Anoyone Other Than Me

My current job is somewhat common, and not in the least bit exciting. I'm more than happy to tell people the company I work for, but I have a self-imposed gag order on giving anyone my actual title or going into any sort of detail about what it is I do, coworkers included. I've run through all of the different kinds of people that exist in the world (at least those found on the "Guess Who?" board), and there is not a single one that could possibly come away from an explanation of my job's duties a richer person.

While not at a particular loss for not being able to share my occupation with the world, I do sort of mourn the fact that I never grew up into one of the standard occupations rendered so lovingly in cartoons on the pages of my Spanish workbook, like a butcher or a fisherman or uncle. There's something to be said for having a job of the ages, so that if you were to suddenly find yourself in another era past or future, Connecticut Yankee/Bill-Ted style, you wouldn't have to hastily make up some lie or risk some sort of grandfather paradox because you accidentally taught a civilization what a "database" was before its time. I kind of enjoy not having to explain my job to anyone for their own sanity, and though I have secretly always craved a unique job, I wouldn't relish having to give every new person I met a rundown of my life, like when you meet someone who's seven feet tall or from Alaska. I would make exceptions:

Furrier: I kind of like the idea of dealing in pelts, like a pilgrim or an owl. Plus, there's something very solid about coming home after work smelling like a bear or a wolf. It beats smelling like a spreadsheet. Downside: Omnipresent PETA members.

Mad scientist: This one's not that difficult to achieve, due to ever-expanding fields of science, and the rather general nature of the job title. All you have to do is become a scientist, then go batshit insane (I suppose it could work the other way around, as well, if one was up for the challenge). There are certain areas of science that would lend themselves more poetically to mental imbalance than others--a mad agricultural soil scientist doesn't have the same ring to it as say, a mad volanologist or a mad geneticist-- but on the whole, I think it's a pretty storied tradition. Downsides: Constant pressure to keep up with advances in the field and new technology, resulting in a stream of younger, hotshot mad scientists angling for your job.

Chess Grandmaster: There are two ways your day can end: One, you won. Two, you lost. There's a certain tranquility in the simplicity of it. Also, everyone would address you as "Grandmaster", mostly because you'd fucking insist upon it. Downsides: Birthday/Christmas gifts from coworkers and Secret Santas would always be novelty chess sets along the "Simpsons" or "Star Wars" line.

Funeral Director: Everyone you'd meet would be having a worse day than you. Assuming some sort of normal distribution, no matter how crappy your day is, within the scope of your universe, it's the best. Downsides: Constant realization of your own mortality; also, messy.

Q, From the James Bond series. The crux of his job is figuring out how to fit explosives into increasingly smaller objects, then basking in 007's appreciation; it's basically a Dremel tool, some C4, and a legion of devoted lab assistants rolling in hazard pay. There aren't a lot of opportunities for a science geek to save the world, but this is definitely the one that gets you most laid. Downsides: M seems kind of a bitch to work for.

Longshoreman: I don't really know exactly what a longshoreman does, but they seem to lead a pretty hedonistic lifestyle. You never hear about anyone frowning upon a longshoreman for swearing too much, getting too drunk, sleeping around. They get away with murder. Probably literally. Downsides: I don't know, but there's got to be some, otherwise I feel like I'd have met more longshoremen.

Jack-of-all-Trades: I dunno. Just seems handy. Would look good on a business card. Downsides: Union dues would really add up.

Cutting Corners

My friend Alberto recently purchased his first house. He has been talking about getting a house of his own since we were 19 years old, so this was a big moment for him. I was very happy that my friend had worked so hard and had achieved one of his dreams.

We all have dreams, but it’s interesting to note that very few of them actually come true. I will tell you that his eyes beamed with pride as he showed me around. It is nice to be around someone who has accomplished a dream. It is a good vibe that puts you in a good mood.

"Johnny, these last several years have been tough. I’ve put every extra penny into the bank and cut corners everywhere I could."

It was funny that he said this because he was the friend who would drink the grocery brand soda or maybe order water when we went out to dinner. I hadn’t paid much attention to it until he actually pointed it out.

"I actually hate the generic cola. It tastes moths and radish. I can’t wait to start buying actual brands. I’m tired of Terry the Lynx cereal."

I was proud of my friend. Maybe his bad moods could be attributed to drinking something that tasted like a flying nuisance and a root. My mom told me that everything that is worthwhile is hard. Alberto has had a hard road and he got to where he needed to be. I left him with the rest of the guests and went to visit the office (bathroom).

I won’t get into the details of my trip to the restroom, but when I went to reach for the toilet paper my heart stopped. What in the name of the Baby Jesus is this? One ply? Seriously? He is cutting corners here? One ply? Why? Why would you cut corners here?

Generic toothpaste. Fine. Generic cereal. Fine. Hell, even generic Q-tips is fine. But here? Toilet paper? One ply?

This particular "brand" was so cheap that it didn’t even have the perforations to make a nice, straight tear. Look, I like to have a nice, straight tear. Now, the tear is all over the place. Look at this... I just made a 45 degree tear. What’s the use of that? Now I’ll have to use more.

Is this made of thin cardboard? Are those pieces of sand? This is not going to be good.

It wasn’t good. It was hell. I understand cutting corners, but this? No. No person should save money like this. When I go to a restaurant, hotel or office and I see this type of toilet paper being used, I cry. I cry holy tears. I cry because I realize that whoever bought the paper didn’t respect me, the customer. Why would I want to go somewhere that didn’t respect me?

Now I understood why Alberto was always in a bad mood. In his attempt to cut corners, he crossed the line. Toilet paper is something that touches a delicate part of your, well, of your soul. Well, maybe not your soul, but if your behind is unhappy, then your soul is unhappy. So, it could be said that your behind is the gateway to making your soul happy.

Ask any proctologist. If your ass is unhappy, you are unhappy and then your soul is unhappy.

I believe that the makers of cheap toilet paper own stock in Preparation H. It's a conspiracy.

I walked out of the restroom and punched Alberto in the face.

Cheap bastard.

Condom Dilema

My question is a simple one: if we can put a man on the moon, why can’t we produce condoms that smell nice?

Make no mistake: I am not anti-condom. I have a long and storied (some would even say, fairytale-like) history with condoms, replete with fond memories, the oldest being the day I tried on my first condom.

You see, ladies, I’m going to let you in on a little secret - one of the most important days of a young man’s life is when he tries on his first condom. And to be clear, I don’t mean this in a sexual-intercourse-is-pending way. No man - or at least, no man worth his salt - has ever put on a condom for the first time while his naked or pantsless girlfriend is waiting to deflower him. Even at a young age, a guy knows that it’s important to do a test run so that when the opportunity for sex arrives, there won’t be enough time for the girl to get nervous and change her mind/for the booze to wear off and the girl to wake up while he is fumbling helplessly with the condom.

I was especially concerned about condoms because even at a young age I was aware that I had a tiny penis. I spent almost all of junior high sleeping only three hours a night, as I lay awake wondering if my unfortunate, diminutive bird would ever fit into a condom, which from porn I saw could stretch very far and wide and wow. Of course in porn, this stretching was necessary as the studs in those films had penises larger than my forearms - if anything, the condoms the porn actors wore looked like they were straining and uncomfortable, as if you could hear them saying "Can’t…hold on…much longer…" In my case, I worried that my baby bird would never be able to keep the condom on; I imagined a condom would fit my penis like a pen cap on a toothpick.

But all fears were allayed one day in eighth grade when my buddy Ronnie went to K-Mart and stole a box of Trojans. Ronnie, good friend that he was, then distributed the condoms between his friends, many of whom would not have sex for many years (myself included) or ever (myself kinda included - depends on what you mean by "sex" and also "have"). After Ronnie handed me two condoms around the schoolyard where we all hung out, I raced back to my house with a speed that can only be summoned by a sexually-charged 12 year old, locked myself in the bathroom, ripped open the condom, rolled it on (the sheer magnitude and excitement of the moment had given me an erection) and…IT FIT.

I slept for the next three days straight.

(After masturbating furiously, of course.)

So in order to show my gratitude to condoms for just fitting me, I wear condoms quite often during sexual intercourse. (I’d say probably 58% of the time, which in my circle of friends, is very impressive and the highest by far.)

And I don’t mind wearing a condom. I’m trying to figure out how the old axiom "beggars can’t be choosers" can be applied here, but suffice it to say that I’m just happy to be getting laid and would put a cheese grater on my dick to achieve orgasm in the presence of a (breathing, aware, semi-consensual) woman.

But that still doesn’t answer my question: do they have to smell so bad and be so gross?

According to guys, there are three main knocks on condoms:

1) They take away feeling. Hogwash. As addressed above, just be happy you’re getting laid. Otherwise, got back to jerking off in your laundry basket.

(Not that that’s not awesome in its own way.)

2) They take lovers out of the moment. This is undeniably true. It’s so much better (and more fun) to make love on the couch without interruption than to start kissing on the couch, take off some clothes, get up from the couch to search around for a condom, put the condom on the rapidly flacciding penis, get a couple of thrusts in, apologize for being limp, then have a milkshake.

But the alternatives are not much better. Do you know what else disrupts "the moment"? Babies. And: herpes. So you’re better off strategically placing condoms in secret places all over your apartment so that you can take advantage of spur of the moment kitchen sex than having to call your ex-girlfriend to ask her if she’s ever heard of "chlamydia."

3) They’re just nasty. True, true. True.

So what can we do here? I admit, maybe I’m a little naive. My experience with different brands and kinds of condoms has been very limited. Forever, I have used your standard blue Trojans with spermicidal lubricant. In high school, I had a sex ed teacher who stressed that it mattered not what brand of condoms we used, but that it had to have the spermicide Nonoxynol 9. I distinctly remember, in a scene much like the one in "Rushmore" in which Herman Blume is giving an address and Max Fischer is copiously taking notes, underlining the words "Nonoxynol 9" over and over again after my teacher offered this advice, making a point to remember to use that sperm-killer when I started having sex.

These condoms were fine for a long while, but I eventually wanted to switch it up a little. So I consulted a friend and veritable condom guru, who we will call "Colin." Colin was dating a girl for FIVE YEARS and she never went on the pill (if that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love you, well, I don’t know what does). So poor, poor Colin had plenty of time to experiment over the years with different condoms, and claimed the best was Durex Extra Sensitive. I used these for a while, but grew awkward when once at a pharmacy I had to instruct the Asian teenage girl behind the counter, "No - the extra sensitive" three times before she finally grabbed the right box. After that, I had trouble using (and asking for) "extra sensitive" condoms - like I was some kind of pimp or something - so I went back to the old blue Trojans.

[To clarify: I don’t mind wearing a condom with a girl I picked up at the karaoke bar after I brought down the house with my fiery rendition of "It’s Not Unusual", but if you’re dating someone for over a few months and having regular sex, well, Uncle John says she’s got to go on the pill. Them’s just the way it is.]

[Actually, I don’t know why all women aren’t on the pill anyway, since it’s the greatest invention since fire and possibly Country Crock, but I’ll fight this battle another day.]

Rounding out my experience, maybe I experimented with a former lady with some ribbed and "her pleasure" condoms, but neither did anything but embarrass me when a roommate or guy in my dorm needed to borrow one and would ask "Her pleasure? What the fuck?" But that’s about it. I have been fairly non-promiscuous when it comes to different condoms.

But all of the condoms I’ve ever used - and have ever heard of anyone using - have been gross. Condoms feel gross. They are covered in goo. They are slimey. And they smell. Why must this be the case?

Aside from the texture and goo of the condoms, we should at least be able to do something about the smell. You’re telling me that there is no way that science can’t mask the smell of latex and lubricant so instead of grossness it smells like an apple orchard? Isn’t there a lab in New Jersey that’s responsible for creating every smell and taste in the world? Can’t the people at Trojan, Durex, et al hook up with these people and make something happen? I’ve noticed that I’ve been consuming an obscene amount of cinnamon in my diet recently; might I recommend cinnamon-scented condoms? Tell me, are cinnamon-scented condoms really an impossible dream?

[Author’s Note: I know about flavored condoms, like banana and mint and strawberry, but I have two issues with these. The first is that who cares what condoms tastes like? (Oh, right - hookers.) Secondly, these condoms are often distributed by no-name companies, like "Uncle Charlie’s Flavored Condoms" and "Chop Chop and the Homos’ Mint Julip Condoms." Much like airlines and liquor, when it comes to condoms, names matter (you wouldn’t fly Bangladeshi Air while drinking Popov vodka, would you?)]

I wish that I could end this post by giving a solution to this problem or at least coming to some sort of conclusion. But frankly, my friends, I’m feeling a little exasperated and defeated (and, not gonna lie, a little aroused). And I don’t know why I care so much about this, because it’s not like I’m having sex anyway; the idea for the post came to me last night when I was feeling nostalgic and decided to put on some condoms and secretly dispose of them, like I used to do in the good old days after having sex with my girlfriend on break from college in her sister's bedroom and in her basement (my favorite is the ol’ "put the used condom in the middle of the hardcover book under the bed and dispose of it when mom has gone shopping and brother and sister are out" tactic).

But I thought this was an important issue that deserved some attention. Hopefully one day, hopefully soon, when I start having sex again, I will be able to suit up with a delicious pumpkin pie smelling condom, so that I can give my lady friend the most adequate fifty-eight seconds of her life. A boy can dream, at least.

(Until then, it’s jerking off in the laundry basket for me.)