Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Scorn of the Rings

There are a lot of things I despise fashion wise including gold necklaces and bracelets, tattoos and even soul patches. And, well, way up there on my list are rings (especially on men, but in general). I guess it started in the 90s when I noticed people wearing thumb rings. I swear I wanted to knock out each and every one of them, male and female alike. If I could.

I associate rings with decadence and royalty. People adorning themselves and spending cash on something that serves no purpose whatsoever is not something I like. Please understand, that I understand it is their right to look foolish. I have the right to dis it and rant about it on this unpopular, substance-less, whiny blog.

My dad never wears and he loves my mother as much as any other husband. The strong silent type don't wear rings.

Who wears rings?
The pope and bishops and cardinals wear rings. The nazis had military rings. People in high school will buy their class ring. Let's not forget the masons, they too have rings. All evil, up to no good. Flamboyantly flaunting wealth/power and/or knowledge of secret mysteries and/or prestige. It's vile and it needs to stop.

(side note: some people will actually fly to the Vatican to kiss the Pope's ring. WTF?)

I can tolerate (not that it matters) married people wearing rings but I still wouldn't do it if I were married. A simple/plain ring is all that's required. My mom has a very plain ring that serves the purpose. Other than this, no one should wear rings ever)

Please take off your rings after reading this blog. You now have the appropriate knowledge to move forward. Keep a plain and simple humble approach. Jewelry is for the insecure and small minded.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

A List of My Own Vile Contradictions.

I enjoy pointing out others' hypocrisy, now let's look at some of my own. This isn't a pity party/"woe is me"/I'm a horrible person blog, just, hopefully, an honest assessment. We all have them, if we're honest. Instead of pretending we don't, let's address them. Do this in your own life.

(Dear Friends: You may not use any of these during any bar room political it'd be an invalid argument.)

Probably the thing that most interests me and I support but I have yet to start up my own business and give the "free" market a shot. Now, in my defense, there really isn't a free-market, and I would argue that things have so been destroyed or bastardized that it might be tougher than it's ever been (speculation). But, most of my employment has come from corporations, and even some that receive government funding. Integrity and consistency would dictate that I leave such things, but my level of comfort keeps me there. Comfort might be our worst enemy.

In relation to Free-markets is the idea of voluntaryism. The notion that people will/can help out the poor more effectively if it's done on a voluntary - and not by force or coercion (of government). Aside from a week in Kentucky, helping the poor for a Catholic charity (this was the 90s) I have little history of volunteering to help the less fortunate. Again, it comes down to comfort level. I would bet if I forced to help out, I might feel a little better about myself.

I don't like sharing glasses with people however I've done some reckless things in the past. Yes there was protection involved (always), but it still wasn't wise, and very opposite of how I feel vis-a-vis sharing food and drinks. This is all the detail that needs to be disclosed at this point.

Other notes on germs: I don't shower every day, and my apartment is rather messy. On positive note: I'm getting better at cleaning my kitchen.

Clean Meats
This is the big one, and I don't mind getting my balls busted over it, it makes me laugh quite loudly because it's utterly ridiculous. Yeah, I don't eat pork or shellfish, or bunnies. Some people decide to be vegetarians, I decide (in early 2000), that I'm going avoid pork and lobster. Because my body is a temple, no? Yet I'll drink large amounts of alcoholic beverages and other things (unmentioned) will pass through my dying system on a regular basis.

Moving forward.

Okay, now that I got that shit off of my chest, I'm going to out there and start my own business, work at a soup kitchen, go back to celibacy, and avoid all chemicals. I vow to rid myself of all things that make me feel comfortable or good. I will be in constant anxiety over where my next paycheck will come from, I won't have health care, and all this stress that builds from this will have no place to go since I'm abstaining from the flesh and chemicals. I will either have a breakdown, or succeed gloriously in being the most perfect consistent person ever while creating countless jobs for people around me, and giving anything extra to the less fortunate.

That would be nice.

Monday, February 25, 2013

Good Bars & Bad Bars.

We were often discouraged from becoming regulars at bars by our parents. Don't become a bar fly, they said. Low lifes hang out at bars. Do something useful with your time. At the moment it seemed to make sense, but that was many years ago. Having experienced the highs and lows that all human beings go through, I've found the bar to become quite a comfortable warm place to be, with therapeutic qualities.

Not all bars are great places though. They're probably a handful I go to on a semi-regular basis and I consider these to be "good" bars.

Probably the biggest reason for why I keep coming back. It's going to cost less in gas money and I'll be at lest risk of coppers if I go to a bar that is in a convenient location from my house.

A bar needs to be more than just convenient. Yeah, if there are tons of TV's and NASCAR promotions/ads on the wall, chances are, that's not going to be my place. If you the music selection is really bad and it's packed with local college kiddies, that probably won't be my place either. A decent mix is fine, more ladies is better, but that's not always going to be the case.

Beer Selection-
I don't drink anything but Beer and Ale really. There should be a nice selection of that at a bar. Drinking the higher quality stuff just goes down easier, makes me feel better, especially during the next day. Find a place offer the good shit.

Events, in a lot of cases can be nice. I really need to avoid all open mics and most cover bands because both the noise and the people they draw in are seriously tough to take. I've worked out a good thing with my local bar where my band plays twice a year. (We're not a cover band). Trivia nights can start out fun then become fucking annoying.

Usually after beers you get hungry. You don't need excellent food but you don't want shit either. Bar food can get old. Wings need to be top notch. I wish bars would serve Chinese take out. Somebody should do that (or do it more often). Another thing with bar food is that it can be overpriced.

You want bartenders that will serve you promptly and not get upset if you try to get their attention if you're not served promptly. You want a bartender who will listen and not judge and be smart enough to get your humor. It's okay if you can talk politics with your bartender, but you don't want them preaching at you. You want a conversation - if that's possible, depending on how busy the crowd is. That's hard for some people. Most bartenders should have some knowledge about sports.

A jukebox is always nice in the place. Lighting should turned down. It should feel warm. Strangely enough, the bar I go to most has grade school cafeteria style lighting and it doesn't bug me that much. You shouldn't feel uncomfortable in any bar, even if it's your first time. Hardwood floors are nice if you can do that. Unfortunately, more flat screen TV's are going up in what used be quite cozy bars. People are just too dumb to talk to each other anymore. WTF?

These are just a few things to consider, if you haven't when deciding about a bar. Some things you won't find out until after you put your time. It wouldn't hurt to bring the above things mentioned, in, to serve as a checklist though let it be known, you're first try at any bar might lead to some minor awkwardness, which will soon pass.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Pro Wiffle Ball

My first moments of being part of a team took place in an alley next to our house. The game was wiffle ball. The beauty of this game is that it's cheap, you can set up a game in a lot of places if you have an imagination, and you can hit people with the ball. I still remember the intense joy I would get crossing home plate, as if I were quite literally home safe. High fives and team respect, winning and losing, disagreements, fights even, all happened. We worked them out on our own. There seemed to always be a game waiting to happen.

(Fast forward 25 years)

In the summer of 2008, me and a few friends formed a wiffle ball team to compete in a pretty intense tournament just outside of Trenton, NJ (I hate New Jersey). The average age of our team was about 40 years old. I had convinced everyone this was something we needed to do, and so we united. There were high hopes, practices, and I made uniforms. They were cool looking.

Trenton is a couple hours away so we got up early. I think we left right before 7am on a September Saturday. Locker room humor soon took over as we rode down.

We arrived at the huge park, which had at least 50 wiffle ball fields throughout the whole place, feeling a little nervous. Okay, at least I did. We signed in, having the best uniforms that day, and made our way down to our first game.

I pitched the first game. Now, I had a bit of confidence, being a little league legend, and I had a crazy knuckle ball which fooled a lot of my friends. We ended up competing against three pretty muscular bros in our first game. Picture it, little DaintyBones pitching to some strong experienced wiffle ballers. What the fuck could go wrong? All that had to be done was for me to hit the 3X4 foot wooden strike zone with my junk pitches. No problem. Yeah, and they had to swing and miss too.


It didn't take long. It didn't take long at all for the humiliation to commence. I had never seen a wiffle ball travel so goddamn far in my life. And with such consistency. I think I hurt my neck from turning around so quickly as the plastic ball would leave the park.

So, what happens is, when you end up giving up like 4 or 5 home runs right of the bat (double entendre), you get a little timid about throwing it over the strike zone. The batter realizes this, doesn't swing, and then you end up walking like 5 batters in a row. It starts to get cyclical. Walks - Home runs - Walks, with some outs and errors mixed in between. The whole thing was ugly, really, just quite shameful.

There is no point discussing the other two games, as they were all similar. By the middle of the last game, I broke out a bottle of whiskey, concealed in a paper bag of course, and we passed it around the dugout like four defeated men. Losing/failing is always a learning experience, and what we learned was that we had no business competing in this tournament, and that my knuckle ball was garbage.

As we headed home, through lovely Bucks county, we stopped at a few bars. One of the older fellas on the team made a "connection" with one of the servers at one pub (or, what he thought was a connection). We drank, ate, and discussed what would we do needed to do for the next time. Sadly there wouldn't be a next time for this roster.

You see, the Kutztown Hexxenwolves, as we were briefly called, suffered the worst off-season of any sports team ever. One player died, another ended up serving time, I fractured my hip, and the other player hurt is knee.

The summer after this wiffle ball tournament (2009), as I sat and laid on the couch, thinking about my friend/teammate who had passed, chewing up opiates like M&M's in recovery, watching Grease I and Grease II, and the Goldn Girls non-stop on the Lifetime Network (while having my piss buckets emptied), I had kept the dream alive that I would make the greatest comeback to wiffle ball. I read up on Bo Jackson (on wikipedia of course) who returned to baseball with a fake hip (I still have my own). I had committed to healthy living, even juicing greens religiously to speed up the return.

Reality set in, and I came to terms with the fact that my left hip will never be what it used to be - even after full recovery. Yes, I can still hump, and I needed to test it out (don't ask), but those days of pursuing fly balls, diving to for grounders and pushing off of the "mound" are over. My flexibility is half of what it was. Life's hard.

I'm quite blessed to have competed, even failing, with these three great gentlemen. Really, I'm happy I nagged these fellas to join me. I think it brought us back to childhood for a brief time. It made us all kids. More shit like that needs to be done.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Self Assessment: Fragile, Robust, AntiFragile

I'm still in the midst of finishing the book "AntiFragile." Forgive me, I'm a slow reader. But this may be my new fixation/obsession. At least the ideas may be. Practicing, or forcing Antifragility in one's own life may be easier said than done. Let's define the three states of being vis-a-vis Nassim Taleb's book.

Fragile: Something that is devastated by change, or doesn't respond well to it. There may be less errors in such systems, and fragile things are protected, but when a "black swan" (unpredictable) event happens, the results are pretty serious. Examples of this include, large centralized governments and also banking systems, but it can also be applied to nature, careers, industries.

Robust: Indifference to outside occurrences or change. Not affected.

Antifragile: Improves or gains from errors. An example cited in the book is the restaurant industry in New York. There are a lot of failures and competition. Restaurants will succeed because of the mistakes of other restaurants in this volatile environment making the entire industry antifragile. Switzerland is another example as it's highly decentralized and while there may be errors in that system at a more frequent rate, the errors are small scale or at a local level.

(I hope this makes sense - forgive me if it doesn't. I'm doing my best)

Because of my narcissistic tendencies, I will now evaluate my own existence and various aspects of my own life in relation to these terms.

Health - Fragile: I haven't been exercising or providing the right amount of stress to my body to show any sort of gains. In fact, objectively looking at it, I've been treating my health as pretty fragile. To improve this, I should walk/run more and even lift weights. I've been saying this for years - will it ever be done?

Love life - Antifragile/Robust, moving towards slight Fragility: This is personal, speak to me in private if you'd like to know why, but who gives a fuck?

The Band - Antifragile: I'd like to think it is. It's been through changes and I think it's come out pretty good.

Social Life - Antifragile: I think making a social life antifragile means having more than one bar or scene to go and lots of people to hang with in a variety of venues. Not putting your eggs in one basket. Right now I have Kutztown and the Lehigh Valley, but I'm kind of looking for other places to go. In other words, if something goes wrong in one place, your social life isn't destroyed, and you can move to another place without any weirdness or devastation. (I'm not planning on offending anyone more than I already have).

Career/Income - Super Fragile: To move towards Antifragility in my career/income would mean me starting up and doing more freelance work and maybe buying a house and finding renters. This would HELP to offset any "blackswan" (unforeseen layoffs) event at the office. I could also become a prostitute which is super Antifragile.

Belief systems - Antifragile/Robust (I hope): This one, I am biased on. It's actually really hard to see our own biases but I would like to think my views have shifted based on evidence thus making them stronger. But I think there might be some robustness to it, too, in relation to not being affected. I have shifted through the years though.

Okay-these are just a few areas I've attempted to speak of. I hope I've done it correctly. Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. Please share your comments and assess yourself and don't make fun of me.

Friday, February 15, 2013

I'm Happy My Parents Weren't Hippies

I'm happy my mom and dad weren't hippies. I would've ended up with a fucked up first name and a sense of entitlement through the roof.

No, instead they were self-less old school. I've tried to retain a bit of this but sadly I think I've failed at that.

Fuck me.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

I Got Quoted!

Every now and then I Google "Dainty Bones" to see what comes up. And usually there are just links to this blog and various blog entries. No big deal.

Last week I did this and I saw a quote of mine regarding Jazz Guitarists come on a couple other websites I have no connection to. One of them was British. That was nice. (British people are nice when they're NOT butchering or colonizing peoples) Yeah, these 2 other sites barely get any hits either, but it was cool to see some folks I didn't know (unless they were friends trying to boost my self esteem, or an impersonal drone ) enjoy a little rant of mine so much they bothered to put it up on their own pages.

Large amounts of readers would be nice, but I never got into this thankless business of writing blogs (from the heart - to you) for the numbers or money game. If I've moved or changed the path of just one soul, then I've done my job.

Where I've been quoted:

(I don't endorse or condemn these sites)
More information to back up the ultimate truth that I am indeed a pathelic little attention whore.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

(Street Football) The Big Banana Cut Back.

At the end of August, we'd put away our baseball gloves in exchange for the pigskin. Most often this would take place in the back alley or a church parking lot. From early on, we were taught to run extremely tight pass routes. Our role model at the time was Steve Largeant who was some slow little white boy wide receiver for the Seahawks who would always manage to get open. Look him up if you're not familiar.

If you didn't run a tight pass route, chances are, you wouldn't get open, and even worse you'd get ridiculed for running a route like a little girl. Nobody wanted this, everybody wanted to get open, everybody wanted to score a touchdown. It was pick up football, in the back alley, but it was taken seriously. Your manhood, at age six or seven was on the line, and it got even more serious as you got older.

This was probably my experience listening to, and trying to follow instructions. My brother would give me specific routes to run. He was the quarterback up until I got into high school when I proved I could be a pretty accurate and consistent, and a serious threat when rolling out of the pocket. (I'm a lefty). When this happened, the roles were reversed, and I was calling the plays, and it progressed to the point where we would run timing patterns. Which means, I would throw the ball before he would make the break/cut in anticipation (the ball would already be in the air before he was ready to catch it). He was faster and ran better pass routes than me, so me becoming the quarterback was mutually beneficial.

The first "serious" pass route I learned to run was the "Big Banana Cut Back." You had to run it quickly otherwise the QB would tits up. You'd run in sort of a curve (see diagram above) to the other side of the field. To sell the route, you had to act as though the ball was on its way, and this would happen after a little pump fake from the QB - which would cause the QB to over commit as you were cutting back the other way. It took a whole afternoon or so to get that one, and eventually I'd half ass the route and hear about as I'd return to the line of scrimmage.

The fact that we could call plays and strategize on a field, in a game, involving people quite captured my imagine. Many times during grade school classes and bullshit lectures, I'd find myself obsessing over designing elaborate plays. It got my head working, and working in a positive way I think. Street Football theory was amazing to me.

Now, in reality, it was rare that an elaborate play call lead to an easy touchdown. In most cases, my team mates were confused (not the defense), didn't care, or I didn't explain it well to them. Many times they'd lead to turnovers or hi jinx.

In conclusion, Street Football and other sports provided an escape from much of the bullshit that went on and I get a little sad that I just don't see pick-up games as much anymore. I would really get lost in such competition. Aside from the fun of designing football plays, there were fights, name calling, taunting, arguments, mom insults and all of this beautiful tension that seemed to make many of us a lot tougher. I received some of it (I was a skinny kid), everybody did. And nobody whined to their god damned parents and cops didn't bother us.

Those days are gone, new memories are being created but not on the makeshift concrete gridiron.

Dear Lord, save us from this generation of sissies.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Ed Emberley

The first thing I can remember being obsessed with, or caught up in, was drawing. There was a nice public library, the first one I remember going to, and despite it's statist sterile institutional vibe, it did have a kid's section that my mother directed me towards. I must have been four or five. There was a rack on the wall with these very thin drawing books.

Up until then I was just making things up in my head, or drawing how I thought things looked like. And, there's nothing wrong with that. But these drawing books, hanging on the wall seemed to grab me and I couldn't put them down. These were, of course, drawing books by Ed Emberely. I had that name in my mind for awhile and his drawing instructions were always being looked at. More importantly, he had a book devoted to trains and trucks which I needed to have, and I got it. (I had a train obsession).

The illustrations seemed to be designed/created for kids that age. They were quite minimal, reducing everything to shape and line (no shading). Everything was put in a step by step way, which at times, I struggled to follow, cause I wanted to get to the end, right away, asap. The beautiful thing about this was you could see the process, and you could see it build. These books kept me busy for house.

I went through many of his books, I remember getting a purple one for my birthday, or Christmas. Jumping from section to section, learning how to draw pirates and ships and vampires. It was empowering in a way, to have these books and feel as though you could draw anything you needed, on the spot, just following the instructions. I liked that.

I eventually moved on from the simplicity of that type of style, and going to other sources (it ran its course), but it served as a good starting point and a lesson in following detailed instructions. I could take these little books and spend hours at the kitchen table drawing trains and faces and trucks.
There was no need to ask anyone for help, it was all in the book.

Friday, February 8, 2013

I'm Okay with Obama's Assasination Policy on US Citizens

Read this if you're unaware:

Maybe we shouldn't care. Maybe it's about time. We've been doing this abroad for so many years now and nobody seems to care. Anyone suggesting our foreign policy is a bit messed up is considered a nut. Few Americans have the brain power to imagine if the tables were turned and if other countries, say China, did the same things to us, that we do in the Middle East.

Americans, even bleeding heart/sensitive lefties, seem to be quite silent when it comes to these things, due to blind party loyalty (as if it were infallible religion). Consistency/objectivity seems to be tossed out the window in favor of a lust for power and entitlement ("we want our stuffs"). That's what really matters in America. Violence is okay here.

If we dish it out, we should be able to take it. Right?

So, what would happen if a few Americans were assassinated (assuming the media would report it). The real threat to liberty might be exposed. Some of us soon might be able to understand a bit of violence others have been going through in far off places. It could possible bring people together who otherwise wouldn't be united.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Those 3 Words I Can't Say.

Okay, maybe I said them once to someone years ago, we won't speak of. Maybe I did. I can't remember and I was probably under the influence (probably covered in body sweat), it was late, and it was dark. If it happened. And I probably shouldn't have said that at that time. And, I did in fact end up taking them back, a couple years afterwards. Maybe for that brief instant I meant it, but at that I time I didn't seem to have control or understanding of what was going on. They were just words.

The point is, I have a block. Something won't allow me to speak them. I'm mid thirties and it's still literally painful for me to try to say them. Can't bring myself to it. I'm not even talking about romantic bullshit because I've successfully avoided that for years. I'm just talking about expressing that genuinely to people who have been tolerant enough to be around me, support me, and take care of me. It's no easy task and all of them have been graceful.

Understandably, most people don't want to hear it cause it makes everything weird and serious but it's probably the best thing you can tell someone. I don't like hearing those words being thrown at me. But there are people I literally owe those words too. And every time I get a chance I can't. I can say "thank you" quite easily, but that doesn't compare.

I need to get over this obstacle. I have a fear eventually some of these people will die not knowing my feelings. I need to force myself out of the comfort zone. Before it's too late.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

The Good Time Charlie

(What a weird expression.)

Maybe Charlie really knows what's going. He was probably hurt in the past, found it a drain, and decided to live life in a fun casual way. He realizes the fragility of relationships and wishes not to partake, for the deeper they grow, the greater chance of larger destruction. Not worth it. He just wants to free but not necessarily alone. Charlie has "no skin in the game."

He may have some mental quirks and at times be off putting to most of the civilized world but he keeps going, in search of a good time. No commitment. He doesn't want to harm himself seriously by partaking in big fun, but at the same time, he doesn't see himself going much past fifty years old, if that.

He's happy to be alive and delighted he didn't start a family because most of his offspring would probably be fucked in one or more ways, like he is. He doesn't want to have to deal or take care of that (he probably couldn't have a dog for more than three weeks). He's content in solitude and likes his bed best and sleep.

He was given a lot, which allows him a little security and more space to make semi-reckless decisions, but on the downside he isn't creating any wealth or a future, like most Americans. It's more of a "taking" approach, as opposed to "giving" or "building" or "creating."

He tries to be a help, in his own minor way, but generally his biggest concern is his own comfort and well-being and getting enough sleep - and he knows this. He has his bars/taverns and his group of people he can repeat obscene juvenile homo-erotic humor to on regular basis and this never seems to get old.

He knows himself well, and knows what he wants. Which is very little from anyone else.

Life can be hard, when you're livin easy.

Monday, February 4, 2013

How does Yacht Rock make me feel.

Music is the ultimate tool to tinker with emotions and create the mood. Some people lift weights and train to metal music for added intensity. Coffee shops will sometimes play jazz to help relax everyone. Pornography will sometimes play music with tribal percussion and "raunchy funk" bass lines to make the situation even more sexual. If I happen to bring someone back to my place I usually Pandora some post-punk band before balls go completely to the wall (that "game on" moment - if you will - yeah, that rarely happens/life's hard). All it is is just notes n rhythms at various frequencies played with different instruments, together, in a pattern sort of. Right? I think.

Then one day a man stumbles upon the genre of Yacht Rock. Or, maybe you've heard since childhood, dismissed it like me, or even mocked it, only to give it a second look. A more open and non judgemental look, freely, allowing it to move you. What does it do? Why do I do I now have a Yachtrock section on my IPod? How did I get beyond the laughter and obvious insults?

Before I explain, I should probably tell uninformed people what Yacht Rock is. Here's how the describes it:

"Another name for the adult-contemporary musical movement in the late 1970's and the early 1980's. It was defined mostly by its smooth sound. Popular Yacht Rockers include: Kenny Loggins, the Doobie Brothers, and Steely Dan."

Other names I might included would be Christopher Cross and Michael MacDonald (I know they mentioned DBros, but MM needs to be singled out). Youtube these bands/artists to get a good feel of exactly what I'm talking about.

So how does it make me feel? Let's list some emotional words/phrases that apply to how I feel when I listen to Yachtrock.

2)Refined and polished
3)Emotionally moved, but not overboard, in a rather controlled sense
5)Like I want to move a bit, but not much, again, stable enjoyment
6)Like management in a corporation
7)Like I should be wearing loafers without any socks, and dress in white
8)Free, but in the most responsible way, like I just left a church service
9)Cool but not rebellious, rather respectful
10)Clean, like washing your face.

Most people aren't looking to feel this way, but if you wish to share in these vibes, pop in "Sailing" by Christopher Cross, or, "I Keep Forgettn" by Mr. Michael MacDonald. Please list your own description of how Yacht Rock feels to you....and refer to my other blog post on the Top 10 Yacht Rock songs for more in depth descriptions of my personal favorite Yacht Rock songs.


Friday, February 1, 2013

For Dudes: The Importance of Glamour Shots

I think it's healthy for most males to go through, what some might call, a narcissistic phase. Most of the time this phase occurs after manhood has been full realized and confidence and comfort in one's own skin is achieved. One shouldn't be considered a Prima Donna for going through such a self absorbed period, instead, this energy should, and often times is, channelled through the fine tangible result of the glamour shot.

Because of the rigid gender distinctions we make in this most cold and cruel world, most people associate the "glamour shot" with women. This is wrong. Men can be just be as glamorous and full of their own looks, and this is not bad. Another common, yet false assumption is that one needs to shell out cash to a professional photographer for a good glamour shot. No need. Use your cell or ask your mother to take the picture.

I once had a friend from out of state,. This guy was no sissy. He had his mother take at least 20 photos of him in various poses. Some were shirtless, some were from the outdoors, but all of them possessed a certain narcissism and pride in appearance, along with some very serious, yet cheesy expressions, that moved me deeply.

My personal favorite expressions in glamour shots, and a technique I've used when posing includes the "eye roll/look to the heavens - as if I don't give a fuck and I'm above it all." I've done that many times and it works better with a cigarette or some sort of alcoholic beverage, conveying a reckless and whimsical sort of arrogance one can't help but love. The other popular one is of course the duckface. I can pull that off too, but not everyone can.

Sporting shades can add an element of mystery to the approach, maybe even distance. Each man has their own vibe in front of the camera. Take lots of pictures of yourself and find out which one is best for you. I literally have over 300 photos of myself on Facebook. This is healthy of course.

In closing, as we move deeper into an age of "notice me" and self importance, a guy needs to take the bull by the horns and embrace the glamour shot. Every man has their own style and it's up to him to find, work it, improve it, until it's pure gold. Never be afraid to take and show as many pictures of yourself as you possibly can. At all times.

After all, putting yourself out there like that shows a pride and confidence in who you are and how you look. God made everyone to be divas.