Dear Babies: Getting Along

In the course of our daily lives, we’ve been taught, and it’s great practice, to lean towards the most common denominator of behavior, which is usually right around or within local norms and customs.

But, my dear babies, with regard to love interests, the best policy is to be yourself from the beginning.  The more specific your behavior according to your own values and concerns, the less likely you’re going to waste time trying to please someone else — the pleasing of whom would only serve to positively reinforce the farce you’re living for her (or his) sake.  Or, probably more fair, for both your benefit, you believe.

But actually, by behaving during courting in any other way than you would behave alone, you’re just setting both of you up for a let down, as your true selves are revealed… possibly after years of marriage, or maybe after joining a record club.

Dear Babies, once there were record clubs.

They enticed you into committing to a certain number of purchases — at regular, retail prices — of albums in return for 10 or so freebies at the beginning, which you choose out of their stock of things that people probably weren’t all that interested in paying more than the $0.01 they wanted to start anyway, plus shipping and, of course, handling.

Lee Roth, David

To wit: Anything from Van Halen post 1985: SEE SAMMY HAGAR.  He never could drive 55, but he’s the Prince Valium of lead singers, certainly in comparison to David Lee Roth, who always seemed on the verge of appearing in a police line-up… probably for something really sleazy.  That’s rock n’ roll.

Warning: Do not look up “David Lee Roth” on Google because you’re likely to see how David Lee Roth looks today.  Just don’t.  Aging is fine for civilians, but rock n’ roll should be immortal (and is, thanks to the magic of audio recording and ancient music videos).

Also, Babies: MTV used to play music videos.  Today, they show people on reality serials in situations in which people never actually find themselves, and then exploit the conflict in the name of eye candy and your continued viewership.

Here’s how it really works when eight guys live in a house: If someone gets out of line, the others either draw penises on his head while he’s sleeping, beat the shit out of him, or, most likely, both, depending on that dude’s cooperation.  When more than four guys live together, it’s jungle rules.

If you wake up outside after going to sleep in your own bed, then you probably are having a conflict with your roommates and you should address that — through revenge, if you have the balls.  If you don’t have the balls, then you should move.

Another tip: Guys do not have “house meetings.”  A “house meeting” starts whenever more than two people are home and one guy starts yelling at another guy.  It’s not a meeting, it’s conflict resolution circa 10,000 BC, and it’s been working well for more than, well, a long time.

And that’s why I’ve never really liked the idea of male roommates beyond the count of one.  And you want the one to be someone you could kick the shit out of, if it came to it… Just saying.

An additional point about rooming with a pack of guys: I’ve never done it.  My main skill is not knowing anything, but sounding like I know everything.  It’s a skill, and a curse.  SEE: BEING YOURSELF FROM THE BEGINNING OF A RELATIONSHIP.

And now, my dearest Babies:

This long number, by Weird Al, discusses the sort of commitment required between a couple before joining a record club.

Learn to spell it, because it’s a lovely place to visit: ALBUQUERQUE.  (Yes, I had to look it up.)

I love you, My SON AND DAUGHTER.  I’m glad you’re safe.  I hear you’re happy and healthy.  Keep the peace.

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