"Men are good in one way, but bad in many" ~Aristotle

It's really fantastic being a man. I mean, I've always inherently known this fact, but until recently have not attempted to prove it. Because -- let's be honest -- is there any doubt? I know, I know, women are always trying to change us, which by implication alerts all other women to the fact that we have something that needs changing. But I think it's all just a big conspiracy to protect our heads from exploding from pure suave egocentricity. But that's neither here nor there. You can't keep us down. Men still rule.

Let's outline just a few of the many, many, MANY benefits of being a man:

- We can get grey hair and be distinguished instead of old.

- We can get moderately overweight and be portly instead of fat.

- We can (with very few exceptions) make bodily noises in public.

- We can walk in front of a mirror and almost always find ourselves attractive.

- We can think about sex for hours (or decades) without getting bored.

- We rarely have to be bothered with those pesky things called thoughts.

- We can go bald and it is considered cute instead of tragic.

- 15 minutes from wake-up to ready-for-work. Tops.

- 15 minutes from home-from-gym to sleeping. Tops.

- We can generally wear "casual" and still pull off "semi-formal."

- We can sleep around and not be viewed as contaminated.

- Our wrinkles are attractive.

- We can resolve conflicts with the same sex within minutes.

- We can resolve conflicts with the opposite sex with ... sex.

So, with all of these things (and many more) going for us, why is it that we would willingly change ANYTHING for the hope of a second glance from a beautiful woman? Like the threat of you breaking up with us (or -- gasp! -- "withholding" anything) is going to influence our decisions. Right?

Right...?

Hmmm... maybe Aristotle was onto something...

Check this out

"What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly" ~Thomas Paine

I believe in the value of work. I am not afraid to dig into a difficult project or situation and give it a go. But I draw the line at difficult things that are difficult for no other reason than just to be frustratingly difficult. Like gas pumps.

Not to give away my age, but I am old enough to remember pre-digital gas pumps. I was driving (and paying for my own gas) by the time credit-card-ready gas pumps hit the market. I remember sighing with relief the first time I paid for my gas and drove away without having to enter the convenience store and look like a moron when the pubescent behind the counter asked what number pump I was using -- and I not know. Those were beautiful, simple times -- a summer of enjoyment. We drove across town to use that gas station, just to save the three minutes it took to pay.

Fast forward to... today. I filled my gas tank this morning; it was not beautiful, nor simple. In fact, it made me extremely irritable -- not to mention late for work. Gone are the days of entering your credit card and pumping gas. Now, you have to work your way through the list of options:

- Enter your credit card

- Enter your rewards card, or press 'Cancel'

- Enter your 5-digit ZIP, and press 'Enter'

- Would you like a car wash? Press 'Yes' or 'No'

- Would you like a receipt? Press 'Yes' or 'No'

- Save the economy. Please do not top off your tank. Press 'OK'

15 years later, I honestly thought we'd have fully automated gas stations, where I wouldn't even have to get out of my car. But instead, I'm finding myself spending longer and longer out in the cold, trying to get through the menu of gas-options. So long, in fact, that I've seen gas stations that play the news on tiny 2-inch screens to keep you entertained while you slowly freeze to death.

"My chosen representatives in the field of shagging, or, rather, courtship" ~Bridget Jones

I believe that Mr. Darcy has been erroneously vilified -- as well as romanticized -- without reason. Every woman I have ever met has, at one time, hated Mr. Darcy with a kind of hatred approaching that reserved only for people who constantly have cuter shoes than they do. Generally this hatred is generated by, and felt during, the reading of Ms. Austen's famous book. And every woman I have ever met eventually ends up lauding Mr. Darcy as the most romantic person in the world -- and why can't more men be like him?

But I believe that Mr. Darcy is an innocent man caught in a web of romantic utopian dreamsters... when, quite likely, he has no idea what is going on. Let me explain.

When Nymph and I first met, we went out once and I didn't like her at all. I didn't ask her out again, and it was very obvious that I was not interested in her. We continued to hang out socially, and quickly became good friends, but there was nothing romantic in our relationship at all, and I was perilously close to the dreaded Friend Zone (which I formerly knew nothing about, but apparently is common enough to have its own wikipedia entry), when out of the blue, I confessed my love, and, after recovering from utter confusion about my change of attitude, she was swept completely off her feet.

Well... at least... that is Nymph's version. And the version that all of her friends know by heart. But is it the truth? Does any woman really know what motivates and inspires a man? Did any of her friends and confidantes step back and say "Wait! Are you SURE that's what he feels and why he's acting that way?" Of course they didn't. Because if there's one thing all women agree on, it's men. And if they all agree, then why ruin it by asking an outsider's unwanted opinion?

I contend that Mr. Darcy is destined to be eternally misunderstood, and the poor sap will never get a chance to stand up for himself and let his side of the story be heard. Was he being rude or cruel in his attempt to save Bingley from unhappiness? Does he truly struggle with feelings of superiority, or is that just what Miss Bennet (and her sisters) believe is the case? "Lizzy" is so proud of her own acuity in social judgments, how can she really be trusted? And his "saving" of Lydia could have been just that -- or could have been a gross miscommunication on the part of "Eliza the quick."

I feel for the man; I truly do. So misrepesented. So misunderstood. What did Ms. Austen know of men anyway? Is there any proof she actually spent time alone with one? I mean, cripes, she named him Fitzwilliam! And who will stand up for our lonely champion? No man I know is willing to argue with all of English-speaking womankind over such a sensitive topic. And so the poor man sits... criticized, reviled, and ultimately glorified and idolized beyond what he deserves. And all he did was be rich, help his friend out of a mistake, and then fall in love and become stupid -- all of his decisions from that point on can be summed up as "trying to please his woman."

Kind of like my decisions with Nymph.

“Sometimes when a man recalls the good old days, he's really thinking of his bad young days” ~Ben Stein

Speaking of The Good Old Days...

(Who says I can't segue from the subject to the body?)

So I went to Subway for lunch today. Dang, I love that place. But I got to thinking... how I miss the U-Gouge! So symmetrical. So perfectly adapted to holding in all of the generously lathered mayonnaise and oil and vinegar.

Now, it used to be (back before Quiznos came along and Subway coincidentally decided to start toasting their sandwiches) that you could go in and special-request the U-Gouge anyway. But nowadays the Sandwich Artists just look at you strangely. They don't have any idea what you're talking about. They aren't even taught the U-Gouge as a backup anymore; the Sandwich Artists are only educated in the Hinge-Cut.

Does anybody else besides me think that Subway execs are huge nerds? Do they seriously have to name everything so cheesily? And speaking of cheese, why don't they have Good Old medium cheddar? Who eats provolone? Honestly!

But anyway, apparently they switched to the Hinge-Cut cut primarily because it's faster (about which I suppose I can't complain ... much), but also because it *allegedly* holds more meat IF DONE CORRECTLY. How else could they handle their line of Double Stacked sandwiches? So neither of these enhancements is anything for me to grieve about, except for the caveat of correctitude. For some reason, I always manage to get the Sandwich Artists who are more about art, and less about sandwich.

Personally, I'd take the U-Gouge back.

"Patience is a virgin" ~Unknown

We've all done it. Every one of us has purchased something online -- like pizza or movie tickets or... something wrapped in copious amounts of opaque plastic. Or whatever. Somehow we ended up on an email mailing list that we didn't want to be on.

This rant is not about the annoyance of email spam. That topic has already been beaten to a pulp by a substantial number of annoying bloggers. Unlike me, who am not annoying. Also not really all that substantial. Substantive, maybe. But I digress.

Email spam is annoying, true, but it is also requisite. Consumers must be told about the upcoming attractive offers. This is a fundamental tradition that has been celebrated since time immemorial. Before email spam there was telemarketing. Before that was snail-mail spam. Before that was... annoying people talking to you.

No, I recognize and applaud the dutiful marketers who write these trash-bound gems. My beef is with the idiots who think it takes a full ten days to unsubscribe! When I try to opt-out and am taken to the obligatory page (where I often have to re-enter my email address -- as if they don't know it already) and click 'Remove me,' WHY ON EARTH does it take 7-10 business days to remove me from the mailing list?? All that must be done is to connect to the database, delete kninsa@gmail.com, and then close the database. What are they doing, sending a post-it note to the software department and waiting until they come back from vacation?

It was faster back when I could just hang up.

"Bagels and doughnuts... round food for every mood" ~Chandler Bing

Now I'm not one to complain about things, but honestly. Whose bright idea was it to make cake doughnuts? Can you just picture some hapless genius munching melancholily on a wonderful yeast-raised doughnut, when suddenly he thinks: "You know what would be awesome? This exact same kind of food, except for heavier and drier and sweetless-er! I'll be a millionaire!"

Then again, what do I know? For all I know, the disgusting type of doughnut was invented first, and fresh, light, melt-in-your-mouth yeast-raised doughnuts came later. But all the same, once the better technology was there, why not deprecate cake doughnuts entirely? You don't see me still using cassette tapes, do you? Or a paper & leather-bound encyclopedia? Or a non-3G-network phone?

People, it's time to grow up and move on. No more heavy doughnuts!

Of course, having said all that, there are very few things in this world better than a Krispy Kreme pumpkin-spice cake doughnut. Yummy!

"Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?" ~Magneto

I have a theory. It is untested, but sound. I believe that women never want to know a man's answer to any question the women ask. Okay, "never" sounds a bit harsh -- let's stick with "hardly ever." Which is a scientific term, yes.

So, everybody already knows some examples proving my theory. Every man worth his salt should know about fat questions and beauty questions. If a woman says to you "Does this bracelet make me look fat?" or "Do you think Kathy Griffin is prettier than I am?" you immediately respond with a resounding and emphatic "NO." This is pretty much old hat; I would venture to guess that any man that is still having sex on any kind of a regular basis already has this part figured out.

But my theory extends much further than what you might learn in Answers to Women's Questions 101. For example, let's say a man and a woman are both innocently getting dressed in the morning (and by "getting dressed" I mean that she is getting dressed and he is sitting on the bed watching for whatever gratuitous glimpses he might be awarded). The woman turns to the man and says "Do you think I should wear the peach shirt or the lavendar shirt?" This is a classic example of a question that might sometimes take the man off-guard and lead him to believe that she really wants his opinion. She doesn't, and that's okay -- but it's a cruel trick to his already-waivering ego. Note that this example is not limited to clothes; it can be used when asking for opinions on any number of topics -- from attending baby showers, to re-gifting, to restaurant options.

But my favorite example of tricksy womanses asking questions simply to make us men believe we have a choice is the ever-dangerous "Do-It-Or-Else Question." This is a tactic that a woman uses (it is NEVER, EVER used by a man) which sneakily gives us the impression that we have a choice. Examples of this kind of question are: "Would you like to take out the garbage?" "Do you think it would be a good idea to turn here?" "Do you want to dust the living room before our friends get here?" "Do you think maybe you've eaten too many Swedish Fish today?" "Will you help me during the commercial break?" These questions are very misleading because, on the surface, they are asking for your opinion. Men, do not be fooled! You have no choice in the matter; you will do it, or else. The question mark so offhandedly attached to the end of the sentence means nothing.

The interesting part of my theory is that most women don't even recognize their unnatural non-need for a man's feedback. I wonder why...