The Eye Contact Conundrum: Jay in L.A. Series

In L.A. – as opposed to Los Angeles in general – the issue of eye contact is a big one…right up there with the traffic in terms of annoyance. First of all, if you look a complete stranger in the face, you set in motion a bizarre string of psychological events.

First, the person in question [usually an attractive man or woman] automatically assumes that you’re either trying to recognize them from some television series; or you’re trying to come across as a celebrity yourself, with the potential to resurrect them from invisibility.

Needless to say, this dynamic gave birth to that obnoxious social phenomena known as “posing.”

In psychiatric circles, the behavior is more commonly referred to as low self esteem, coupled with – and further fueled by - narcissistic personality disorder. 

Anyway, celebrities tend to avoid eye contact altogether; principally because they’re already famous and sick of the attention. So if you want attention, just ignore everyone around you and you’ll get more than you can handle. See, narcissistic people tend to assume that if they feel a certain way, everyone else is on board with you. So given the fact that celebrities are inundated with all this external affirmation - whether they like it or not - the narcissist will automatically assign you a similar status, because they can’t fathom how anyone can avoid things like suicide in the absence of praise.

More fallout from this is that now that you have people staring at you; but you don’t even realize it because you’re not reciprocating. This becomes a problem if want to interact with complete strangers; something normal people tend to do every day.

So now your humanity is in a harness; and the result is the cultural pathology that earned L.A. its stereotype in the first place.

One should also note that “posing” is a euphemism for “Schtick”; a more global term that refers to any attention-grabbing ploy; including - but not limited to - throwing oneself in from of a slow-moving bus in order to elicit attention from ambulance drivers and the police.
 
Middle America doesn’t give a shit about any of this. They just walk around with their cameras and distended midsections as though they were visiting Disneyworld.

And it never occurs to them how close they are to the truth.

I am not a certifiable celebrity. I’m a writer. But I feel the uneasy pressure that surrounds me out here; pressure that comes perilously close to a kind of self-sacrilege.

Opening Salvo: Jay in L.A.

Okay, as all of you are aware, no matter where I go, I can’t help myself when it comes to commenting on the foibles of affluent older men in Urban settings; particularly in connection to the hookers, call girls, prostitutes, gold-diggers, drug reps, strippers - and sometimes Mercedes Benz sales people - they attract with the predictability of gravity.
 
These men love the clarity of the interaction. In other words, it doesn’t confuse them. And not unlike trading commodities on the floor of the exchange, the sexes exchange their own brand of blood for money. Unlike pork bellies, however, the women in question often come without traceable pasts. Regardless, it’s always more fun playing a game where all the players are on board. This presents a jarring juxtaposition to, say, one’s wife; a concrete noun closely associated with emotional intimacy; something that often feels like a screwdriver in one’s stomach, because it’s the only commodity these men cannot trade without benzodiazepenes.

Anyway, Sidebar is the annex to Wolfgang Puck’s new restaurant , Cut; which is located in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel at the foot of Rodeo Drive. It is also THE place where women from the Valley and beyond come to meet rich men. As the evenings wear on the place descends into a kind of adult satyricon; complete with the obligatory hookers, undercover transvestites, marginally passable transsexuals, bisexuals, porn actresses and occasional thespian wanna-be suffering delusions of grandeur at the hands of fluid personal boundries.

It was hysterical watching the octogenarians lean should-to-shoulder with those collagen junkies; all lifted, tucked and otherwise grossly embellished to sell; women who still make a run for the money as their younger competitors sit on the periphery waiting for the men to come to them…which, of course, is inevitable. But in deference to their years on the streets, they tend to give them a wide berth. This may also provide better odds against receiving a bullet in the parking lot.

By the time midnight rolls around, Sidebar becomes a full-blown bordello. But this being L.A., the behavior isn’t discouraged because it’s good for business; particularly in lieu of the fact that there’s a back entrance, which helps maintain the façade of propriety, while facilitating everything else.

My target audience moves around a lot; but they always end up in places like these.
      
I’m moving around a lot myself, so I will have to get into more detail later this evening. I’m off to The Getty in Malibu; a place I’m not likely to find many of the aforementioned characters. I’m with my mom, for Christ sake.

Stripper VS Gold-Digger

Stripper vs Gold-Digger – We Report, You Decide

The following is yet another paraphrased, embellished, or otherwise, vastly improved iteration of an actual conversation between two women at a Houston wine bar.

S: They never see you coming, do they? 
    
GD: These men want a fix; a higher high. A faster car. A more expensive home. They want it all because they think they deserve it all. I’m just the facilitator. 
    
S: Meaning you con them under the pretense of what? Love?
  
GD: They don’t see it that way. They like the chase; pretense or no pretense.

S: My customers get exactly what they pay for because they know what I’m selling.
 
GD: Maybe that’s all your customers can afford. Rich, powerful men like a challenge. They like to imagine that they have you…even if they don’t. That’s the hook. The fantasy makes them feel alive. For that, I get my needs met; all without having to pole dance.
 
S: Let me see if I understand this: You’re saying that men are fully aware of your motives, but go along with the game because it turns them on; which in turn makes you feel validated for lying? 

GD: When you dance for your customers, you pander to their fantasies in some way. But in the end, you don’t give a shit about anything but their money.
          
S: I’m not a prostitute. I don’t turn tricks for cash. I don’t pretend to be something I’m not. The men who come in to see me know exactly what they’re getting into. 

GD: A bit self-righteous of you to think that stripping has more dignity than marrying for money. At least the guy gets something back; which is more than I can say for your twenty dollar lap-dances…not to mention the fact giving birth is often a sacrifice I have to make for keeping the money coming in.

S: When my clients pay twenty dollars for a lap dance, they get a lap dance. Not a baby. That’s my job. At least I’m upfront about it.
   
GD: It’s all the same. Everyone has to make a living one way or another. Our approaches are different, that’s all.

S: You know it’s interesting the way you spin this conversation into a referendum on moral relativism. There’s a distinction between telling a wealthy man that you’re in love with him, and telling him that what you’re referring to is his money.

GD: You do exactly the same thing.

S: In a strip club! As opposed to some country club you don’t belong to; but somehow manage to frequent.
    
COMMENT:  There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to admitted to by wealthy men. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination delusion fueled by pathological narcissism. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.      
 
                   

In L.A. This Week

Tuesday I leave for Los Angeles, were I’ll be staying at the Beverly Wilshire. Yes, my laptop will be with me. Yes, I will bring back more blog-fodder than I can carry. And yes, I will bring back a lot of amusing imagery, pimp my television work and maybe look at some real estate. Feel free to drop me a line if you’re in the area…  

Sex Talkin’ Jive

Samantha: “Look, guys who’ve dated a lot of women and had a lot of success in business expect more from life; including sex. No girl has a shot in hell of landing guys like this if she can’t give a great blowjob, for example. And I’m talking porn star blowjob; the same one’s he sees in porn movies and gets from lots of other women who want more than one opportunity to get under his skin.”
             
Lisa: “I totally agree. He’s earned everything else, so why should he settle for less in his personal life? My mom used to hammer this into my head from the time I was 15. It was the best lesson I ever learned.”

Samantha: “Absolutely. And it’s not just technique, either. You have to act like you’re obsessed with it. I always have been super sexual, anyway. But that’s probably because my mom was also that way with all of her husbands and boyfriends. I guess I inherited it. And every guy I’ve ever been with has become addicted to the sex. Unfortunately, while I also loved it, they didn’t have money or ambition, so forget it. I mean, I crave sex…but not more than money.”

Lisa: “Yea, we can always get sex; and great sex…especially from guys who grew up like we did, but they’re total losers.Sorry…it’s true.”

Samantha: “Absolutely. But what learned from our parents, or whatever, is really a gift. To be able to see men for who they really are - not who we want them to be, or fantasize them to be – definitely pays. The guys we want aren’t attracted to the society bitches they grew up with; the ones who went to private boarding schools and Ivy League colleges. They think they’re supposed to marry them, but what they’re attracted to are the opposite: Sexy women with tight bodies who aren’t ashamed - or afraid of - their sexuality. They don’t exactly learn this at home. Do you think for a second that my last ex wanted to see me in some frumpy shit on a Saturday night after a long week of work and travel? Fuck no. He wanted to see my ass. He wanted to see a tight, tanned mid-rift. He wanted to see black pumps…and a lot of cleavage – not over-the-top, but you know what I men. He wanted to know what he was in for after paying for the expensive dinner and champagne. It’s just like a business deal, only he didn’t have the vaguest idea that he’s being played. And why should he? He was getting the fuck of his life under the pretense of love…”

Lisa: “You are such a bitch! [laughter] Those uptight little debutants have no idea what men really want. No wonder they’re shocked to find their men in topless bars. Hello, successful guys have lots of testosterone! They’re going to fuck around if they don’t get their rocks off in the bedroom, period. How do these women not know this?”

Samantha: “They do know it. They just choose not to look at it because they’ve been taught that being whorish is low-class. And they also don’t want to think of themselves as objects, even if men do; at least in the bedroom…and sometimes in public.”

Lisa: “Totally true. And never let a man think that you’re just pretending to be sexual. Men like a challenge, and they want to believe that you not only respect their success in the boardroom, but also in the bedroom. They don’t want to feel like idiots trying to seduce someone who’d rather be home watching The Sopranos; and believe me, they can feel it.” 

Samantha: “Do you know that I knew from day one Mike was mine; even when our backgrounds were like night and day. His parents hated me. His friends wouldn’t come out with us. But I knew he couldn’t walk away from me because I was fucking the life out of him, while keeping his butt totally wired wherever we went. Men were checking me out right and left, and it was driving him nuts. I strung him out. He couldn’t get that from a full syringe of heroin. I did my job. I made him fight for me, night after night. But I never overdid it with the jealousy thing. I didn’t want to embarrass him. Anyway, after 6 months, I got pregnant. Three months later, we got married. That was my first million. In the divorce I got half the house and a cash settlement from his family. Now I’m working Mike; but he’s a life-long player and might be a little tough to crack. I prefer softer targets, honestly…”  
   
Lisa:  “Me too. Gimme a guy who’s been off the streets a while, stuck in a sexless marriage with some rich bitch for 20 years. I can take a guy like that down before he knows what hit him.”

Samantha:  Soft-targets. Ya gotta love em. Did you know that Mike told me his ex used to refer to his cock as a ‘penis?’ I swear to God! And she wouldn’t let him use the word, ‘pussy’… even during sex! He had to say things like…’oh, you feel so good’… or ‘you make me feel like I’ve never felt before…’ What total bullshit! He was off with the first stripper he could find…until I nailed him at a cocktail party thrown by that investment banker who married, Katie…you know, the blond drug rep who used to dance at the Men’s Club…”     

Lisa: “Oh yea. I knew she’d do well. Bitch!” [laughing]
  
Samantha: “Maybe we should stop talking and get back to work! Gotta go sweetie…”

The Morality of Prostitution

When a prostitute tells you that she will perform specific acts for a specific price, she’s doing you a favor. See, unlike your, ummm,  girlfriend, she’s not getting vacations, jewelry, automobiles, plastic surgery, two credit cards and a home in Aspen in exchange for ”love”; something that always takes a larger financial toll, while providing similar serices. 
 
But men do, in fact, want to believe that they are valued for more than their net worth; even if that’s all they seem to talk about. As they age, this particular sum of money becomes the principle focus of women who might otherwise prefer sleeping with 26 year old steel workers, but don’t mind faking orgasms - and reiterating the thing about love - to get a piece of it. 

This is one reason I contend that prostitutes get an unfair rap in the media.
 
Prostitute: “I will perform x-services for x-amount. I do not love you. I do not care about you, other than your satisfaction with my work. This is because, like you, I prefer steady income. Once my services are performed, I will walk out the door and out of your life; unless, of course, you’re a Governor, in which case, I may turn State’s evidence in order to get a recording contract and a book deal. But if you’re that dumb, you deserve it. I respect the money and the power, but not the stupidity. Remember, I am here for the money, not you. If other opportunities present themselves, I will take full advantage of them. These are my terms. If you don’t like them, go find a gold-digger. She’ll have you running back to me in a heartbeat…or before there’s nothing left in your bank account.”
 
Gold-digger: “I’m not some degenerate whore. I sleep with men I love and respect. That they happen to own oil and gas exploration companies, or have multi-million dollar homes on three continents, has nothing to do with it. I am attracted to their strength, success and power; all from an emotional perspective. How I consistently find such men is direct result of my natural attraction and admiration of these qualities. Such men need women who understand and appreciate them for who they are. It can be lonely at the top, and someone has to stand by them as they attempt to balance their busy careers with superfluous endeavors like meetings with interior decorators, yacht crews and pilots for private jets. So don’t dare call me a whore!”
     
Anyway, with the prostitute, you may occasionally get their names and families-of-origin mixed up [they do have a tendency to change their histories]; and their social security numbers may appear somewhat fluid; but you still get the same services for the same stated price. Of course, like other businesses, their prices may change, either to keep pace with inflation - or demand - in which case, you either ante up or find someone else.

I’m not letting go of this topic. I will continue my fight to mitigate the negative press given strippers and prostitutes. In the end, it would appear that our society prefers the pretense of propriety to anything remotely resembling reality; something we continue to choke on, nonetheless.     
 
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Sociopathology is Good for Business

I can’t count the number of women - and sometimes men - who’ve pulled this shit and retired wealthy. The absence of ethics and moral decency - coupled with certain sociopathic tendencies - makes life a push-over; especially when your target is an incredibly wealthy, naive and still-grieving musician who [in this case] believes it when you tell him that the only thing you want from him is love…   

I just had to reprint this article. It should be required reading for every affluent, middle-age man who thinks he’s knows everything about life just because his 10,000 paid employees tell him so…    

Judge: Heather Mills ‘Underhanded’

Wednesday, March 19, 2008
By Roger Friedman
 

The judge in the Paul McCartney-Heather Mills divorce case found Mills’ behavior “distinctively distasteful” in his final findings on Tuesday.

Indeed, Judge Bennett came very close to accusing Mills of trying to steal nearly $1 million from McCartney during their marriage.

The shocking recitation of Mills’ monetary malfeasance comes midway through his 58-page findings, beginning at No. 135 under “Wife’s Assets.”

Bennett tells the story of an office McCartney gave to Mills during their short marriage called Thames Reach for $900,000 on May 17, 2004.

“That [office] property was purchased using funds from the NatWest savings account of the wife, which had been fed the husband’s gifts to the wife $500,000 in December 2002 and again in December 2003.”

On Nov. 2, 2005 — a year and a half later — Mills e-mailed McCartney’s finance director and told him there was an outstanding mortgage of almost $1 million. She wrote: “Please pay it in the following account and I will deal with closure of it.” The account was in her name at NatWest, Bennett says.

Three days later, Mills e-mailed the finance director again: “There are four loans totaling $990,000.” When pressed for details of the loans, she failed to come up with them. That didn’t stop her. In February 2006, she twice e-mailed the finance director asking for the money to be put in her account. She was denied each time.

Two months later, Mills and McCartney separated. Mills sold McCartney the property for $1.2 million and purchased another property for $1.1 million. From the amounts involved, it would seem like she turned a small profit.

But the Thames Reach property remained a question in McCartney’s mind. Almost a year later, in Feb. 2007, in a divorce questionnaire, Bennett says Mills answered that she’d never had any loans at all.

Judge Bennett writes that McCartney’s lawyer “put to her that that was a fraudulent attempt to extract money from [McCartney].”

“In my judgement,” Bennett writes, “it is unnecessary to go so far as to characterize what [Mills] attempted as fraudulent. However, it is not an episode that does her any credit whatsoever. Either she knew or she must have known that there were no loans on Thames Reach, yet she tried to suggest that there were and thereby obtain monies by underhanded means.

“In light of McCartney’s generosity towards her, I have set out, I find Mills’s behaviour distinctly distasteful. In any event…it damages her overall credibility.”

That’s not all.

Bennett berated Mills for many things in his exhaustive decision. He seems to have “gotten” Mills more than anyone thought, coming close to calling her a gold-digger and liar.

At best were his many observations of her living as an earth mother who dispenses funds to charity and takes care of the world as “make believe.” It’s clear from the time he spent listening to her that she is nothing short of a fabulist who imagines herself a great Lady with a capital L.

There are innumerable surprises as you pore through Bennett’s paper: That McCartney loaned money to both of Mills’ sisters so they could live in better homes is just the tip of the iceberg. You can see now why Stella McCartney was going crazy lobbying against her stepmother; she saw what her father, still grieving for his beloved Linda and trying to move on with his life, could not.

Bennett takes particular umbrage, though, with Mills’ behavior after the separation. He calls her out on using the media, baiting paparazzi but hating them at the same time. He does more than imply that it was her side that released sealed papers from the divorce to the press.

But more succinctly, he takes Mills to task for her post-separation spending. Bennett balances the thrifty Paul, who’s never led a particularly flashy life, with Heather’s ramped-up lifestyle.

“Her expenditure from October 2006 to December 2007 totaled $7.4 million made up as to $6 million in personal expenditure, $1.3 million business expenditure and $75,000 cash expenditure,” Bennett writes. He concludes that it’s all out of control.

Bennett writes: “In my judgement, Mills’s attitude…is that she is entitled for the indefinite future, if not for the whole of her life, to live at the same ‘rate’ as McCartney and be kept in the style to which she perceives she was accustomed during the marriage. Although she strongly denied it her case boils down to the syndrome of ‘me, too’ or ‘if he has it, I want it too.’”

He concludes: “It must have been absolutely plain to Mills after separation that it was wholly unrealistic to expect to go on living at the rate at which she perceived she was living.”

What defines commitment?

 Source:  http://www.beloblog.com/KHOU_formenonly/2008/03/what-defines-commitment.html

[[[A wise man once said that there are two types of men in a committed relationship.

The ones who wish they never made the commitment and the ones who are looking for a way out.

For the record, there is nothing wrong with being in a committed relationship. However, as any woman will tell you, guys of all walks of life are genetically designed not to commit.

But the rules are simple for men who claim they are not in - or looking for - a committed relationship. Guys who are playing the field must be up front and honest in announcing their intentions to any woman they date.

But there is a well-known portion of Woman's Law that also matters here.

No matter how many times a man tells a woman he is not looking for a serious relationship, she doesn't believe him and will do all she can to test his will power to stay uncommitted.

Now, it is also important for every man to know, his words mean nothing to a woman. Actions, even what men consider as innocent gestures, speak volumes.

Unfortunately, a regular reader to the For Men Only blog finds himself in what can only be defined as having moved from singlehood to a committed relationship. David W. of Pasadena is trying to say he is not in a committed relationship, but we are afraid he has crossed the line.

Thus, he is officially Whipped.

Now, what could a man do -- short of getting down on one knee or asking a woman to move in with him -- that would convince her that his sudden deceleration is not indicative of anything other than a serious relationship?

One -- if a man ever goes to a wedding with said woman
Two -- if a man ever goes to a funeral with said woman

And if a man does both? Sorry, Man Law dictates that he can no longer claim his single hood or that he is in an uncommitted relationship.

Poor David W. finds himself having attended both a wedding and a funeral with the same woman. That my friends means all bets are off and it moves him into a category of manhood that we must all 1) offer our condolences and 2) move to an intervention as soon as possible if he insists that he doesn't want to be in a committed relationship.

Now, David W insists that he has found a loophole to the Man Law on this subject.

He claims he only attended the funeral with the woman because one of her girlfriends is dating a big client of his. Thus, he has evoked the "I only did it for business" clause of the Man Law.

Now, this clause is allowed from time to time to give men an out on certain questionable actions that would normally be considered in violation of Man Law. See the section on taking clients to a gentleman's club for business section of Man Law.

But, and this is why we have the Man Law, it is of the opinion of the lower court of Man Law that David W's attempt to apply the "I only did it for business" clause does not apply here because his client is also a man and thus could not hold David W. responsible for not attending the funeral.

Now, if David had tried to apply the "I cannot leave my client alone at the said wedding/funeral," clause, then it is possible the court would have ruled in his favor.
But unless he makes such argument on appeal, we are afraid the court's ruling stands]]].

I am also in agreement here, gentlemen.

Men must approach women from THEIR perspectives or risk triggering a feeding frenzy wherein he loses everything; including his mind…and sometimes other things. He must be fluent in two languages: One his, the other hers. Men are practical, literal, intellectual. Women are intuitive, emotional and often passive-aggressive.

If a man says, “I like to watch tractors rip apart sidewalk,” the woman next to him might take that as a clue that he has no interest in attending her friend’s upcoming wedding simply because the metaphor of a tractor ripping something apart doesn’t feel right in the context of a wedding. Next thing you know, he’s in a full-blown brawl with her over something he doesn’t even understand. This is the way of things with women, which is why men MUST understand BOTH LANGUAGES. And don’t even get me started on funerals, but suffice to say this is one of life’s most complex events; particularly when attending one with a woman you happen to be dating. One must be expertly versed in woman-speak before going in…or risk coming out looking like the person you’re there to remember.

The education system should immediately adopt curriculums that include decoding female communication.

Screw foreign languages.

This one’s a lot more foreign…and infinitely more important.   

“Heroin” for Adults

Most men can’t resist the raw power of youth and its attendant beauty – no matter how you couch the discussion. And any older guy who’s dated much younger women will attest to the fact that going back to “civilian” life after being in a relationship with someone who looks like Demi Moore, three decades ago, isn’t easy.

They need the fix, and are powerless over their obsession for more.

Does this sound familiar?

It is.

It’s called addiction.

And unfortunately, like heroin, beauty is also sharp on both sides.
 
Dating 25 year-old women [your age divided by 2] usually isn’t forever. She will eventually grow up and want to breed [among other things]; a desire that often predisposes you to replacing her with another 25 year-old [at this point, your age divided by 3].

In order to make it through this process unscathed, you must learn to accept these simple facts of life. Otherwise, you can start dividing things by 4…but not without a massive amount of cash.

Therapy is a good place to broach subjects like this, by the way.