Why I Don't Do Strip Clubs

Last night, after a night out at Big Fish, my buddies decided to go to a strip club called Gold Rush (contrary to what you may think, one of them is a girl). Normally, I don't want to go. Not because I think it's an establishment that's demeans women by commoditizing their bodies; if the girls are happy with a job involving removal of clothes in arctic-cold air conditioning, then good for them.

Not only do I plain not like going to those places, I just don't think it's worth blowing off (oops, poor choice of words) a large amount of cash to see women take their clothes off and rub against you. There's the internets for that, and if it's free, then the sacrifice in "interactivity" is well worth it. Now whenever I turn down an offer to go to the strip bar, I get accusations thrown at me that I'm gay. I guess the reason is that they're jealous that I can keep my libido from cleaning out my bank account. Hell, even if I'm gay, I still have more cash than you.

But just to be a sport, I came along. Well, not only that, but one of my buddies has to give me a ride home. Woohoo. Fake boobies, obscenely fake boobies, nice real boobies. I guess they just don't thrill me that much. Or perhaps internet porn has numbed me. Either way, even though there are some really pretty girls, and that I think the female human body is one of God's most beautiful creations (He probably did a half-assed job on men, so he did a better job on women. Eat that up fems.), I don't feel comfortable admiring His creations in this environment. That's what beaches are for, and the ones in South Beach are top-optional.

So to give you an idea of the exhorbitant amounts people (i.e. men and women) spend on being thus entertained, one of my buddies blew off (oops, there it is again) $200 for a 30-minute "private" dance, and ended up feeling pissed because he was ripped off. It turned out that she spent 20 minutes just talking to him, and the rest of the time doing a strip dance that is not unlike the strip dances found in the main area.

OUCH.

If I wanted to find out that she is studying Architecture at Florida State University, I'd chat her up at a bar. For free.

The Great Gatsby

I had just chatted with a friend who just broke up with his girlfriend. The poor girl was devastated. I have a lot of guy friends who just wanted a short fling, but the girl thought it was something serious, so when it comes to splits time, all hell breaks loose. My friend said that it wasn't a just a fling, but his lifestyle changed and made the relationship impossible. I believe him. Then I couldn't help but think of a passage from F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby:

"They were careless people, Tom and Daisy- they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made."

Not that I share this contempt, but more of sympathy. This had nothing to do with my aforementioned friend, but just something that my thought train arrived at (all the brakes were shot long ago). Sometimes people don't know what they want and get into committments they shouldn't have, only to have someone else suffer the consequences.

Even though I had to read The Great Gatsby for my English 101 class in undergrad, it was one of the few books that English teachers assign that wasn't utter crap. I bought the Cole's Notes just in case, but I really didn't need it at all, quite unlike that annoying long-dead Brit playwright who writes in fucked-up English that makes it hell for everyone to even comprehend.

Anyway, if you want good reading, that's the book to read. I've never read a book that defined its era so well, The Dirty Thirties, when all of America lived in Art Deco exhuberance and which even F. Scott Fitzgerald himself describes as "the most expensive orgy in history".

Any book that makes you feel nostalgic about an era long before you are born has got to be good.

Tough-ass African Grandpa

Good God.

An elderly African man is attacked by a cheetah, so he reaches into its mouth and rips its tongue out! Here's the full story.

Very surprising, being in a country where a lot of old people don't bother trying to exercise to keep their legs from failing them, but rather buzz around in their electric wheelchairs to the nearest bingo parlor.

I should know. I was nearly a victim of an old-fogey hit-and-run.

30-Time Blood Donor In One Day

So it has been raining for 20 days of the last three weeks. Well, more accurately, it was stormy. A serious consequence is that a huge spawn of mosquitoes have bred from the resulting puddles and are out on the loose.

Unfortunately, I am somehow more attractive to mosquitoes than other people (go figure). Perhaps it's because my O+ blood appeals to more tastes, or maybe it's because the mosquitoes here just like ethnic food. Either way, I suffered almost 20 bites in the span of five minutes the other day. You can see that this problem is occurring all over the city, as whatever store I go to, there is an empty shelf where the bug repellent should be.

I finally find some at a Bed, Bath, and Beyond, and decided to try the plant-based repellent, because I don't like the prospect of rubbing a chemical called DEET on my skin everyday. Hell, I even e-mailed the FDA about the chances of getting cancer, but being part of the government, by the time they reply, the summer would probably be over.

I know I've been a bit anal about mosquitoes, but one reason is that I have a personal vendetta with mosquitoes, ever since they bit me on the eyelid in my sleep. Hey, why don't you try spending all week looking like you got your ass badly kicked in a boxing match. The other reason is that there has been a spat of West Nile Virus going around here, thanks to some tourist.

Although I hope that if I catch the West Nile Virus, I get a special discount for that King Tut exhibit if I ever decide to go all the way to see it.

Mother Nature's PMS

Although human females undergo this period of male armageddon once a month, and which usually lasts for about a week, Mother Nature is a special female in Miami. She undergoes PMS (short for "Pass Me the Shotgun") once a year, of which spans several months. I think today marks the onset.

This morning was a beautiful clear day, despite the dim-sum-steaming humidity which makes the city a "24-hour outdoor sauna". In a matter of one hour, the skies have turned consistently dark, and the lightning so frequent that the thunder makes a constant rumbling throughout the afternoon. It's much worse than the same time last year, and last year was pretty bad.

In 2004, it appeared that Father Nature left the toilet seat up, or started squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube instead of the end, because Mother Nature snapped and hurled four (4!) hurricanes at us.

Now, the violent weather has either abated somewhat, or Mother Nature is busy loading the shotgun.

GRAND OPENING!!!

FINALLY!! I found a username and URL that works!! I hope you like the trippy title. I initially wanted to call the thing "Vast Ocean" after my Chinese name, but all my primary choices were already hogged by some asshole who's probably planning to sell the usernames on eBay. This blog makes it ten times easier to update, so I will update often.

Now please make it worthwhile and post a comment. Even if it is to point out what a big ass I am. Or have.