I’m striking a blow for closing the gender gap. No, I’m not campaigning for equal pay for equal work, or not having women’s careers suffer because it falls to our gender to push the next generation into the world after it masses at our pelvises for 9 months, or even for research into treatment for post-menopausal libido and getting tight-fisted insurance companies to actually pay for it the way they throw money at erectile dysfunction. Nope. I wish I could be so lofty-minded and reach so far, but I am carrying on my crusade in a different way.

For years I’ve been told that men objectify women simply because men are more visually-oriented. “Men can’t help their inability to look past your breasts, butt, legs, eyes, or lips—it is in their biology. They are just more visually-oriented.” And, I’ve also heard it said that looks aren’t as important to women as they are to men. Men look for women who are arm-candy and women look for men with “personality” and “stability”.

And this is where I make my stand. If guys are going to look at me and evaluate me based on my looks before they ever get to know me, then I say turnabout is fair play. Let’s see just how far personality gets you, jackass.

I’m not suggesting that I’m going to start evaluating every guy I meet based on looks. Not at all. I’m saying I already do that. And if that sounds shallow to you men out there, consider what you look at when you first meet a woman. Is it her character? Is it her sparkling wit? Or is it whether the junk in her trunk offsets the allure of her blouse bunnies?

I tweeze, tone, exfoliate, watch what I eat, aerobicize, groom, choose to wear clothes that fit, close my mouth when I chew my food, and only eat spinach in public with extreme caution. But, culturally-speaking, I’m supposed to get excited about a guy who has made no effort with his health or appearance or manners solely because he’s single and, according to his doting mother, has a great personality? That hardly seems fair. Especially since he’s looking at my breasts trying to figure out exactly what percentage is me and what percentage is gel bra, all while I’m supposed to be admiring his inner beauty.

Yep, men you are on notice. For me, it just isn’t good enough for you to maintain a steady diet of junk-food and pair it with no exercise and rumpled clothes from the bottom of your closet that you’ve owned since college. You aren’t 17 anymore, your mother shouldn’t still be choosing your underwear for you. It isn’t the mid-90s anymore so unless you are a lumberjack there is no reason to wear over-sized, raggedy flannel shirts. Unless you are McSteamy, Santa, Freud, ZZ Top, or Wolverine, forget the facial hair. I don’t care if Justin Timberlake is wearing a beard, on you it isn’t bringing sexy back, its bringing back Neanderthal man. And, unless you are actually on a basketball court, there is no good reason to wear those awful polyester basketball shorts.

Despite the myth of conventional wisdom, women are into looks. We’re not solely into looks, but we are into them. After all, they don’t put fat guys with lots of back hair on the cover of romance novels. Here’s the difference in how we approach and value attractiveness: men look at women as if we are already furnished, designer decorated houses, but women look at men more like fixer-upper homes, the kind that need a lot of work. Guys look at their brides (who starved themselves for a couple months to fit in that stupid dress) as if they’ll always look that way. Brides look at their grooms and think, “Well, it’s a start. But what is going on with his hair?”

Women are not involved with a guy for too long before we start the improvement process. And it is a process. At restaurants we’ll get you to try our salads. In stores we will see something better than anything in your closet and work our flattery to get you to try it on. When people move in together the socks, underwear, and t-shirts with holes in them start to mysteriously disappear—maybe it was a “laundry mishap”, maybe it was leprechauns, who knows. Without you even having to think about it or make an effort you have healthier cereal in the cupboard and dentist and doctor appointments scheduled for you. We remind you to get haircuts. We tell you when you have spinach in your teeth. We tell you not to wear the wrinkled shirt or that really ugly tie. We go to the gym with you. We gently suggest that you abandon the comb-over because it isn’t fooling anyone.

This is why we get so pissed off when you tell us something makes us look fat. Who wants to take fashion advice from the guy who thinks his dumpy, worn out corduroy shorts are still dope?

I have heard my male friends go on and on about the acceptable amount of cellulite on a woman’s body, the proper length of hair and shade of highlights, and adequate skin care regimens. They have opinions on everything from the kinds of heels we should wear to attract them, to the great importance of a well-maintained landing strip. These dear, dear men of my acquaintance think nothing of women devoting all this time and energy to make themselves attractive to men. And yet, I haven’t heard any of these paragons talk about improving themselves so women will be interested in them. So, in the interest of equality and full-disclosure, here are a couple of my must haves for the male species.
•    Trim your nose hair. If it looks like you have a cheap toupee bunched in each nostril, or even if it looks like a couple spider legs creeping out of your nose, it is time to trim. Use scissors, a trimmer, a weed whacker, garden shears, I don’t care. Just trim it. I find that even the guys who seem to care about their appearances are prone to overlooking this one. How am I supposed to carry on a conversation with you when I’m watching something from your nose reach out to tickle your lip?
•    Health—more than a class you slept through in high school. Sedentary lifestyles and poor diets contribute to obesity and it’s myriad health problems. You don’t have to be an Iron Man competitor or a nutritionist, but it is nice to know a guy gets some exercise on a regular basis and has a basic understanding that what he eats affects his health. I don’t want to wonder if he is actively attempting to get type II diabetes, or have to check to make sure he has his heart medication and portable defibrillator when we go out.
•    Fit isn’t just for condoms. How in or out of style your clothes are isn’t as important as whether or not your clothes fit. That said, it helps if your clothing looks like it belongs in the current decade and is age- and activity-appropriate. If you have gained weight, lost weight, had a growth spurt, or just had a bad experience doing laundry, it is probably time to go shopping. Tugging buttons on a shirt or your pants make you look fatter than you are. Things that are too big and sloppy make you look like a hobo. If your belly sticks out from under your shirt…you really need help.
•    Hygiene, it’s not just for women. We’re not talking about manscaping, back-waxing, or eye-brow tweezing, nope we’re talking about regular showers, deodorant use, tooth brushing and flossing. Am I stating the bleeding obvious? Yes. But I say it anyway because I find plenty of guys neglecting it and that just amazes me. If you feel like doing the rest of that stuff, that’s fine, but make sure you take care of the basics. I don’t care how good your eye-brows look if you smell like you’ve been cleaning a pig-sty during a heat-wave in August. And, I don’t care how dandy your conversational skills are if your breath smells like road kill.
•    Manners. Good manners show respect to those around you. When a guy chews with his mouth open, holds his fork like a bike handle, takes calls from other people while we are out together, ignores the living, breathing person in front of him in favor of texting, or is rude to my friends. We don’t have a future.

Well, there it is, my bare minimum. This is not to say that any guy who trims his nose hair, eats well, exercises, dresses with some degree of skill, doesn’t stink, and chews with his mouth closed automatically gets a second look, but it certainly increases his chances.

Conservative Republican, Mark Sanford, governor of South Carolina, recently told his staff he needed to clear his head and then disappeared for 7 days. Today, Sanford admitted he secretly flew to Argentina to visit a women he’d been having an extramarital affair with. During a press conference, Sanford resigned as President of the Republican Governor’s Association. Should Sanford also resign from being governor like Eliot Spitzer of New York did when he got caught cheating on his wife with a prostitute? Which is a worse offense to a marriage…Having a lengthy affair or having sex with a prostitute? Normally, I would say, “Sanford’s affair is between him and his wife, so leave them the hell alone.” But what bothers me most about Sanford is his hypocrisy. During the Monica Lewinsky scandal, Sanford voted for 3 of 4 articles of impeachment against Bill Clinton citing the need for “moral legitimacy.” Now that Sanford has been caught cheating, he suddenly seems to have a lower standard for himself.

I vacationed in Argentina recently and I can tell you first hand, the women down there really know how to tango. I even photographed some of the many great dance performances I was impressed with. Since I’m not married, I’m glad I don’t need to try and keep my trip a secret.  In fact, I had such a good time, I’m tempted to snow bird down there for a few months next winter. The American dollar currently goes very far in Argentina and exchanges for almost 4 pesos to 1. For example, It was easy to get a complete steak dinner at a restaurant for 12 pesos which is only about 3 dollars in American money.  Cab rides to most places in Buenos Aires are only about $2. As far as getting by with English goes, I had no problem. Most of the people I wanted to talk to spoke enough basic English for us to communicate. If I was married, I would definitely take my wife with me. With the great exchange rate, it would be easy to spoil her with nice hotels and amazing shopping opportunities.

Getting back to politics, while Mark Sanford was being romantic with his mistress, he probably kissed his shot at winning the next republican nomination for the presidency goodbye. I don’t think anyone wants a republican version of John Edwards running around. I guess the remaining contenders are Mike Huckabee, Mitt Romney, Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich. While Huckabee and Romney have many admirable qualities, I think Gingrich has the best chance of winning. Sorry to Sarah Palin fans- I’m glad she’s governor of Alaska because of her efforts to increase energy production (while the democrats aren’t doing enough to free us from Middle East oil), but even though Palin is charismatic and can do a great job delivering a speech, I think the presidency is out of her league.  Unlike Palin, Gingrich has vast depth of knowledge about complicated issues our country has to deal with and he constantly works on finding solutions.

As of this date, which republican politician would you prefer to see leading the ticket in 2012?

You can see more photos by Mountain Dude at www.dporterdvd.com

Yet another pearl of wisdom from the Obama Nation:

He proposed a plan to save the US Taxpayer 540 million dollars a year by making our Enlisted Men and Women carry PRIVATE health coverage! Then the dumb fuck is surprised that the outcry from Vets and people who actually LOVE this country and respect those who put their lives on the line so that we have the RIGHT to bitch about him being a fucking Douchebag.

I mean its a Voluntary Force after all, Right Barry? I know, Lets see if they can pony up for their own Tanks and Ammunition while you embrace the motherfuckers who want to see Americans burning in Hell?

Am I the ONLY person in the country that is ALREADY fed up with this Arabic Alfred E Newman knock off running a cheap Flea Market Circus in the White House?

Yep, that title is correct, back to work. Being a retired electrician with 35 years experience in the construction industry, those three words have special meaning to me. First, a little background. I wrote, and sold, my first magazine article in 1973 to Old West magazine on the Death Valley Borax wagons. It was an interesting subject and I have since sold that same article, with some rewriting, nine times over the years bringing in over $1500. I’ve also written a piece on slot machines, honey bees, San Jose, California’s Winchester Mystery House, electrical subjects, parenting, raising teenagers, my experiences during the Vietnam War (and it was a war, not a conflict), windmills, fishing, hunting (I eat what I catch or kill), lost gold mines and just interesting characters and subjects. I’ve gone from pounding away on a typewriter (those antique machines that actually used a ribbon) to a computer.

Several years ago, I had an episode of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder, something brought back from Vietnam) that almost killed me, literally. The shrink I went to couldn’t figure out why I’d be having flashbacks after all these years and I went on Prozac, or something similar, and my writing suffered. I couldn’t concentrate long enough to finish anything, after several pages my mind would wander and I’d lose track of what I was doing. I’d sit for hours in front of the screen and not touch a key, just stare. Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t remember what I was thinking about and this didn’t help with the shrink sessions. Again, unfortunately, this carried over to my driving. I’d start out just to drive to the grocery store and end up a hundred miles away and not remember getting there. Now that was scary and I knew something had to be done before I hurt myself.

It wasn’t the shrink who came up with a cure, he was more interested in grabbing his paycheck from the VA than helping veterans, but my inner voice. No, I’m not crazy but that’s open to interpretation. I figured the only one who knew me best was best qualified to diagnose my problems — myself. So what did I do? I went fishing for a week, packed my truck, grabbed a couple boxes of worms and found myself a secluded spot to be by myself. It was high up in the Rocky Mountains, off the beaten path (I have four-wheel drive truck), set up my tent by the water and tossed in a line. I spent a week catching trout, cooking them over an open fire, drinking beer (something I hadn’t done in ages) and began to sort out my life (you don’t need to be a teenager to do that).

I figured out that I was in a rut with my life, I wasn’t doing anything but feeling sorry for myself for getting older but not necessarily wiser. I’d lost my retirement through a faulty investment firm, all $165,000 of it, am now living on a small pension and Social Security and living with my daughter. I had become that which I had always despised, dependent on someone else. Okay, I didn’t have a lot of money, so what could I do about it. I couldn’t return to work, my body has been beat up too much and wouldn’t take it. I’m not one to set up a scam on the Internet and rip people off. That left one avenue open to me, return to my writing. I’m still on anti-depressants and mood-changing chemicals but I’m much better for having that talk with myself, I now know where I’m going and how to get there.

I now devote three hours a day to writing, anything just to get words down on paper, or screen. I’m exploring new subjects, making a list of things I’m fairly knowledgeable about and researching potential markets. It still takes me a while to finish a project but at least I’m finishing it now. I’m also posting blogs in order not only to help myself but others as well, just maybe my experiences will help someone else get through life. Let me tell you, getting old isn’t for sissies. It takes determination and perseverance to get up in the morning and check the obituaries to see if my name in in there. It isn’t? Then it’s going to be a good day and I sit down to write, like this morning. Just maybe, someone will read this and tell themselves that their life isn’t so bad after all.

Wish I could invite my dad over to my house for Father’s Day and celebrate. I sure would like to Bar-B-Q him some steak or salmon. Whatever he might want. Unfortunately, it’s impossible for us to get together.

He was my first hero. I’ll never forget the day he took me and my sister to the beach and someone started drowning. In a flash, my dad ran and dove into the ocean. He quickly pulled this guy out and saved his life. A crowd of people had gathered. Everyone was so glad the guy lived. I wonder if this experience had anything to with me becoming a lifeguard later in life.

During summers, my dad took us kids camping at fantastic places like Yellowstone and Sequoia National Park. I wonder if this had anything to do with me eventually getting a job with the U.S. Forest Service or living next to a national forest today.

As an LAPD officer, Dad patrolled South Central L.A. for 20 years. He had a tough, dangerous job dealing with street gangs but Dad was very macho. He totally bought into that whole Marlboro man image the tobacco companies sell so well. Seemed like he always had a cigarette going. I first started smoking when I was 16. I wonder if my dad’s smoking had anything to do with it.

When my dad got emphysema, I realized smoking had serious, unpleasant consequences. One day, when I was working in my photo studio in Hollywood, I set up a modeling mirror and took a good look at myself with a cigarette dangling from my lips (in that classic James Dean style). With my father’s emphysema situation on my mind, I didn’t look very “cool” to myself anymore. Actually, I thought I looked butt faced stupid - Like my face was really grotesque and there was a cigarette being smoked in my butt crack. How disgusting!

It was time to quit. I found out quitting was easier said than done. In fact, quitting smoking was the hardest thing I’ve ever struggled with. I really liked smoking. I liked having a cup of coffee and a smoke, a beer and a smoke, a smoke after a great meal, a smoke after great sex, driving and smoking. Heck - anything and smoking. But it was just too unhealthy and I especially didn’t like looking stupid to people who didn’t smoke. Many times when I was trying to quit, I would smoke the last cigarette of a pack and tell myself, “I’m not buying another pack.” Then at 2:30 a.m., I would find myself lying in bed desperate for a cigarette. Unable to sleep, I would climb out of bed and rummage through my trash cans until I found a butt to light. What an ordeal. Eventually, I did quit, but it was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done. Today, I have much sympathy for anyone who is addicted to nicotine and all of the mysterious, toxic chemicals the greedy tobacco companies add to natural tobacco to make cigarettes extra addictive and maximize sales.

I was still working in Hollywood when my friend Debbie was trying to get gigs as a stand-up comedian. I offered to help her brainstorm for her comedy routines and she promised to do some modeling for me. We had fun kicking around some comedy stuff over a few gin and tonics. Then I told her about the humorous photo concepts I wanted her to consider working on as a model. For one idea, I described how I thought people’s faces look like dumb-ass butts when they put a cigarette in their little, face hole. Perhaps this could be a humorous “No Smoking” poster or greeting card. LOL - Debbie said she didn’t want to do any ass modeling, especially because her butt had too much cellulite. I reassured her that her butt would be fine because I wanted my image to be the opposite of the sexy tobacco company ads. When Debbie realized she would be able to recount this unusual modeling experience for a funny stand up bit, she became much more enthusiastic. Debbie even called her best friend who immediately volunteered to come down to my studio and assist with cigarette placement during the photo shoot.

To all you smokers out there, If you can’t quit, I hope you at least cut down and minimize the damage. I know how hard it is because I’ve been there. I’m not trying to put anybody down who chooses to smoke. I’m just saying, for your sake and the sake of your family, I hope you don’t end up like my dead father… weak, sick, hooked up to an oxygen tank suffering a slow, unpleasant, untimely death.

You can see more photos by Mountain Dude at www.dporterdvd.com

Ok. I’m watching a show called Iconoclasts. It’s a show in which they pair two different “biggies” in popular culture that may seem to be incompatible but who actually have some commonalities. I’ve recorded this one. It pairs Maya Angelou and Dave Chappelle.

I’m watching it and I’m impressed. I knew Maya wasn’t no joke. Ditto for Mr. Chappelle. (Not just anyone would walk away from $50 mil on principle).

But this is what got me.

They go to commercial, and when they come back some music is playing that I recognize. I love music. No big surprise there. For a good portion of my life I thought that I was destined to be rich and famous. I pride myself on my diverse and open-minded musical appreciation (not including most of my teens in which I listened not only solely to rock, but only to “hard” rock – no keyboards allowed, unless you were Rush  or Yes).

Anyway, I’m hearing jazz. It’s Monk. As in Thelonious Monk! Monk is perhaps my favorite jazz musician after the incomparable Miles Dewey Davis! (Miles, is probably my favorite musical artist – period)!

Anyhoo… I’m listening to this piece and I’m going, “That’s Monk!”

Then they cut to another scene, and it’s Dave! Dave Chappelle! He’s sitting at the piano and he’s playing the seminal Thelonious Monk piece, Round Midnight!

If I wasn’t sold on that brother before, I am now!

Not just anyone can walk away from 50 million on principle. (I said that already, didn’t I)?

Not just any young brother born in 1973 – younger than my knuckle-head nephew, younger than my wife - not only knows Monk, but can sit and play Monk… convincingly enough that I didn’t even realize that it wasn’t a recording of Monk at first! And it’s Dave-motherfriggin- Chappelle!!!

Dave is officially my n-word from here on out! (Unless he does something exceedingly stupid! Which I doubt that he will.)