The Last American Bachelor

The lightening flashed and there he was, drenched by rain, standing just inches from the tent where her daughter was sleeping with her friend. He was looking directly at her. He was absolutely expressionless, just looking at her. Her heart jumped into her throat and she found she was completely incapable of making a sound.

The flicker of lightening paused momentarily and she was left again in the pouring rain, in complete darkness. Another flash of lightening and a thunderclap peeled the air. The man was gone.

She ran to the girls’ tent. It appeared sealed, the zipper closed tight.

“Girls!” she shouted over the rain as it pounded upon the outside of the tent.

“Girls! Open up!” and she tugged on the outside zipper and then tore open the inside zipper. The girls inside gave a shriek.

“Come with me,” she said, grabbing her daughter by the arm. “You’re both sleeping in our tent tonight.”

I keep hearing a lot of talk about “Obama’s Healthcare” and “healthcare reform” and “universal healthcare” and people who are all for it and people who are all against it and basically a whole lot of senseless discussion that doesn’t amount to anything. So I want to propose a simple solution that anyone can understand.

First of all, we already have government operated healthcare. In fact, we have two: Medicare and Medicaid. So, what we really need to do is combine the two into one. I’m sure that alone will save taxpayers millions or possibly even billions, not to mention greatly simplifying things.

Second, have this new program (let’s just call it “Universal Healthcare“) cover 100% of healthcare expenses for anyone that is eligible, which would currently be the elderly, children, and the destitute. No paperwork, no having to decide what is eligible and how much is covered and whether or not the person requires some form of supplemental insurance. They go to the doctor, they leave. They go to the pharmacist, pick up their medication, they go back home and take it. No paperwork. No supplemental insurance. Easy for the people who need it, less bureaucracy and paperwork for the tax payers to pay for.

Third, we make this new Universal Healthcare available to any and all United States citizens, with one exception: any senator or representative that votes against the bill has their state forfeit its right to have its citizens receive any benefits of the program. Their elderly will not receive Medicare; their children and their poor will not receive Medicaid. Further, the elected officials, state employees, firefighters, law enforcement agents and any other government employee can no longer have healthcare provided to them by the government, local or otherwise. They must go get their own health insurance elsewhere. These senators and representatives are supposedly voting on behalf of the interests of their constituency, so I’m certain that means their state’s citizens will applaud these actions and the senators and representatives will undoubtedly be reelected into a following term. Citizens of states that elect not to have Universal Healthcare can have a tax credit or something. Go. Have fun.

Everyone is happy. Everyone wins.

I'm a Hero

I recently discovered that I am truly a hero. And it feels great.

Did I rescue an infant from a burning building? No. Can I fly? Nope. Am I a major league ball player? A movie star? Do I fight criminals on the streets of New York? No, nope, and no again. What makes me a hero then? Well, what exactly makes me a hero is a bit hard to define, but the fact that I am a hero is indisputable. I know that I’m a hero because my son showed me his new underwear – and it’s just like mine.

I picked him up from school the other day and he was in the back seat of the car as we were riding home. It being Friday, I asked him how school had been that week.

“Okay,” he said as we stopped at a red light, and then he added, “I’ve got new underwear. They’re boxer-briefs. I told Mom I wanted boxer shorts like yours, but she said they don’t make those for kids, so she got me boxer briefs. See?” I turned around in my seat to look at him and then he pulled his shorts leg up to reveal the black boxer-brief-clad thigh underneath, and I knew then that I was someone’s hero.

I have no idea what the connection is between underwear and superheroes, but the connection is unmistakable and undeniable. So important is this connection that many superheroes even deem to wear their underwear proudly on the outside of their uniforms. When I was younger, we had Underoos. I’m not sure if they still make that particular brand, but I’m quite certain kids can still purchase underwear that features their heroes, be they Sponge Bob, Dora the Explorer, or Spider-Man. A five-year-old boy can’t always go to school dressed like Superman, but he can still walk with confidence, knowing that Superman is protecting his most delicate body parts. On the outside, a little girl is just like any other little girl, but beneath it all, she has the wrappings of pretty, pretty princesses that will remind her that her dreams just may one day come true.

So when his mom took him shopping for new school clothes, and they reached that underwear isle, my hero status became suddenly undeniable. He could have chosen to decorate his loins with Superman, Batman, Spider-man, the Hulk, Transformers, Sponge Bob Square Pants, Scooby Doo, The Incredibles, or even Lightning McQueen – but he wanted to be like his biggest hero. He wanted to wear underwear like his Dad.

“Mom said you wear boxer shorts and I said I wanted those, but they didn’t have them, so she got me these. They’re called ‘boxer-briefs’,” he explained with a slight tone of disappointment.

“That’s, okay,” I responded into the mirror as the traffic began moving again. “I have boxer-briefs too, just like those.” And I saw in my review mirror the smile of an eight-year-old boy who was filled with pride and joy, and the confidence to take on the Third Grade’s most evilest of villains without fear.

Apple's new iTunes LP format

Yesterday, Apple released iTunes Version 9 with some exciting new features, only one of which am I going to talk about today, and that’s the new iTunes LP format. (Coincidence that this was released the same day as the highly anticipated Beatles Rock Band release? Maybe. Maybe not.)

I’ve long been a fan of digital music. I began stealing, I mean shoplifting, I mean purchasing CDs nearly a full year before I ever owned a CD player. Why? Because I knew, even back in junior high, that digital music meant I would never have to again purchase replacements for my cassettes and vinyl records that wore out due to abusive overplaying. It was bad enough that my favorite album at the time was Wilson Phillips, but must I also endure the shame of having to repeatedly humiliate myself to Dick and Barry as I purchase a new copy each week? I digress…

Soon enough this digital media was being ‘ripped’ onto people’s computers, for digital archiving purposes, you can be sure. And in an effort to save expensive storage space on these computers, the MP3 audio file format came to be the de facto standard in online music file formats. Since then, audio file compression has become amazing, so that songs can be recorded with nearly perfect reproductive quality, using a relatively small amount of storage space. And with things like the iPod, we can now carry our entire music catalogue on a media player the size of a postage stamp.

Yes, this is all fantastic news, but this all came with one major sacrifice. No, not the RIAA’s greedy revenue stream – fuck them. No, what I was missing was all of the other art that came with records and albums and CDs. The cover art, the liner notes, the lyrics. Would we never have another Sgt. Pepper album cover again?

So with Apple’s latest release of the iTunes media player/online store, they have brought us what they’re calling the iTunes LP. Finally. We can now purchase complete albums of the digital music we love. Don’t think of these iTunes LPs as just a bundle of MP3s along with some pretty graphics and maybe some lyrics and liner notes. Apple would not attempt to amaze us with something so trivial. No, think of the new iTunes LP format as something more akin to the DVD version of your favorite movies. These digital LPs can come with any kind of media you can imagine, backstage footage, interviews, music videos, art, publicity images, and interactive menus just like a DVD.

I was planning on packaging my future albums as DVDs, in order to give my fans a reason to purchase something more than digital song file downloads, but now I don’t have to worry about that any longer. I now get to indulge myself in the digital LP format, and my fans will be getting a whole lot more for their money. Do I have more surprises in mind? You bet. Keep watching.

Don't feel bad. Elvis Presley made mistakes too.

Twitter is a social media website that allows you to broadcast status updates – or, in my case, random and generally offensive thoughts – up to 140 characters in length, and allow a virtually limitless number of people to subscribe to your status updates. Why the 140 character limitation? Because Twitter stems from a group of people who got tired of sending text messages (limited to 140 characters or less) to all their friends just so everyone would know why they would be late to the keg party.

Many people are still trying to figure out just what in the hell Twitter is and what it’s for, and most of these people are getting it wrong. Severely wrong. But that’s understandable. Twitter does not come with an instruction book or even a helpful introductory video, so I’m going to help you out.

Rather than attempting to preach to you on “how to effectively use social media to build your brand“, I am going to give you a clear list of how not to say something, along with a helpful suggestion on what you might want to say instead. I wanted to write something specific to musicians, bands and artists, but I felt a “Twitter Primer” was first in order.

First, I must explain, any message on Twitter is called a “Tweet”. Cute, right? You can throw up later. Here we go:

Bad: I woke up with a headache and I’m dizzy. I think I have the flu.

How this reads: You are sick. So fucking what. Probably all of your friends are too, thanks to you, and they have little sympathy left for your whining ass.

Better: I shouldn’t have gone into that public restroom without my shoes on. My feet now have gonorrhea.

How this reads: You live life on the edge, you’re not afraid to take risks, and you often pay the consequences.

Bad: Tuna salad sandwich. Yummy!

How this reads: You’re eating a crappy sandwich again. Apparently you didn’t get that raise, again.

Better: A tuna salad sandwich is the perfect compliment to a lunch break surfing CareerBuilder.com.

How this reads: You’re broke and your job sucks. We sympathize without feeling like we’re actually obligated to. We may even offer you a job.

Bad: I love Dancing with the Stars! Marie Osmond is so cute!

How this reads: You’re a social reject and don’t have enough friends to know any better.

Better: Marie Osmond passed out on DWTS last night, and Tom Bergeron didn’t try to molest her. Loser.

How this reads: Sure, you watch stupid primetime television programs, but you’re in no way a conformist.

Bad: Why do all men have to be such jerks all the time?

How this reads: Not all men are jerks all the time. YOUR man is a jerk all the time, and, yeah, your thinly veiled allusion is more like the last-place entry in a wet t-shirt competition.

Better: If my boyfriend keeps this stupid crap up much longer, I won’t just be LOL when I tweet ‘SWF seeking MAN’.

How this reads: You know your man’s being an ass, but you’re a woman who can take care of herself – and your male followers will be following closely. Very closely.

Bad: I love you, baby!

How this reads: You’re in love, you’re newly in love, and you’re annoying. Everyone hates you.

Better: I don’t mean to brag, but I swear my girlfriend actually initiated the sex last night.

How this reads: Face it: if you’re getting laid, everyone who isn’t hates you. For everyone else, we’re now picturing your girlfriend naked. Thank you.

Bad: My band’s performing at The Continental Club this Saturday.

How this reads: Your band is playing at The Continental Club this Saturday. Boring.

Better: Come out to The Continental Club this Saturday and if our lead singer manages to not puke on the stage, everyone gets a free copy of our CD!

How this reads: Your band is fun, your shows are fun, and your lead singer probably will not be alive much longer.

Bad: Goodnight, moon!

How this reads: First, it’s unoriginal. Second, it lets the stalkers know that you’ll be sound asleep in a few minutes, or undressing shortly. Either way.

Better: There is no ‘better’ for this one. Just don’t do it. No one is watching your tweets with baited breath and will slit their wrists whenever yours stop coming at the end of the day without warning.

Bad: I hate peeling oranges.

How this reads: You hate peeling oranges. So what.

Better: Why doesn’t someone invent orangeberries so I don’t have to peel these damn things.

How this reads: You are a clever, clever person. And you hate peeling oranges.

These rules also apply to status updates on Facebook or any other social media site that allows you to post status updates. Respect your followers, don’t waste their time. Share anything entertaining, share anything truly informative, but keep the boring and the mundane to yourself.

Every now and again as we attempt to make our way through Life, God, in all his infinite wisdom and glory, decides to press the Reset button on our lives. It’s not like hard-booting a computer, though. You don’t actually start your life over anew. It’s more like having just one program in your life crash and you forgot to save what you’d been working on for so long. You lose your job, you get divorced, a loved one dies suddenly and unexpectedly, you’re in a car collision and you lose the use of your legs. We all know the experience in one form or another, and we must all endure it more than once in our lives.

Back when I first began writing The Last American Bachelor series, back before blogs and Twitter and Facebook, before MySpace and YouTube, before everyone on the planet believed their own life was worth sharing with the world and had the means to easily do so, I had recently had a major Reset in my life. It was a multi-system Reset, in fact. I lost my house, my income, my vehicles, and even my wife and what I knew to be “family”. I had even lost my mind and, for a time, was homeless, penniless and senseless. I had nearly died, nearly committed suicide, and nearly did not make it through that Reset at all.

But, as you can tell, I did eventually make it through the entire ordeal, but not without a lot of work and a lot of personal sacrifice. In my recovery, once I believed I was at least mostly human again, mostly able to share my life with another human being again, mostly able to withstand the shattering emotional abuse that comes with the search for a partner who will help us make it through this life in one piece (or at least in many tiny pieces that somehow stick together), I began sharing, via email, my experiences about my attempts at mating, and those few people found reading about those experiences to be amusing, entertaining, and occasionally heartwarming. They encouraged me to share these stories with others. So I did, and I began publishing them as a series of essays on jeremypierson.com. Today, this would (and is) obviously called a “personal blog“, but back then it was merely a series of personal essays. And the format is somewhat above what “blogging” mostly is today. I used literary devices like similes and metaphors and long mind-blowing descriptions. “Sex and the City” it was not, for I avoid puns like the plague (simile). I felt it was worthy of syndication, and possibly it was, if I had ever made any attempts at getting it published. But I didn’t. I thought only that it might entertain a few friends and whatever strangers on the Web who happened to stumble across it.

There were no such things as “RSS feeds” and no way for people to “subscribe” to these stories. I simply relied on people chancing to visit my website and chancing to read my writings. People also began to find these writing via Google. I was long ago receiving new readers from around the world as they searched Google for things like “orgasmic tremors” (how I described my attendance at a Prince concert one evening) and found themselves in one of my essays. They were probably looking for porn, but stayed for a laugh. And sometimes they even sent me a message of praise or appreciation, which was always very flattering.

But the series was short-lived, as I relatively quickly found someone new, someone amazing, someone who was as enraptured and captivated by me as I was by her. My series, I must confess, was particularly good at the self-deprecating humor that came with my social ineptitude and failures in impressing women. It was, after all, quite easy to talk about an experience with a woman I was almost certain never to come in contact with again. It was altogether different to publicly expose those inner thoughts at play in a relationship which I actually hoped would progress. I found it easy to expose my sexual misencounters, but nearly impossible to relate – and thereby sabotage – any of the small successes. I found true love again, and my Bachelor series suffered an unceremonious demise.

It’s been nearly four years since the last of The Last American Bachelor articles appeared on jeremypierson.com, and I have written very little at all in that time. I recently shared with a friend how I missed writing those articles, how it was such an amazing creative outlet for myself, and that person surprised me with her response that she too had missed reading my articles and essays. So I began to ponder how I could possibly resuscitate the series. How could I, I wondered, bring back The Last American Bachelor, when I was, emotionally speaking, no longer a bachelor? And then it occurred to me, I am still, technically speaking, a bachelor. That is, I am not yet married, nor do I expect to be anytime soon. (The reasons for that will become evident in future articles.) So, by pure definition, I am still (sort of) a bachelor. So I get to keep the name, and that makes me happy.

The other thing I soon realized was that my series of articles really had very little to do with dating anyway, as I was not very successful at “picking up women”. What the series was really about was coping with that last pressing of my Reset button. It was about trying to understand life and human behavior and relationships, trying to readjust my ways of thinking and understanding. And I don’t have to be trying to get a waitress to sleep with me in order to continue to tackle those subjects. So I decided that I in fact could and would revive the series, breath new life into, and, in effect, press the Reset button on The Last American Bachelor, by giving it a new chance to inform and entertain a new audience. And this new audience, I have noticed, is growing by the minute.

It seems to me that lately there are quite a few people in America and around the world who are having their Reset button pushed. They’ve lost their homes due to a daft mortgage system that’s been in place for the past decade or so. They’ve lost their jobs due to the massive layoffs resulting from the economic depression. They’re going through divorce. They’re entering retirement. They’ve lost a child. Whatever your specific circumstances, you’re either going through your own Reset at this moment, or you’ve recently been through one. Either way, you don’t have to be single or dating in order to relate to what these articles are about, because that’s not what they’re about. They’re about life and love and living and learning and sharing with those we encounter every day. So I hope you come back, and I hope you share these stories with a friend.

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This article was originally published online at http://www.jeremypierson.com/bachelor by The Last American Bachelor.