General Banks Advice

In my years on this planet I've gotten to know some shit about some shit, and I thought I might share it with you fine people, in no particular order, including but not limited to the following:

Picking Up Chicks:

I am not, despite popular belief, a chick magnet. Sure, I'm a decent looking guy with a heart of gold, but if I were a single man those traits might be harder to see. And yet, I do have one trick that's allowed me to successfully play wingman for several un-betrothed friends over the years. Once you get past the initial hello, and right before the initial goodbye, lean in and ask the girl what her favorite Muppet is. One of two things will happen: Either 1) she won't really get your question (not caring about Muppets) and you'll be free from company you'd rather not truck with anyway, or 2) she'll immediately respond warmly and get excited that a ruggedly handsome gent like yourself might share her love of Fraggle Rock. It's probably the second thing you want to happen. (Note: If you've made it past the castle guards and up to her, uh, tower, forget the cute Muppet crap.)

Tattoos:

Don't be that guy. Don't be that guy who gets something just to get something. If the Tasmanian Devil has some personal, resonant meaning to you, then I guess you should knock yourself out. And yes, I know that once this generation is older, everyone will have some meaningless tattoo reminding them of that Night Ranger concert in Portland. But for christ's sake, if you're going to get something, at least have a story behind it. Maybe you had a Tasmanian Devil doll you'd cling to when you could hear your stepdad beating on your little brother and its image reminds you of inner strength (to say nothing if its impotence in helping your brother). Maybe you saved some orphan's life and were so active in doing so that an eyewitness described you in the papers as "fast as the road runner" (but the road runner's a pussy and you can't have that on your ankle). Tattoos are basically moving coffee table books, so at least make sure the book is interesting when your guests go to read them.

If the tattoo is Grover, you're in. You're so fucking in.

You're okay I think. Tweeners don't care if you're interesting. They just want a big cock.

Then your tattoo was forged with locally-grown ink made free from animal products of any kind.

Depends on the level to which you wish to sell your soul.

Like most guys my age, when I was a kid I was big into He-Man. I had Battle Cat, Castle Grayskull, the whole nine. I even had Stinkor, which was basically a mutant skunk in steroid-riddled human form. He didn't smell exactly like a skunk of course, but still had this acrid, pungent odor I never did forget, not as a kid, and not the next time I smelled it as an adult and discovered it was really patchouli oil. Yes, they scented a character who was supposed to be half-skunk with patchouli oil. Trivial in the grand scheme of things, perhaps, but never in my life have I been able to reconcile that in my head. It's not enough that I just don't like it; someone sold it to me (my mom) as a non-offensive skunk alternative. The fact that people consciously apply this to themselves has never failed to baffle me.

Picking Up Chicks, Pt. 2:

Following up on my previously given Muppetly advice, it is important to note that you should your bait be taken up by the marlin wearing the tube top in front of you, do not expect the conversation to be one-sided. Whether she asks reactively or proactively, she will turn the question back on you. So you have to be ready to say something. This is key, and becomes the difference between charm and smarm. So, who should you pick? A thought: Don't go with the obvious. Which is to say, leave yourself with room for conversation. For example, a conversation about Kermit will look like this:

Her: "So who's your favorite Muppet?"
You: "Oh, that's easy. Kermit."
Her: "Yeah! He's great!"
You: "Yeah!"
[pause]
[pause]
Her: "Well, I'm going to go meet my friend in the bathroom. Talk to you later!"
You: Brokenhearted douchebag.

On the other hand, if your answer is a Muppet with less commercial appeal, then you have room to explain yourself and keep the conversation going, and instead of coming off as a huckster selling knock-off watches, you come off as Charles Lewis Tiffany. For example:

Her: "So who's your favorite Muppet?"
You: "Oh, that's easy. Swedish Chef?"
Her: "Really??? Which one is the Swedish Chef? The one with the hat?"
You: "The hat! Right! And he says things like 'Bork bork bork, bork bork bork."
Her: "That's so cute!"
You: "Not as cute as you."

and....CLOSED. Bingo bango. You just ended the board with a time ending in 6 and got all the fireworks.

Honest to Christ I should charge for this shit.

Navigation:

I know GPS is all the rage in locator technology and whatnot, but when you're making a road trip you should always map out your selected route beforehand and keep it with you in the car. You might even want to make sure you have--GASP!--an atlas. Case in point:

The Wife and I made a pilgrimage over Thanksgiving weekend (see what I did there?) from our home to New England to visit my family. We decided to take the Tappan Zee Bridge instead of going through NYC. We loaded the GPS with all the relevant maps (sorry, Guam) and got on our way. Well, GPS lady didn't take too kindly to our little sojourn off the Jersey Turnpike. She was very determined to turn us around and get us back on the path to a straight shot. Fortunately we had our trusty paper directions, and we knew we were right, no matter how many "In 6 feet, turn right you stupid asshole"s we got. Then, God forbid, we came up the Merritt Parkway instead of taking 95 through southern Connecticut. Again, GPS lady was insistent. She'd have turned us into one of those three million dollar houses if she could have.

Related bonus advice about money management: If you're paying cash, always be sure about what you give the clerk. While gassing up on the Merritt Parkway, the Wife gave the clerk a double but only got change for a sawbuck. It took a return trip back inside, after confirmation from me that I had in fact given her a double to pay, to get the clerk to give her the correct change.

Guys, thanks but you'll only encourage me.

To wit:

Rolled Paper Maintenance:

When it comes to placing rolled paper (paper towels, TP, elder scrolls, etc) in a dispenser, people are rarely wishy-washy. Either they leave the flap over (so it rolls clockwise) or under (counterclockwise), and they're very insistent on their way of doing it. I'm an over man myself. The Wife, however, she goes under. And it drives me nuts. First of all, if it's under it makes it more difficult to grab the free sheet. You've got to reach under the roll, locate and snag it. Not always easy if, say, the dispenser is affixed at knee level. You've got tensile strength issues, with the under putting more initial stress on the perforations and causing more unintended breaks between sheets. Then there's the issue of waste, ever important in today's economic climate. With the under it's more difficult to gauge how many sheets you're getting. If you think you've got enough, you may have to account for the sheet breaking up in the back, in which case you're actually tearing off more than you really need (notwithstanding the fact that what you think you need is probably more than you need in the first place). With the over it's much easier to account for your sheets and keep your ass-wiping budget deep in the black.

Dear "Soul Ahn Ice,"

What you need to ask yourself is, why is the economy volatile and unstable? Perhaps the economy is under enormous pressure at work and does not know how he will provide for his family. Perhaps the only way the economy feels like he can cope with the strain of his professional and personal lives is to have a sip of Aberlour. Perhaps the economy grew up in the shadow of a demanding father figure who would occasionally (or not so occasionally) make his point with a belt-shaped exclamation point. What you need to do is be sensitive of your economy's needs and make sure he knows that you will not abandon him. This comfort will hopefully alleviate the strain he is feeling, and he may stop behaving so erratically. Provide a shoulder to lean on, and hopefully then he was trust enough to confide in you exactly what is ailing him so that you may both go forward together in a healthy and productive manner. Take heart, Soul Ahn Ice. All my best to you.

Dear "Joe LeFors,"

She doesn't.

All my best.

Dear "The LD,"

Having seen you, I can safely say that no, you do not look like Michael Phelps. The bigger issue is, of course, what that means for you. Phelps' physiology asks an interesting evolutionary question: Namely, does his physique represent a step forward or a step back? It is easy enough to see why his freakish athetic ability may lead one to think that it is the result of some innate biomechanical advantage bestowed upon him by forward-looking genetic make-up. With his long torso and disproportionately long arms, he was built from the toe cells up like no other human being to be the fastest swimmer alive. On the other hand, man originally walked out of the sea. Phelps' body seems intent on going back in. Consider the long torso and disproportionately long arms. Consider the ankles that essentially hyper-extend and can act as paddles. But it's not enough that from the head down he's creepily fish-like. He also has a pronounced underbite. And his middle name is Fred.

What this means for you, "The LD," depends upon your interpretation. You do not look like Michael Phelps. Which is to say that if you think Michael Phelps represents the next step in human evolution, you're at a biological standstill for which ritual seppuku is the only reasonable response. If, however, you feel that Phelps is a flashback in your evolutionary narrative, then you're looking good heading into the third act.

All my best.

Dear "Judas Booth,"

Bleach is not cruel enough for Corey Feldman. Indeed, in years past he tried it as an alternative to plastic surgery when he spent his days dancing around high school gymnasia emulating Michael Jackson. So, much like Wesley and Iocane powder, he has built up an immunity over these many years. The only way to truly cruel resolution to your problem is giving Jamison Newlander a six picture development deal.

All my best.

Dear "stelios,"

The Wife and I have never had sex. We are waiting until we get divorced.

All my best.