Thursday, June 21, 2007

What do Sandy Koufax and Guns N Roses Have in Common?

Today marks the 300th post in the history of this blog. That’s a lot. Probably too many. Probably like 100 too many as this blog peaked a while ago and probably should have quit while I was ahead. But what occurred to me as I stretched this thing out for as much milk as I could get was this: The things in life that are truly great are short and almost perfect and stop before they create any other impressions. Now this can encompass a lot of things, but in the realm of sports and entertainment the prime examples, oddly, are Sandy Koufax and Guns N’ Roses.

Though Kofax played for twelve seasons, nobody really remembers much about him before 1961 when he won 18 games for the Dodgers. For the next six seasons, and especially the last four, he was far and away the most dominant pitcher in baseball, winning over 25 games three times, notching 3 Cy Young Awards (in an era when it went to only one pitcher in all of baseball) and one MVP. It is a legacy of domination that has never been matched in such a period, and may never be seen again. And then, after pitching in the 1966 World Series, a season where he won 27 games, Koufax called it quits citing his arthritic left arm. So while his career totals will never be on the level of Tom Seaver, Nolan Ryan, Randy Johnson or Roger Clemens, all of them would gladly trade fifteen of their years in the big leagues for one of Sandy’s. What they wouldn’t trade, of course, is the $15 million they made in each of those fifteen season.

The point in Koufax was greater than anyone for a short period, and vanished before his legacy could be marred.

As for Guns N’ Roses, well, I have heard it argued that they are the greatest rock band of all time. And while I’m not sure whether or not I agree with that statement, there is a very simple reason why it is arguable: While some bands are great and continue to make music well after they are eligible to collect social security, most of them have had a bad album or five. As a matter of fact, I’d be hard pressed to think of a single legendary band that didn’t make at least one album that was wholly forgettable. Guns N’ Roses? They never even made a bad SONG. Essentially they came out with three albums (if you count Use Your Illusion as 2) and an EP (Lies) and I don’t think there’s a song on any of them that I skip. And after 1991 they never put out another record.

And not like Nirvana or Hendrix or Janis Joplin where they did it because someone died. No, they did it because Axl Rose is crazy. But maybe he knows something we don’t. Maybe he saw that his band couldn’t continue to make some of the most unique and hard-driving rock ever for decades, and saw no reason to keep on doing it. Or maybe he’s just an egotistical whackjob. Who knows? The point is Guns N’ Roses left us all with nothing but good music. There is no regrettable reunion album. There is no tour where they want to play some “new stuff” and everyone gets up to go to the bathroom. No. Guns N’ Roses made three and a half of the best rock albums ever and then said “Fuck it. We’re done.” So all we remember is the greatness.

I think money and greed keep a lot of people from going out on top. They see the opportunity to get more so they put out a mediocre product and their legacy is tarnished. I am not comparing myself to either of the aforementioned entities, by the way, just using them to illustrate a point. In my mind, the greatest things in life are almost perfect for a short period and then disappear. Leaving us with only memories of the good, and not holding on to create memories of the bad.

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Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Casual Dating is Not For Everyone

Casual dating. It’s sort of a vague term, isn’t it? What exactly does “casual” mean? Does it mean you show up in polos and jeans for dates? No invitiaiton is required and the ceremonial formalities are set aside? You only eat at Baja Fresh? No, that would be Quick Casual Dating. A lot of people have different definitions for casual dating, but I think to most it means spending some social time together, generally sleeping together, but not having any sort of obligation to the other person. More than a fuck buddy but not a full blow significant other Basically, it is all the fun of a relationship without all the hassle. Of course, the downside is that if you are only dating someone casually, they may casually drop you like hot potato if they don’t like the color of the shirt you’re wearing.

Most relationships start out casual, then either progress into semi-serious exclusive relationships or terminate, within a short period of time. There are of course exceptions. For example when one or both people are leaving the geographic location in the near future (like the Spring Break boyfriend) and no future is intended past the occasional “Hey, I’m in town for a convention, want to get together?” Or sometimes neither party wants the responsibility of a relationship but still wants to “hang out” and “get laid.” Which is all well and good so long as both parties know the deal. But here, kids, is the problem….

A lot of people can’t handle it. And, not surprisingly, a lot of these people are female. More have become accustomed to the concept, but women still often have some sort of emotional attachment to someone they sleep with and spend time with regularly and therefore cannot exist in this sort of “casual relationship” vacuum. But I have found that as much shit as guys talk about being is some sort of “perfect situation” where they have someone to sleep with and someone to take them to the airport if need be, a lot of them can’t handle casuality either. Guys who brag about how they have strings free sex with a girl they repeatedly describe as “cool” and “fun”? Yeah, the minute she starts seeing someone else he’ll be sending roses to her office. Trust me.

In much the same vain as men and women who try to be platonic friends, one person usually starts to want some sort of commitment. And then the fun is ruined. Then decisions have to be made and ultimatums are given and either one person gets hurt or another gets lassoed into a situation that is more committed than they had intended. And nobody ends up happy.

My point today is this: If you can’t handle casual dating, don’t do it. If you are not fully prepared for the realization that you are no the only casual partner this person has, don’t do it. If you aren’t totally comfortable with the fact that the relationship, such as it is, will come to a predetermined end, don’t get into it. Oh, so you started developing feelings for someone? Well, that’s sweet. But knowing you are the sort of person who develops feelings should arm you with the knowledge that you probably cannot handle sex and social outings with someone to whom you have no obligation whatsoever. And who has no obligation to you. Stick to one night stands or relationships because this is a road you are not properly equipped to go down. And this goes for men and women. Casual dating is not for the faint of heart, folks. Probably only for the ones made of stone.

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Monday, June 18, 2007

White Alachua Just Doesn't Have The Same Ring

In other big news, I’m leaving Miami. Those who know me personally knew this already, but for those of you who don’t, after 9 years I am saying goodbye to Dade County. At least for now. We all know I can only avoid the crack that is Miami for so long before I come running back.

No, the overabundance of Latin culture did not finally get to me. No, I am not finally voting with my feet and going somewhere normal. No, I am not in search of more white girls. If that were the case I’d never leave; I have almost a monopoly on the market. And no, this has absolutely nothing to do with any of the over 300 reasons I have listed that Miami is an awful place to live. Much as I complain, I love the damn place.

No, folks, this is a life-decision type thing. Over the past year I have been applying to graduate schools and got into most of them. Northwestern and Texas can eat a dick, that’s all I have to say. But the University of Florida was nice enough to accept me, and I accepted them back. And as of August, I will officially become a resident of Alachua County, Florida. So now I have yet another reason to absolutely fucking despise Florida State.

This will be the first time I have lived somewhere other than a major city. As in somewhere 110 miles from the nearest airport with direct flights to anywhere other than Atlanta and completely devoid of professional sports. Or traffic. So while my rants about nobody speaking English and nobody showing up on time for anything may be gone, I have a feeling they may be replaced by a whole new breed of rant. I have lost the ability to communicate with anyone under the age of 22 over the past year, just in time to move to a city where anyone who remembers Alex Keaton is considered “old.” I have also realized that Gainesville is sports-mad, which is the tell-tale sign of a city with nothing better to do than watch other people play sports. Have I mentioned that rednecks get on my nerves? And, seriously, if you’re going to call yourself the Sunshine State it should not get below 50 in the winter. What the fuck?

And have you seen the fat people in Orlando? And why the hell is it so goddam hard to get Gator tickets? At UM, the year after they won the national title and were ranked #1, you could walk up to the Orange bowl and buy off the scalpers for below face value. Don’t you North Florida Crackers have anything better to do? And have you BEEN to Tropicana Field? I thought baseball didn’t get any worse than watching it in the old Kingdome, boy was I wrong.

So I am not worried, folks. While I will be returning to life in the United States, surrounded by White girls and never hearing Reggeaton, there will still be plenty to rant about. I’m not saying to keep a lookout for “White Alachua” coming to you any time soon, but I may drop in my two bits every once and a while. Or four bits. Or six bits, a dollar. ALL FOR THE GATORS, STAND UP AND HOLLER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Thursday, June 14, 2007

A White Girl's Perspective on Latin Guys

I have been asked, by more than one tall, blonde local girl, to do a post telling short Latin guys to stop hitting on them. The thing is, I really lack the proper perspective form which to write this as I am neither blonde nor a girl. Apparently, though, they find it kind of irritating. This bodes all the better for me, of course, because the overabundance of short guys hitting on them forces tall girls to go for the first guy over 5’8” they see, which is often me. At any rate, I suggested to one of the ladies who wanted me to do such a post that she write one herself. And so she did. What follows is what is going through the mind of a tall, attractive American girl when being hit on unsolicited by a short, Latin guy:

Being a tall, blonde-haired blue-eyed female, I would like to share my thoughts on the perplexing phenomenon of short Hispanic guys hitting on tall, hot, blonde American chicks. A pandemic that, while not unique to Miami, is more offensive when it occurs here due to the particular nature of Miami's social (ab)norms. I say "pandemic" because I can't think of one girl who's ever discussed this topic with me and expressed anything other than sentiments ranging from mild annoyance to downright personal offense.

The typical encounter generally proceeds as follows: Hot blonde chick (HBC) sits down at bar to await the arrival of her friend/date. She intends for her behavior upon entering the bar to place the various Hispanic men around her on notice that their overtures will fall on deaf ears should they be dumb enough to direct them at her. But the usual games of pretending to wait for a friend, or even better a boyfriend, fail 99 times out of 100 with most impervious-to-rejection Latin guys.

Despite HBC's careful analysis of the situation and resulting seat selection, she is immediately eyefucked by every Hispanic guy at the bar. And not a one of them has the decency to hide this fact from the Marta's and Maria's and Maricella's who either accompanied them to the bar or wish to accompany them home. So now poor HBC has to deal not only with the incessant eyefucking but she must also manage to act like she doesn’t notice the 10 fat Cuban chicks glaring at her while plotting her demise in the women's bathroom should HBC be dumb enough to venture there alone.

As said Latin Guy approaches, HBC makes an effort to avoid the impending uncomfortable encounter. She looks down at her phone (it must be on vibrate, because no one heard it ring), hits a button and starts talking. "Hey, Babe. Where are you? I got you a beer." She speaks slowly and in mono-syllables so that this guy, who is now brushing up against her elbow due to the fact that his concept of personal space is just as impaired as his ability to read white women, can understand that she’s talking to her man. Unfortunately, he doesn't care. He interrupts her phone conversation to ask her where she's from. (This is always a safe question with white girls, as it’s clear they usually aren't from here.)

That's it. HBC has had it. She might be polite, but this is downright insulting. Not only is she on the phone with her man but, even if she weren't, who gave this guy the impression that someone like HER would be interested in someone like HIM? Perhaps if she stands up he will see that she is a good 3 inches taller than his 5'5" and will immediately realize the err of his ways. So she does. Yet, instead of him mumbling some half-English excuse and running away with his tail between his legs, he says in that all-too-familiar Miami accent, "Wow. You're tall."

At this point, HBC doesn't even have to pretend to be a bitch, because she is thoroughly incensed that she has done everything in her power to discourage this interaction, to no avail. HBC gives said Latin Guy the cold stare she reserves specifically for unwanted male advances, turns back to her phone, and very loudly explains to her answering machine that "This short asshole next to me thinks its ok to interrupt someone in the middle of a conversation. What the fuck?!?! I know, I know. Seriously. As if I would go for someone like THAT. We've really got to find some new hangouts. Like maybe in Broward."

In the spirit of open-mindedness characteristic of this blog, I think it’s likely there is some underlying motivation behind this phenomenon that us white folk have failed to ascertain. Perhaps these guys just want to be seen talking to a white chick for long enough to convince that little gordita across the bar that, while he could go home with a white girl, he chooses her. Nothing gets a Hispanic girl's panties wetter than thinking her guy passed over a chance with a pretty white girl to be with her.

Or maybe he is angry with white women in general, for constantly acting as if height corresponds with dick size. Either way, maybe this pisses him off enough that he takes every opportunity he gets to make white girls uncomfortable. Or maybe, like White Dade, these guys just like to play the odds of the fact that there just aren't enough white guys in Miami to go around and so, at some point, an HBC is likely going to have to settle for a Latino.

Because it surely can't be the case that short Hispanic guys actually think tall hot blonde chicks are attracted to them….Can it?


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Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Two Weeks Notice

Even my most ardent of fans have brought it to my attention that I seem to have run out of ideas. And let me tell you, folks, this is not news to me at all. I have even mentioned here several times that my newfound paid writing gig has sucked all the ideas out of my head leaving this poor blog with the dregs of my creativity. And for that, I am sorry.

It is also apparent that this blog is not what it once was. Traffic is down to about a third of what it was five months ago, as apparently not as many people are looking for pictures of Jenn Sterger as they used to be. Comments have waned to almost nothing, as even ANON1 doesn’t bother to make fun of me anymore. The comments section at Whitedade.com has become a constant billboard for online poker and Viagra ads. I am watching my Technorati rating drop faster than Notre Dame's during the first three weeks of football season.


I have more or less abandoned any hints of anonymity, and thus have lost that mysterious element that was once there. Everyone knows who I am, where I live, what I write and what I look like. All sacrifices I had to make for greater success, but still at the expense of some of this site's appeal.

And, as my good friend Larry of “This is What We Do Now” former-fame pointed out in a recent email, personal blogs seem to have lost their luster. As he put it , “several of you have retired, or taken hiatuses, and it seems the overall number of comments on many of the more popular blogs are down, and as we all know, comments tend to have a direct correlation to number of visitors.” And this is true.

Combined with all my good ideas being sold to MiamiBeach411, the other ideas I have I can’t write because of who reads my blog now. I won’t go into any more detail here, but since my Miami-specific stuff goes there and my personal life is for all intents and purposes off-limits, there just ain’t much for these pages anymore.

So it is with a semi-heavy heart I hand you folks my two-week notice. That is to say I still have a few more post ideas in me and I’d hate to go without even saying good bye. Or at least telling you all what I’m up to and other reasons why I’m leaving. Haters, I’m sure this will inspire a slew of ‘yeah, you jumped the shark four months ago” comments, but even bad TV shows are held on until the end of the season. So this June will mark the end of White Dade as you all knew it. But hold on these last couple of weeks. There should be at least one post that is up to my old standards.

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Thursday, June 07, 2007

Quit Hating on MIA

I read a snippet over on Stuck on The Palmetto today where some Brit rips the good folks at Miami International Airport a new one for having sub-par shopping and surly counter help. Now, first of all, I am not a huge fan of MIA, but as far as airports go I have been to much worse. I mean, we have places to eat and padded chairs. Isn’t that enough? And as for the surly counter help, well, what better way to get people accustomed to a city full of bad service than to let them know right off not to expect friendly help form anyone? Actually, I don’t even notice the rude airport employees as after 9 years here I am pretty much desensitized to it. But I guess the courteous Brits see it otherwise.

But it got me thinking: Our standards for what makes a good airport have really gone up. I remember when I was a kid you pretty much had the option of a hot dog or a soft pretzel if you got hungry during a layover. Now if you don’t have a restaurant form a celebrity chef in the terminal you are more or less second rate. And lest we forget the old coin-operated black-and-white TV’s that got four channels on a clear day. Now we have flat screens giving us the CNN airport network nonstop, not to mention countless bars where you can go to watch your favorite game. Or the 9th rerun of SportsCenter that morning. This person from England was upset because there was nowhere at MIA to buy a digital camera. I’m sorry, I was unaware they had a Best Buy at Heathorw. What the fuck do you expect? It’s a fucking AIRPORT. It serves to get passengers on airplanes and as a port of their arrival. And now you bitch because you couldn’t find a place to go electronics shopping without having to go back through security? Give me a break.

What makes a good airport, to me, is the speed at which you get through things. That is to say fast check-in, fast security and fast luggage pick up. MIA is pretty good except on the last one, which is typically a 24-48 hour wait for a bag. Still I, along with most locals, will fly out of Ft. Lauderdale if possible as it is an easier airport al laround. But in my expensive travels, I have to say that MIA is far above a lot of bad ones. LAX, JFK, Newark and Las Vegas are all way worse. Vegas actually has a lot of amenities, including a gym, but I have never had a plane leave there on time in my life. Their terminals also feature slot machines. Coincidence? I think not. Orlando is pretty awful. Atlanta is a clusterfuck. Why so much hating on MIA?

I read the other day that Miami, probably because of its former reputation as a drug-smuggling hub, is the pioneering American airport when it comes to security. I know it has its delays, but so does every airport and I’ve found MIA to be way less confusing than Dallas, Atlanta or O’Hare. And security lines here move way faster than at a lot of major airports I’ve been to, most notably LAX (aka America’s worst airport, again indicative of the city it occupies). So stop hating on MIA. As far as government-run facilities in Dade County, its about as efficient and effective as they come. And that, friends, is a pretty sad statement.

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Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Why I Don't Speak Spanish

People tell me all the time “You really oughta learn Spanish. It would really help you out.” And, yes, if I wanted to concede defeat to Spanish-only speakers and attempt to assimilate into their culture instead of the other way around, I would probably make more of an effort to speak it. As anyone who knows me is well aware, I speak pretty passable Spanish. When I am in a Spanish speaking country, out of respect for their native culture, I will bust it out readily. Also, if I need it to get on a highly rated Spanish-language TV show. Otherwise, I expect people who move to America to learn English. So I will not make life any easier for them by speaking to them in their native tongue.

It is the same approach I take to environmental concerns. Think Globally, Act Locally. So I recycle, conserve energy when I can, return my hangars to the dry cleaners and donate old clothes to charity. Does my behavior change the world? Not individually, but each person must do what they can to not contribute to an overall problem. So while I understand that my not speaking Spanish in America will not force immigrants to learn the language, I also understand it is one thing I can do to help solve a problem that really irritates me.

Those of you who tell me there is nothing you can do to fight the dominance of Latin culture in South Florida are wrong. There are things you can do as an individual. If more Americans, and I’m not just talking about white people but blacks and assimilated Hispanics too, refused to speak Spanish then people would be forced to learn. Am I going all Tom Tancredo and trying to force large-scale governmental change? No. In a city whose two mayors are named Alvarez and Diaz that is certainly a losing battle. (Although I guarantee if no government services were available in any language other than English it would go a long way to forcing people to learn). But I am doing all that one man can do.

It is a small effort it a probably losing battle, but much like telling one who does not like a particular TV show to simply shut it off rather than write their congressman, I am shutting off Spanish. I am exercising my freedom to not speak to anyone in a language other than English. This is not an immigration issue, but a language issue. Legal, illegal or otherwise, being able to communicate with those already here should be a prerequisite for anyone wanting to enter the country. So I am thinking globally and acting locally. Maybe some of you should do the same.

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Monday, June 04, 2007

The Douchebag Checklist

I write a lot about douchebag guys on this site. And no doubt the vast, vast majority of you dudes out there reading this see that description and go “No way. That’s DEFINITELY not me. I’m a cool guy who gets ass without looking like an idiot to everyone else. But boy are those guys White Dade is talking about a bunch of jagoffs!” Hey Bro, look up. Chances are I am talking about you.

As a veteran of nightlife in two of the douchebag capitals of America, Southern California and Miami, I’ve seen a lot. Generally I will be sitting at a bar, or sometimes a restaurant, the gym or a baseball game, and be listening to a guy spit his pathetic “game” and begin to predict what he will start talking about next as I check them off mentally in my mind. It is almost comical how, once the first douchebag move is made, I can accurately predict the rest of his comments for the duration of the evening. Here, friends, is generally what to look for to ascertain whether or not you are, in fact, a douchebag.

  1. Am I wearing a striped shirt? I know this is cliché, but you rarely see douchebags going out in a plain T-Shirt and jeans. Or gym clothes, as I prefer.
  2. Am I trying to impress you with something nearby? As in “Hey, look at me, I am so worthy of sleeping with, I have my very own TABLE at this moderately-overpriced club! A TABLE! I know you can buy one at Target for $5.99, but I have one HERE! Just like the other 87 ‘VIP’s in this club! Wanna come back three with me and then have sex?” It can also include improved seats at a sporting event (and I blame no girl for taking advantage of this, but for the love of God never sleep with a man who gets you 27 rows behind third base), a table at a restaurant or, if you’re really classy, bumped to the front of the karaoke line.
  3. Am I promising to help her career? Oh, you’re a bartender? Well my friend Rick owns (fill in well-known trendy club here), I can get you a job there if you want. You can make like 500-1000 a night. Just call me tomorrow.” This is what guys use in cities that are not LA. In LA it is even more disgusting as apparently, and I was not aware of this tactic, but apparently all the top producers in Hollywood send their slightly balding twentysomething friends to hotel bar-lounges to scope out new talent. And wouldn’t you know it, every girl in there is “perfect for Steven’s new project.” I not sure how every girl who gives one of this guys a blowjob in the men’s room isn’t living in Malibu yet.
  4. Am I dropping names? I used to go with my then-girlfriend to the aforementioned Hollywood hotel lounges and listen to the absolutely ludicrous bullshit spewed by some guys. Until then, I had no idea Jerry Bruckheimer was doing projects with so many people. Nor was I aware that Babyface made records with dorky white guys. My favorite was a guy who told a girl he was working with Brandon Tartikoff trying to develop a show. A good year after he died. But it can be even more pathetic, trying to drop names of Club Promoters, DJ’s, D-List celebrities that are shooting a movie in town, or anyone else you may have shared an elevator with once 9 years ago.
  5. Have I mentioned what kind of car I drive? This, of course, applies only if you drive a car that you think impresses women. If you drive a Saturn, it’s funny. If you drive a Porsche, you are a douchebag.
  6. Have I mentioned my salary? This really should be item #1. Any guy with any confidence knows he never has to mention his income to get laid.
  7. Have I bragged about anything? Included in the first two, if you talk about your awesome apartment, your cool friends or your high-powered job, or anything else you think is impressive, you are a douchebag. Most girls I know find bragging to be a turnoff on par with talking excessively about your mother. Most are not impressed by what you do or what you have, but by how you act. You can be confident without telling people that you are.
  8. Am I feigning modesty? Bragging about something and then apologizing for it is still wanton dougebaggerey. As in “Yeah, I mean I kinda make like $200,000 a year. I don’t know why they pay me so much, it’s a job I’d do for fun. But, hey. Who’s gonna turn down money. Would you like another Belevedere Cosmo?” Never mentioning it at all is modesty.

My point today is this: If you are trying to get laid, get a girls’ number or maybe just trying to pique her interest, TALK AS LITTLE ABOUT YOURSELF AS POSSIBLE. This not only makes you attentive and a good listener (even if you forget every word she says, including her name) but it gives you an aura of mystery. And, most importantly, you do not look like a pathetic douchebag trying to get laid and will not incur the mockery of guys like me and whatever girl I’m with that I’m sure you would sadly try and impress with little success were I not around. Or if I got up to get a drink. So keep your mouth shut, guys. You’ll be surprised trying to be unimpressive will get you.

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