BOOK REVIEW: How to Lose Friends & Irritate People by Laszlo Wanky

Cover_How_to_Lose_Friends

 

How to Lose Friends and Irritate People by Laszlo Wanky

My Rating: 5 out of 5 Stars

Amazon Page

 

Wanky pays an homage to Dale Carnegie’s seminal self-help book by calling it, “a book for its time–that time being one in which people were lonely, pathetic, and didn’t understand social networking.” The author’s central premise is that we live in very different times, and today people are inundated by Facebook friends they neither like nor find interesting. Furthermore, Wanky goes on to argue, gone are the days when likable people are  liked. We live in an era in which douche-bags and drug-addled celebrities are gods among men. The book offers many headline examples, such as how Miley Cyrus’s career crashed as the sweet and admirable Hannah Montana, but then she caught her second wind by adopting the persona of a meth-addicted prostitute.

 

Roughly half of the book is dedicated to how to find success in defriending unwanted virtual amigos. Wanky suggests that the usual tactic of subtly “un-adding” people almost always fails because people are too “wussified” to make it stick. The only effective strategy, according to the author, is to trick others into removing you from their list of pseudo-friends. Be forewarned, however, being uninteresting and annoying is not enough–one must be spectacularly despicable. This is hard for most people–whom Wanky calls “the sychophantic masses”–because they slobber over being liked. Wanky devotes three chapters to helping people get over their love of being liked. The most cogent of these chapters is, “Kim Jong Un or Gandhi: Who Ya Wanna Party With?

 

The aforementioned chapters also help set up Part II of the book, which explains how one can put a skyrocket on one’s career by borrowing the techniques of the likes of Howard Stern, Rush Limbaugh, and Piers Morgan. Wanky shows how, like these individuals, one can be thoroughly unlikable while having people hang on your every word.  Again, three chapters form the core of this part of the book. They are: “Loud = True”, “Bombastic Fact Picking for Beginners”, and “Your Hairstyle Makes You Sound Stupid.”

 

I’m not going to pretend that Mr. Wanky’s language is fluid or graceful.  The author’s prose is colloquial… at best. A typical sentence–seen in chapter 8–is, “If ya wanna get with the boom-chiggy-booms, you gotta shout those fart-monkeys down, cause if they hear ’em they’ll all be like, ‘who’s the fart-monkey now, bitch, who’s the fart-monkey now?'”

 

The book’s strengths include its incredible brevity. Weighing in at only 26 pages, four chapters consist entirely of 27-syllable haiku. It also features fine graphics such as a picture of a “fart-monkey” that any grandmother would be proud to stick on their refrigerator. (The color choices were bit odd, but Wanky was clearly limited to the 16-color box of Crayolas.)

 

I’d recommend this book for anyone who doesn’t like friends and who really despises people’s indifference toward them. I have no doubt that by following Mr. Wanky’s recommendations, one can become a thoroughly loathsome individual in a matter of days.

 

Lastly, Happy April Fool’s Day.

 

 

 

 

Two Things To Keep On You In India

20140316_160803If you though I was going to say “Passport and FRRO Registration”– WRONG! First of all, that would make the most boring blog post ever–not a distinction for which I have aimed (but I wouldn’t turn down the award for it, if it comes with a cash prize.) Second, I’d keep those items some place safe–like a hollowed out Ganesh (but that’s not where I keep mine, so don’t get any ideas.)

1.) Tiny pictures of yourself: After about the ninth time I went someplace random and was matter-of-factly asked for a “passport size” print or a “stamp-size” print, I asked whether it was common for Indians to carry a bunch of photos of themselves around on their person–because there seemed to be such a presumption that I would have a stack of selfies on hand at any random moment.  The answer was “Yes, yes we do keep photos on hand.” Not only is it common to carry a small pack of passport pics–some keep a stock in various sizes. Long story-short, a lot of places will want a photo besides government offices–more than you might expect.

Americans just take a billion pictures of themselves and post them to Facebook, and would be self-conscious about the apparent narcissism of carrying around physical pictures of oneself. The only Americans who carry physical pictures of anybody are grandmothers who haven’t figured out how to use their phones (admittedly, a large but shrinking demographic) and they carry pics of munchkins–not themselves.

2.) Change: That’s “change” as in coins and small bills–I’m not getting abstract on you. India has a crisis of change–still not being abstract. I’m not just talking about the auto-rickshaw driver who negotiates a fare that is merely twice the metered rate, and then when you get to your destination they inform you that they have no change for a 100 rupee note (and because only someone who values “the principal of the matter”  at more than 30 cents will argue, you end up paying too much.) I’ve gotten the evil eye at such places as restaurants, stores, and even the Metro counter (who should have coins in stock if not the metro counter?) In India, there isn’t a strong expectation that the business will be the one who makes change in a commercial transation–like it is in …well, every other place in the world that I’ve visited.

I’m not sure if this change crisis is created by an inability of the Central Bank to calculate how much small currency to release into the economy, or whether the vast number of beggars are bogarting all the coin.

At any rate, if you are a nice guy and always make change for every business you deal with, you will inevitably end up in a situation in which you desperately need a pay toilet and the smallest money you have on you is a 1000 rupee note.  As paying 1000 rupee to visit the most disgusting place on Earth (a third-world public toilet) is demoralizing, I suggest you horde change like everybody else.

DAILY PHOTO: Say, “Hello Kitty,” and Eat Lead

Taken in January of 2014 at Phuket, Thailand

Taken in January of 2014 at Phuket, Thailand

These billboards are all over Phuket, which isn’t to say that it’s one identical billboard (or even just one shooting range), but billboards showing ALMOST the widest possible demographic enjoying their arms.  I say “almost” because for some reason they don’t include any old folks. I’m a little offended by that. Do they think that seeing crotchety elders holding guns will scare their potential customers, or are the old just not sexy enough for the advertising world?

I wonder if there was irony intended with the little girl with the Hello Kitty! shirt, bows in her hair, and gun bigger than her head in her hands?

RANT: There’s nothing worse than hyperbole!

There's nothing worse than a dictator with an angry army of warcocks!

There’s nothing worse than a dictator with an angry army of warcocks!

I’m taking a stand against the phrase, “There’s nothing worse than…”

OK, feel free to continue using it for saying, “There’s nothing worse than…

-Nazis.”

-nuclear Armageddon.”

-cancer.”

-catching on fire.”

-shrapnel in the face.”

-losing one’s job to a machine that isn’t even artificially intelligent.”

I’ll accept a bit of hyperbole because there’s no objective and universally-accepted way to determine who was worse, Hitler or Pol Pot. And it’s legitimate to exaggerate one’s personal crises–provided that crisis isn’t something like having the seat warmer go on the fritz in your SUV.

My problem is hearing,  “There’s nothing worse than…

-spotty cell phone reception.”

-when it takes 30 minutes to get your oil changed.”

-when a pay-per-view bout ends in the first round.”

-an empty Nutella jar.”

-when the elevator is broken and I have to walk all the way to the second floor.”

-getting in the line behind someone who still writes checks.”

Clearly, there are many things worse than any one of those things, or even all six of them happening on the same day. If you can’t think of one, you should get out more. I’m not saying one should be constantly comparing one’s problems with the biggest disasters in the world. Nor am I saying that, in the scheme of things, your  piddly-ass problems don’t matter. I’m just calling for perspective. It’s hard to take someone seriously who can’t imagine a fate worse than a cracked lid on a Starbucks half-caf latte.

Interview with the Vampire: The Real Deal

InterviewwithaVampireMoviePosteI saw a review of Anne Rice’s book recently, and it got me thinking about how an actual interview with a vampire would go.

Interviewer (I): So, about this whole turning into a bat thing. It seems to me that a man is much bigger than a bat. Therefore, my first question is do you conserve mass? In other words, do you get really dense as a bat, and, if so, how do you even get off the ground? If not, you must shed mass, but then how do you get it back?

Vampire (V): I am the prince of darkness. I rule the night. I take whatever form suits my needs.

I: Well, that’s not really a proper answer, now is it? That’s sort of a politician on the Sunday morning talk shows answer.

V: [Bares fangs and growls]

I: Well then, moving on. Are you at all concerned about the many blood-borne illness out there: HIV, Hepatitis, Ebola, Rift Valley Fever, etc.?

V: I’m immortal. I can’t be killed by your puny germs.

I: So, that’s a… no?

V: Hrrumph!

I: Moving on. Have you ever had anyone put Vaseline on their neck or something else really gross–you know to prank you?

V: You suck!

I: One could say the same of you, my friend. Ha!… You know… because you suck on people’s necks… Well, then, moving on. Which would you rather have: a wooden stake to the heart or a silver bullet in the chest?

V: Silver bullets are for werewolves, you imbecile.

I: Yeah, but it’s still got to be quite unpleasant, wouldn’t you say?

V: [Sighs loudly] OK, I’d have to take the silver bullet, but the longer this interview goes on, the more fond I grow of the stake.

I: I love steak, too, but that’s besides the point. Any way, who would you rather have as an enemy: Bram Stoker’s  Van Helsing, who’s very smart but has no kung fu; or the  Hugh Jackman Van Helsing who’s all buff and studly but not the sharpest tool in the shed?

V: It matters not. They are both humans and, as such, no match for me.

I: Really, because in both the book and the movie…

V: [hisses like a rabid cat,  fangs out] Human propaganda. Are we done yet?

I: Not quite. What’s the hurry? Got a hot rendezvous with a Victorian wench on the docket?… Anywho. What would you say are the pros and cons of working the night-shift? I’d think it would be rather easy to get a parking space, but, then again, you don’t really need one if you turn into a bat. But, then again, all that flapping must get tiring…

V: I’m out of here!

 

DAILY PHOTO: How Many People Fit in an Auto-Rickshaw?

Taken October 12, 2013 in Agra, India

Taken October 12, 2013 in Agra, India

It’s a question that has been debated since the dawn of the Tuk-tuk. Like the question of how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie-Roll Tootsie-Pop, attempts to definitively answer the question have resulted only in controversy. The question?

HOW MANY PEOPLE FIT IN AN AUTORICKSHAW?

In the highfalutin cities, people think that nobody is supposed to ride upfront with the driver, but elsewhere they’ve figured out that you can put at least one man on either side of the driver (as long as the weight of each man is fairly evenly matched–there’s only one tiny front wheel after all.) How many one can fit in the back is influenced by the average yoga skill level of the riders and whether one has any Twister (TM) grand-champions on board. 

There are myths of tuk-tuks containing entire villages tooling down the back-roads. Theoretical physicists tell us that you can pack them in until their density forms a self-sustaining black-hole, and then everybody out to the event horizon is drawn in… ya-da-ya-da-ya-da.

The answer is: “a lot.”

 

POEM: Scared Little Chipmunk

Taken at Fatehpur Sikri

Taken at Fatehpur Sikri

Poor little rodent, run up a door.

Chattering and chattering, frantic, he swore.

Babel Fish Rodentia translated his words:

“It’s not bad enough, the cats and the birds,

hectic humans and their frantic pace,

always running about like they’re in a race.

Stuck on this peg for nigh half a day.

‘A break in the traffic’, I fervently pray.

Pfff! Bipedal humans with their gigantic feet

designed to crush chipmunks right in the street.”

POEM: Human Farm of Underachieving Aliens

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What if the world that we know

is just a two-bit reality show

or some high-def video game?

Wouldn’t it be terrible lame,

if we were the toys of an alien race

of underachievers from deep outer space?

What if our planet currently resided

on a beat-up, old card-table–lopsided,

in the basement of a strung-out dude

who sat around in a cloud in the nude?

What if all of the wonder and foreboding

is just the result of some skillful encoding?

POEM: Lion Eyes (or Lionize or Lyin’ Eyes)

Taken Nov 10, 2013 at Bannerghatta National Park

Taken Nov 10, 2013 at Bannerghatta National Park

The lion is  a kingly beast

Whose eyes no lies can abide

If you don’t wish to be his feast

Please act with tact and don’t chide

He doesn’t take to teasing well

He’s still but to kill is in his blood

His placid face may look swell

But a strong heart pounds THUD-THUD…

THUD-THUD

&

another thing

He may look like a big plush toy

But he’s no fun for a girl or boy

Don’t get your kid a big feline

Unless your exit is a swift beeline

POEM: Monkeys Make Me Smile

Monkeys always make me smile

Some have hair in human styles

Oh the vanity  their locks betray

Can you spot the one with a toupee?

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Faces so reminiscent of our kind

Eyes suggesting intelligent minds

Into their faces they’ll one day grow

but the youngsters all look like H. Ross Perot

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They’ll sit on your car like they just don’t care

And screw the haters who stop and stare

Have you the courage to leave your mark

on the windshield of one who double parks

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It amuses us that they sling their poo

So we banish them to the city zoo

But what of our words so vitriolic

We’re evolved to sling poo symbolic