A Mysterious dream indeed...

I had a dream last night that Mystery was sitting with me in my living room back in Michigan. I had just watched the latest episode of The Pick-Up Artist and apparently a movie that had come out, and of course i was familiar with his books. In person, Mystery truly is like a Jesus-like figure. He radiates confidence and caring. Even if you disagree with His method, you still want to listen to the things he says, because he is so charismatic - and ultimately successful.

I told him that I wanted to meet somebody. He said, No you don't.

What do you mean?
No. Look at yourself. Why aren't you wearing contacts?
I haven't worn contacts in years.
Well, you would look much better in contacts.

I walked into the bathroom, and looked at myself in the mirror. I took off my glasses, and looked at myself as though I was wearing contact lenses. I did look good... Mystery was right. Time to ditch the glasses.

I am not certain what Mystery's appearance in my dream means. All I know for certain is that I did watch "The Pick Up Artist" last night on television, and was very good. The eight misfits were starting to apply some of the techniques they have learned that, and they were surprisingly effective. No one got any girls' phone number, but they were getting close. And they were starting to learn to have some charm.

They showed a preview of next week. One of the trainees was actually successful in making out with a girl at a club. They had hidden camera video of it. It was amazingly impressive.

Why did Mystery appear to me in a dream? Is he the Messiah? Does my subconscious mind want me to learn something from Mystery's teachings? Or was his appearance just a product of some random neurons firing, coupled with some bad pizza?

When I originally read "The Game," I was extremely impressed. I thought, here is a group of guys that has actually figured out the key to unlocking women's desires. And yet a small voice inside me had its doubts. But now, after seeing Mystery's teachings in person (well, on television), I dare say, I may be a believer.

Here is a great 3-minute snippet from Episode 2, in which our protagonists, after having practiced their openers at home, go "in field" to see what they can do... (To see the entire show - minus commercials and filler - go to the web site. )

Thunder kills local attorney; coal miners rejoice! News at eleven.

(Don't worry about the coal miner thing -- inside joke.)

So, a little story about stupid I am: there was a big bolt of lightning, and I, not wanting to be electrocuted, got up and stood in the middle of the room, away from the window and wires. It was only after a minute, when I heard the resultant thunder, that I realized the lightning had already struck. I was now hiding from thunder.

I am the intellectual equivalent of a frightened puppy.

Speaking of puppies, here is a video of Mickey, my 8-year-old bichon, super-excited to see me when I returned home to Michigan for a vacation. Please excuse the mess. Enjoy! :-)

Some animals deserve to die. Especially DemonSpiders (TM).

I am normally a big fan of all furry creatures. One might go so far as to say I love them. However, my love does not extend to furry creatures who are also spiders.

So you can imagine my shock when I read a newspaper article relating the heartwarming tale of a man and his beloved pet spider, for whom he could no longer care appropriately. It seems that this spider is what is known as an "ornate golden baboon spider" -- or, affectionately, "Mr. Fuzzy." According to animal control "this is the kind of spider that nightmares are made of. " What a wonderful pet!

But wait, it gets better: Not only is this spider big and hairy (reason enough to hate it), but according to the article, the spider is moody, aggressive, jumps three feet at a time, has venomous fangs, and bites without warning. According to the animal control guy, who clearly does not get paid enough for his job, "This spider is so aggressive, it will bite you just to bite you." Bite you just to bite you, huh? Sounds like a woman I once met at speed dating.

Now, up until this point, I can at least understand the mentality of everyone involved. Johnny Owner, an adventurous soul, purchased the DemonSpider when it was young and cute and adorable. When it got too big and scary, he wanted to get rid of it. This, I understand. What I don't understand is what happened next:

The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals saved the spider. It was taken to a "sanctuary" for reptiles and "other animals." Apparently, in this context, "other animals" encompasses Hell creatures who have somehow escaped the bowels of the earth, making it onto our plane of existence, where they are now free to leap from person to person, shrieking and hissing and biting at will and without provocation. Now -- thank God -- Mr. Fuzzy will be free to laugh and jump and play and shriek and bite on a resort somewhere. Some luxurious paradise. Probably with a piña colada in his hand. One of his many hands.

I'm sorry, but this spider deserves to be shot. Even if it hasn't bitten anyone yet, it is going to someday, and what will you get then for all your mercy, Mr. Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and Demon Spiders? Would you get a thank you? No! You would get a fatal spider bite. And it would serve you right.

Let it be known throughout the land: I, Matthew S. [last name removed for Google purposes], hereby offer to kill, maim, destroy, and otherwise dispose of any further giant DemonSpiders that may exist in the household of any Before I Sleep visitor! (Provided, of course, I am supplied with the appropriate equipment and protective gear, including but not limited to a gun, a knife, a big can of Raid, a protective suit not unlike those worn by the virus guys at the Center for Disease Control, a gas mask, and an unlimited supply of hard liquor for soothing my nerves afterward.)

How many pizzas does it take to fill my existential void?

Every now and then something I do reminds me that I am, without a doubt, the biggest fatty on the planet. That "something I do "is almost always binge eating. It happens when I don't have a lot of structure, and I wander through the day, with no routine to guide me, and I am bored, and my friends are out of town, and I have nothing to do, and before I know it, I have eaten an entire medium meat lovers pizza.

The extremely bad part is that yesterday I did essentially the same thing. It wasn't meat lovers, but it was half ground beef and have pepperoni, and that makes me a whole pig.

Today wasn't entirely lost. I did go to the gym earlier today, and work my muscles almost to failure... and I hardly ate anything else the rest of the day. Ultimately, though, that is the problem. When I go the entire day with out eating every two or three hours, like I am supposed to, like body for life tells me to, then I have pretty much guaranteed that I will lose the eating war for the day. My body, not having received nourishment for eight or 10 hours, will rebel. "I need a pizza! " It will tell me. Why do you needed ate pizza, I will ask. "Because I am bored and I want a pizza!" Okay, body, you win.

The really you really bad part is that I was not even hungry. That's right to, I ate an entire meat lovers pizza with out any appetite. My appetite was in a state of non existence. And when I started eating the pizza, I wasn't hungry, but I wasn't full; when I finished eating the pizza, I wasn't hungry, but I wasn't full either. I consumed at least 2000 calories of fat-laden goodness, and my appetite level did not change: it was simply there, ever present, like the wind.

The only way to prevent myself from going on destructive rampages like this is to have a plan. And not just have a plan, but stick to it too. It would not have been hard today. Had I planned things out before hand, I would have known that I would have several free hours, and I would have planned my meals accordingly. Instead, though, I simply woke up around 10:00a.m., spent a couple of hours in front of the computer, had a few diet pink lemonades, headed off to Starbucks, where I had an iced chai tea... and then ate nothing for the next several hours. And had no plans, for friends or for meals. I had nothing to do. I wasn't even hungry. And yet, I decided to call pizza hut. Why? For the love God, why?!

My sister, Katherine, says that she also goes on these kinds of destructive binges. I think it probably runs in our family. It probably runs in a lot of families. Katherine says it means that I am missing something. I am eating to fill a void. Now, I don't want to give a lot of credence to Dr. Phil, but I think Katherine might be onto something. My best friends are all out of town, it seems indefinitely. I am currently between full-time jobs. I have nothing to do. I am wandering. There is a void. There is a void and I am filling it with pizza. admittedly, it is very tasty pizza, don't get me wrong. But I wonder, how much pizza it does it take to fill a big, giant hole? A big giant existential hole.

Hmmm...... I really don't know why I bare my soul like this on the Internet. It has gotten me into trouble before. It is this damn voice recognition software. I spent a billion dollars on it, and I am determined to get my money's worth. so you, dear reader, get to read three exciting blog entries in one day. And I, dear blogger, get to reveal my innermost thoughts, all because I am in love with the sound of my own voice and can't stop speaking.

Well, enjoy it while it lasts!

The Pick-Up Artist, or the Biggest Loser?

I have always had a soft spot in my heart for people who were unable to pick up girls at clubs. Why? Because I am one of those people. I feel so completely out of my element in clubs, that simply for me to get out of the house and go to one is a miracle in itself. To ask me, then, to approach an attractive babe, and start talking to her, and get her phone number? Well, I am sure there is some clever saying about miracles not striking twice, or lightning, or something like that.

So I am not quite sure what to make of a new television show, based on the best-selling book The Game, which details the secret world of the pick up artist. Now, full disclaimer, I read the book in question. It was a fantastic book. It taught me is lots of things: be yourself, but not too much of yourself, be flirty, playful, and so on. The point is to take these first encounters lightly. You don't want to open yourself up too quickly, or else you will scare the girl away, and all will be lost.

(Not that I am too impressed with the caliber of girl at these clubs, anyway. Seriously, who goes to these things? Who honestly thinks it would be a worthwhile way to spend a Friday or Saturday night - dressing up like a prostitute and dancing with random strangers at an overcrowded and smoky nightclub? I want a girl who is far more content to stay home, and read, play board games, and sing. Yes, I am very serious.)

That said, I can understand the mentality of a guy who simply wants help learning how to walk go to random people and talk to them. It is a skill valuable in every facet of life. "Mystery" is a man who was once every bit as nerdy and socially awkward as the motley crew who star in the pick up artist. But, through experience, and studying the social interactions of successful pickup artists, mystery learned the secrets. After years of practice, he was able to apply them "in the field ", and before this television show he made a very substantial income selling his services as mentor and guide to the tune of three thousand dollars a pop.

On the show, mystery and his wing men first watch the bunch as they walk into the clubs and attempts to pick up girls. There are microphones and hidden cameras everywhere. Meanwhile, in the surveillance van, mystery and his friends make comments and talk about how they would do things differently. Then, after the group has suitably embarrassed themselves in front of national television, we get to see mystery and his friends at work.

It is truly miraculous to witness what the master pick up artist can do. We’re talking Jesus level miracles. It is amazing. It makes me want to try my hand at the clubs myself. Even knowing know that I would not be compatible with any of the women who go there. Mystery and his friends make it look fun!

So, all in all, it is a very interesting show, but I am not sure if I find it acceptable to laugh at the pathetic “contestants” on the show. (Oh yes, it is a game show, and somebody has to get voted off every week. Further adding to their humiliation.) Obviously, there has to be something wrong with them the first place if they would be willing to get onto national television make a fool of themselves. But that doesn't give me a right to laugh at them.

I will continue to watch. But I will not guffaw as much as I would have otherwise, because I know that the only difference between me and the losers on the show is that I did not take the time to audition.