SMASHPAPER

Today I finished Season 1 on my exercise bike.

Riveting television about people trying to live with integrity in spite of their flaws. I have never heard so much owning up and apologizing for behaviors as in this show. In daily life people do not apologize so much. All characters have their virtues as well as their hubri. I don’t even think that is a word. They struggle to do their best and face heartbreak, disappointment, failure and yet persevere into the next episode, in such a way (editor’s magic) that the viewer (staying up late for no good reason) needs to find resolution to the delightful agony of human existence by clicking “NEXT EPISODE”.

It’s a mean trick. Of the 22 episodes, only one ended without a character in pain. I found myself watching multiple Next-Episodes looking for that plot twist / band-aid that might bring my mortal soul some relief.

Anyway, if Lost was a show that taught everyone how to be a rude asshole on an island, FNL teaches you how to be a flawed human being acknowledging a higher standard than oneself to which a community may be held accountable.

Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can’t lose!

Who wrote this crap! I’ve eaten it up!

My father had recently passed away and I was on a path of self-destruction. I was
dating a handful of girls and partying every night. I was operating in a world of
denial, bouncing back and forth between the extremes of very happy and very sad.
I didn’t want to stop and pause, I wanted to keep moving. I was having fun, I was a
wild man, a sexy beast with no limits, no standards.

Among all this madness, a girl appeared who stood out from the rest of the flock.
But it wasn’t instantaneous. At the beginning, despite an immediate physical
attraction, she remained “just another girl”. But very quickly, she proved to be
something special. She was soft and laid back. She didn’t get drunk all the time. She
had a steady job.

Despite how much my ego was enjoying my late nights and wild, free-floating ways,
there was a continuous quiet voice deep down inside of me saying, “This is not what
you really want, you want something much more than this.”

As things developed with my future-wife, the other girls slowly began to vanish. I
noticed certain qualities in her that none of the other girls had – she was a strong
person, she was not vain, she was very intelligent and responsible and funny,
she was familiar with lots of the obscure music and movies I was into. This may
sound awful, but I was accustomed to insecure girls who needed to be taken care of constantly.

I also noticed was that my future-wife had boundaries. This was important. I
recognized it as something that I needed, since I did not have many boundaries of
my own. And the girls I tended to hang around with also had little boundaries. Life
is more fun without boundaries. But more fun doesn’t mean better. And that little
voice deep inside me knew that I needed some boundaries or else I was headed for
trouble. The rock star lifestyle is not sustainable forever.

And let’s not forget – my future wife had great, big knockers and a nicely shaped
booty.

Our relationship became monogamous and things really started to heat up. The
more I learned about her life and her past, the more intrigued I became. She was
everything I ever wanted and more. But she also knew how to push my buttons in a
way that no one previously ever had. At times, she infuriated me. But at least I was
feeling something. She called bullshit on all my questionable behaviors that other
girls let me get away with. This made me have more respect for her, even if I found
it annoying at times. She always had the best intentions, wanted me to be the best
version of myself that I could be. I never felt I was being restricted, just pushed to
grow up a little bit.

Because she knew about my previous playboy ways, she had difficulty believing me
when I told her how strongly I felt about her. She thought she was “just another
girl”. But I knew she was much more. I had to prove it.

So one day, I came home and I looked at myself in the mirror. And I asked
myself, “Do you want to go through your 30s doing the same stuff you did in your
20s?” What I meant was, did I want to continue dating lots of random girls and
partying, which was easy, or did I want to challenge myself and attempt to step up to
the next level of my development and maturity?

I also asked myself, “Are you prepared to spend the rest of your life having sex with
one woman?” My answer to this question was yes. I answered yes because I was
sick of dating – it was just a waste of time and money. I was sick of breaking hearts. Also, I rationalized that I had been with enough women –
I had my fair share, I had experienced enough different flavors and sizes. There
would be no benefits to sleeping with a couple more girls other than some fleeting
pleasure. And I was smarter than that now!

Don’t get married if you feel like you have not “sowed all your wild oats”. Sow those
oats! The sooner the better.

I realized it was time for me to stop responding to every desire of my ego. It was
time for me to stop going for the easy fix. A good relationship should simplify my
life – remove all the stress, minimize the anxiety, cut out the bullshit. I could tell
that me and my future-wife made a good, solid team together. We were opposites
attract, so we really balanced one another out. This was more than good sex and
good times – this was building my destiny.

My future-wife also did something no one else had ever done for me before – she
tattooed my name on her body. Beautiful script letters on her rib cage. She did this
without telling me, a surprise. Normally, if a girl did this, I would feel sick – “Uh, oh…
she likes me WAY more than I like her. . .” But I did not feel sick. I felt flattered. I felt
awe and amazement. I felt humbled. I felt totally and completely in love.

So I took the plunge. I paced back and forth in my room for about an hour before
building up the courage. I put on my favorite suit, got a faux ring to represent the
real ring (which we would buy together the next day), and I went to her house.

She was napping, but she answered the door, and was shocked to see me in a suit,
down on bended knee. I never even considered the idea that she might say no. It
wasn’t an option I was worried about. Something inside my gut just knew that this
was it. It was not a loud voice, but more of a quiet nudge. Because truth doesn’t
need to yell. Real love does not need to shout. It is there for you whenever you are
ready to see it and accept it.

STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO:

What Is Commitment, Compromise, and Surrender?

[We find each other on the web and off. Is This You? features real people who real people know. - chairmeowww]

You are a former pro-skater turned cycling enthusiast and a writer. You have a knack for giving people nicknames and you have great abs. Your morals have been called into question on more than one occasion (by me) and some would call you a pathological liar. I just call it uncontrollable creativity. Most importantly you probably have the quickest wit of anyone I know. We once stayed up all night taking photos of each other at University High. Oh, yeah and you’re Canadian.

The Beer Burn - photo courtesy of Brandon Burkhart

The title of this essay was going to be “How to Cook a Man…(So He Stays Tender and Juicy)”.

At first, I thought I would focus on the slow-simmer rather than the full heat, using the right seasoning, drawing out the flavor, rather than cutting in too quickly–all the food-stuff metaphors you could possibly lay on sex and love innuendo.  For reasons of scarcity and sanity, I have been out of the game for a while.

Love is a country I have visited but where I cannot remember the language. Maybe I mean the opposite. I know the words; I just have no idea where it is or how to get there.

I’m not lonely, which one of my friends Tony states is utter bullsh-t. I’m not yearning or pining, which is my usual state of being. I am desperately trying to avoid being bitter and callous and drudging up the old clichés of being this particular age and watching the men of the same age gallivant straight towards chicks a decade or more younger.

I was there once. I lured in the older guys and ignored the wise all-knowing, exhausted looks of their female counterparts. The weight we imparted on men back then was looser and idealistic. There is no more ideal. Instead, there is ‘Can this work in a practical and sexual manner for an extended period of time, and do we get along enough to not loathe each other in the process’? Best friend with great sexual chemistry. That’s the gist.

Instead of how to keep a man juicy, I am wondering how to keep myself moist and supple, tender and delicious. Age is rapidly descending, manifesting in both positive and droopy ways. It’s funny, cause I feel happier and more gorgeous than I did when dudes were readily available for swings and flings. But a gentleman friend recently said I scare men away. Why the hell would I do that, I implored? Because you know what you want, he offered.

Hmmph. I know what I don’t want and won’t tolerate. But I also know what brings me happiness.  And now I am trying to rally up all the things that bring me joy. Other than food, I mean.

Is that so scary?

I don’t regret being single right now. Or being childless. Hells no.  I am immersed in great people, a great town, and blessed with a curious, voracious appetite. I do occasionally regret my ample leftovers, and hope that some handsome funny fine fellow can one day savor the impromptu casual meals I cook for myself. The ones we improvise are sometimes the best ones we make. Hopefully a good meal and being yourself can keep a man warm and delicious and vice versa. If anything has kept my folks together for almost 40 years, it has to be their love of food and cooking. That might not be enough, but it is better than most.

Baste, rub, cajole, be salty and sweet. Go slowly, shop around, be picky but get cooking cause it’s almost supper time. And if you have to eat alone, just make sure you enjoy the company.

Well, as a web-zine with one contributor and editor (me), I can egocentrically say that 2010 was a great year for Smashpaper.  We learned how to log into our blog, we learned how to post articles to said blog, we even learned how to re-post content from the web and add pictures sometimes.  Big stuff.

For 2011, Smashpaper is expanding by at least 100% and focusing attention on self-improvement as well as continuing reviews of what people are doing well.   A lot of us grow naturally–blossoming like roses in the desert, persevering like cacti, proliferating like weeds, whatever!  But some of us require more careful pruning.

That some-of-us reads and writes for Smashpaper 2011.

On the web, there are sites that will tell you how to make a pancake, for example, or how to organize your Hi-8 collection.  But the bigger-better question still needs to be asked.  How do you just become a bigger-better version of who you already are?  You have innate gifts, right?  How do you hone and amplify those gifts and turn into a machine lean and mean enough to endure the normal challenges of life and discouragement and still stay focused on what you want to deliver with your limited time on earth.

The ultimate question:

How do you be a great writer and have fantastic abs?

O, o.  So many inspirational words.

Anyway, if you know someone who knows someone who has a unique and eh. . .slightly

optimistic perspective on life-the-endurance-test, or if they just know how to do something unique and spell pretty well, please send them my way.

We are looking for a stable of writing stallions, black-humored, muscular, and beautiful.  If you personally are interested, don’t volunteer, have someone recommend you.

Thank you,

Chairmeowww

chairmeowww@ladwpower.com

My housemate’s bike got stolen two days ago between 12AM and 8AM. The guy used a crow-bar to separate bars of a welded iron fence by our house and made off with her ride. She was upset. I was upset for her. I was upset for us. Our block in Little Tokyo guarantees a certain amount of daily downtown mayhem, but the fence in question stands only 15 ft. from our building. The adjacent parking lot is well-lit, monitored by 24-hour surveillance cameras courtesy of the 24-hour bail bonds businesses that run out of the first floor of our building. Across the way, a shopping plaza has security on overnight foot patrol. The LAPD headquarters is literally across the street.

I’ve been thinking for weeks about buying a new machine to replace my granny-style bike as my mode of transportation to work everyday. But since this disturbance of my domestic peace new, tense, okay, vengeful thoughts have presented themselves. What if a prospective new bike could be used as a decoy to catch our neighborhood fence thug, or better, a legion of neighborhood fence thugs? What if I bought the Swobo-Otis, which I’ve been eyeing online ($719.00), but ALSO bought a semi-automatic bb-gun to man from our second story window on a cold, dark night?

These things were on my mind as I sat having coffee with a friend this past Saturday morning. I had just finished outlining my plans for OLTJMBH (Operation Little Tokyo Justice Must Be Had) when two well-groomed (aren’t they usually-at least in Little Tokyo?) police officers walked into Urth Cafe and sat down next to us. I struck up a conversation with Officer 89902 and told him of my intentions. “Officer, my roommate’s bike was stolen and I’d like to take matters into my own hands. Can you tell me what I can do within the law?” The officer was friendly and helpful. We casually discussed BB-guns, paintball guns, and water guns. He said it was all a matter of getting caught, ha ha, but that actually “defending property with a weapon is illegal.” Defending oneself against assault is okay, but in general, reasonable (rather than killer) force is recommended when apprehending criminals, otherwise you can get in trouble. I learned that while you can’t use a bb-gun, you can use a stun gun, but you’re not allowed to hold anyone captive for an excessive amount of time. Meaning, once you’ve got him handcuffed to the fence, you shouldn’t use your stun gun to make him squeal. Best to call the cops before you make your citizen’s arrest and leave prolonged tazing to the authorities, lest you be sued for excessive force/torture. I also learned, citizens are allowed to “volunteer patrol” neighborhoods in cop cars. They are licensed, given an official vehicle to drive around in, but have no authority to make arrests. On foot and outside of licensed patrol, citizens have privileges that cops don’t have. They / We can enter a building and check things out without probable cause or warrant. I guess trespassing private property’s not allowed, but if something’s amiss, you can always go and investigate the situation as a snoopy citizen. A cop, on the other hand, IS the gov’ment.

Interfering or entering without probable cause or a warrant would be a violation of someone’s civil rights. What this means is that we have the liberty to watch our own neighborhoods and engage in a way that cops can’t–as undercover civilian hawks. It’s not against the law to be on the look-out or to take action when necessary.

Note to bicycle thieves at 1st and Los Angeles–

I have a super-soaker and it’s filled with fish oil.