It looks like I need a new shtick. After the Latin poetry debacle, some of you suggested that I work up a new ploy to impress chicks. Okey-dokey, as Hannibal Lector used to say.
Since some of you are relatively new to my blog, you might want to start out with some history on my attempts to intrigue the ladies. I have tried out new gigs before. One attempt, described in "What A Friend We Have In Cheesiness," was sort of in keeping with the poetry theme. At least the poetry that resulted was in English, not Latin. But the little poem we came up with wasn't something you would expect to hear my pal Garrison Keillor read on "Writer's Almanac." I had to end up shelving that one after I got slapped up side the head a couple times.
Another great idea was peddling a supposed movie role to unsuspecting popsies; I talked about this one in "I Can Make You A Star." Unfortunately this plan required that I lie. Well, maybe not lie, but certainly mislead. I have no moral qualms about lying my ass off to get laid, don't get me wrong, I'm just not good at it. So that one had to bite the dust eventually as well.
The Catullus thing you know about already. It seems that thousands of men run around quoting Latin love poetry incessantly to young girls in bars, so the Catullus book goes back to the dust bunny farm.
Which brings us to now. I need something new, something unique, something that will Make Chicks Dig Me.
Some of you may be thinking, "Hulles, why do you need a ploy at all? Why don't you just use your natural charm to win women over and make them date you? Once they sleep with you they'll be hooked for life."
Well, thanks, but the old natural charm supply is down to seeds and stems these days. It seems to have been replaced in my repertoire by unrelenting cynicism. You were very perceptive to bring up the "sleep with me" thing though. It's only closing the deal that needs the work. I can handle it from there by calling upon my Tantric Sex Secrets of the Orient training and my own innate sex doggedness.
Unfortunately every time I think about Ploys To Make Chicks Dig Me I think about severe dorks I have known (that aren't me) that have carried this to the extreme. I would never do this, of course.
The first guy I always think about is some poor man in Portland who went to every open stage on the folk music circuit and played the spoons. He carried a case around with all his spoons in it and would somehow select a couple and during every song that anybody else did he would clackety-clacketa-clacketa more or less in time to the music. But this was his thing. He obviously had read something somewhere that said if you want to be popular it helps to have a talent. So he picked playing the spoons. I will hand it to him, though -- he pretty much had the spoon-playing niche to himself. Unlike me with Catullus' Latin love poetry.
Another guy locally here has a similar gig going on with bongo drums. He pops up like a mushroom at any bar that has a live band and chimes right in on his bongos whether the band needs bongo accompaniment or not. And most don't, frankly. Bongo Boy scares me a lot.
Yet another person that I know of carries a couple of cameras around to snap people's (generally women's) pictures and then talk about what a good photographer he is, yadda yadda yadda. This guy has not yet gotten his lights punched out in my presence but he's skated the edge a number of times. For some reason people seem to feel that having some dickwad take their picture is an invasion of their privacy. I can't understand this myself.
Almost forgot one -- I recently wrote about some old guy (who isn't me) who uses the tired "I'm a sensitive writer type" spiel to chat up the cookies. Disgusting.
You know, after talking about all these losers, not excepting yours truly, I think I'll just go back to the old "hand out a business card and tell 'em to email me if they want to" routine. At least I can maintain some shred of dignity that way. Too bad they never do email me. But that's okay. I have you all.
Although to be honest I have been working on a new clogging routine. You've never seen "Stairway to Heaven" clogged like I can clog it. I'm reserving it as a secret weapon to Get Chicks To Dig Me if you guys wimp out.