owner. You need to get people to your venue who'll pay your cover charge and buy your alcohol. How do motivate 20-somethings to choose your place over every other Pittsburgh option?

The rule of thumb is that your average, sexually frustrated guy will spend the most money in any given night, and he's going to populate any place that lets him get drunk cheaply and stare at hott girls in hopes that one of them will bump into him and somehow wind up in his bed.

Cheap alcohol isn't a problem, but getting hott women to the venue is. In particular, an owner wants the kind of woman with the total package. She dresses to accentuate a body that only someone with a good personality should have, she puts herself on display confidently competing with every other girl for attention, but she carries herself with an attitude that makes the average guy tremble in fear, believing he's got not a single chance in hell of getting with her. Yet he'll bring his money back every week simply for the proximity possibility. Because of this, hott women are generally considered nightlife currency and as such are given special attention ... or are even paid to show up. Prive has at least one barback who stands around alone like she wants someone to talk to her when she's not collecting empty glasses.

I've noticed, though, that advertising in Pittsburgh is male oriented. It's usually, "Come see our hott bartenders and dancers, and get alcohol poisoning for a quarter." It does directly target the one's who'll spend their money on it; so I'm sure it's effective. But it got me thinking, how do you advertise a club to the women you want to show up?

Pittsburgh venues that attract the most women have one commonality: loud music and a dance floor. My assumption about this is that women want attention or at least more attention than any other girl is getting, but having to talk and interact with every stupid, drunk loser in the place gets annoying. Thus, the loud music drowns out most conversations that would normally start up with guys and the dance floor makes most guys too self-conscious to get out there with her (on her). It keeps most guys at a distance while still attracting their attention. Margarita Mama's even promotes this by only letting girls get up and dance on any structure in the place.

One thing is missing from the equation, though: single women are all looking for a strong, dominant, confident man, which is far more rare than a hott woman (count how many guys like that you see out at a club and how many hott girls you see there). Among all the bullshit guys, she's kinda hoping her superior ability to attraction attention will land a truly sought-after guy. And that drive will keep her coming back to a place.

By filling a club with socially powerful, strong, confident men, and attractive women will instinctively flock there to compete for attention, and they'll have a much better time doing it. But like I said, we're rare... and we know it.

The Recap. The strong, confident guys know how to give a girl a great time, motivating them to frequent a place where that happens. Following the hott women are throngs of average, sexually frustrated guys who'll spend their hard earned money on socially accepted, destructive habits, generously contributing to the venue's bottom line. And that is the economics of social dynamics.

Farewell Crazy Horse Saloon

I've never been to the place, but I'm sorry to see it go. If you're going to go down... in flames would be the way to do. At least you didn't end up like that bar in Rhode Island.

The Proximity Head Jerk

I've noticed recently, when I walk up to a group of girls and start a conversation, a group of guys are inevitably within three to five feet of the girls and at least one of them snaps his head over to look at me as if a bomb just dropped on his apartment building.

I feel bad for the guy because it's so obvious that he and his friends where standing there hoping something would happen to facilitate him meeting the girls, and to have me come in means I got there first. He's SOL.

It happens with girls too who see another girl come up to talk to me and my buddies (yeah, it happens from time to time). The difference is that I'll usually go talk to the girl in waiting later. It doesn't necessarily kill her chances. Guys who stand there are shooting themselves in the foot showing that they don't have the balls to just go up to her.

Jam On Walnut

Some friends and I went to Shadyside's Jam on Walnut last night. We were hanging out on the sidewalk, listening to the bands play. Two of the Miller Lite girls, one blonde and one brunette, came walking down Walnut into the crowd around the stage and stopped in the street just in front of us. A guy in a plaid white jacket that was too big for him, jeans, and brown shoes walked up and started talking to the blonde one. It was one of those situations where you can just look at the interaction and know the guy has no chance with her... and knows it.

After he left, I went up to her and ask what he said suspecting it was something I could probably ridicule. She said she didn't know and couldn't understand him. Apparently he was foreign. I made some crack about the size of his sports coat and questioned the nerdy tablet PC she was carrying (I know... I'm one to talk, right?). She was collecting "Rules For Men" for the Miller Lite commercials. So I gave her the rule, "Never buy a drink for a girl you've just met," which got a smile from both of them. I asked them what rules other guys had been giving them knowing full well that they'd probably be stupid average guy rules or attempts at picking the girls up, but they didn't remember any. A guy as old as my mom, wearing a baseball hat came up and started talking to the brunette. I whispered to the blonde that we should get a rule from the guy; so I tap the guy on the shoulder, pull him over, and tell him that this girl needs a rule for her tablet. He writes, "All Miller Lite girls should hug any guy drinking Miller Lite," and of course he's drinking Miller Lite. I give it a minute before saying, "Glad I'm not drinking Miller Lite." Neither of them end up giving the guy a hug. I felt bad for the guy, but oh well. When he walked off, I asked them (since that one was pretty bad) what were the worst pick up lines they've heard doing their job, but, surprizingly, they said they don't really get many. The brunette said the worst was like, "You're pretty." How boring is that. I probably should have made fun of them for not being hott enough to get enough attention to hear one or two off-the-wall, stupid lines. Instead, I wanted to know if there was anything worth knowing about them; so I asked what they had going for them besides "being pretty." Found out that the blonde is a fifth grade teacher, but the brunette had little to say. Eventually, they had to get back to work in Doc's.

It was a good night.