The Travelling Texan

“I Don’t”

2010-06-12T14:20:00.001-07:00

This is an article I found while browsing some news websites. It’s about marriage, or, more specifically, how is it no longer relevant:

The case against marriage.

While I don’t agree with everything the article says, it is an excellent read and confirms a few trends I had noticed over the last couple of years. Since I am currently working on my Austin Vs. San Diego articles I promised you guys, I don’t have time to go into detail about the article or my personal feelings on marriage. I do, however, plan on posting an article about my personal feelings on marriage eventually. Until then, I recommend you guys check out “I Don’t,” especially if you’re single and worried about tying the knot.

Oops!

2010-05-22T21:17:00.001-07:00

Some of you guys may have noticed that a post I had recent put up is now missing. That’s because it violated one of the rules I had set up for this blog. When I decided to start this blog, I promised myself I wouldn’t get political. Why? Because quite frankly I think there are too many political blogs out there and most of them spew the exact same rhetoric. The words and writers may be different, but all of them are expressing the same opinions regarding a certain party or cause. As original as I think I am, it would be impossible for me to give a political opinion that hasn’t already been articulated by someone else.

Stories, on the other hand, are unique. Sure, everyone has a story about the time they went to beach or got caught doing something they should have been doing; but the details of that story are unique to the person writing it. Even two people involved in the same event will have different accounts of it. Before the start of this blog, I had written a story about a night out I had with one of my friends. The friend had also written a story about night and even though we had described the same events, our interpretations of them were extremely different. No matter what their background is, everyone can enjoy a good story.

Politics, on the other hand, are a very sensitive subject. It doesn’t take long for you to say something that antagonizes half of your audience. Even people who lean the same direction as you will find away to knock you out of the circle with whatever arbitrary label they can invent to separate “them” from “you.” While I am not afraid of antagonizing people, it’s not something I want to do through this blog.

Before I get spammed with e-mails calling me a “pussy,” I didn’t pull the article because of an influx of hatemail (I have yet to receive any regarding the article) or some other form of backlash. I pulled it because when you post one political article it becomes much easier to post another. After all, the blog has already been tainted so what will one more stain do? I’d rather keep my blog pure.

Coming Soon: Remember when I stated I had an article about the differences between Austin and San Diego in the works? Expect to see it next week!

“You Don’t Have that Desperate Vibe”

2010-05-03T02:15:00.001-07:00

When I first started using Meetup.com, I thought it was the most awesome thing in the world. Finally a place where I could hit on more than just club girls. The first meet-up I ever went to was smooth sailing. I even went home with a girl that night. I had finally found perfection. The downside of perfection, however, is that it doesn’t exist. No matter how good something is, the other shoe will always drop. Meetup.com was no exception.

After two or three Meetups at different groups, you start to pick up on the general population of the people who congregate these events: the desperate and the sexless. Most of the men who go to these events have absolutely no game. I’m not talking about your average “I get lucky once in awhile” type guy. These are the kind of guys who are over the hill, have multiple social ticks, and probably haven’t seen female genitalia since their moms gave birth to them. But when you consider the kind of women who go to these events, it doesn’t surprise me that they would attract these kinds of guys. Almost all of these women are older (aged 30+ with the median closer to 40), and like most single women that age they come with a number of issues.

If you’re lucky, the woman you choose—or chooses you, as tend to happen at these things—has only minor problems. One woman I had been flirting with at an event in February had a great personality, seemed emotionally stable, and a cute face, but had obviously spent more time at McDonalds than the gym. Why was I flirting with her? Drinking nothing but Bacardi 151 for two hours can do that to you. Sadly, she was one of the best looking girls at the event.

Other women made train wrecks look like clean operations. I had a conversation with two older women who could nothing but bitch about this other woman’s breasts. [Backstory: During the comedy act beforehand, a woman in the front row had huge breasts. Every comedian took notice of this and made jokes at her expense, making her the center of attention.] We could never get a consensus on whether they were real or fake, but what was painfully obvious was the animosity these two ladies had toward a woman they didn’t know simply because she was more “gifted” than they were. The two bitchy women had fake breasts, something they readily admitted. Chances are the two women were just jealous that a woman got more attention from people than they did after paying all that money to assuage their insecurities. I quickly got as far away from them as possible.

That’s pretty much a summary of every “social” Meetup event. I thought a Meetup.com event limited to people in their 20’s and 30’s would be a little better, I was certainly right about the “little” part.

I wasn’t expecting anything but a change of scenery when I arrived at the house party toting an unopened bottle of Bacardi 151. I had been hitting up Moondoggies almost every weekend and wanted to do something new. Since I hadn’t been to a house party in awhile, I figured it would something different to try.

After introducing myself to the host and handing him the bottle. He thanked me for finally bringing strong liquor and started to make the Jungle Juice. After uniting with my friend, [Gus], the guy I met at the first Meetup.com event I ever went to, the two of us went upstairs to check out the rest of the party.

Like I expected, most of the guys were in their 20s and most of the women were in their 30s. It was Meetup.com, after all. The first thing I did was start up a conversation with hottest girl at the party (8.5/10). It turns out both of us had a “zest for living,” which gave us something to bond on. She told me about her time in Boulder, Colorado back when she was a student there. The elaborated on the beauty of mushrooms and the benefits of mixing pot with winter sports. In exchange, I told her about Austin. I told her about the heaven known as Sixth Street, where the bars were free and the drinks were cheap. Seven days a week, a man could get wasted for less than $20, something that can only be done in certain places San Diego. Like with most beautiful women at Meetup.com events who are fun to talk to, there was always a catch. The catch took the form of a boyfriend of eight years who was not above fighting people. (I would later hear that he had been kicked out for pinning a guy up against the wall and strangling him). So I took the interesting stories she had given me and moved on. No woman, no matter how hot, is worth fighting over.

One of the other people I had talked to, [Brad], was in the military and had spent two years in Rotterdam, Netherlands. He was one of the most interesting people I talked to that night, and the source of the title of this story. Both us were talking about many of the major Meetup.com Groups in San Diego and the drawbacks of Meetup.com in general. One group in particular—I will not name it here, but anyone who is familiar with the Meetup.com scene can figure it out—dominated the conversation. This group had been around for five years, was very large, and co-operated with an even larger group that the founder helped organize. The end result was being with bombarded with so many event e-mails it bordered on spam. The founder was a cool person, but the meet-ups had the same problem most of the other ones did. Namely, the desperation of the attendants.

Brad: The problem with the events is that most of the women there are older and desperate. Cougars, basically.

Me: I’ve noticed. At least the age cap on this event lowers the number a bit.

Brad: True, but you can still look around and see how desperate many of these people are, especially the guys.

Me: [I looked around. He was right.] Yeah, I can definitely see that.

Brad: You don’t have that desperate vibe, which puts you ahead of most of the guys here.

Me (laughing): Thanks.

After tlaking with Brad, I struck up a decent conversation with a cute (7.5/10) Asian girl who turned out to be a nurse. While she enjoyed talking to me, it became painfully clear after a while that my age was going to be an issue. Most of the people who come to Meetup events are looking for a hook-up. They want to find a guy or girl, take them home, and bang them until dawn. Not this girl, she was looking for a boyfriend and didn’t want to date someone three years younger than her (22 vs. 25).

It was the nature of the beast. Meetup.com would always be filled with an older crowd, even events for people in their 20s and 30s. Sure, they would be younger than most other groups, but they still had a few years on me. It didn’t just extend to the party groups, either. I went to a Meetup event for writers and was the youngest one there by at least ten years. The reason was obvious. Most of the people my age were still in college, and college is the best place for social gathering in existence. Older people, on the other hand, no longer had access to a college campus so they had to rely on alternative methods of social networking. This is the same reason why the people on dating sites tended to be 24 or older.

I left the party around 1 AM after getting the number of this cute female painter (I have a weakness for artists). Overall, it was an okay experience. It’s not the party, it’s the association. Meetup.com is just not made for people my age. Even in the 20s-30s group, I was still among the youngest while in a college setting I’d be about mid-range. Most people take five years to graduate nowadays and due to the economic collapse of 2008, most of my peers attended grad or law school to wait out the bad times. That leaves those of us in the middle to find our own place in the world. Meetup.com is not mine. It will do in a pinch, but I will look to satisfy my social needs elsewhere. Besides, if the hottest girl at a party is only 8.5/10 and she’s the only one, you need to find a better venue.

Updates Coming Soon

2010-04-26T22:17:00.001-07:00

Hey all!

I hope you liked my April Fool’s update.

I’ve been really busy with life lately and thus haven’t had the chance to do any major updates. At the beginning of the month, I was busy moving into my new place (which I love). Then I got bogged down with the other, more serious, writing projects I am working on. Now I’m wrapped up reading a bunch of new books I bought on Amazon.com.

That said, I have a new stories and articles in the works. The one I’m going to post next deals with San Diego. Expect it to come out this weekend.

Before I go, I would like to mention one thing: I agree with Jim Carrey’s Twitter update about Elin Woods. Chances are she did know something was going on. Why do I believe this? Because Elin is not stupid. There are ways to tell when your man has been getting some from outside sources. One example being a normally horny man who is not battling depression or any other sort of mental disorder sudden has a sharp and pro-longed decrease in his sex-drive. If he was a one-blowjob-per-day guy six months ago but now can go days without even seeing you naked, he’s getting action from someone else.

I’m not saying what Tiger did was right, I’m saying that Elin wasn’t anywhere close to being as blindsided as the media painted her to be.

Best Night Ever!!!!

2010-04-01T01:01:00.001-07:00

Last night started out good and only got better. At around 7 PM my friends Duncan, Lucas, and Wendy all showed up at my new apartment for some drinks. I poured us some shots made with SKYY and Bacardi Silver. After we all had a shot glass in our hand, Lucas proposed a toast.

Me: What are we toasting to?
Lucas: Masturbation, retard sex, and toilet humor!
Duncan (who had arrived drunk): HELL YEAH!
Wendy: Eww, toilet humor! You guys are gross.

After a few more drinks, we piled into Duncan’s Hummer and started heading toward the Gaslamp Quarter. Duncan got behind the wheel, Lucas took shotgun, Wendy and I got in the back. I turned it on the TV in the back and flipped to the Disney Channel—because that’s how I roll. After a couple of minutes, Bill Nye the Science Guy came on. Everyone who’s hung out with me knows what’s coming next.

Me: One, two, three, BILL NYE!
Duncan: BILL NYE!
Lucas: BILL NYE!
Wendy: Bill Nye?
Me: You said it last! That means you have to give oral sex to the person sitting next to you!
Wendy: What? I’ve never heard of that rule!
Lucas: Ignorance of the law is no excuse.
Duncan: ROAD HEAD! ROAD HEAD!
Me [while unzipping my fly]: Hey, I don’t make the rules, I just obey them.
Wendy: I don’t know about this…
Lucas: Come on, show us how bisexual you really are!
Wendy: Okay, I’ll do it. Just promise you won’t fall in love with me. [She reached into my unzipped pants and pulled out my penis.]
Me: I don’t think you have to worry about [Wendy started sucking my dick] ooooooooh yeaaaaaaah!

Wendy claimed to be bisexual, but we had only seen her hook up with other girls. Her being a closet lesbian was the subject of many jokes between the four of us. Though we would never admit it, we all believed she was bisexual; it was something we had taken on faith, until last night. Now we didn’t have to take it on faith anymore. Not only did she suck me off, but she gave me one of the best blowjobs I’ve ever had. The world needs more bisexual women.

After I had finished (she swallowed) we all started swapping stories. (According to her, my cum tasted like honey.)

I told them about my first Mardi Gra.

Me:…never had I been so happy to be cock-blocked!
Duncan: DAMN!
Lucas: You are a far greater man than me.
Wendy: Never underestimate a fat girl in heat!

Lucas told us about the time he put his dick in a girl’s butt and it got stuck.

Lucas: I don’t know what was worse: having to explain the situation to the doctor, or having the whole waiting room laugh at me.
Me: You should write a story and title it “In Support of Lube: a Cautionary Tale.”
Duncan: When you say you stuck it in her ass, you really STUCK IT IN HER ASS!
Wendy: Her asshole must have been microscopic!
Me: BURN!
Duncan: SMALL COCK! SMALL COCK! YOU CAN’T SEE IT HERE WITHOUT A MAGNIFIYING GLASS NEAR!

Duncan told us an incoherent story involving an elderly woman and his sex organs.

Duncan:…and she said that was the first good thing to ever happen to her since becoming a hobo 40 years ago.

There was a long, awkward silence.

Wendy: I once voted in an election.

The three of us guys erupted in laughter.

Me: Yeah right, and I’m a member of Ku Klux Klan!
Lucas: Next you’ll be trying to tell us you can drive!
Duncan: THERE AIN’T NO POLLING PLACE IN THE KITCHEN!
Wendy: Fuck you!
Me: With me you’re already three-fourths of the way there.

All four of us were laughing for the rest of the drive. We finally made it downtown. Even though we crashed into a light post, it didn’t matter because were IN STATE!

We walked into Old Sausage, one of the many rooftop bars downtown. From the moment we stepped out of the elevator, it was painfully clear we weren’t going to be staying for long. Of the hundred or so people in the place only three of them were women. We all walked up to the bar and sat down.

Bartender: What can I get you guys?
Lucas [pointing to Wendy]: My friend here is bisexual so do we get half off if she orders all our drinks?
Bartender: What?
Lucas: Sorry. I figured with all the men here it was “Gays Drink Free” night.

We were asked to leave the bar. The four of us walked down the street and got in line for E}{pensive $hithole, one of San Diego’s many overrated, overpriced, and overcrowded nightclubs. Why were we there instead of at one of the parties going on at San Diego’s many universities where the drinks were free and the girls were easy? Because if you can get laid in a nightclub, you can get laid anywhere!
After placing our cars down as collateral and passing a credit check, we were allowed to enter the club. Duncan walked up to the first hot girl he saw.

Duncan: Do you know why “science” starts with an “S?”
Girl: No?
Duncan: BECAUSE SEX DOES TOO!
[The girl smiled, took his hand, and led him to the closed off VIP section.]
Duncan [waving at us]: SEE YOU SEXLESS PANSIES LATER!
Wendy: Great, now how are we going to get home tonight?
Me: I don’t plan on going home tonight.
Lucas: Enough with the negativity, you guys are ruining my STATE!
Me: I can’t let Duncan have all the fun. [I walked toward a hot girl I had spotted.]

The hot girl in question was a beautiful blonde in a wheelchair. Since I’ve always wanted to fuck a girl who’s in a wheelchair, I wasn’t going to let this opportunity go.

Me [as I placed my hands on her shoulders and bent down so I could whisper in her ear]: I bruise easily, so be gentle when you handle me.
She smiled and touched her forehead to mine. Boom, make-out!
Me: Let’s so somewhere private.
Her: Why?
Me: So you can give me some love on wheels.
Her [while smiling]: Let’s go to the kitchen.

After I was done, I bumped in to Duncan.
Me: Where’s your girl?
Duncan: She didn’t like the Molotov Cocktail I gave her.
Me: You mean when you jizz in her eyes and shout out, “Feel the burn of my ivory napalm?”
Duncan: No, I mean when you light a bottle of alcohol on fire and POUR IT DOWN HER THROAT!
Me: How much alcohol have you had tonight?
Duncan: I stopped counting after one.
Me: One shot?
Duncan: One bottle. (He was being serious.)
Me: I’m getting far away from you.

In my quest to distance myself from the crime I knew Duncan would soon be committing, I spotted Lucas. He was hitting on a girl large enough to have her own gravitational pull. When he got drunk enough, Lucas was unable to distinguish between a woman and small planet. His nickname was “Fat Fuck” not because he was obese (he was the most in shape of all of us), but because he was known to accidentally sleep with fat women on a regular basis.

I thought about warning him, but then I remembered a lesson I learned from one of my friends. Admonishing someone in the field was a bad idea because it could lower their state. State is something as rare a platinum ore yet is as essential to running solid game as a blood transfusion is to a bleeding man. To ruin Lucas’ state would the highest of sins, so I left him to burn in the atmosphere of the planet he was making out with.

I decided to look for Wendy. As I approached the bar upstairs, I noticed a large cheering crowd had gathered around it. I fought my way to the front to find Wendy drunkenly masturbating with a shot glass. A random girl poured vodka all over Wendy’s white shirt, making her dark, Indian nipples very visible. Two guys next to her fought over Wendy’s thong. I could tell already that Wendy was going to have the best night of her life—and not remember a single second of it. But I would, and that’s what’s important for blackmail. I smiled as fought my way back out of the crowd and decided to find another girl.

And find another girl I did. She was the hottest one I had seen all night. Red hair, green eyes, black glasses, no freckles, and large breasts. She was my Perfect 10. She looked my direction and gave me “fuck me” eyes. Not much talking was necessary. Without even giving each other our names, we were in a cab driving to her place.

She lived in one of the many high-rise condos downtown. Her place was sweet. We had some wine, made-out a bit, and then it was time to go to the bedroom. We were messing around. She was stroking my exposed cock and I was sucking her exposed, perfect, pink nipples.

After a few minutes…
Her: I want to have sex with you.
Me: Then let’s do this!

She pulled off my pants, lifted up her dress, and stuck her penis in me.

50th Law Review

2010-03-20T11:04:00.001-07:00

Fear. Ghosts, plane crashes, poverty, violence, music with multiple notes in the minor scales, everyone is afraid of something.
Fear is natural and if it didn't exist, humans probably wouldn't have lasted as long. In modern times however, it has become a problem.
Our society is saturated with fear. Every day we are constantly bombarded by frivolous information that causes us to question ourselves. Are you being ripped off? Possible terrorist attack in your town! Are you eating too many [carbs, fats, proteins, ice cubes, whatever the next trendy food to hate is]? One that sticks out in my mind is the question of whether someone is or isn't a "sex addict." There isn't even a certified definition for the term "sex addict." Yet so many people are worried their spouse/partner is one. So much power is given to a phrase that has no official meaning.

Those are all just surface issues, however. The real problem is society as a whole holds many aspects of the fearful lifestyle as high moral truths. “Avoid all conflict, do as you are told, and don’t rock the boat!” These are the rules we are told to adhere to if we wish to be functional members of society, all of which are inherently fearful. So how can one operate fearlessly with so much fear embedded into the world? That's the question 50th Law seeks to answer, and it does that job very well.

50th Law is a book written by Robert Greene and 50 Cent. Yes, that's right. 50 Cent the rapper co-authored a book. I have to admit, I had very little respect for the guy before I read this book. I thought he was a faker trying to cash in on the fad of promoting negative racial stereotypes. In addition to using the historical references Greene is known for, the book teaches its lessons through excerpts from 50's life. After reading the book, I still hate 50 Cent’s music but now understand that he is anything but the faker I thought he was.

The basic premise of the book is that society lives under the tyranny of fear and by living a fearless life a person can gain power in this frightened world. True to the nature of his other books, the information is presented in steps.

The layout of each step is the same:

1. A chapter page that contains the “rule” to be explained and a small paragraph about it.

2. An excerpt from 50’s life followed by an interpretation of that excerpt.

3. A detailed explanation of the rule and how it can be applied to your life.

4. A “reversal” section in which a negative social connotation of a word or idea and the stigma associated with it is debunked and a better explanation of that word or idea is provided.

First it is noted that there is a difference between fearlessness and recklessness. Being fearless is not blindly leaping into danger or being overly aggressive. Those are signs of insecurity and poor judgment. Instead, being fearless is a willingness to face and overcome adversity rather than changing your life to avoid it.

The most commonly noted and criticized aspect of Greene's books is that they are amoral. This isn't to say they are evil (immoral), but that they do not factor morality into their points. To the “proper” types in society, however, this is considered "evil." I, on the other hand, consider it to be one of his books strongest points. When I'm reading a book, I want it to be without moral bias. Just give me the facts and let me form my own moral assumptions. Too many guidance, psychology, and self-help books try to dictate a certain moral code to you. In many cases I feel like I'm reading a sermon and not a book.

Many of the chapters point out the honest truth of many issues that society forces us to ignore, but some of them express a completely unusual way of approaching a situation. Robert Greene’s view on death is probably the most ground-breaking and lucid part of the book. For that reason, I will not spoil it by posting it here.

The quality of the writing is good but different. I was surprised to find words like "shit" in the book, but those contributions are probably due to 50 Cent's influence and considering the things you learn about keeping up an image, the cussing is expected and arguably appropriate.

The only flaws this book has are its lack of table of contents and poor characterization. All of Greene’s others books have a detailed table of contents that allows the reader to easily navigate the book. For example, if I wanted to refresh yourself on sexual style of the Star in Art of Seduction you were able to use the table of content to easily identify the page number. Sometimes I won’t even need to find the page number. The chapter listings contain a small blurb about that chapter. If that’s all I wanted, then there is no need to look at any more of the book. 50th Law, however, doesn’t have a table of contents. That means if I want to reread a specific section of the book or point out a specific paragraph to someone, I have to hunt for it. That gets annoying really fast. The book is considered to be a sequel or addendum to 48 Laws of Power. While this is technically true, 50th Law should not be read as such. The book not only effectively teaches its lesson without the help of 48 Laws of Power, but should be read first. To paraphrase Greene, knowing all 48 laws is useless if you are too scared to apply them. I will extend it by saying the same goes for war strategies and seduction. In fact, the points of all three of Greene's other books can be derived from 50th Law. Many of the statements in that book could easily be applied to power games, the wars of everyday life, and seduction. None of these flaws are enough to damage my love of the book, however.

I give 50th Law a 10/10. It’s a brilliant and insightful book, a must-read for the brave and cowardly alike.

Link to 50th Law on Amazon.

Link to Robert Greene’s website and blog.

Prison Lesbians and Quentin Tarantino…

2010-03-20T10:52:00.001-07:00

…are two things I do not think of when I listen to the song “Telephone” by Lady Gaga. Nevertheless, that’s exactly what she put in her music video for the song. Don’t take my word for it, watch it for yourself.

I don’t know what she was trying to do with this video, but she failed miserably at it. As original as Lady Gaga is, I would have thought she could make a captivating video that at least had something to do with the song.

Movie Review: Alice in Wonderland 3D

2010-03-13T11:21:00.001-08:00

WARNING: I TRIED TO MAKE THIS REVIEW AS SPOILER-FREE AS POSSIBLE, BUT READ IT AT YOUR OWN RISK!

I have to be honest: I hated Disney’s original animated version of Alice in Wonderland. It wasn’t until I did my Senior Theme on the book in high school that I gained a love and respect for the story. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (a.k.a Lewis Carroll), the writer of the book was a genius. While the story focuses on a young girl and is conveyed as a children’s story, the content of the book is centered around themes much too complicated or the average child to understand.

This review is not about the book but the new movie, which was very good.

The movie is not a real-life remake of the animated film, but a sequel. Over has passed since Alice last visited Wonderland. She’s all grown up and is at odds with 19th century English society. Everything is prim and proper except her, a fact she keeps on emphasizing throughout the movie—along with her desire to disobey. After “taking a moment to think” after a lord proposed to her to chase after a white rabbit, she takes a second trip down the rabbit hole. Even though it is a sequel, she is put through many of the same ordeals such as the famous “eat me, drink me” scene a second time. The reason being that she doesn’t remember what Wonderland was like.

The acting was excellent. Helen Carter makes an excellent Red Queen, bringing the character to life in way the original movie didn’t. She makes the Red Queen look like a detestable bitch with no patience for anything but her own selfish concerns, which is exactly how she is supposed to be. Johnny Depp did a great job of portraying the Mad Hatter. He gave the Hatter a noble and charming disposition while expressively conveying the Hatter’s insanity.

Even though many of the characters and events are taken from the book, they are all given a new direction and purpose. In the movie, all the protagonists are against the Red Queen. In the book, there is no collective unity between the characters. When Alice is directed to the March Hare by the Cheshire cat in the book, the Hare and the Hatter don’t seem to know or care about his existence. In the movie, however, the Cheshire Cat is a recognized comrade. The movies conveys the characters as a small revolutionary force loyal to the White Queen when in reality the Hatter and the White Queen aren’t even in the same story. Normally, these differences would lead to a disaster, but instead this new attitude given to the characters is what drives the movie and makes it interesting. Seeing all the unique gifts and traits of the characters being put toward a single goal in a way that was both entertaining and distinctive (I can think of more than one movie where a character’s tricks were overdone within the first half of the flick) was true display of writing talent.

Despite having interesting characters, the plot of the movie was too predictable. Not because I read the book, but because there seemed to be a lack of effort to put any “uh-oh!” moments in the movie. What do I mean by that? Most American movies have happy endings so most people know going in that no matter what the circumstances are, the good guys are going to win. What makes the movie interesting is learn how they win and the presence of a small chance that maybe the good guys won’t win this time. Almost every movie has it: that moment where everything looks bleak and it looks like the good guys aren’t going to win after all, but goodness ends up prevailing. In the nearly 2-hour length film, there were only two such moments. The first is when Alice gets a wound on the arm that gets progressively worse for first half of the time she spends in Wonderland. It provides a source of concern, but it won’t keep people on the edge of their seats. As far as the overall movie goes, however, this is merely a small drawback.

To nitpick a little, they could have picked a better Alice. It’s not that Mia Wasikowska’s acting was terrible (it was very good), she just didn’t look like a grown up version of Alice. Mairi Challen, the little girl who played young Alice, very much resembled how Alice looked in Dodgson’s book. I was shocked when she came on screen. “They must have cast a magic spell on the book and brought the girl to life,” I said to myself. The adult Alice, however, was disappointing. “She grew up to look like THAT?” While Wasikowska’s far from ugly, I don’t see how a vital girl like Challen could grow up to loose all the color in her skin and hair and become anorexic. Mia’s blonde hair is almost white and her skin complexion borders on ghostly. Even Anne Hathaway dressed up as the White Queen was darker than her.

Speaking of Anne Hathaway, she’s even hot when she’s playing a weird character like the White Queen. I wanted to rub one out right in the theatre when I saw her come on screen, but then I remembered that’s what got Paul Reubens in trouble. That and the guy next to me was already getting a handjob from his girlfriend so I’d look unoriginal if I started jerking it. I’m kidding! She was actually sucking his dick. Anyway, I could write about Anne all day so I’m going to end this.

I give Alice in Wonderland a 7.5/10. While it’s certainly a good movie and worth seeing (especially in 3D), it doesn’t make my top ten or even my top twenty. Expect a good movie, but don’t expect to leave the theater in awe.

Valentine’s Day: the Unsung Holiday

2010-02-28T11:52:00.001-08:00

People love to complain about Valentine’s Day. Every year when February 14th rolls around, my Facebook is congested with updates from people whining about how much Valentine’s Day sucks. Then on the equally annoying flipside, there are all those couples who feel it is appropriate to shout out their undying love for each other to the loose circle of “friends” they have on an online networking site. But that is to be expected. After all, Valentine’s Day supposed to be a “couples’ holiday.” Bullshit!

If anything, couples get the raw deal on Valentine's Day. The man is expected to do something special for his partner. This usually involves spending $10 on a box of microscopic chocolates, buying a cluster of dead plants, and ordering like it’s the last supper at a fancy restaurant. And even after all that she STILL won’t let him put it in her butt. For women, its worse. All that money the boyfriend spent on them on Valentine’s Day could have been spread out over the entire month. Instead of having one large gifts, the boyfriend could give them thirty smaller gifts that would make her smile for thirty days. Who wouldn’t rather have a good month over a good day? Not only that, but the boyfriend will use Valentine’s Day as an excuse to not treat her to anything for weeks to come. For the first couple of weeks he’ll say, “I just took you out for Valentine’s Day, aren’t you happy?” Then once that excuse gets old, he’ll complain about how much the holiday set him back financially and how he can’t afford to take her out for awhile. Ironically, it is usually the women in relationships that make such a big deal out of Valentine’s Day. If they realized they were getting gypped, they would shut up. Hopefully they won’t because then the stigma associated with the holiday would evaporate, but I’m getting ahead of myself here.

This entry isn’t about couples, however, this is about the single people. There are few things in life more pathetic than the typical single person on Valentine’s day. The Facebook complainers are annoying, but some of the updates that aren’t complaints are just flat out depressing. Last year, I read a Facebook update from a friend that read “Sitting in the dark in my room on Valentine’s Day…alone.” That update couldn’t have been more miserable if he ended it with “About to load my gun in a minute.” It also happened to be on a Saturday at a college campus. I wrote back saying, “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s Saturday! Tonight, go out and find yourself a Valentine!” This is what many people don’t realize, and this what this article is about.

Being single on Valentine’s Day is blessing, not a curse. There are three holidays every year where a person has the highest chance of hooking up: Halloween, New Year’s Eve, and Valentine’s Day. Halloween because everyone (men and women) is dressed like a slut, and it’s hard not to play the role while you are wearing the costume. New Year’s is obvious. Everyone is drunk and wants to do one last naughty thing before they start the new year. Drunk + the desire to do something naughty = sex. Valentine’s Day is harder for people to wrap their head around, which is why so many single people spend the holiday writing depressing updates and cutting themselves when they could be out getting laid.

Think about it. Most of the couples are either still at dinner, having sex at home, or sleeping by the time night rolls around. This means nearly all the people you see at the bars, clubs, and parties on Valentine’s day are single. Because the holiday is so hyped up by women in relationships, all the single women out there are depressed about not having a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. The easiest people to seduce are the lonely and the unhappy. Add alcohol to the mix and you have a surefire recipe for getting some form of action, even if it is just a makeout. There’s a reason “Valentine’s Day” and “Venereal Disease” have the same abbreviations.

I was lucky enough to figure this out early and was able to take advantage of it, but one Valentine’s Day in particular stands out as my favorite.

Last year I was still a student at the University of Texas and Valentine’s Day happened to fall on a Saturday. This meant there were holiday-themed parties on both Friday and Saturday night. After an awesome party that Friday, I was ready for round two. This time, however, would be a little different because I was 21.

Like most weekends that year, I pre-partied at my house before going out. It was usual Monster-rum combination. Monster for the energy, and rum for the lowered inhibitions. I wanted to get some action, and I wasn’t going to let something like “morals” or “better judgment” get in my way.

I had a particular party in mind that night. A girl I had met a few weeks beforehand had told me her 21st birthday was on Valentine’s Day and that she was having a party. I told her I’d go. She was hot and she had an even hotter roommate. Both were single so I figured I had a good chance of hooking up with at least one of them. Since that party wasn’t starting until later on in the night, I decided to go to another party to pass the time.

I don’t remember most of the details of the first party, but I do remember the girls there being hot. I don’t know why I didn’t stay. I probably should have considering how bad the birthday party was. It didn’t stop me from getting any action, but I probably could have gotten a whole lot more if I had stayed at the previous party. But then, this wouldn’t have been story worthy.

Around 11 PM, I went to the birthday girl’s apartment and drank at her place with all her friends. Then we got on the E-Bus (a bus that ferries college students to and from downtown) to Sixth Street, a street full of bars with cheap drinks and no cover (God, I miss that place). I’m not going to go into too much detail here, but basically the girl wasn’t nearly as cool as I thought she was and turned out to be a real bitch so I split from her group and moved to another section of the bar—that’s when things got good.

One of the advantages of being a serial party-crasher was that I met a bunch of people. As a result, I couldn’t go anywhere without knowing someone. As soon as I split up from Birthday Bitch, I bumped into a group of girls I knew from one of my previous adventures. They fed me drinks for awhile and we joked about Valentine’s Day. However, it was clear that none of them were going to sleep with me so I moved on. On the way out, I bumped into another girl I knew. I had met her my sophomore year and had developed a crush on her, but never had the guts to do anything. While I no longer had feelings for her, I’m never one to pass up an opportunity. I don’t remember exactly what I said to her, but I managed to get a kiss. It was only on the cheek, but I was happy. The best part: she was there with her boyfriend.

After kissing a few other girls, I bumped into a girl, [Cindy], who had added me on Facebook after commenting about how I looked like Lionel Richie. I talked with Cindy and her friend for awhile and then we all decided to leave the bar. Once we got outside, we met up with a group of people who I knew, but didn’t know that Cindy also knew. We chatted for awhile in a huge circle in the middle of the street (they had been blocked off so no cars could go through). Things were going well until one of the girls in our group puked right in the middle of our circle. Immediately, we all scattered, desperately trying to distance ourselves from the vomit. Cindy and I ended up getting on the E-Bus together, where she saw some more of her friends.

Eventually this guy got on the bus and demanded my seat. Normally I’d tell him to go fuck himself with a hot curling iron, but he had a girl with him. I usually joke about being so drunk I was in a coma, but this girl really was barely conscious. My friends and I decided to show our concern for the girl’s wellbeing by messing with the couple for the entire bus ride back.

It started off so innocently:

Cindy: Shouldn’t you guys be riding back in an ambulance instead of a bus?

…And just got progressively worse:

Friend#1: Make sure you give her lots of water.

Me: Yeah, IF she wakes up gives her lots of water.

Friend#1 [while laughing]: You’re terrible.

[Cindy and Friend#2 are laughing too hard to comment]

…Until we finally hit rock bottom:

At one point the girl started puking and seven different people start handing the boyfriend bags, even though he had one. The jackals descended upon their helpless prey.

Me [while handing him a bag]: Double bag that shit. We don’t want the scent to start a chain reaction.

[Half the bus cracked up at this one]

Friend#1: You better not puke on me, I don’t do laundry until next Friday.

Me: [I can’t really remember what I said here, but it had something to do with me getting the pants I was wearing for Christmas. Whatever it was, everyone thought it was funny.]

Despite my splendid performance, I couldn’t get Cindy to come home with me. I bought some donuts and went back to my apartment thinking the night was over. Little did I know, Aphrodite had one last surprise in store for me.

As I was about to open the door to my apartment, I noticed a beautiful girl sitting by the door of one of the other apartments. I gave her a standard greeting and she motioned for me to sit by her. It turned out that she went to Texas A&M and was just visiting friends in Austin. She introduced herself and I kissed her hand. She kissed mine in return. We immediately started making out. I’ve locked lips with more women than I can count, but she will always stick out in my mind because of how good she was. This girl knew how to kiss. Even since coming to California, I have not met a girl who could kiss like her.

Even though she wouldn’t have sex with me, she managed to earn a place in the TT Hall of Fame simply because of what she could do with her tongue. During one of our make-out sessions, her boyfriend called. She made up some lie about being outside by herself and then continued to make out with me after she hung up.

The last event I can recall before I passed out was talking on Facebook with another one of my friends on Valentine’s Day.

Friend: I don’t get why people sit at home and cry on Valentine’s Day.

Me: Exactly! Instead sitting in your room crying about how you don’t have a Valentine, go to a party and find yourself one.

Absinthe (Part II)

2010-02-20T09:11:00.001-08:00

Absinthe has a very unusual taste. Not only is it very herbal and strong, but it is very dominating as well. It is impossible to erase the taste of absinthe. No matter what mixer you put in it, the drink will always taste like absinthe. Spirte, tonic, water, fruit juice, Gatorade; none of my standard mixtures blotted out the taste. Eventually, I just gave up and went back to the basics: drinking it straight. Once I had a good buzz going, I left my apartment.

Another thing about absinthe is that even when the alcohol wears off, the thujone still affects you. After an odd adventure with some people I met on the street, I finally made it to the frat party I had originally planned to go to. By that time, however, all the alcohol had worn off so I thought I was sober.

The fact that I still went to this frat party should have been an indication that I was acting a little different. Earlier that week, I had gotten tipped off about the party by one off the brothers i saw standing outside the house while I was going to another party. We exchanged information and I went on my merry way. The night of the party, he sent me a text saying it was going to be a “frat brothers only” event and to not bother coming. Normally, I would have just left it at that and found something else to do. Not this time. I decided, instead, that I would show up anyway and if they didn’t like it they could kick me out. Besides, I knew the president of the fraternity and he liked me. Even if it was just for frat brothers only, he’d let me stay. I walked into the door.

Turns out that the frat brother was full of shit. (Aren’t most of them?) All kinds of people were at this party. Quite a few guys and plenty of hot girls, which was why I was there. After some meaningless conversations with a few different girls, things got interesting. While I talked to people inside, another drama played out in the backyard.

One of the frat brothers, [Fratboy], made out with a girl, [Patty]. While I and many others found nothing wrong with the girl physically (the only thing I could hold against her was her smoking), all of Fratboy’s female friends thought she was ugly. As they made fun of him for swapping slobber with an “ugly chick,” Fratboy tried to distance himself from the whole ordeal by saying he was drunk and didn’t realize how ugly she was. This brought Patty to tears.

By the time I got to the scene, Patty was already crying. Fratboy’s female friends had surrounded him and, along with others who had joined in, proceeded to make jokes about him and “Ugly Betty.” In reality, the girls were probably just jealous that he kissed Patty instead of one of them. (“I’m a hotter than she is, why did he pick her over me?”) Fratboy’s female friends were hot, far more so than Patty. Hooking up with one of them would have been an excellent way to close out my time in Austin, a grand finale worthy of sharing with the guys the next day. I just wanted to fuck them, their insecurities were of minimal concern. Normally, I would have been disgusted by the entire scene. As someone who was teased a lot in my younger years (elementary and middle school), I didn’t like to see other people getting picked on—unless they deserved it. Patty definitely didn’t deserve it. While I can’t guarantee I would have stood up for Patty, I definitely wouldn’t have given those hot girls the privilege of tasting my penis. However, it was not a normal night.

With all my doors open, I looked at the situation without bias. Where I once saw atrocity, I saw opportunity. There were loopholes to utilize and weaknesses to exploit. I wanted to have sex with one of those girls. I preferred the blonde one, as she was the most attractive, but any of them would do. The are two easy ways to get to a woman’s vagina: Rohypnol and comedy. Since I’m not a rapist, I had to use the latter. Fortunately, the girls had provided me an excellent opportunity to display my humor. I joined the small crowd that had gathered around Fratboy.

Not even bothering to introduce myself, I got right into it. “Hey, you’re doing good work,” I told Fratboy, “You’re sleeping with the ugly girls so we don’t have to.” I started fake crying, Glenn Beck style. “Taking one for the team, I’m so proud of you. YOU’RE A HERO, MAN!!!” Everyone in the group thought I was hilarious. Patty was standing right behind us listening us all bust on her. By that time she had stopped crying, but my contribution and the following comments from others brought her to tears again. She sat in a corner and cried, an unfortunate civilian casualty in a sexual war.

At the same time, I played the “nice guy” to Patty’s face, like a doctor healing soldiers on the other side. If none of the hot girls worked out, I wanted a back-up girl. Since Patty was now in an emotionally-vulnerable state, I knew she’d be an easy target. Her self-esteem had been damaged, which meant she would want to have sex in order to validate herself as an attractive woman. I gave her a hug, rubbed her back, and, as I gently stroked her face, said, “Those are guys are mean. You’re not ugly at all.” After comforting Patty, I left to flirt with the hot girls.

This back and forth went on until the end of the party. Talking to the hot girls had not been a pleasant experience. They liked me, but they were too stupid for me to hang around for a long period of time. I thought, “Why the hell am I trying to fuck a girl who I wouldn’t even talk to if not for her looks?” Once that absinthe-induced realization crossed my mind, I lost all attraction I had for them. That left Patty and a couple of other girls. I went for Patty. I could tell she was down to hook up, but the absinthe was starting to wear off and I started returning to normal. I felt bad (kind of) for what I did and didn’t have the heart to close the deal with her. Even though I had earned the right to have sex with her, I didn't deserve it. Instead, I made out with her and called it a night. Hey, I’m not going to leave without at least getting some action.

Aftermath:

The events at that party would stay with me for awhile. I had learned quite a bit that night, both about myself and other people. Am I blaming the absinthe for the things I did that night? Of course not! The absinthe merely unsealed what was already inside me. It didn’t add more ideas to my head, just removed filters blocking the ideas that were already there. Even though I had mostly returned the normal by the next afternoon, I was never completely the same after that night. Now that I saw the world without bias, I could never look at it the same way again. I knew that most of my perceptions and those of others were altered by their past experiences and using that knowledge I became better at distinguishing good information from bad information. More importantly, I had learned how to be bad. Being nice all the time gets you stepped on, even when you are in the right. After that night, however, I understood that being nice is not enough. You also have to be clever, which sometimes means being bad.

Top Five Worst Hangovers

2010-02-15T18:27:00.001-08:00

Note: Part II of "Absinthe" is coming soon so here's something to tie you over in the mean time.

There’s nothing fun about a hangover. For years, people have been trying to find ways to stop one, but nothing ever seems to work. Drinking more helps in the short term, but it comes to collect it’s bill eventually. Drinking water only helps before the hangover starts. Most drinkers have just accepted the fact that their fun night will be followed by hours of pain. While all hangovers suck, some are much worse than others. Here are the top five:

5. The Sneak

Just when you thought it was safe to get out of bed…

You wake up in the morning after a long, hard night of drinking and feel perfectly fine. You laugh, thinking you’ve cheated the system and go on about your day. You do some shopping, have lunch, and everything is still good. Looks like you got off without a hitch. Then as your sitting across the table from your date listening to her speak you are hit with an intense surge of pain in your head. Nope, it’s not her jealous boyfriend striking you from behind, it’s that hangover you thought you had gotten away from. You didn’t escape, it was waiting until you let your guard down. Now you have to have to listen to your date blabber about her seven cats while the hangover attacks you from within. As if covering the bill for the night wasn’t bad enough!

4. The Slow Burn

Slow and steady drives you mad

Like the Sneak, this hangover often hits you later the in day. The main difference is that it lasts much longer. It starts during the late morning as a small tingling in your forehead. By the time lunch is over, it’s developed in an average hangover headache, but it’s not done yet. It hits its peak in a couple of hours and won’t start settling down until well after dinner. This hangover is terrible because it stays with you all day, crippling your ability to be productive.

3. The Sweet Exchange

Tooth decay is the least of your worries

It sounds like a good idea at first. Mixing alcohol with sugary liquids makes the drinks taste better. How could it possibly be a bad thing? Then you wake up the next morning thinking someone drove a knife right between your eyes. All the sugar just makes the hangover worse, much worse. Even though this hangover doesn’t last very long, it’s definitely enough to make you think twice about putting Starbursts in your vodka.

2. The Office Hangover

When “happy hour” becomes “happy night”

Remember that time you went to a happy hour after work and ended up staying there all night…on a Monday? For this hangover, it’s not so much the pain that makes it bad but the location. Any hangover in the office is bad because there is nothing more annoying than doing deskwork with a headache or listening to your boss in a meeting when you are so dizzy you want to just crash in your bed. It turns what would be a normal day at the office into a painful death-march to 5 PM.

1. The Absinthe Hangover

Lucidity comes at a price

One of the first times I drank absinthe, I almost single-handedly finished off an entire bottle. The pain of the morning after was enough to make me stop drinking for a while. It was, by far, the worst pain I have ever felt. Ever burned your hand or arm on the oven? Combine that intense burning sensation with a headache painful enough to give a migraine competition and you have the absinthe hangover. I’ve had bodily injuries less painful. Hell, I’d rather get hit in the nuts with a baseball bat than endure another ones of these.

Absinthe (Part I)

2010-01-24T18:28:00.000-08:00

For those who don't know, Absinthe is a form of alcohol recently legalized in the United States. It was banned in many countries because of its supposed hallucinogenic properties. Once those were proved to be myths perpetuated by hard-up teetotalers to scare us out of doing things that make us feel good, Absinthe was made legal again throughout Europe and eventually North America. Even though it doesn't cause hallucinations, it does have one very interesting effect.

Before I can explain what this effect is I must discuss how the human brain processes information. The human brain receives information through our 5 senses. This information stream is constant, but there is much of it that the brain doesn't pay attention to so it doesn't register consciously. This is why people can "listen" to a professor talk for an hour and not pick up any of it. The information that crosses the conscious is then processed by the brain.

What do I mean by "processed?" I mean the chain of events that moves the body from registering a stimulus consciously to taking action based on that stimulus. For example, a man, Bill, hears a noise in the woods (conscious registration). He then considers his options: move away from it, move towards it, or stay still (information processing). Finally he decides to run away from it (taking action). However, why did he choose to run? It could have been a branch falling off a tree or a rabbit moving through the bushes, neither of which were a threat to him. Yet Bill assumed the worse and decided to flee. Why is that? It's because of a part of the information processing known as "interpretation," and that's where things get interesting.

Interpretation is how the information is processed. In the forest example, Bill interpreted the noise as a threat and, fearing for his life, decided to flee. What made him interpret the noise that way? Filters.

By the time they are eighteen most people have an image of both themselves and the world around them. This image determines how they interpret the information they receive. This is because any new information they receive is pitted against their previous experiences and the opinions of people they value (i.e. their parents). In other words, the information is already biased before the first stage of its processing is complete. These biases are known as filters. So whenever you hear a noise, it goes through several filters, some of which are subconscious, before you react to it.

Let's pay Bill another visit. After "nearly being killed" in the forest, he decided he needed a drink so he stopped by the local bar on his way home. After a few minutes, he noticed a hot girl standing against a nearby wall. She had been looking at him for a good thirty seconds and winked and smiled when they met eyes. [Looks to me like Bill is going to get lucky tonight.] He had sensory stimulus (spotting the hot girl) and his then brain began processing the information. What did Bill do? He turned away and looked down at his drink. An hour later he left the bar. Alone. [I guess I was wrong.]

What happened? Why didn't Bill have sex with a girl he clearly wanted and who clearly wanted him? Because Bill thought that at best she was looking at someone else and at worst she was teasing him. Why? Filters. Throughout Bill's life, his peers had told him he was a loser and that no hot girl would ever like him. And his past experiences with hot girls had been only of rejection, only enforcing what his peers had said. These two forces combined to set up a filter in Bill's mind. This filter affected the action he took.

Imagine that the mind is a hallway full of doors and each door leads to an action. However, not all the doors will open. Filters are the locks on the doors that remain shut and absinthe is the key.

The thujone contained in absinthe has a mind-opening affect on the brain. All of the filters in the brain are stripped away temporarily and information starts flowing in it's raw, unaltered form. This can be very good, but it can also be very very bad.

The summer after my senior year in college was marked by period of strong depression. I was leaving Austin for good and with it all my friends and the lifestyle I knew and loved. While packing up my apartment, I found a bottle of liquor I had forgotten I had: Absinthe. It would lead to a night of uncharacteristic behavior.

To be continued...

Tiger, What Were You Thinking?

2009-12-30T09:58:00.001-08:00

I almost hate to write this because I am a fan of Tiger Woods, but some things must be said.

Like many others, I have been following the drama involving Tiger Woods' infidelity. Also like many others, I am shocked by the ordeal. However, unlike many others my shock comes not from the immoral decisions Tiger made, but the quality of the women he chose to cheat with.

Before I get into that, however, I’d like to address the people mystified by Tiger’s actions. Quite frankly, you have to be pretty dumb to expect a professional athlete—or any celebrity, for that matter—to marry someone and not cheat. The average male pro athlete has millions of women yearning to slide down his pole. If he’s drunk, at a club, a woman approaches him with promises of sexual ecstasy, and his wife is hundreds of miles away, how can anyone expect him to do anything else?

Then there are those people who are outraged that these women would sleep with Tiger knowing he was married. They need to stop pretending they wouldn’t do the same thing if given the opportunity. There are only a few people who would turn down a night with a celebrity, and none of them are belong to the group of people raising arms against Tiger and his mistresses. Others are trying to use the fact that some companies are pulling their sponsorship in a sad attempt to legitimize their indignation over the decadence of a bunch of people they never met. Guess what? All those big corporations couldn’t care less about Tiger’s sex life. The only reason they are pulling their support is that they don’t want to lose business. Get off the high horse!

As for Tiger, is that the best he can do? Out of the 11 women he’s messed around with, only one of them is attractive. I can do better than that, and I’m not even rich or famous! Yet Tiger, an excellent golfer and decent-looking black man with lots of money, can’t even score a girl worth being seen in public with. To make matters worse, his wife is more attractive than most of his mistresses. If a man is going to cheat on his wife, he should at least respect her enough cheat with someone hotter than she is!

Let's look at some of these women:

Joslyn James

Even though she is officially a pornstar, she looks like a washed-up stripper in denial.

Either that or an aging woman desperately trying to reclaim her lost youth by getting breast implants.

Cori Rist

I thought Julia Roberts had a wide mouth, but this woman gives the Grand Canyon competition!

Jamie Jungers

In a brief moment of sanity, Tiger chose a woman who was actually cute. Even then, she’s only a 6.5/10.

Sheesh! If there any reason to be disappointed in Tiger, it should be for sleeping with ugly girls. By the way, according to some of these women Tiger doesn’t like using condoms. "Bad decision" doesn't even begin to cover it.

Where the Hell Am I?

2009-12-20T15:17:00.001-08:00

Right now you’re probably looking at this page and thinking the above. I don’t blame you, but since you are here I might as well introduce myself.

I am the Travelling Texan (or TT for short). I was born Texas and lived there for the first 22 years of my life. Then, after graduating from the University of Texas (Go Longhorns!), I moved to California for work, which is where I am now.

Since my arrival, I’ve met a plethora of crazy people with backgrounds just a versatile as mine. What happens when crazy people gather in one place? Shit goes down! But that’s not all this blog is about.

Along with crazy stories about my life (many of which will involve me being in places outside of Texas, hence the title), you can expect to find a mixed bag of other essays and articles. For example, I am currently working on a post titled “Things San Diego Has That Austin Does Not” and a sister post outlining the opposite.

Stay tuned and thanks for reading!