Eating cake for breakfast, she thought, made as much sense as eating cake for lunch or for dinner. It made no sense what so ever. And yet, more people ordered a lemon glazed pound cake or a cranberry muffin along with their morning coffee than did with their afternoon espresso.
Ann was always a sucker for life’s simple pleasures. No pleasure was more of a guilty one than the double fudge espresso brownie that they sold at Starbucks. And this is where it all became ironic. As she placed her order for the brownie along with a tall vanilla late with skim milk she was scorned by the eyes of two overweight women. They were appearantly shocked by the idea of any woman who dared to order anything chocolaty for breakfast.
The main problem with today’s society, Ann thought, was the lack of education and pluralistic ignorance. People were so quick to make assumptions regardless of concrete facts. Take these two women for example, she thought. One of them was holding on to a frozen syrupy coffee drink headed by piles of faty whipped cream. The other was munching on a blueberry muffin that was coated with so much sugar that her teeth could have fallen out of her mouth on the spot.
If they could only all sit down around a table to compare a case by case calorie count.
Ann thought about it but decided to let it all go. It was always easier for people to judge others than it was for them to judge themselves. And besides, she had more important things on her mind.
But what was the deal with these women, Ann wondered. Why were they always so unkind towards one another? Ever since she was a middle school girl back in West Virginia, they always found a way to make her feel self- conscious. It was not always what they said but typically the way in which they said it. Madison Harris was the worst of all with that striking blond hair and ruthless teenage tounge of hers. So many years have pasted and Ann could still feel the fesh scars that were associated with Madison’s memory.
What was it about these women? She wondered. Why could they not all unit behind a common cause, behind the ideal of global sisterhood? Instead they chose to tear each other at the flesh.
To Ann, women were even worst than were men. Those guys only wanted to have their way with you only to later lose your number. Ann has been there more than once. But still, the worst that a man could do was to break your heart. But these women, they tore other women down slowly and maliciously just like the waters tear down the edges of an ocean side cliff.
Ann walked out of the coffee shop and headed towards her SUV. When she bought this thing three years ago gas was only $2.14 per gallon, now it was all the way up to $3.21.
Where once enthralled by its power and size, Ann was sick and tired of her giant green machine. Well at least the lease would be up in a few months.
She got in the car and started to drive. She was not sure of where she was heading and how long it would take to get there. The music was load and the wind in her hair. She picked out the forbidden brownie from its thin paper envelope and placed it in her mouth.
The chocolate’s vast flavor erupted through the walls of her mouth with all of its chemical glory. The sun was out and her song was playing. It was Thursday morning in Louisiana and for the first time in weeks, she felt comparatively contented.
Book Club Books
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
What Men Think?
A man walks down the street. Later he stops. He sees something sparkling on the gray paved floors of the city. He can not tell whether it is a nickel or a quarter. For the first he would not bother to kneel, for the second, perhaps. He thinks about it for a while and then walks away without bother. Neither one would really make a difference. Neither one would ease his financial shortcomings.
A man walks into a bar. It is only 4:41pm and there are not too many people around. Happy Hour will start at five o’clock sharp. He thinks about it for a while. How will he look just sitting there on the bar for a whole 19 minutes? But then again, what kind of a fool would pay $6 for a beer when they will go on special in a matter of a short time? He walks out of the bar and heads down towards the 9 train station without paying it another thought.
A man meets a woman for their first date. They met online. They both ran into one another in one of those romance forums. They chatted for more than three hours. What did they not talk about? Everything from the presidential elections to the size of her breasts. She claims that they are real but who ever knew these days. At first, he did not want to meet but she reassured him with several pics of herself. She had a great smile.
When she finally walked in he realized that the pictures that she had sent him were as representative as any other lie that a woman can tell. At the late age of thirty one he should have known better than to trust a stranger.
It wasn’t her weight in particular that bothered him. Sure, she was about fifty pounds heavier than she claimed to have been. Somehow she just expected him to ignore that small misrepresentation under the veil of not being shallow. He thought about it for a while.
He bought her a dirty martini and then another and another. Sure he was short hundred bucks but with every drink that he took in, he became more forgiving of her gross physical falsification. He thought about it for a while.
She gave him head on a wooden bench late night in Washington Square Park. Her lips grasped him like the rim of an uncorked bath. He shot it straight in her mouth. While she placed the purple lipstick across her swelled lips she wondered if he would be interested in spending the night.
He had to wake up early for work but promised to call her sometime.
Will you really call? She guardedly inquired.
He thought about it for a while and walked away in silence.
Single Man Thoughts
A man walks into a bar. It is only 4:41pm and there are not too many people around. Happy Hour will start at five o’clock sharp. He thinks about it for a while. How will he look just sitting there on the bar for a whole 19 minutes? But then again, what kind of a fool would pay $6 for a beer when they will go on special in a matter of a short time? He walks out of the bar and heads down towards the 9 train station without paying it another thought.
A man meets a woman for their first date. They met online. They both ran into one another in one of those romance forums. They chatted for more than three hours. What did they not talk about? Everything from the presidential elections to the size of her breasts. She claims that they are real but who ever knew these days. At first, he did not want to meet but she reassured him with several pics of herself. She had a great smile.
When she finally walked in he realized that the pictures that she had sent him were as representative as any other lie that a woman can tell. At the late age of thirty one he should have known better than to trust a stranger.
It wasn’t her weight in particular that bothered him. Sure, she was about fifty pounds heavier than she claimed to have been. Somehow she just expected him to ignore that small misrepresentation under the veil of not being shallow. He thought about it for a while.
He bought her a dirty martini and then another and another. Sure he was short hundred bucks but with every drink that he took in, he became more forgiving of her gross physical falsification. He thought about it for a while.
She gave him head on a wooden bench late night in Washington Square Park. Her lips grasped him like the rim of an uncorked bath. He shot it straight in her mouth. While she placed the purple lipstick across her swelled lips she wondered if he would be interested in spending the night.
He had to wake up early for work but promised to call her sometime.
Will you really call? She guardedly inquired.
He thought about it for a while and walked away in silence.
Single Man Thoughts
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Guy Jacobs Hard Boiled Men Media Kit
Media Fact Sheet
Hard-Boiled Men
By: Guy Jacobs
IUniverse (2006)
Major Themes:
• Single life in NYC
• Interfaith Dating
• Sexuality
• Breakups/Divorce
• Academic Life
Awards:
• 2007 New York Book Festival Award
• 2007 Hollywood Book Festival Award
• 2006 DIY Book Festival Award
Guy Jacobs and Gilda Carle on CNBC:
Synopsis:
Follow under-sexed, over-analytical university professor Dr. Benjamin Wise, fresh off a horrific break-up, on a journey to reawaken his libido. Set against the backdrop of Asian massage parlors, University hallways and West Village anarchy, Hard-Boiled Men provides an honest and hilarious account of single life in New York City. The book exposes men’s secret thoughts on the nature of love, marriage, and sexuality.
Although Hard-Boiled Men is as likely to infuriate as entertain, Guy Jacobs’ account of promiscuity and debauchery on the road to love speaks to our eternal quest for intimacy, home and finding out just who we are.
Reviews:
“There's nothing soft about the new novel "Hard-Boiled Men". Guy Jacobs is a fresh, real and talented new author who has written a solid, humorous tale of a fictional university professor on a journey of single-life in a Big City.”
-PageOne Reviews
"Powerful, inspiring and heartfelt. Hard-Boiled Men is The Catcher in the Rye all grown up; there’s a little bit of Ben Wise in every one of us."
-Dr. Paul S. Lieber, Emerson College
“I would highly recommend this novel to anyone who ever dealt with a divorce or a breakup form a person they loved. In his own unique way, Jacobs successfully takes his readers into a funny and sometimes surprising tour of that enigmatic mind of the single man. Hard-Boiled Men reminded me of a modern day Portnoy’s Complaint or a sober Jewish version of Charles Bukowski.”
-The Compulsive Reader
Guy Jacob's character Ben Wise is completely intoxicating, seductive, confused, true to life, addictive, and a character to be identified with. Jacobs is truly a talented writer effortlessly able to keep you riveted and enthralled from cover to cover. This novel is a breath of fresh air to the usual single/dating life account cleverly laced with a healthy dose of humor. Nothing about this novel is ordinary from the characters to the racy love scenes. You will put it down feeling completely entertained and satisfied.
-Sherri A. Marchese
Author Bio:
Guy Jacobs is a professor in a midsized state university. He has published dozens of academic journal articles and has been featured on national television as an expert in the media field.
Jacobs is an alumnus of New York University where he conducted his graduate studies and is well known for his true to life depiction of Manhattan’s fast pace nature. While Hard-Boiled Men has been argued by some to be somewhat explicit, the novel has won praise for its literary contribution to the new journalism movement.
Jacobs' writing style has been widely influenced by the writings of such authors as Charles Bukowski, Henry Miller, Philip Roth and Jerzy Kosinski.
Media Appearances:
StyleWiz on CNN February 2007
StyleWiz on CNBC February 2007
Website:
www.hardboiledmen.com
Contact for Media Inquiries:
Sivan Media Group
PO Box 800018
Aventura, FL 33280
hardboiledmen@yahoo.com
Monday, February 4, 2008
Crossing Nation by Ginsberg
Crossing Nation
Under silver wing
San Francisco's towers sprouting
thru thin gas clouds,
Tamalpais black-breasted above Pacific azure
Berkeley hills pine-covered below--
Dr Leary in his brown house scribing Independence
Declaration
typewriter at window
silver panorama in natural eyeball--
Sacramento valley rivercourse's Chinese
dragonflames licking green flats north-hazed
State Capitol metallic rubble, dry checkered fields
to Sierras- past Reno, Pyramid Lake's
blue Altar, pure water in Nevada sands'
brown wasteland scratched by tires
Jerry Rubin arrested! Beaten, jailed,
coccyx broken--
Leary out of action--"a public menace...
persons of tender years...immature
judgement...pyschiatric examination..."
i.e. Shut up or Else Loonybin or Slam
Leroi on bum gun rap, $7,000
lawyer fees, years' negotiations--
SPOCK GUILTY headlined temporary, Joan Baez'
paramour husband Dave Harris to Gaol
Dylan silent on politics, & safe--
having a baby, a man--
Cleaver shot at, jail'd, maddened, parole revoked,
Vietnam War flesh-heap grows higher,
blood splashing down the mountains of bodies
on to Cholon's sidewalks--
Blond boys in airplane seats fed technicolor
Murderers advance w/ Death-chords
Earplugs in, steak on plastic
served--Eyes up to the Image--
What do I have to lose if America falls?
my body? my neck? my personality?
Allen Ginsberg
Under silver wing
San Francisco's towers sprouting
thru thin gas clouds,
Tamalpais black-breasted above Pacific azure
Berkeley hills pine-covered below--
Dr Leary in his brown house scribing Independence
Declaration
typewriter at window
silver panorama in natural eyeball--
Sacramento valley rivercourse's Chinese
dragonflames licking green flats north-hazed
State Capitol metallic rubble, dry checkered fields
to Sierras- past Reno, Pyramid Lake's
blue Altar, pure water in Nevada sands'
brown wasteland scratched by tires
Jerry Rubin arrested! Beaten, jailed,
coccyx broken--
Leary out of action--"a public menace...
persons of tender years...immature
judgement...pyschiatric examination..."
i.e. Shut up or Else Loonybin or Slam
Leroi on bum gun rap, $7,000
lawyer fees, years' negotiations--
SPOCK GUILTY headlined temporary, Joan Baez'
paramour husband Dave Harris to Gaol
Dylan silent on politics, & safe--
having a baby, a man--
Cleaver shot at, jail'd, maddened, parole revoked,
Vietnam War flesh-heap grows higher,
blood splashing down the mountains of bodies
on to Cholon's sidewalks--
Blond boys in airplane seats fed technicolor
Murderers advance w/ Death-chords
Earplugs in, steak on plastic
served--Eyes up to the Image--
What do I have to lose if America falls?
my body? my neck? my personality?
Allen Ginsberg
Saturday, February 2, 2008
The Problem With Brazilian Girls
The problem with Brazilian girls, he said, is that they smile at everyone with that special smile that many men want to reserve for themselves. He went out for a pack of smokes and later came back. He quit smoking cigarettes more than six months ago but on occasion, he broke his own promise. Nothing made him feel more manly than a pack of Reds in his pocket. You know, in Europe, he said, women will think less of you if you are one of those non-smoking guys. The American equivalency, he argued, would be a guy who doesn’t drink whiskey or only drinks light beers because of the carbs.
I waited for him to return and in the meantime brewed another round of coffee. We were all addicted to different things. His teeth were yellow from the cigarettes, mine from too much caffeine. Everyone one had their own thing going.
When he came back, he did not say to much. At least, that was the case for the first few minutes. He tapped the bottom of the pack on his left palm. Smokers had strange tendencies. As if the cigarettes were asleep and needed a good kick in the ass before they could be smoked. He asked me for a light and as usual I could not find one. So many people came and went from my apartment and by some strange miracle this traffic resulted in a constant fluctuation in the numbers of available lighters.
Some guy whom I did not know left a silver lighter on my bathroom sink a few weeks ago. I had it in my pocket for a couple of days but it later disappeared after everyone came over for the semi finals. I should have never had bought that large screen TV.
I found some old matches in the kitchen drawer. They had a name of some Boston restaurant on their cover. He lit up his cigarette and later another. We were all addicted to our own devices.
Do you remember that girl I told you about, the one from the coffee shop? He inquired. Before I could answer he hit me up for a coffee with two sugars. I never put any of those sweeteners in my coffee, some regular milk did just fine with me.
It appeared that the girl from the coffee shop was now single again. She broke up with that guitar player after all of these months. Sam took a small note from his back pocket and proudly displayed his telephone number scribbled in red.
Coffee, cigarettes, sugar and dating, we are all addicted to different things.
Book Club Books
I waited for him to return and in the meantime brewed another round of coffee. We were all addicted to different things. His teeth were yellow from the cigarettes, mine from too much caffeine. Everyone one had their own thing going.
When he came back, he did not say to much. At least, that was the case for the first few minutes. He tapped the bottom of the pack on his left palm. Smokers had strange tendencies. As if the cigarettes were asleep and needed a good kick in the ass before they could be smoked. He asked me for a light and as usual I could not find one. So many people came and went from my apartment and by some strange miracle this traffic resulted in a constant fluctuation in the numbers of available lighters.
Some guy whom I did not know left a silver lighter on my bathroom sink a few weeks ago. I had it in my pocket for a couple of days but it later disappeared after everyone came over for the semi finals. I should have never had bought that large screen TV.
I found some old matches in the kitchen drawer. They had a name of some Boston restaurant on their cover. He lit up his cigarette and later another. We were all addicted to our own devices.
Do you remember that girl I told you about, the one from the coffee shop? He inquired. Before I could answer he hit me up for a coffee with two sugars. I never put any of those sweeteners in my coffee, some regular milk did just fine with me.
It appeared that the girl from the coffee shop was now single again. She broke up with that guitar player after all of these months. Sam took a small note from his back pocket and proudly displayed his telephone number scribbled in red.
Coffee, cigarettes, sugar and dating, we are all addicted to different things.
Book Club Books
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