I posted a while back about talking to a guy who got aroused during a spa massage, and ever since this site has been deluged with search terms like “guys getting aroused during massages.” This is clearly a national epidemic, and it also confirms my suspicion that it’s really no big deal--it proves that professional masseuses are used to seeing this and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. They probably feel bad when guys don’t get aroused.  “Was I too forceful?  Was I too timid? Should I not have asked if this was like the ones he used to receive from his mother?”

It also makes me realize that man, a lot of guys are pretty much sluts. A little hand-to-skin friction and they’re ready to raise the roof beam, carpenter?  I don’t want to ride in a crowded elevator with that demographic.

But it worries me that there’s guys who won’t get a massage because of this phobia, so I thought I’d offer up some tips on how not to be aroused during a massage. Mind you, I have no experience with this whatsoever.  I don’t get aroused during massages because I’m too busy thinking things like “My butt is very very close to complete exposure, and it’s big and white like a spinning disco ball and it might accidentally cause planes to land.” This sort of mental digression holds my libido in check just as surely as if I had stumbled upon a skinny dipping Antonin Scalia.

Regardless, a lack of subject matter expertise has never stopped me from offering up unsolicited advice. So here are my tips:

This is a typical exchange at the annual Tahoe trip I usually take with my friends:

- So, Greg, are you up or down?

- Down two dollars.

- Two dollars. Right.  And that was from--?

- Well, I blew a buck at the penny slots…

- And the other dollar?

- ...the Simpsons pinball machine.

The fact is, I don’t like to gamble.  It’s not a pleasurable experience. Part of the fact is that I always lose, which is likely because I believe I’m going to lose. I am not especially religious or superstitious, but I do believe that our attitudes and perceptions create the world in which we live. So if I think I’m going to lose at a card game, I will lose.  If I expect Adam Sandler to create bad movies, then he will.

Watching those slots spin into place is not a feeling of joy. It’s more like a tight, tense feeling of fear, such as when you wake up after a night of drunken excess and realize that the hooker named Laverne ran off with your wallet and car.  You know that feeling as well as I do, and it’s no bed of roses.  Plus, have you realized that slot machines are now computerized? At least when they used to run on rubber bands and pulleys, you could pretend that you had a fighting chance. These days, forget it.  The computers are only programmed to create jackpots for obnoxious, middle-aged New Jersey housewives named Lucille.

My idea of gambling is sitting at the beach:

Gambling that my friend James’s GoodReads.com recommendation Sacred Games is all that he says it is (so far it’s pretty good)--

Gambling that sunblock 15 is enough to shield my poor Irish skin (umbrella helps too)--

Gambling that two mojitos won’t spoil my appetite for dinner (who cares either way)--

I’m no Kenny Rogers but I consider these feats to be highly daredevil in their own individual ways.

Wakes up next to Suzanne Pleashette

Eats in a diner with friends, 10-second blackout

Kills King Claudius before dying of a wound

Disappears under the ocean with the whale

Realizes he’s a ghost, and so is Nearly Headless Nick

Realizes Hermione is actually a woman

Caught texting to underaged staffers

Loses Florida in last-ditch recount

Sometimes I wish I could instantly vanish whenever a musician sits down to write a song and thinks it would be a good idea to rhyme “fire” with “desire.” Then I would appear behind that musician, slap him on the back of the head, and disappear again in a puff of smoke--leaving the artist to realize that maybe a second draft is in order.

There are a few warning signs that indicate when it may be time to get a new car.

For example, when the car gets dirty, people don’t use the collected dust to make smartass recommendations about washing; instead they write “ABANDON ME.”

When you drive by to pick up a date, she says “Hey, you know...next time, maybe we can just meet on bikes.”

And then there’s the sticker you get after a routine tune up.  You know, the one that says “NEXT SERVICE DUE.” Instead of filling in mileage and a date, the mechanic just scribbles in a frowny face.

Sometimes I think about getting rid of it and buying a new one, but I know what will happen when I try to trade it in.

“Thanks for the great price on my new car.  Now, here’s the car I’m currently driving.  What kind of discount will that get me?”

“Discount?  You just raised the price by a grand.  And give us back the damn fruit basket.”

Eventually I’ll have to drive it to a bad part of Oakland and perform a reverse car jacking--putting a gun to the head of a passerby and scream “GET IN! GET IN!” I’ll keep the gun trained on him until he drives off, and then I’ll run away on foot.

They’ll put out an All Points Bulletin: “Suspect is a white male, last seen breaking into an auto dealership while screaming “I’m free!” Victim was found in a state of shock behind the steering wheel of the perpetrator’s green Civic.  He was carried out of the vehicle and loaded into an ambulance, mumbling all the while “Sure the gas mileage is great and it hardly needs maintenance, but it’s so drab...so boring...so...predictable...”

SAN FRANCISCO, Calif.—According to many hybrid car owners, the thrill of owning a hybrid car is beginning to pale and other avenues are being sought in order to resuscitate the feeling of being about 30% better than other people.

Hybrid cars have been sold in the hundreds of thousands, particularly the Toyota Prius, and industry analysts believe that the desire to “feel good” about oneself and the environment is a primary buying decision for many people.  Or, to put it in common parlance, “feeling smug.”

However, as more and more people buy hybrid cars and the novelty wears off, many owners are beginning to sense an uncomfortable dimming of that feeling of round-the-clock superiority.

“Once you get in the habit of looking down on other people, it’s hard to do without,” said Jake Rossmore, a hybrid car owner who lives in Berkeley, California. “It’s intoxicating. And now that I’m feeling less and less self-satisfied about my hybrid car, I’m finding myself in a bit of a life transition.”

Other hybrid owners share Rossmore’s fears.  In fact, several online communities have sprung up in which individuals exchange ideas about what could replace the hybrid as a mark of their collective arrogance.

“Ideas are tossed around such as carefully disposing of cooking oil or advocating for neighborhood speed bumps,” says Edgar Sweeney, one of the forum webmasters.  “But then the dialogue quickly degenerates into arguing and name calling. The fact of the matter is, I suspect that most hybrid owners don’t have much in common other than their cars. If you remove that element they don’t seem to like each other very much.”

One thing that everyone agrees on is that the problem isn’t going away.  According to some industry analysts, smugness levels have decreased by as much as 65% and continue to drop at a precipitous rate. This has led to a feeling of desperation in the community.

“Maybe we could all sell our cars at once, wait a month or two, and then buy them again,” Rossmore suggested. “That might be way to bring back the good old days.  I’m going to go online right now and post that suggestion.”