How Do I look?

If for any reason you think women are the only one’s shouldering the responsibility of appearance, think again. Nobody waltzes into middle-age the way they waltzed in college classrooms on an hour of sleep and 12 shots of tequilla.

At 21 I did nothing out of the ordinary for my appearance, other than to occasionally run a brush through my hair. At the time, it was too thick for a comb – even for one of those 70’s “afro” combs – so I used something with bristles that wouldn’t snag the underbrush. Aside from that, I tried to remember to keep my teeth clean, and didn’t even think about waxing my back because I didn’t have any hair on my back. From an evolutionary perspective, I suppose it wouldn’t have been particularly attractive to other fertile baboons. Any other hair I had on my body looked like it belonged there, rather than today’s errant patches which, without immediate attention, can give the appearance of a virus.

Looking good these days has never been tougher. And given the fact that 2 centuries ago I would have probably been dead, it bumps up the level of appreciation for the effort. So not only am I not dead at this writing, but in order to stay in the game, I have to look extraordinarily alive…which means doing a lot of things that - when looked at from the perspective of youth – makes getting older an undertaking that could drive one gun shows.

Here are the basics:

I roll 1] out of bed in the morning, 2] eat [a healthy] breakfast, 3] take 5 ½ pounds of vitamins, 4] floss my teeth, 5] rinse my teeth with a whitening solution, 6] brush the same teeth with an electric toothbrush designed to hit every hidden crevice; 7] use expensive shampoo and conditioner designed to keep my scalp healthy and the hair growing, 8] apply face soap formulated specifically for the face, 9] body soap formulated specifically for the body, 10] moisturizers [body, face, feet], 11] trim my nails [hands, feet], 12] blow-dry my hair, 13] brush my hair, 14] apply gel to my hair, 15] shave and trim, 16] and then there’s the clothing thing, 17] and have I mentioned making money?

Am I getting through?

The older we get the more we have to do. And not only that, but what we do cannot come across as something we’ve done. In other words, it has to look natural, even if it isn’t. If it weren’t for all these fucking products, and battery of dermatologists, hairstylists and psychiatrists, we’d be screwed.  It’s no wonder kids feel superior. They see how much time we spend on ourselves versus how little time they spend on themselves…and they win. Only they don’t because for all the crap we have to put up with, we have also acquired a lot…and if they’re tough enough to face the challenges of getting older – which they will do unless they die first – only time will tell who really comes out ahead.

In truth, that young man - the one who was once me - might have have ended up panhandling for crack under a bridge down the street. 

But that didn’t happen, and for all the bullshit I’ve had to put up with in order to get here, I have never been happier or more fulfilled. With this said, I have a ways to go and God knows how I’m going to handle the REAL challenges that moisturizers and toothpaste can’t fix.

Maybe we all should start appreciating people who’ve REALLY been down the road…and I’m not talking about Keith Richards because Keith Richards isn’t human.
     

It’s a Tough World Out There for Single, Middle Age Women

Many single, middle-age women carry resentment with them like a Gucci handbag. It becomes a driving force in their personality, and one that men can sense like the approach of a category 5 Hurricane.  Some have even made allusions to Poe’s “Descent into the Maelstrom” when describing the difficulty navigating the turbulent waters of a sex struggling for relevance in the middle years.
 
As we all know, it’s about fading beauty, and the resentment women feel towards men for valuing it above all else. It’s not the ONLY attribute men value, but in the “must pass go to collect 200 dollars” sense, “women must be physically attractive first, and then [in the words of a close female friend] she can then let him get to know [the rest of] her…” Unfortunately, if what’s outside reminds him of his mother, getting inside is something he’s already done…and it took a lifetime to make peace with it.

Thus, not unlike trying to get through to a child afflicted with Attention Deficit Disorder, men often find themselves in a position where they must unearth the riddle to peace in order to effectively communicate. Furthermore, one must always be aware that everything these women say comes from a place of resentment, and you’re the target. It is critical to convey deference toward their plight, without giving the slightest impression that you’re aware of what that plight happens to be. It is also helpful to be somewhat self-deprecating in order to make the woman feel intellectually superior, thus leveling the playing field in HER mind. This is also the only way into her pants, if that’s your objective…and after quite a few drinks.
 
Believe me when I tell you she already knows she’s in a tailspin on the physical front, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to lose ground anywhere else. You will pay for the sins you inherited when it was determined at birth that you were NOT female.
  
A case in point was a recent exchange I had with an inebriated woman who happened to be sitting in front of a wine bar as I entered.

Fyi, “inebriated” = worst case scenario. Full body armor required.
 
It went something like this:

Her: “Oh God, do you ever sleep? Who’s on the menu tonight? 
Me: “Yes, I sleep 8 or 9 hours a night and get up when I feel like it. On your second question, who I’m sleeping with is none of your business.”
Her: “When are you going to grow up? It’s like you’re still in college. And what about that hair! It must be 15 different colors!
Me: “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Her: “No, don’t get me wrong. From the front it looks great, but from the side it looks like you play in a band or something.”
Me: “Did I ask you for a critique? I know where this is coming from, but I’d love to hear it from you…”
Her: “Don’t be so defensive.”
Me: “Frankly, I find your controlling and angry undercurrent loathsome; particularly when you’re drunk. My point in sitting down was to have a conversation…not a third world war. And by the way, I’m sorry that you no longer feel relevant…”

Two weeks later I saw her again. This time she apologized, but I could still feel the venom, knowing that there was nothing I could say or do that time hasn’t already obliterated.

In the end, there is a certain sadness in an aging woman who wants to be valued for something she no longer has.
 
Anyway, tonight I’m off to see Velvet Revolver at The Cynthia Woods Pavilion; again, proving her point that my [perceived] adolescent tendencies remain in house arrest, and that no matter what she says or does, I cannot abstain from reveling in my staggeringly attractive imperfections…
         

Lip Enhancer

Lip Enhancer

Portable Lip Enhancer and “Botox” Crème Explored

Look, we all need as much help as we can get certain “nuances” of middle age have nothing to do with a bad night’s sleep. So when it comes to looking good – or at least better - I keep an eye on what’s out there. You never go to war without the right equipment, and no matter how you twist the metaphor, this is war.

I personally like moist, full lips; the same ones kids have at 17, but no longer have because nature doesn’t value their contribution to the species as much as it did when we were complete idiots. So when Steven Merrill, a hairdresser, recommended a product that would “make my lips resemble a toned-down, natural version of Steven Tyler’s,  I grabbed the last box. I also purchased a moisturizing “Botox” crème that, when applied to the face and neck, claims to provide instant line removal, along with a “lifting effect” that keeps in abeyance that ”safari” to South Africa for the full-on face-lift.  
 
Who the hell isn’t buying that?

I purchased two…hundreds of dollars later.

Anything that promises to take a couple of years off my face, without stretching it out like a blowfish, is mine. But don’t get this stuff near your eyes, because it’ll make them water and run your make-up. Not MY make-up, necessarily, but yours.

These days, you need a freaking ARSENAL to stay in the game – and I’m not even getting into the brutal workouts, clean diet and endless bottles of water that make my car look like a laboratory experiment.
 
When I was in college, the only time I drank water was in the morning after a night of drinking Vodka. And the only other instance might have been after playing tennis for 3 1/2 hours in 110 degree heat — on one hour of sleep. As for diet, it was more like – “where’s the closest food?”  A photograph of my old medicine cabinet back then would be priceless: A twisted tube of Crest toothpaste [without the top], a bar of Dial soap, 6 bottles of Bayer aspirin…and something belonging to someone else…like eyeliner.

But like my therapist once said, “it now takes us more time to get ready.” And she wasn’t just talking about Botox crème or diets…she was talking about life.

Anyway, the lip stuff tingles, giving the impression that it’s working; but I’m not convinced. The Botox crème does, in fact, work, and no one over 40 should leave home without it; particularly if the alternative method of pulling your face off your head, and then sewing a smaller version of it back on, bothers you.
 
Hey, you guys out there will know you’ll try anything to improve your appearance…so give me any crap that resembles a denail.  

If you want some, contact Steven Merrill at 713-522-4115.     
    

Soft Targets

“Soft Targets” in the World of Dating, Defined

For those of you who keep hammering me for a concise definition of “soft target” [in the context of urban, middle-age dating], here it is:

Taken from its military application, wherein “soft target” is defined as an unarmored or undefended target easily destroyed, in a social context it is defined as a recently divorced, middle-age man who’s been off the dating circuit so long that his survival skills are as dull as a butter knife. In other words, when someone named “Summer” flatters him, he believes her…unconditionally.
 
From the predator-prey handbook, “Summer” will always maintain a wide berth from a “player” because she knows he knows the ropes. In other words, “her bullshit for your money.” But to the emotionally vulnerable, what she says is what he’s been waiting to hear for 20 years, and she capitalizes on the fact that his hunger for affirmation overshadows his ability to see the truth; a course which eventually leads to his undoing.

Lessons in Tough Love for Middle-Age Narcissists

You know who you are:

Attorneys, physicians, retired oil tycoons…and you arrogant fund managers, with wives of 23 years, 2 kids…and a stripper socked away in a complimentary high-rise out in Las Vegas. And I won’t even broach the subject of surly attitudes, inflated expectations and aging joints.

Here’s the skinny:

If men in this upscale demographic want to jet around the world with a cadre of strippers, fine. Strippers are always less expensive than girlfriends and/or wives, and they go away at the conclusion of each transaction, generally. They also know the score and tend to play by the rules; as long as you do.But life’s original idea was for you to marry the woman of your dreams in your 20’s - or early 30’s - have a couple of kids, build your career and then retire with THE SAME WIFE in, say, Arizona; even if you’re now only 50, and want to start the process all over again.

So once again: You, your wife…and Arizona. Period.

Got it?

You’re not listening.

Of course you’re not listening, because – among other things – you’ve achieved so much success you can’t get over yourself; your personal trainer has kept you in exemplary physical condition, and you, being who you are, want to take full advantage of the advent of a new world order of middle-age players on the loose; the same middle age players, by the way, that you laughed at when you were in your 20’s and 30’s, only now, their numbers have grown like Frankenfish, devouring everything in their path.
 
So here’s the real price of admission:

Play all you want, but understand that not everyone will go along with the game the way they did 25 years ago. The beautiful young women are no longer interested in you unless you’re prepared to fork over major bank. But in big cities like Houston, they can often find someone younger, with even more cash…and better looks. Needless to say, the women to whom I’m referring have to be extraordinarily attractive in order to command the top candidates, but if they happen to have a handicap or two, like a wide ass, for example, you have a better shot at dating them. But you don’t want her wide ass, which brings you back to the strippers.
 
These women know the drill. They know you want youth, beauty and porn star sex. They know how to make you feel alive, the way you did when you were back at Harvard. They know what to say and how to say it, as opposed to telling you how they really feel, in which case, you’d run back to your wife, sex or no sex.
 
This is life.
 
Older strippers are always friendlier than younger strippers because they are OLDER. There is a compensation process here, and in the jungle, you have to play to survive. Just because you’ve managed to climb to the top of the mountain doesn’t mean you came out unscathed. Along the way you burned up lots of time, which means you’re older…as opposed to younger…thus, less desirable to a woman 20 years your junior. She does the math and you come up short. It’s that simple. When you were younger, she was available as long as you could keep your dick in your pants and commit your entire life to her, while also building a solid career that would support a large mortgage, vacations, two kids and private education.
 
At some point along the way, you started feeling as though you got the short end of the deal, so you had a string of affairs to take the edge off the rigors of raising a family…AND facing sex with someone whose new name is Madonna, and not THAT Madonna. So eventually, you divorced her; losing half of your estate in the process because pre-nups were unconscionable back then. Nonetheless, you still have lots of cushion, and you’re back in the game.
Reinforced by an endless string of movie stars, retired athletes and musicians in the arms of women half their age, you’re shocked that the same women aren’t falling at your feet. You did what you were supposed to do. You fought and won the financial wars; achieving greatness in the eyes of Wall Street; earned the respect and admiration of your peers; managed thousands of employees on six continents…so where the fuck are the real women?  Not prostitutes that everyone with money can have, but real women???

Well, real women are now a lot older; around your age. They are now invisible to you in the same way that YOU are invisible to young women. Unless, of course, you’re a movie star, which you’re not. And even if you were, they’d be there for your celebrity, not for the other person you were before you were a celebrity. And as for the rest of the non-celebrity types out there with the young chicks, rest assured that they are being used for their money…or for some unrequited psychiatric need.

I’m not talking about a ten year age difference here…or even 15. But anything beyond this actually working - or happening at all - is an anomaly, at best. And when it does, you’re usually being duped.

This notwithstanding, if you still want a 20-plus year age difference wherein there might be a shred of mutual romance, try the following haunts:

1] Mental Institutions
2] Art Schools
3] Rehab Clinics
4] New Age Workshops
5] Pharmaceutical counters at grocery stores
6] CETI [Center for Extraterrestrial Intelligence] gatherings near Roswell, New Mexico.
 
Look, this isn’t about your not having enough. You’ve already proven yourself in the world. It’s just that the world doesn’t hand you everything at once; and when it does you tend you end up like Michael Jackson. Put another way, just because a 13 year old boy has a crush on his 27 year old teacher doesn’t mean he can date her, unless she’s a pedophile, in which case HE gets a pass before SHE heads off to prison.

A particular 3o year old female attorney may be your concept of perfection, but you’re old enough to be her [young] father no matter how you slice it, and she isn’t buying. You may think she’s an idiot for not dating you, but she’s not a stripper and wants a shot at something normal…no matter how it shakes down in the long run. Just because you think you deserve her doesn’t mean she’s going to agree…for better or worse.
 
Men of success, affluence and sophistication tend to expect more because it’s what they’re used to. They don’t see themselves the way you do. As a result, women are shocked by men who describe themselves as attractive, when it is quite clear to anyone outside a methadone clinic that it just ain’t so. Of course, what men are using as a gauge is their level of success in life; something they assume women value over appearance, thus, no matter what they look like, physically, men assume women will focus on their accomplishments.
 
Unfortunately, this same standard does not apply to women, who these same men tend to view with absolute, bone-slicing objectivity. But hint here, guys…this isn’t a job interview wherein you have the power to make or break their careers. If you recall, you left that behind when you sold your last company and started hanging around swanky hotel bars, exotic resorts, and penthouse suites at NBA games.
 
So we get back to the same damn thing: If you’re an affluent, 50 year old guy, who wants to date very attractive YOUNG women, you must be prepared to accept certain realities that don’t exactly fan the flames of your narcissism. If you can disconnect from the emotional fallout, you can have an incredible life. Costa Rica one weekend with a 25 year old stripper, Baha the next with a 30 year old Pilipino refugee…and Los Angeles the following with a gold-digger who claims to “love you for who you really are.”

This all sounds a little bleak, but it beats the hell out of going home every night to someone you don’t want to sleep with; coupled with a pack of nagging kids – often someone else’s – and the prospect of a weekend with in-laws. Take your pick, but be very clear about the rules of the game you’re playing.

No one gets to have everything all at the same time; including you.               

Sonoma Wine Bar Gets It

Look, I’m a pain in the ass when it comes to expecting service-with-a-smile. Note my review of Ziggy’s if you don’t get it. The way I see it, you can’t expect me to pay your rent in exchange for “attitude.” If that’s what I want, I’ll drop a Xanax and head to some hippie dive in lower Montrose…or The Heights where I have to prove myself worthy to be served.

In short, if you don’t like being on that side of the counter, pretend…and then quit.

With this in mind, I had the pleasure of visiting Sonoma - with my date - on Saturday night. The moment we took our seats at the bar, we were greeted with a smile, two glasses of water, a food and beverage menu…and cup of assorted nuts…warmed to perfection.

Good start.

On their suggestion, we ordered fresh Panini and a pizza; which obliterated my somewhat strict, and extravagantly boring, diet…and thankfully so. I had almost forgotten how pleasurable – and intoxicating - good food can actually be. With it we decided to sample a new South African Sauvignon Blanc, which was perfectly chilled and a great compliment to our meal.

With regard to atmosphere [yea, atmosphere -- the thing most of you restaurant and wine bar owners are lost on], is very seductive.

Couples were everywhere, go figure.

Under indirect and flattering light, they can converse in very comfortable seating; enjoy unobtrusive, yet attentive service by a knowledgeable, unpretentious and friendly staff; sample a plethora of fine wines, and ditch their diets forever…or at least for a night.
 
Farrah Fatouretchi, Sonoma’s lovely, young owner, is as passionate as she is committed to making sure her customers feel comfortable and satisfied with their experience…and judging by number – at least that night - I think she’s succeeding.
 
In short, Sonoma is setting new standards for service in the fiercely competitive wine bar sector, and it should serve as a reminder to those who think that merely showcasing racks of expensive wines in high-rent locations are all it takes to create a landmark.       

This ain’t Kansas, guys.

Are we [am I] okay with happiness? Or do we [I] need to somehow f—k it up?

Last week, my therapist asked me, rather pointedly, what my real motivation was for starting jayrusovichlive? Not that I haven’t addressed this question a thousand times before, but given the context, I bristled.
 
“To connect,” I responded, knowing that being evasive wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
 
“Try again,” she countered in predictable fashion, and in a tenor that spoke volumes to a guy who’s spent a lot of time on the couch.

“Okay, maybe it’s a quest for something else.”

“Like what? … Love?”

Okay, my ass was now, officially, in the process of being kicked.

So I sat up.

Was she suggesting that all of this - including an ongoing series of discussions pertaining to the production of a real-world documentary and reality show spin-off – were, in the end, merely ploys designed to facilitate my finding love?

So much for that old geezer from eharmony who claims that all you have to do is answer his 29 magic questions in order to “find someone who deeply and passionately loves you for who you really are…” even if your photographs are plastered all over post offices, embassies and federal buildings.”  Just go to jayrusovichlive and find her standing alongside the rest of the lunatic fringe.

In my mind, the motivation was more altruistic. All the social commentary and satire from the perspective of a single, middle-age man, was about channeling artistic expression from one medium [the lens] to words; hardly a quest for a life mate in the ruins of a contemporary, urban landscape.  
Was there something - possibly - not okay with my current life? Did I feel incomplete…and not realize it? Was my blogsite going to resurrect me from whatever piece was missing? In truth, I have never been happier or more fulfilled.

So what was she getting at?

The dialog continued…

“Are you comfortable with happiness? Because if you are, you’re setting yourself up for a turbulent flight; particularly if you put yourself out there on the national stage where you’ll face endless scrutiny, criticism and, perhaps, abuse.”
 
Of course, she was right. How could I dispute this? Furthermore, if my work was about me being me – rather than, say, a Howard Stern-esque Teflon persona, would I not come across as a tad self-righteous, in spite of the entertainment bent? I don’t hold the answers to the fucking universe, nor am I beyond reproach. And the REAL Howard is in analysis, 4 days a week, last time I checked…and one day a week was enough on my end.
 
So why was I doing this? I mean, really???

“Is it possible,” I said to her, with the pressure in my head rising, “that, perhaps, happiness is something that I need to learn to embrace…and even enjoy?”

As ironic –and absurd - as it all sounded, there was more than a hint of truth in it. On the one hand, jayrusovichlive is about sharing my life experiences with the world. On the other hand, it could just as plausibly include my telling the world to fuck itself; sort of like saying, “you can judge me ‘til the sun turns purple, but judging a book by its cover is about as smart as petting a Black Mamba.”

So the real questions were: Why did I care? Why did I need to be heard in the first place? And what, in the end, was the real purpose behind all of this?

Could it be about acceptance? Nourishment for my narcissism?

Or, perhaps…JUST PERHAPS, it included – among other things - the quest for love; always a great scapegoat for misery in an otherwise blissful existence.
“What are you thinking?” she asked as I slid into what must appeared to be either unconsciousness or a complete psychotic breakdown. Ten full minutes had elapsed and not a word spoken.

And then the shit hit the fan.

I said, “Given the fact that learned behavior is a powerful component of perception, and given the fact that my lesson early on was that life was meaningless without pathos, then it was pathos – rather than love – that drove this initiative.”

With a hint of empathy in her face, she responded, “So Jayrusovichlive is a study in Pathos. Keep going…”

I was getting warm.

“Even if I happened to find love, using this site as a vehicle, then something else would have to take its place, right? I mean, the story wouldn’t not end there, right?”

“Go on…”    

“Okay, this quest for “love” is, perhaps, a convenient ploy designed to sabotage happiness…like, say, not having enough toothpaste in the master bedroom of a 5 million dollar house? I mean, who the fuck cares? Go get some goddamned toothpaste and stop bitching.”

Using that metaphor, having everything isn’t possible, but appreciating what you do have is…blogsite included.

She just smiled. My time was up.