Remember that MP3 of the full album Picking Up Girls Made Easy that I
mentioned last week? I’ve downsampled and made it available for temporary download here, here or here [8MB MP3].
Tag: Life/Yeah…girls…geez
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I Used to Be Cool Once
I discovered this in a post in the blog This is Hi-Fi via a recent trackback:
…Accordion Guy used to have a relatively cool blog with topics such as the multi-part “Worst Date Ever“.
Dude, I wasn’t going to stay a single guy forever, and I certainly wouldn’t do so for the story value!
The original album cover.
Last year, I posted three tracks from Eric Weber’s unintentionally
hilarious 1970’s self-help album, Picking Up Girls Made Easy. I
recently stumbled across a single MP3 file of the entire album!
From the back cover of the original album.
Here it is, for your listening (and laughing) pleasure. It’s so large — 32MB — that I posted it onto the YouSendIt service, which means that it has a limited lifetime up there. Drop me a line in the comments or via email if you can’t download it.
The cassette cover, updated for a more “modern” look.
I noticed that I have a number of mostly-finished entries, some of
which are very old, sitting in a directory on my computer called “Blog
Drafts”. I thought I’d do a little “cleaning house” by polishing off
those entries and posting them under the title “Lost Conversations”.
The first one took place in the spring and is a conversation over lunch between me and an old friend from Crazy Go Nuts University.
“You should help me set up my friends,” she said. “It’s like there are no good single men out there.”
“That’s weird. I think I know at least a couple of guys who’ve
complained that there are no good single women out there. And remember
that article we saw, back during the dot-com days? About there being a
‘man glut’ in town? I think the article said that there were several
thousand more men than women in Toronto.”
“Well, it seems the situation’s changed. How about finding someone for [anonymous friend]?”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult. She’s cute, outgoing and has flirt powers beyond mortal ken.”
“Yes, but she wants to settle down and is having trouble finding the right guy.”
“Did she tell you what her ‘type’ is?”
“Yes: He’s got to be hot. She only dates hot guys.”
“True. Every guy I’ve ever seen her with looks like he does three hours at the gym every day.”
“And he has to be Jewish. She’s tired of having to play ‘teacher’ —
she wants to settle down with someone who understands her culture.”
“Anything else?”
“He has to be rich. She likes expensive things.”
“And doesn’t she prefer black guys?”
“Oh yeah. She dates a lot of black guys.”
“Let me see: the man for her is hot, Jewish, rich and black.”
She laughed. “That’s gonna be tricky. Know anyone who fits that description?”
“Yeah. One guy. Lenny Kravitz.”
It’s quite simple:
WWWD? (What Would Wendy Do?)
She’s been doing this sort of thing for much longer than I have, and
for much bigger shindigs. Luckily for me, I was paying attention.
It’s not quite the six-word novel that Hemingway supposedly wrote to win a bar bet (it’s supposed to have gone “For
sale: baby shoes. Never used.“), but this Craigslist personal ad in the
“missed connections” section still says so much using so little:
You…being shoved in the back of a squad car… – m4w – 27
I shouted “fuck the police”…you made the black panther fist. You got
tasered, I got goosebumps. Your hair is very pretty. Let’s chat.
(No, this article isn’t about same-sex marriage in Canada. The next one is.)
As you may recall, I mentioned that I was trashing the old love letters from my exes as part of a “housekeeping of the self” exercise. A couple of readers commented that chucking the old stuff might be something I regret later, and Richard “Just a Gwai Lo” Eriksson trackbacked me with a link his post in which he quotes a blog entry by Frank “Doorknob in a Train” Pan:
destroying physical evidence of a defunct relationship is for those
with little control of their emotions or little storage space. i, on
the other hand, do not disagree with the accusation that i am
emotionally weak, considering that i had to break the cd of “diablo 2”
in half in order to stop playing it. to purposely erase someone from my
memory, especially someone i care about so much, is as damaging as
ripping off both of my arms.
Mind you, if you read the part of the entry
before the quoted passage, you’ll note that poor Frank can’t even bring
himself to throw away a Pepsi can that she left in his car. I hope for
his sake that he’s not sitting in the corner of his darkened room, emo
rock blasting on the stereo as he curls up in a ball, naked,
crying and clutching the can, reciting over and over: “This is her Pepsi can. There are many like it, but this one was hers…”
Pat Robertson:
He’s got a direct line to God, his finger on the pulse of the news, a
longevity shake and relationship advice. Is there anything he can’t do?
From The 700 Club’s advice page, Bring It On: Love marriage and Sex, a question about whether you should keep love letters from exes after you get married:
Q: This past weekend my husband and I were cleaning our garage. We got
in a fight when my husband found some old love letters I’ve been
keeping from a past fiancé. He thinks I should be willing to throw them
away, but I think I should keep them, because they’re a part of my past
and who I am. What do you think?
A: You decided to get married to this guy. You didn’t get married to the
fiancé. You got married to your husband, and you and he have formed a
life together. The part of your life that you’re holding onto is an
emotional attachment to somebody you may have had a love affair with.
And I don’t know how far it went beyond that, but your husband has
every right to say, “You belong to me, and I belong to you. We’ve
pledged to each other to live together forever, and I don’t want to
share you with some dead guy or some past fiancé.” I think he’s
absolutely right. That part of your life needs to be put aside. You
don’t hold onto that. I’m sorry. I mean, it may sound like a treasured
memento, but I don’t buy that.
Be sure to peruse the rest of the page. Since it’s the 700
Club, there’s plenty of unintentional hilarity, including a question
that begins “I’ve been married 27 years, but lately I’ve been having a
difficult time with submission.”
(My answer: “Just tell your husband to ‘forget’ the safety word and
turn up the juice on the cattle prod. You’ll learn your rightful place
before too long, honey.”)