FAVE

I have a lot of interests ranging from music composition to painting, softball to podcasting. It’s impossible to focus on them simultaneously while managing a family and career. Some of my interests take a backseat for months before I’m able to re-engage (e.g., I haven’t painted anything new in over a year). I’ve learned to prioritize my interests according to my levels of passion towards them.

Right now, my passion-o-meter is leaning towards writing. National Novel Writing Month is this November and I’m feeling the itch to join in the frenzy of writing a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. The challenge inspires me; however, I know that it requires me to sacrifice my other interests for the month in order to be successful. The reward is yet another novel under my belt, which would be great. I’m still on the fence about it. I’ll revisit this in a couple of weeks.

Until next time…

The last installment. Happy Monday…

Why do men lie so much?
There’s a theory that, if we practice (the art of lying) long enough, we’ll be just as good as women *lol* Just kidding…(hint hint).

Seriously, I do not feel lying is gender-specific. I do believe that – when you think of lying – the male species is more associated with the act. This is not because we’re good at it, but the exact opposite. We suck at lying; therefore, we’re always getting caught and making life much worse than it has to be.

There are many reasons men lie. Do you really want to hear that those jeans are too small- making your side meat look like a cupcake crown? We don’t want to hurt your feelings; but we don’t always want to do what it takes for the truth NOT to hurt. Our devious nature (as humans) to get away with things – big or small – is often a catalyst for lying. Sometimes a lie is thrown out there to buy time while we come up with a better solution to our problem.

Sadly, this rarely works and when it does…it doesn’t work for long. My experiences are that lying typically leads to destruction and amplifies any existing bad situation. We do it for the off chance that it might work…this one time.

Why do men cheat on wives, girlfriends and significant others?

And another one:

Why do men fight and make noises when fighting?
When ANYONE fights, the noises make it more dramatic (e.g., what’s a good cat fight without a few screams?). In the case of men, the grunts and growls seem to muster up additional strength when you connect fist to jaw. I don’t condone violence in the offensive sense, but I am a firm believer in defending yourself. The propensity to fight tends to correlate with the ability to effectively communicate; therefore, the better the communicator, the less likely they are to resort to violence. It’s primitive, it’s non-cerebral and honestly, it solves nothing…other than the barbaric satisfaction of knowing you whooped somebody’s ass (sidenote: some of the best fights I’ve ever witnessed involved women).

Why do men like gadgets and cars?
“I’m gonna break this one down so it will forever + consistently be BROKE” (Isaiah Washington in Love Jones, 1997):

gadgets = distractions
cars = proverbial mobility

Men have so many stigmas, responsibilities (whether we acknowledge them or not), pressures and stress. These elements compound with age. We need an escape void of human interaction or seriousness. We need something to “play with” to revert our minds back to simpler times while maintaining a sophisticated level of stimuli. It’s a bonus when those gadgets actually help make life more efficient (ex., I would NEVER do cardio if it wasn’t for my iPod nano with Nike+ kit). Plus, it’s fun I think this question was birthed out of how these gadgets monopolize (time away from women) more than anything. Just my two cents

As for cars, it’s always been a sign of upward mobility since its inception. I am not a car fanatic - I believe in keeping them maintained and cleaned, but not worshiped. It’s a false status symbol in that nothing depreciates faster than an automobile. I see guys rubbing on their cars with more affection than they show their children…it’s not a good look.

As I wrap this answer up, women are NOT off the hook! Our iPods, PSPs, PlayStations, GPS systems and Macbooks are the same as your Dooney&Burke purses, Prada dresses, Manolo shoes, MAC lipstick, Clinique/Fashion Fair/Maybelline makeup, Gucci flip flops and OhMiBod (and all other mechanical abominations like it!).

Why do men have trouble asking for directions and help in general?
Asking for directions (and help in general) indicates lack of knowledge = inferiority = less of a man. Ironically, it’s a stupid ideology that perpetuates ignorance in even the most intelligent of men. I believe in exhausting all resources before going outside to ask for help. In addition to Google Maps, Mapquest, Expedia, etc. I still keep a Rand McNally map in the car. This is another one of those societal conditioning things where help is associated with competency in the wrong way.

My suggestion is, when we finally break down and ask for help, that (women) don’t chide us - but actually encourage us in our admission.

Why do men enjoy pornography?
Define “enjoy” *lol* Are we talking sexual gratification? Comedy? For me, it’s the latter. I’ve seen my fair share of poorly produced porn with no storyline, goofy actors and the same hotel picture hanging over every lubricant-stained bed. It’s funny as hell to me, but I digress.

I think some men enjoy porn because men respond best to visual stimuli (I’m using that word a lot, eh?). It’s how we are wired. Even with my formal education in communication and appreciation for the “inner spirit” of the opposite sex…I am a lifetime fan of the phatty and I make no apologies for that.

That’s why women have breasts, hips, booties (no matter how big or small, but that’s another post), etc. Then there’s the flowing hair, eyelashes, lips, fingertips, etc…WE’RE VISUAL and porn is the coup de gras of visual stimulation. I think porn taints something that was meant to be beautiful and it is a gateway to spiritual uncleanliness, but I’m not here to judge because I’ve been tainted and spiritually unclean as much as the next guy. Some porn goes too far (e.g., 2 girls, 1 cup) and abandons any form of sexual stimulation while some men actually find satisfaction seeing women they will NEVER smash, get it on.

Why do men spit, what are they spitting out; and how does it get there?
We spit due to an overabundance or thickness of saliva in our mouths. This is often a sign of dehydration which can be easily onset with the overindulgence of beer, alcohol (which dehydrates you). You ever notice how in movies, the guys are spitting near a bar? That’s my take on it. I spit a lot in college…see where I’m going with this?

Get ready for Part 3 of 3 - I saved the best for last Until next time…

A few weeks ago, I went on Twitter and asked the female Twitteratti to fill the following blank:

Why do men _______________ ?

I recieved a plethora of responses; most of them coming from a very inquisitive young lady, Shannon Renee. Not only did she send of barrage of inquiries via Twitter, she dedicated a blog post on her site.

I am going to address her questions from my perspective, which will NOT represent the entire male species. Although I am a man, I can only speak / write from my experiences as a man. My goal is to provide male insight to a number of questions that (in my opinion) transcend gender.

Let’s do it:

I received a card in the mail from my parents mother this week. I saw the words “anniversary” through the envelope. My blood started to boil as my hands shook. I nestled the card between the pages of a magazine and shoved it in my knapsack.

What would normally be a celebratory well wish, I took as an insult. The card was a reminder of the low opinion, high pride and hurtful hypocrisy that looms over my life like a storm cloud.
I remember receiving another card last year - with the same handwriting and card stock. It was the RSVP card from our invitation. I hadn’t asked my parents for anything except their presence at their only child’s wedding. The card read, “We will NOT attend.”

And now you want to wish us “Happy Anniversary” like it’s all good?

No thank you. I will never discredit the sacrifices you made while raising me – but I cannot ignore the emotional scar you gave by allowing your love of pride to be greater than your love for me.
Keep your damn card.

Does that make me bitter? Should I move past the hurt and embrace the now? I probably should. But I won’t lie to myself and force a false forgiveness. I’m not ready. I am still very angry and will be for a while.

My prayer is that I don’t expire with this anger in my heart. It has to go someday but that day is not today. As I send this card “return to sender” – maybe one day I can send the pain back as well.
Until next time…

13 september 2008 - 3:16am

“That’s the wheel barrell!” she blurted.

The loud bamming noise shook through our home like a bass drum during a college football halftime show. The vibrations seemed to slamdance with the howls of 90mph winds and tortured trees. I placed the wheel barrell outside - in the back corner of the house - but now it banged as if it was attempting to come through the wall.

I put on my sneakers to dislodge the wheel barrell and stop its persistent banging. When I opened the front door, I was greeted by a dark haze of midnight blue clouds, chaos and wind. The rain slapped my face as I raced around to the back of the house. To my surprise, the wheel barrell was secured right where I left it. My second glance upward revealed our back patio roof - the same one that covered so many outdoor parties (including our wedding reception) - was being ripped away. 2×4 beams and aluminum jerked in winds that seemed to carry tortured screams of lost souls. That was my cue to run like hell back into the house. I had never seen nature so enraged or unstable.

This was Hurricane Ike.

I was going to spend the weekend in the luxurious confines of the Marriott Houston Hobby Airport - the same hotel I stayed in regularly when visiting my wife as her “long distance beau.” My anticipation had built up all week as I daydreamed about plush pillows, down comforters and made-to-order omelets for breakfast.

Instead of packing my bags to celebrate our wedding anniversary, I spent most of the day packing our den and taking potential projectiles off our back patio - in preparation for Hurricane Ike.

As I type these words, Hurricane Ike is headed right for us. Authorities have instructed us not to evacuate - but to ‘hunker down’ and ride this thing out. My office was closed today and there was no urging to work from home. The theme of the day has simply been “get prepared.”

Now, it’s a waiting game as the trees sway and twirl like straws in an empty milkshake glass. The wind is picking up - about 30-35mph - but they’ll be howling at 100+mph by midnight.

I can feel the prayers of family, friends (offline and online) and strangers. It’s a warm, positive energy flow sent from God at the request of those who believe this is a reminder that we don’t control anything…except our decisions.

The lights are flickering now, so I better wrap this up. My family and I appreciate your prayers.

Until next time…

Was it a coincidence that - after not receiving the nod for Best Podcast @ the BWAs on last Thursday - there was no new Friday Favecast the following day? Could it have been a symbolic silence of a sore loser? Was the disappointment so overwhelming that I couldn’t find the gumption to pick up my USB microphone, push record on Sound Studio and say, “In this edition of the Friday Favecast…”?

I never thought I’d get married.

Since I was a kid, I was told I’d be a “good husband.” I came from a two-parent household where dad paid the bills, did home repairs and improvements while my mother kept the house clean and made sure I was neat. I went to church every Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday (and sometimes Thursday) -gotta love that Baptist upbringing! My parents taught manners, respect, hard work and quick to pull out the [insert whatever was nearby] if I got out of line.

In high school, I wrote 3- and 4-page love letters, poems, songs and stage plays (I was a little “extra” back then). This was before computers were fashionable, so I wrote it all by hand. I was the “nice” kid in class - the girls would cry on my shoulder and share their boyfriend problems…great. They gave me insight to the female psyche making me more aware than the average teenage boy.

College was a blur of academia and self-discovery. I taught myself how to cook gourmet meals, augmenting the soul food recipes handed down from my family. I taught myself to play the piano and sing. My decision to study marketing forced me out of my passive shell. By junior year, I was known for being beguiling towards women. I had reinvented myself into an intelligent, charming and talented twentysomething male whose arrogance only fueled my delusion of immortality.

Then the baby came during the last semester of my senior year.

It’s no secret that the Friday Favecast did not win the Black Weblog Award for Best Podcast this year. I was initially disappointed that my podcast was overlooked, but I did make it to the finals…which is cool.

But let’s be real.