Basketball bimbos.

April 18th, 2016 by Socially Extinct

 

I suspect this is an apt summation of the typical basketball fan’s analytical thinking.

 

 

Kobe Bryant‘s final game with the Los Angeles Lakers was the talk of the basketball world this past week and a number of fans are doing whatever they can to get a piece of history.
With that being the case, we’ve seen a number of interesting items that are supposedly from Bryant’s final game go up for sale with the strangest listing undoubtedly being a bag of air that was, apparently, filled with air from the Staples Center.

 

 

 

As pointed out by Steve Sailer last week, basketball’s social exclusiveness has dwindled into a raucous battle of low-brow behavior and in exchange, baseball is inching its way up the totem pole of intelligent and civilized culture.

 

Lapses like this in which air (as in oxygen) from Kobe’s last game is packaged for sale does not deter us from considering the dubious levels of intelligence to be garnered from the collective mass of American basketball fandom.

 

I’m surprised they didn’t pass it off as air from inside Kobe’s head.

 

 

Reaping the bitter harvest.

April 17th, 2016 by Socially Extinct

 

This, I commented here, earlier today.  When the sun was newly bright and the day young and the weekend still retained glorious distance form the quagmire of stupidity and ignorance that is rung in brutally every Monday morning by my regular clock-in.

 

This morning I wrote:

 

I lose sight of how deeply that is a part of my psyche and how inadvertent my displays of it. I tend to mystify the lack of reciprocal kindness or attention, but really, it’s as simple as “you reap what you sow”

 

in response to a comment on my “PUA rules do not apply to me post” from yesterday.   The comment,

 

Nothing beats that INTJ ‘leave me the fuck alone stare’.

 

 

Why of course, this is it.

 

Everyone knows about this, they humbly, proudly, even smugly, hide behind it, conveniently drawing  the veil of MBTI results as a cover, a measure not quite accepted or humored on many fronts. Still, for all its dubious accuracy, many resort to it, especially the introverts and the INTJ’s. In fact, when I took the test of a few years ago, I scored a resounding “INTJ” personality type. It’s amusing, in that astrological vein, to compare oneself to MBTI’s Jungian test results while comparing/constrasting them to your personality.

 

I must say that the INTJ personality type does seem to fit me quite well, but I wonder if I’m guilty of drawing the bulls-eye around the arrow or if in fact this shit is “true.”

 

Anyways. Most INTJ’s seem to pride themselves on being asocial, condescending misanthropes. They boast of their “INTJ stare” which translates roughly to a glare, a stony, blackened peering, smoldering appraisal which warns, socially moat-like to all who would enter: “do not cross that bridge, do not approach me.”

 

I never thought of myself as having that “stare” but sometimes it makes utter sense.

 

Perhaps it has ingratiated itself so fully into my aura, my essence, that I fail to realize its power and magnificence and in my daily journey, I display it in such odious amounts with so little effort that I have lost the ability to even be conscious of it. It’s like taking breaths.

 

I watch my gf in action.

 

She is a hardcore introvert, like I, but she is a kind, humble participant. She gives people the benefit of the doubt and concerns herself with them and their stupid lives. People enjoy talking to her, or trying. She evokes conversation. She locks eyes and something in her vocal tone, her inflection, her expression, seems to perpetuate a conversational vulnerability I do not possess.

 

People don’t even talk to me.  They don’t try, especially those I know from work or other facets of my life which bring me in regular contact with the same cast of characters, the ones who know, by now, that I am a socially repressed ingrate who hates them, as I hate all.

 

My gf though.

 

I envy the magnetism and social involvement she triggers despite her spectacular introversion.

 

She likes people, or acts of she does. I ceased pretending a long time ago and I apparently do not contain my feelings even though I refrain from uttering them aloud.

 

Related, a commenter wrote, on my Is Ted Cruz’s daughter autistic? post, a possible basis of my misanthropic personality:

 

 

Adults with high functioning autism, like Asperger’s, are often disliked and shunned by their peers. Not because of malevolence, but because the person with Asperger’s has treated other people harshly, and completely without empathy. This is why so many people close to Cruz completely distain him, and have stated so publicly.

 

As I’ve aged, I’ve loosened that self-presevertional grip on that rude iota of a personality that prevents me from being an egregious asshole for the sake of politics. I just let it show. I scowl, I tell strangers how I feel when I’m having a bad morning (or any morning), and I roll my eyes, makes faces all the time. I suspect my behavior has not changed much since the day of my birth with the exception that its expression has become more flagrant.

 

I am reaping…

 

 

What about the rights of skinny people??

April 16th, 2016 by Socially Extinct

 

Today, at Coffee Bean in Los Feliz, we were winding down after a hike at Griffith Park. She asked me what I weighed. I told her the rough numbers. Oh My God, her head sunk into her palms…was she aghast?

 

“You need to gain weight!  You can’t weigh less than [an amorphous mutual female acquaintance]!”

 

“I am eating a lot. I just don’t eat junk. My body doesn’t gain. I can deadlift a lot more than [an amorphous mutual female acquaintance].”

 

She doesn’t care that I deadlift more than double my body weight, for 5 reps.

 

“I’ll buy you nuts, will you eat them?”

 

Last week, at my parents, my dad asked me, “How much do you weigh, XXXXXX?”

 

I told him the rough numbers.

 

Everyone laughed. My mom was aghast.

 

“You’re too skinny!” she admonished!

 

“You need to eat more!” she concludedadvised.

 

And I wonder.

 

How is it that we live in a culture where I skirt the bottom end of acceptable weight, yet, fat slobs take up all the carbon-footprinted American landscape but only get humored with the comforting notion that their “rights” are Special?

 

 

fat asses

 

 

PUA rules do not apply to me.

April 16th, 2016 by Socially Extinct

 

You know what my problem is with most sites for “Men” and “Pick Up Artistry?”

 

They seem to have this ridiculous notion that all men are equally appealing to women on all levels.

 

They boast of preaching “reality” about the female psyche yet they succumb to the banality of life every single motherfucking time and happily overlook the men for whom reality has passed.

 

A prime example over on TGMP. The essay, 5 Signs Women Want You To Talk to Them, probably works for about 85% of men.

 

I’m the 15%.

 

Man rules do not apply to the likes of me out in the mating market. I’m invisible, socially unappealing, bored, indifferent. Women sense an aura of “uninvolvement” from me and their eyes happily skim across me in all contexts. My voice tone, my carriage…I’m the chick anti-crack. I wish I could film a day in the life of Me through my eyes so you could all witness and experience the sheer rejection I get from women, all the time!

 

And these 5 signs of utter stupidity?

 

Approach Invitation #1: She Plays Eye Games

Uhm.  Chicks most assuredly do not play eye games with me. In fact, it’s a rare occurrence when any woman allows herself to lock eyes with me. It’s as if they sense I’m a dead object in the visual play pen and innately skip me.

 

Approach Invitation #2: She Checks You Out

 

Ha! What is that like? (See #1). If a woman looks at me, she is looking at my really fucked up hairstyle, not my bulging 18.5 BMI’d arterial torso.

 

Approach Invitation #3: The Body Language Cues

See #1 & #2. I get NO cues other than “Was someone there?” At the store today, I think I might have gotten one IOI from some senior Armenian woman with rotund legs and another proximity probe from a nice-looking 16-year-old (which I think was more clinical than sexual).

 

Approach Invitation #4: Proximity and Lingering

 

For me it seems to be a matter of extending proximity. Women avert my field of existence and sit or stand or linger everywhere but where I am. On the train, they never sit near me even though I’m sitting there with my readers and a freaking overly inflated volume of “Infinite Jest.” (incidentally, one of the greatest books I’ve ever read).

 

Approach Invitation #5: The Plausible Denial Conversation Starter

 

Never. No one talks to me. I suspect I’ve perfected the “leave-me-the-fuck-alone” stare-down in spite of myself.

 

 

The benevolent Pope will take…12 refugees. We have a few more thousand in case he’d like to help out.

April 16th, 2016 by Socially Extinct

 

The Pope will take a dozen of those to go.

 

A person on Lesbos involved in pope’s trip confirms he plans to bring back 12 refugees.

 

Let’s hope they are not young boys.

 

Can we change the order so that the United States takes the dozen while the Vatican takes the other 10,000?  Just a thought.