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I haven't been super motivated to write here for the past two weeks. I started two posts, got sick of them, and now they're sitting as drafts. One's about having even less stuff and the other is about radical honesty. Maybe I'll finish soon.
Instead I'll just write about what's on my mind, because otherwise who knows when I'll post next.
First the main reason I haven't been excited about posting - I'm making a new product. Not a pickup product, though.
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A while back someone e-mailed me and asked me how I had so many interesting experiences in my life. I meant to write him back, but couldn't find the e-mail.
First of all, what constitutes an interesting life? Do we care if OTHER people think it's interesting? Do we care if WE think it's interesting? Does it just have to be different?
Mystery's show on VH1, The Pickup Artist, has gotten a lot of mainstream attention. As a result there are scores of people in that audience trying to wrap their minds around this whole "pick up thing".
I've read a few message boards where people are discussing the show, and almost universally trying to discredit the pick up. Why are people so against pickup? First instinct might be to assume that girls would be against it, but that guys would all be excited about it. Think about it - it promises to fulfill the #1 goal for nearly every man on the planet.
Here's what I think is happening.
I like to bet. For those of you who have read the story about how I was a professional gambler, this is obvious. What I don't like to do is exercise. At one point in my life, these two activities joined to provide an interesting story.
I have a friend named Hayden. He likes to bet me. For a while we had a running string of bets, and I was down overall because I failed to get 10x his score in a Tony Hawk competition. At one point I was one of the top 10 Tony Hawk players in the world. That lasted for about 5 minutes until someone from Japan beat my score.
Hayden and I sat across from my kitchen table.
He doesn't like to call it a compound, so I won't. It does have 10 inch thick concrete walls, though. When I heard that Ed Brown was allowing visitors to his "home" in New Hampshire, I had to visit.
Ed and Elaine Brown are a pair of famous tax protestors who are evading arrest in a standoff with the feds.
I exited the highway and passed a Wal Mart. Soon the road became only one lane each way. Soon it was winding through farmland. Shortly after it became a dirt road. The RV hopped over the potholes as veered left onto their street.
It's a dangerous night to be walking outside. Not for me, but for the tiny little frogs that dot the gravel road. I swish my overpowered Surefire flashlight across the dark gravel trying to avoid stepping on them. When I get close they freeze in their tracks, making them harder to see. This would be a good reflex if I was trying to eat them, but it's working against them tonight.
I'm walking down to the beach for old times' sake. It's 2am and I'm in Milton, Vermont. Calling it a beach is generous. Shale rocks densely scattered over green outcroppings of weeds lead up to murky water. There are a few docks and a few boats pulled up out of the water. They're not locked to anything - they're just sitting there.
I crouch, pick up one of the little green frogs, and watch him slowly climb around my wrist as I rotate it. I probably haven't touched a frog in ten years. Playing with frogs used to be my favorite thing to do when I was in Vermont. I liked to catch them in a bucket and then empty it into the nearby creek and watch them swim away. Sometimes we'd throw them in the air so that they'd land in the lake. That seems a bit inhumane now, but we didn't know better back then. We were kids. I lower my arm to the ground and nudge the frog off of my wrist.
I've made it up to Maine. The RV has performed perfectly, and we're even getting 13mpg. I was expecting more like 10-11.
Here's what I've done so far:
I hung out in NY with Ross Jeffries and Jlaix, who both just happened to be in town at the same time. While I was there I had some fantastic Ethiopian food (no, it's not sand and ants like you'd guess...) as well as some NY Pizza. To stave off the inevitable comments : yes, I break my diet somewhat when I travel.
I'm lying in bed in the RV right now. Yes, I still live here and love it, but that's another story. The only difference between tonight and a normal night is that my bed is flying down the highway at 60mph, headed for the east coast.
My esteem friends and colleagues, Jonah and Krystal, are accompanying me on my first actual road trip in the RV. We're going through the scary bits of America as quickly as possible (Arkansas, for example), and are trying to get to NYC before Krystal's flight on Monday.
I'm going to hopefully meet up with Ross Jeffries, the first "pickup artist" to ever teach seminars, in New York before he leaves. Online he sometimes comes off like a prick, but in real life he's one of the most warm and genuine guys in the community. I'm also going to stop by and say hi to my aunt, uncle, three cousins, and my grandparents who are visiting them.
For a long time now I've wanted to be a PT, or Perpetual Traveler. My recent massive simplification has been a step in the right direction. I used to have too much stuff to even consider going on the road. Living in the RV has been another leap towards PT.
But first... why be a PT?
The idea, at least for me, is this : there is no "best" place to live in the world. Tokyo has the best trains and a fantastic culture. The Caribbean has some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Europe has the history and food. "Settling down" in one place seems a lot like "settling" to me. If I live in Taiwan for a couple months out of the year I can brush up on my Chinese and become more fluent.
Every Wednesday Doug (a.k.a. DJ Doug) and I host Karaoke at a club called Firehouse Lounge in Austin, TX. The main reason I do it is because I love doing gangsta rap songs at Karaoke, and if I'm a host I get to sing more. Plus all of our friends come, so it's a really fun little event.
But last week was more fun than usual.
When I found out that my friend Elisia had a police taser, I immediately went to work trying to think of a good use for it. After a short while, Taseroke was born. The premise was simple - two people would sing a song of their own choosing and whoever the crowd thought did worse would get tased mercilessly by me.