Omar Khadr’s situation is a perfect example of how simple circumstances lead to difficult situations. Captured at 15 in a “non-war”, and kept in Guantanamo Bay where the United States could ignore basic human rights (given that he wasn’t on US soil), he languished as a prisoner, child soldier and icon of the unfairness of war (formally declared or otherwise).

Synonymous with war in our history is the child soldier. As long as man has fought, boy has fought along side him. On the surface, Khadr’s story is simple. Unfortunately, a few minutes to skim the surface is all the time people have, politicians included, for Omar Khadr.

Now I wouldn’t condone subscribing to violence in order to solve the world’s problems. I wouldn’t condone that Khadr actually ended up in Afghanistan at 15, fighting US forces. What he didn’t is what I would condone, but as wrong as it was, it does not justify his subsequent treatment.

Detained at Gitmo, not given a trial until very recently, Khadr was ignored from 2002 to 2006 by the Liberal governments of Jean Chretien and Paul Martin, and is still ignored from 2006 to today by Stephen Harper’s conservative governments. Being tried as an adult while both the US and Canada have juvenile justice systems, being held in adverse conditions as a minor, being detained without trial, all of these are black stains, ironic blemishes on countries that espouse freedom and peace respectively.

Of course Khadr deserves justice, of some kind. Of course he should be rehabilitated. But that the people have not gotten angry about it, aside from possibly indicating a complacency about human rights as it relates to arabs/muslims, shows just how much Canadians take freedom for granted. It’s all too reminiscent of other blemishes in Canada’s increasingly hypocritical past.

In the eyes of the public, and especially in the eyes of Stephen Harper and his “tough on crime” simplistic approach to justice, Khadr is a terrorist and should be tried as one. Point final. Of course, a simplistic reduction is required to make the conclusion. That Harper has made it, and continues to make it demonstrate how much of an amateur politician he is, who lucked into power because of a fractured Canadian right-wing and a weak transition plan in the Liberal party.

The problem is that none of the above take into account the following:

• Khadr was raised in a family that influenced his views strongly
• Khadr did not choose this family
• Khadr was born in a country where integration of immigrants into society can be difficult, and became increasingly difficult for his ethnic group after Sept. 11, 2001 (speaking from experience)
• Kids are basically impressionable, and easy to manipulate

Most kids, in Khadr’s shoes, would have reacted exactly like he did. I know something of how it is to grow up Muslim, in a country where every action movie bad guy could be your cousin. I know something of what it’s like to be called a “Paki” constantly. Though not a big deal for any fully-developed and confident adult, these types of things are cumulatively difficult on any child who experiences them. In a lot of ways, to grow up Muslim in Canada necessarily entails a search for identity, as a child struggles to reconcile the values his parents are trying to imbue with the (many times) conflicting values of the society he is immersed in. And some kids, they don’t handle it as well as others.

Khadr should have been brought back to Canada, at all cost. He should have been treated like any other youth who needed guidance. With each day he was left to languish, he lost a bit of faith in the system. He won’t get life. He’ll be free again one day, and Canada will have lost an opportunity to take a kid who was on the front lines and have him contribute to the discourse of society. By avoiding the right thing early on, society eventually pays the price later on. Politicians didn’t act, Canadians did not hold them accountable for not acting, and freedom was dealt a blow.

Any time Harper speaks about freedom, one need only speak Khadr’s name to throw egg on a hypocrite’s face. So now what do we do with Omar Khadr? F–ked if I know, that ship has sailed a long time ago.

Stephen Harper’s current term reminds me so much of Jean Charest’s first term as Premier of Quebec. And his second term too, now that I think about it. Harper, like Charest, came to power with a very different vision of the domain he was to govern. While Charest wanted to modernize Quebec’s onerous social apparatus, Harper wanted to shift Canada fundamentally to the right. He came as a man of Principle first, politics second. And like Charest, Harper never stuck to his vision.

I had high hopes for Harper, though I realize I was naive now. Harper wasn’t a Power Corp. croney, he had no real links to Big Oil or any big lobby groups. He was a guy who won on principle, who lived in a normal home and wore normal shoes. He was more of a commoner than Jean Chretien, even if the latter made his name on selling himself as one. In fact, Harper was Joe Canada with a high IQ.

As soon as Harper took office, power transformed him. He appointed the unelected Michael Fortier to the cabinet after campaigning on accountability. As an unelected minister, Fortier would never have to face the opposition - accountability my a&%. Then he lured David Emerson across the floor, after campaigning on ethical reform. Each move Harper has made since then has diminished my appreciation of his reign.

It’s been a while now, since he’s ousted Paul Martin and time has revealed that Harper clings to his vision of a more Conservative Canada, but the minority Canadians give him binds his hands. In an attempt to be pragmatic, he winds up compromising his principles and governing with a hodge-podge set of policies that have no coherence, direction or long-term benefit to Canada. On big issues, he’s a centralist. On small issues, he’s a hardcore conservative, thinking Canadians won’t care about unpopular decisions on small issues. Oh, how reminiscent of Charest 2003-2007. Like Charest had his Orford, Gaspesia, Tuition Hikes, well, Harper now has The Long Census, The Lebanese Rescue Op, and of course, immaterial art funding cuts that cost him a majority in Quebec in the last election.

Let’s take a look at this Census thing. It’s puzzling. Harper’s an economist, a guy who should, a priori, LOVE data. Economists love to correlate things. He, above all, should understand the importance of the tedious but necessary Long Census form. Entire policies are based on where politicians and economists think Canada is headed - economically, demographically, etc. No census equals less information equals worse decisions. Simple as that.

What’s the benefit of cutting the Census? Freedom. Make no mistake, this is a sword Harper has chosen to fallen on out of Principle. But it’s so small, so tiny an issue in the lives of Canadians it’s almost perplexing to wonder why he insists on it. Only one explanation comes to mind: Arrogance. Ah, the similarities between Harper and Charest are laid obvious, before us now. Why such a battle on such a small issue?

If Harper were a real pragmatist, he’d be spending his time on big picture issues: crumbling city infrastructure, which tangibly and visibly affects people and wins votes EVERY TIME for example. Or how about reforming the tax code to simplify returns for Canadians (instead of raining a litany of special-interest tax credits on each of us at each budget?). He’d be winning votes using policies he can live with, no fighting for pithy issues. This inability to navigate the waters of priority are what differentiates him from Jean Chretien.

Imagine if Harper had left the GST alone, used the spending room Paul Martin gave him to rebuild a few bridges in Montreal (federal property!), given a ton of money to Toronto for the Harborfront, and invested in the development of offshore oil reserves in NFLD (instead of letting Danny Williams ride popularity wave all by himself) - he’d have 170 seats in the house. If he’d have left the Long Census, Quebec’s art funding and the Triple E senate idea off the table, he’d be at 200 seats. Of course it’s not hard in retrospect to see this result, but a man who thinks he’s the smartest guy in the country should have seen this back in 2003.

Charest eventually realized he wasn’t going to succeed at implementing his vision and settled into a quiet, laissez-faire approach that maintained an untenable status quo that Quebec will one day see a day of fiscal reckoning for (see: Greece, 2009). Perhaps Harper and the status quo is the best we can hope for federally.

Much has been written about the show, its negative depiction of Italian-Americans, its glamorization of dangerous and artificial tanning practices, its frequent showcasing of physical, if not sexual promiscuity and so on and so forth. But the cartoonish, over-inflated personalities, which are in directly inverse proportion to the intellectual weight that comes with them, are still a part of the human experience. Of course, I couldn’t turn off my brain during the show, and a few interesting life lessons were there to be had, between the fights, hot tub makeouts, and trash-talking.

Believe in yourself- By far the most interesting personality on the show is Michael “The Situation” Sorrentino. Before the Shore, Situation was a 27-year-old gym manager from Staten Island, NY. His biggest achievement was a set of impressive abs. No really. I’d have to wager that there are at least 100,000 Mike Sorrentinos in the US alone. But Mike’s meagre accomplishments never stopped him from developing an uncanny self-confidence (perhaps bolstered by a little compensation for his massive insecurities, but let’s not digress). He’s given himself and his abs the nickname “The Situation”. He believes everyone should like him. From Day 1, he seizes control of the house and runs all the logistics. When the boys go out, he’s Top Gun and Pauly D and Vinny are his wingmen. He never, ever, ever, ever admits he’s wrong until it’s the last resort. And after Season 1, he’s the breakout star of the show. Why? You can achieve great things with confidence, even if the other raw materials aren’t exactly premium.

Stick to what you’re good at- As a corollary to the above - Mike’s a dumbass. He’s not bright. His career prospects are most likely minimal, beyond being a caricature of an Italian subculture on TV. What’s he got? Abs and a big mouth. Always ready to lift up his shirt and bare the washboard, he works his abs constantly and in any situation - with no shame whatsoever. He’ll walk up to girls and say “check out the situation over here” and point to his abs. One of his “rules of life” is to always put on his shirt “at the last minute”. He’s got abs and boy, does he work them. Us normal folks, we’re not so different from Mike. We’ve got maybe 1-2 aptitudes that we excel at, maybe a dozen things we can manage without burning down a house and the rest is what we pay others to do for us. If we indugle in those 1-2 things, if we find careers in fields that let us exercise that which we find excel at and find rewarding, we’re a lot closer to happiness than most people who spend their lives wandering from job to job.

Don’t be afraid to be yourself- The men of Jersey Shore are Guidos and don’t apologize for it. Not only do they not consider it an epithet, they proudly take it on as a mantle. Because Pauly D owns a tanning bed, spend 25 minutes on his hair daily, and has Italian flags on his bag and DJing equipment, he is dubbed “the ultimate Guido” by Ronnie. Don’t think these guys have heard flak from others about their chosen identity group ? Of course they have, but they’re too busy enjoying life to give a s**t! And with everyone around them it, shows - the self-confidence, self-acceptance, and all that comes with it makes them lightning rods for ladies, attention, and controversy.

Champions are made when no one is watching- About 90% of being a “Guido” is looks. Muscles, tan, clothes are all key to rock the mantle. You don’t see it often on the show, but very briefly, it is mentioned that Sam, Pauly and Ronnie spend 2 hours a day, every single morning, at the gym working out, tanning and doing laundry. They dub the practice “GTL” (Gym, tanning, laundry). Aside from one episode, we don’t see them in the gym or tanning salon - EVER. Of course we wouldn’t, it makes for boring television. But just the same, those looks didn’t come from boozing and lounging around at clubs. And though Ronnie’s “patent creep” dance move is assuredly good cardio, it surely doesn’t account for his chiseled physique. When the cameras are not rolling, Sam and Ronnie busily invest in the assets that bring them the benefits they are reaping today. If you want the glory of the spotlight, you have to work for it in the dark.

Aim high, pay the price, sacrifice, succeed- Compared to the average person’s idea, 2 hours in the gym every day is decidedly extreme. For the boys of Jersey shore, it’s basic maintenance. Long ago, they decided they wanted a certain level of results in their training and that came with a certain amount of sacrifice. Most people do not realize this, and continue to assume that, if they put out an average effort, they could possibly one day reap an above-average benefit. This is not how life works. You can’t get the megabucks career without working your ass off. You can’t get “Situation” Abs by working out 3 days a week and eating a typical North American diet. Don’t let others, and their tendency to gravitate towards a comfortable average, dictate how much effort you put forth and how high you want to aim.

In the end, nothing much really matters- Season 1 was loaded with drama of epic proportions. In 9 episodes, there were at least 4 physical altercations. Their relationship statuses changed at the quarter hour. Some cast members made out with 4 other cast members. Some punched other cast members, some fought and some pranked each other. At times, they couldn’t coexist at all, at times they had supper all together. And at the end of the summer, they all wanted to return for Season 2. The takeaway from that is that, if you have a good support group and you’re happy doing what you’re doing, don’t worry too much about the rest - it tends to sort itself out anyway.

Speaking of Season 2, it starts tomorrow. Can’t wait.

http://www.amazon.com/Brawn-Stuart-McRobert/dp/9963616089
Brawn, by Stuart McRobert

Bodybuilding, like anything else it seems, is a double-edge sword. At its best, it is a powerful tool in human development. It requires diligence, self-reliance, persistence, self-awareness, honesty, submission to the truth, ruthlessness (to discard methods that don’t work, regardless of how much we like them), openness (to try new methods and take calculated risks) and of course, intense discipline. These are all traits that any man would benefit from having, and a huge reason as to why I enjoy practicing it “the gym”. A man forged in the fire of the “pump” is truly a strong fellow indeed - and I’m not referring to physical strength.

Of course, with the hyper-bloated physiques of today, we’ve seen an ultimate corruption of the beauty of bodybuilding. Champion bodybuilders like Andreas Munzer die mysteriously - yet these deaths are not enough for those with a vested interest in fooling the masses to act. Companies sell steroids, chemicals, “fake food” and an entire lifestyle to the average masses, telling them beach bodies and incredible sex lives are all there for the taking - provided one take the sport to such a ridiculous, self-destructive extreme. Why? Well of course, there’s money to be made!

More to the point, Brawn is an excellent treatise by Stuart McRobert on how genetically average, non-drugged people can enjoy the sport. It doesn’t preach, or philosophize, it just gives the straight dope. To resume:

• Most people that are used to sell the “image of the sport” are genetic freaks that are further enhanced by heavy drugs
• For every Ronnie Coleman or Arnold Schwarzenegger, there are hundreds and thousands of guys who killed themselves (both literally and figuratively) trying to achieve the same success, but didn’t because of bad luck, bad genetics, and no access to the steroids no one talks about that are used by champions of today in hush-hush tones.
• Most of the advice champions of today gives is based on their experience with drugs supplementing their training. Therefore, it is useless to most people who are not interested in drugs.
• By preaching methods which are known to only work with drugs such as steroids or human growth hormone pills, these champions are indirectly encouraging drug use - as people will become impatient with lack of results and turn to drugs to get bigger.
• The real heroes are the guys who practice bodybuilding for its own sake, rather than for outlandish shows and who stick to having normal lives outside the sport. i.e., those who recognize the sport is a means to an end, rather than an end in and of itself The others pervert a beautiful sport.
• Genetically average people should stick to basic workouts with tons of rest

It’s a sobering look at bodybuilding and a highly recommend it, especially for the young bodybuilders who may be considering “going for it” without having weighed all of the pro’s and con’s of doing so.

As for whether or not the methods Brawn recommend work, the jury’s out. I’ll try them and get back to you.

That said, I think the 2010 WC will be a seminal one in many ways. Here are things that germinated in 2010 that will be much more prevalent in Brazil 2014:

The end of negative football - The three best teams in this tournament are all the ones who avoided negative football - Germany, Spain and The Netherlands. All three played thoroughly offensive styles and did not just load 9 men in the box, only to relentlessly clear the ball to the other side’s keeper all game long. Whereas in 1994 we saw Italy play super-max defense and let Roberto Baggio carry the offensive load all on his own, defenses today are just to good for the 5-4-1 formation. It’s no coincidence that teams that rely on invididualism for offense got nowhere : to wit, Portugal with Cristiano Ronaldo, Argentina with Lio Messi, Ivory Coast with Didier Drogba; all were knocked out earlier than they’d expected. The best teams were those that played as a team, that understood no man can run faster than a pass travels. To play as a team up front, a cohesive, ball-controlling attacking strategy is needed with very versatile midfields (Fabregas, Podolski, Xavi, Arjen Robben and Mesut Oezil come to mind). Perfect. As other nations will emulate Spain, mostly, I truly hope to see much less negative football in 2014.

Curtailed diving- We still saw some truly shameful diving. Keita and Fernando Torres, in particular, manufactured red cards against their opponents which were a black mark on the entire game. However, I was delighted in many instances to see the referee implore players on the ground to play on. In some instances, he didn’t even bother stopping the play. Each time a player writhes on the ground at a most opportune moment, only to get up due to a miraculous recovery, soccer’s credibility takes a hit. In this edition of the world cup, the referees allowed players to mount legitimate challenges and no important goals were scored as a result of a manufactured foul - as Zidane’s penalty kick was against Italy back in 2006. Keep it up.

The end of the dark ages- Rule enforcement changes are coming to FIFA. Believe it. With hundreds of millions watching, Frank Lampard was deprived of a goal and who knows what might have been for England? Though we had the best officials in the world, it’s easy to make mistakes officiating a game with such fast-paced action on such an expansive field. With the world watching, FIFA got major egg on its face so many times it will have no choice but to capitulate to reality. If it wants the game to grow in America, it will have to place the emphasis on fair outcomes rather than a free-flowing game. In (North) America, we have baseball with constant stoppages and unlimited time-outs. We have football, where coaches can dictate when a play is reviewed. And we have hockey, which pioneered goal-line technology. It’s clear that the mentality on this side of the ocean is fairness first and justly so - these men sacrifice so much to win at any level! Athletes only get 2-3 shots at a World Cup in their playing lifetimes. Frank Lampard won’t be playing for England in 2014. What, oh, what might have been in 2010?

Sadly, one thing won’t be back in 2014:

The Vuvuzela- Almost everyone hated it. I loved it. I felt it gave the games such a unique, African flavor. Let’s face it - chanting is European, cheering is American and nothing is more African than unbridled chaos. I always love watching the ITV feed of Formula 1 because I can feel how much more the British announcer is absorbed by the race. I can’t watch hockey on FOX because they’ll talk about anything but actual hockey - whereas on CBC, they don’t talk about anything else BUT hockey. It’s small touches that we’ll remember and a few years from now, we’ll still be remembering the much-maligned Vuvuzela. Well, at least I’ll remember it fondly, it was nice to have something “different” from the Ole Ole-style stuff this time around.

Canada’s a great country, we often forget to appreciate it because its advantages aren’t glamorous or exciting. But if we ever lost this country, we’d miss it dearly. Happy Canada Day.

The above is one of my favourite quotes from, easily, my favourite Canadian political figure of all time. As both La Fête Nationale du Québec and Canada Day are upon us, I just thought I’d throw it out there again. Chrétien was one of the most fervent defenders of Canada. Even before his instrumental role in the 1982 repatriation of the constitution, and his last-minute heroics in the 1995 referendum, JC was always there for his country. Yet in the wake of 1995’s near-debacle, he found the time to utter a deceptively simple phrase, but with a more profound meaning than meets the eye.

People took it very often to mean that French-Canadians didn’t have some sort of entitlement to the lands of Québec, that before the French-Canadians, the land belonged to the Amerinidians, and that one day, maybe someone else would own the land. To be honest, that’s probably how JC meant it.

But looking on it more deeply, one must realize that it’s not to land that we shouldn’t be attached, it’s to national identity in general. Today, no one pines for the lost cultures of the Sumatrans, or, say, the Phoenicians. Their culture slowly became interwoven with others, which became interwoven again and again until only remnants of those cultures exist today, as threads in the fabrics of today’s modern cultures. The slow evolution is generally unstoppable, it’s just the nature of humanity.

Already, both Quebecois and Canadian cultures are increasingly meshed with American culture, European culture (oddly, where both originated centuries ago). As the world becomes a smaller place, it’s arrogant to expect that these things we hold so dear today will continue to exist as we know them forever.

So rather than define identity with nationalism, it’s always better to enjoy nationalism for what it is - a transient set of values, riches, foods, customs and axioms. It’s always dangerous to be too attached, lest we become extremist. Once Canada’s most ardent defender, even JC knew it (even if he didn’t want to admit it).

Except - now that it was off the list, a huge goal vacuum was created. I’d studied for the CA, either in university or through work terms, on or off, since 2001. It had shaped most of my major decisions: the decision to work at an accounting firm, the decision to go to Concordia University, the decision to buy a blue suit instead of a black one, and so on.

I’d mentioned it to my CA mentor, this whole lack of a goal thing, and he gave me words that would eventually change my life : “Go find this book called The Game by Neil Strauss, read it and apply it.” Indeed, the next life lessons I were to learn had nothing to do with ledgers, debits or credits.

I went home and ordered the book at 4 AM that night, and waited impatiently for it to arrive. I’d heard of Strauss, also known as Style back in 2003 when a few of my friends had chanced upon a bunch of websites dedicated to the fast seduction of women. Style was one of the pillars of the community, regularly providing Jedi mind-tricks to subconsciously trigger the urge to mate in females. Of course, I also weighed 250 pounds and had only seriously dated one woman in my entire life. I never bothered to dig deeper.

Fast-forward to that fateful December night, in 2007. I’d lost 45 pounds in the gym. I’d gotten a reputable professional designation (CA). I was a young professional with - I like to think - decent wit and some charm. This time, I was much more receptive to the message.

When the book arrived, I tore through it in 3 days. Then, I read it again. Then I did - nothing. I was too chicken. Then, I lost another 40 pounds, and in January 2009, I read the book a third time and decided to go for it. Here is a summary of that book and what happened after I read it. As a piece of non-fiction (we presume), I won’t bother evaluating the quality of its writing or the worth of its message. It’s not a great treatise - it’s a story of how a nerdy little roadie turned himself into the world’s greatest pick-up artist written in the crassest, simplest English. Therefore, its entire value, as a book, is pedagogical: if Style’s techniques worked for me, inspired me, pushed me to a new level of confidence - then I’d call the book good.

———————–

The story of “Style” is a simple one, really. Neil Strauss was a self-described geek, a short, balding, awkward-looking roadie who’d experienced Urkel-levels of success with the ladies (I wonder if Urkel’s still pining for Laura Winslow…). As he was researching for an article, he came across the Internet seduction community. He signed up for a seduction seminar with “Mystery”, a leading pick-up artist. At the seminar, Mystery recognized Style’s incredible potential and asked him to be his protégé. The two travelled the world picking up women, refining the art of seduction, experiencing life and then crashing. Eventually, they, along with two other pick-up artists, rent a house in Los Angeles and call it “Project Hollywood”. They spend the next year or so sleeping with as many women in LA as possible. People start moving into Project Hollywood, Courtney Love shows up and spills food, some guy gets Paris Hilton’s phone number, and so on. Eventually, too many roosters cause the collapse. At the end, Style hooks up with Courtney Love’s bandmate, decides She’s The One, gives up “The Game” and life goes on. That’s the story in a gist.

But I wasn’t reading for the story - I treated the book like a textbook. I was getting back into the dating game and I needed material, techniques, direction. In the summer of 2009, I decided to approach every woman I was attracted to, and I decided to see what would happen. I didn’t want to be Style, or Mystery, or any other pick-up artists. I wanted to get out there, get my confidence up, get used to looking at a woman in the eye - and then, maybe, just maybe, I’d be ready for The One.

I approached 71 women using Style’s techniques, and managed to get 11 to a first date. It’s a ridiculously high success ratio, to be honest. I’d describe my appearance as awkward at best. I’m 5′11, with about 15 pounds extra, a round, homely face, and a goofy smile - in short, not exactly Brad Pitt. Most of the approaches were direct and in-person in the clubs on St-Laurent or the Old Port of Montreal. Some were girls Facebook suggested I add as friends… instead of doing that, I’d message them asking to meet up for coffee. A few were friend references, which made the job easier. All of them taught me something and confirmed that Style’s approach worked.

Among the more successful things Style preaches, the key principle is non-supplication. I’d noticed all kinds of outrageously hot women in Montreal, and each one had guys fawning over her - they’d have the pick of the litter! These guys were ready to do anything for these girls, in effect, communicating their inferiority and subservience. The best way to get noticed by these girls was to just be yourself. Sure you could be nice, but only if you truly wanted to - not because you thought it might get you laid. Or you could be an utter dick. The idea was to get things going on your terms, not hers. Girls notice these types of things, they translate it as a rare type of self-assurance which they correlate with value, status and in turn, desirability. When they utter “there’s something different about that guy,” but they can’t put their finger on it, this is what they’re subconsciously noticing.

Another great Style principle, which directly dovetails with non-supplication, is the idea of avoiding “one-itis”. According to the book, “one-itis” is a condition of obsession where a man becomes so enamored with a woman it causes him to be too pathetic around her to be considered mating-worthy. The best way to avoid one-itis, according to Style, is to date several women and make this known. This tactic subconsciously tells a girl you’re a high-value mate and she needs to compete for you if she wants you.

I think the idea of avoiding one-itis is sound. A guy should never wrap his world around a woman he’s merely dating (but he should never hesitate to do so for the mother of his children, it must be said). He’s gotta keep doing the things that made him awesome before he met any woman, and if he’s too available, too hot in pursuit, too desperate, it will scare a girl off. The “several women thing”, on the other hand - it was a buzzkill quite often with older girls who were aiming for something serious. I just avoided one-itis by never attributing a major importance to any girl I’d date unless she’d earn it. This idea is later taken up in the great film The Tao of Steve as well, where the main character, Dex, urges his friends to first be excellent in front of a woman, and then, to be “gone”, to retreat. The best expression in the game, that captures the idea is: “Give her the gift of missing you.”

Aside from that, there are various other tactics discussed: how to progressively initiate and escalate physical contact, how to get a kiss, how to “cock block” other males who are competing with you for the same girls, and so on. Some of the better pieces are “patterns”, i.e., rehearsed things you can use to pick-up girls, but I never bothered with those - it seemed a bit too robotic for me. I had confidence in my own infectious personality and my creativity.

In the end, I felt I’d both succeeded and failed. If my original goal had been to seduce as many women as possible and to “run up the score”, I’d call The Game’s a great book - not good, great. However, what I truly wanted was a Sweetheart, and the girls I ended up dating because of tactics and games were rarely long-term prospects. Not one of them was in my life for more than seven weeks.

Eventually, I found myself in a similar conondrum as the author. I met girl a became crazy about, and the Game just pushed her away. When I tried a few Game-type approaches, she hotly re-butted me and told me to leave her alone. When I dropped all the - ahem - games, and just put my cards on the table in front of her, she became my girlfriend. Though we’re no longer together, she was the girl I most saw myself with, once the summer ended.

Strauss talks about this too, in his book, saying that the only utility of The Game, in the end, was to give him the confidence to be himself, to drop the game itself and to use his genuine personality and honestly to score the girl of his dreams. Like all systems, The Game can become a crutch, a life limitation, for those who lean on it without bothering to walk their own. I’ll let Style summarize this paradaox as his words are more apt than anything I could think of: To win the game is to leave it.

On November 17, 2009, Robert left TTAC. Without its guiding light, the site has become a lot more tame and uninspiring. While I still love cars and read about them every day, I can’t say I feel the need to write about them anymore. I guess it was an instance of the medium inciting the message - without a medium, I don’t have a message.

So I’m going to return to my blog, writing about whatever I want, whenver I want. If it’s cars, so be it. If it’s dating, religion, literature, movies, concerts, trips, philosophy, politics, etc., so be it. If it’s life in general… so - be - it.

I knew this movie was going to be a ridiculous ode to cartoony stereotypes and Reaganism as soon as I picked it out of the $4,99 bin at Blockbuster and read the back cover. It’s so pompous, it deserves to be presented as a quote:

America wasn’t ready… but he was.

Clearly, this movie was going to have to live up to its own tag line, rather than my expectations.

Starring Chuck Norris and released in 1985, the movie demonstrates quite easily why Chuck excelled in roles where he had to play the strong silent type - he can’t act. I never thought I’d say this, but after having seen this movie, I now believe Bruce Lee was the better actor in Way of The Dragon. Wow, and Bruce couldn’t act his way out of a wet paper bag!

Anyway, the movie starts out with Chuck, a retired “agent”. I only say “agent” because his background is never fully elaborated, but he’s being hassled to get back in the game by the FBI to stop a Russian terrorist named Rostov.

Rostov, teaming up with a drug-dealing Latino named Nico (I see Chuck isn’t the only stereotype we’ll be encountering) collects enough money to buy a small army of mercenaries. Unbeknownst to the USA, he sends his men crashing along the beaches of Florida in an invasion which aims to sow terror into the hearts of Americans. His gang is composed of the typical boogeymen of 1980s-US Conservatism: Russians, Latinos and poor black guys.

Of course, Rostov has to halt his plan because he is a great strategist. He decides his plan can not go ahead until retired agent Chuck Norris is killed. See, you might be asking yourself why the hell the plans to invade an entire country are threatened by the existence of a retired agent who keeps to himself in the Florida Everglades. Clearly you haven’t grasped the power of Chuck Norris, it’s a force that outranks Stallone, Arnold and JCVD - combined.

So Rostov hikes out to the Everglades with his men, and firebomb’s Chuck’s hermit shack. Except Chuck jumps out at the last minute, barely escaping. Rostov thinks he’s polished off Chuck, and heads back to whatever he was doing in his plan to take over USA through terrorist attacks. BAD MOVE, bra. Chuck is now pissed off, and his ego and personal need for vengeance do the trick that his patriotism doesn’t do - It brings him back into the game.

Rostov takes the time to have his men bombard and shell various scenes of whitebread American life: Malls at Christmas, quiet neighborhoods and main streets. It’s all in attempt to breed fear in American hearts, you see! In a moralistic, heavy-handed development, the Army moves in and constitutional rights are suspended. If you’re expecting a deep, profound social commentary on totalitarian states at this point, don’t hold your breath.

Chuck arranges to be arrested in his own hotel room, and arranges to have it covered on the media so Rostov can see it on T.V. While handcuffed, he taunts Rostov on the national airwaves, turning what is a fight for American freedom into what is essentially a cock-wagging contest between Rostov and himself. Are you loving this yet?

Rostov marches his entire army to Atlanta, where Chuck is being held, with the goal of killing Chuck. Yep, right in the middle of the war. The gambit is the military equivalent of the one-at-time-single-file strategy employed by foot soldiers when attacking Ninja turtles. Rostov’s men take the military base in Atlanta, only to find NO ONE INSIDE.

“It’s a trap!” Rostov yells. As they escape, they find themselves surrounded by the US Armed Forces. Ah, that devil Chuck! The Army rains bullets and artillery on Rostov’s men, creating a maelstrom of lead and blood, while Rostov flees back inside the base in desperation - only to find CHUCK NORRIS on the inside. He should have just stayed outside. His chances of surviving 400 bullets fired in his direction were astromonically better than surviving a fight with Chuck Norris in the last ten minutes of the movie.

After a game of cat and mouse, both men end up empty handed. If you’re wondering why Chuck doesn’t just walk away at this point, it’s because it would be the logical thing to do. I mean think about it. Rostov’s men are maggot food outside, the place is surrounded by Land, Sea and Air and neither he nor Rostov have any ammo. What is Rostov going to do? Run after him?

But no - the only solution left is the cock-wagger’s solution: It all must come down to hand-to-hand combat. Unfortunately, the fight, which is what you’re waiting for the entire movie, comes down to two kicks to the chest which pushes Rostov to the edge of a window. Out of nowhere, Norris picks up an RPG and nails Rostov in the torso, sending his charred remains out the window.

THE END.

This film is underwhelming to say the least. Chuck’s acting skills could probably fit inside a thimble, small as they are. The whole movie consists of him uzi’ing terrorists and ends in quite possibly the lamest fight I’ve ever seen in a movie starring a known martial artist. Even Steven Seagal tries harder. I’m not even talking 1980s, reasonably-decent-shape Seagal, either, I’m taking 2000’s I’m-just-doing-this-because-I’m-contractually-obligated 100 lbs. overweight Seagal!

So the plot makes a transcendental request for you to suspend disbelief: asking you to allow that the U.S.A. could be taken over by a force of a few hundred. For that price, you don’t even get a good Chuck Norris fight at the end, after enduring lines like “If you come back in here, I’ll hit you with so many rights you’ll beg for a left.”

What a disgrace. -138472432 out of 10.