People Talk and People Stare, Tell Them I Don't Really Care

Last week I lamented over a lot of moving the Beaumont family has done recently.  We finished our basement and are now rearranging rooms.  When one does that one stirs up the dust of one's memories so to speak.  Even though the move is about the future the moving ended up reminding us of our past.

One of the artifacts I came across was a tape Shannon made in 1989.  Listening to it and learning about what she was doing in and around the making of that tape reminded me of what I was doing about that time.

I wrote a post about my 1989 memory here just last week.

Another artifact I came across was an album of pictures of Shannon from early college years which created quite a conundrum for me, a veritable crisis of conscience.  You see the album has several pictures of a late-teen Shannon in rather skimpy bathing attire.  Damn, she looked good!  I am sure glad I got to have sex with 24 year old Shannon but oh how nice it would have been to have 4 years of college sex with Shannon!  But then I was immediately disgusted with myself.  How could I, my eldest daughter is only a few years younger than this image; I'm a dirty old man!  The shame.  But then my alternative ego said to me, hey Super Ego, this is your wife it's not creepy to mentally undress her.  Oh the paradox and the stupid *hit that plagues my mind!  :)

But anyway, let's go to Shannon's 1989 memory and hear from her, or at least how I imagine she would articulate her memory.

Shannon speaking.....


OH my goodness have the last few months been a struggle.  After 10 years living on top of each other in this house Ryan finally got up off his ass and got the basement finished.  With our new salaries we had talked about moving or building.  We looked at some sites in the fall but Ryan moved at a glacial pace and then only to find that while we could get a bridge loan we would have to come up with about $50,000 cash to close on a new house.  Tragic because we found the perfect house on "short sale" that would have been everything we wanted.  As is so often the case the candy was dangled just in front of me and then pulled away just as I grasped.  Once again I was told, can't do it; not enough money.  I guess in my age I've started to look a little closer at reality though.  Even after the massive loan we would have the risk of renting our current house.  Ryan is way to conservative to do anything like that.  Frankly, I didn't want to give up vacations so we decided to upgrade our current house. Ryan spoke with a contractor he knows and got a really good price to convert that junk yard that was our basement to a recreation room, another bathroom, and a bedroom for our eldest.  Ryan secured a loan from another guy he knows at the bank.  I guess I have to hand it to him, he does know people in this poor little provincial town.

We started over the winter and two months later it was finished.  We immediately started enjoying the family space.  It is so cute, a little kitchenette, a ping-pong table, a wide screen TV on the wall and best of all the girls have a place to go with friends and I can get peace and quiet upstairs.  And Ryan can watch his Nationals games without interruption.

One afternoon Ryan came home and pulled me outside quickly and said he wanted to show me something up the street.  I was sure he was talking about some big trash pile in one of our trashy neighbor's yard.  He turned on the engine, music was blaring.  I immediately reached to turn off the radio but Ryan stopped me.  Just then I recognized a voice from my past that was only vaguely familiar.  It was me, at least I thought it was me; I had to confirm.  My voice was different, where did that southern accent come from.  Now I remember how hard I worked to get rid of it.

Then I had to laugh as I remembered the night that tape was recorded.

The ACC Tavern circa, 1989

And You Love the Game, Shannon circa 1989

RIP Cindi Mancini

It's funny how quickly and vividly I remembered that night at the ACC Tavern.  It was a typical Thursday night happy hour.  I was with my friends but we had scattered as various guys had drawn our attention and gotten our drinks.  This was our typical Thursday night place.  Rather than a band, on this particular night there was a DJ from a local station that was broadcasting a show.  At least that was what I would learn as I paid no attention at first.  I don't know why that DJ picked me out of the crowd other than the fact that he must of thought I was young and naive.  He walked up to me on a break and started a conversation and I sort of listened.  He tried to complement me by saying I looked like Amanda Peterson, the girl from "Can't Buy Me Love."  Geez, guys will say anything to get your attention.  That movie had been big a year earlier so I guess he thought that was a good compliment.  I didn't see it but I did have long wavy blond hair back then.  But I know it was just a line he used to initiate a conversation.

At first I thought he was trying to pick me up.  It was a little creepy because he was a little older.  It wasn't that older guys ever bothered me, I dated a college guy when I was a sophomore in high school.  Maybe it wasn't creepy because of his age (I'm sure he was just mid-20's).  Perhaps it was more related to the fact that I was just not in the least bit attracted to him.  I am remembering him now as looking like a younger Stanley Tucci.

I have to give him this, he was persistent.  He asked me about my major, who was my favorite band, where I was from, yada, yada.  I wasn't really giving him much of an opening but he was trying to appear mature and interested in my mind as his ploy.  He finally asked if I would come on stage and be the guest DJ.  That was the show I guess every Thursday night on that local station.  

For the next hour I was the guest DJ for the station spinning Peter Gabriel, the Cult, Echo and the Bunnymen, Simple Minds, Blue Murder, and even Alice Cooper of all things.  It was fun and listening back now I have to say I sounded pretty good over the radio.  I think I could have been a DJ or better yet a VJ on MTV (when they still played music).

I guess it was naive of me to assume that Mr. DJ had just asked me on stage because he thought I would be talented.  As the show stopped he offered to buy me a drink.  Out of courtesy I said yes.  For the next hour he proceeded to tell me all of the inner-workings of the DJ business of which I was not at all interested.  But for some reason politeness and I guess the abandonment of my friends held me captive on this island of an older, starting to go bald man.  

Those conversations always end up with "so can I get your number?"  With guys, I learned at a young age there always is a proposition.   I hesitated and then he made an interesting offer.  No he didn't ask me to go back to his apartment but he did say he had Aerosmith tickets and "did I want to go." I was still hesitant but something about going to the concert (in supposedly VIP seats) with a man that might buy me dinner first held sway over me and I said yes.  Oh yeah, I reluctantly gave him my number as well.

Now I'd know he was just some dirty old man who got some freebie, throw-away tickets from a band's manager for doing some minor promotional work ahead of a local show by playing them at the top of every hour or right after a beer commercial.  But that was long before age (and Ryan) made me pessimistic about guys.

Mr. DJ waited a polite two days to call.  Again, he feigned enlightened maturity and asked me questions about what projects I was working on, how my semester was going.  When I mentioned art he asked if I liked Cubist or Classical, he probably read that question on the back of a fortune cookie.  He finally got around to asking me if I wanted to go for a drive that Sunday afternoon.  I had nothing better to do so I agreed, he said he had a rebuilt '69 convertible Mustang after all.

The drive was fun.  He talked a lot about what I don't know.  Why can't guys learn to be quiet, I just wanted a little peace.  After all, my head was still a little groggy from the DeKE party the night before.  I did enjoy the air on that spring afternoon and he did have good music on cassette.  If he would only have stayed quiet and let me listen to the Sisters of Mercy without interruption he would have improved him image immensely with me.

We stopped for coffee along the way and we got back to my Dorm just before dark.  Thankfully he didn't try to kiss me.  The concert was the following Friday, we made plans to go out to a restaurant before.

I wish he was Patrick

I suppose if I was smart I would not have showered for three days ahead of the date with the DJ.  I wouldn't have looked any worse than the majority of the crowd and perhaps it would have incentivized him to leave me alone.  But the 19 year old me wanted to look good in public at all times so I wore a tight little dress and made myself up to look my best.

Mr. DJ drove up in his Mustang, I was already in the lobby.  I think I remember seeing him mouth "dang" as he walked up.  Class, isn't it!  Well at least I knew what he wanted, now I just needed to be ready for a defensive posture when needed.

Dinner was OK.  The I know this great place downtown turned into Chili's but it was better than the Dining Hall food I suppose.  The show was fun and we did have good seats just off to the right of the stage.  I guess I had hoped he would magically produce back stage passes but no such luck.

It was a nightmare getting out of the parking lot, well after midnight so when he suggested we go for a drink, I declined.  He kept on asking if I had fun and I repeatedly told him yes.  The continued fake worry or worse yet lack of confidence was definitely off-putting.

We finally got back to campus.  He pulled up (strategically I'm sure) to a secluded spot adjacent to my Dorm.  He swung toward me, moving his arm around me, smiling, and saying "so ya had a good time (once again), Steve Tyler still has it doesn't he."  I think I mumbled "yes."  He then moved forward and forced a kiss to my mouth.  I started to pull back but his hand was behind my neck.  He didn't really force himself on me and I guess he was trying to be nice and polite.  I wouldn't say I kissed him back as much as I simply allowed him to kiss me.  In my mind I said, I'll let him kiss me for the length of "Major Tom."  It was playing on the radio and I liked that song so that is what I concentrated on.  I guess that is sometimes how we rationalize the things we do for guys.  The song ended and I muttered some excuse to get out of the car.  He did the gentlemanly thing and walked me to the door.  It cost me one more kiss and then I was inside.

In hindsight it wasn't so bad.  He did try to be a nice guy even if it did come off as a bit smarmy.  I guess looking back now it is a bit smarmy for a guy in his late 20's to be hitting on a college freshman.  But then again I'm jaded and curmudgeonly now.  I wouldn't tell Ryan that but I am.

He called several times after that night but I just didn't return the calls.  Sometimes it's best just to move on.  Anyway, one of the basketball players started talking to me that next Thursday night at the Tavern.  He wasn't that cute either but he started for the **** and played for Coach *, so guess he had at least as much cache as a DJ with free Aerosmith tickets.

Oh well, time to clean the new fish tank downstairs.  All this new space and nobody but me is going to get up off their ass and clean it!

At least Ryan and the girls enjoy playing ping pong.

The End.....

Back to Ryan:

I'm still working through the cathartic analysis over the acceptability of mentally undressing as a 40-something man the 20 year old image of one's wife.

Sorry, that is just the type of paradoxical conundrum that spins around in Ryan's poor mind.

I just added this picture because it's funny!  :)

Every Day We Have to Look in the Mirror

Sing the Underwear Song!

In my life I've always been about success through association.  So when I read about Tommy John underwear and their pursuit of the solution to the eternal question "why men feel strange about purchasing underwear," I was intrigued!  I thought to myself, the world needs Ryan Beaumont's comforting support in solving this shaky problem because lord knows I have the balls and the awkward approach to approach such an awkward dilemma!

In thinking about my response I immediately started digressing and thinking about some association that makes purchasing underwear fun and not at all strange.  I say this because I have absolutely no hangups with purchasing underwear.  In fact I quit enjoy it and it has provided me with some rather fun and enjoyable experiences.

Men's natural tendency is to think about underwear from a utilitarian perspective.  Does this undershirt stay tucked in?  Do I have to pull my dick out of the hole all the time?  All important stuff you know.  But can we as men aspire to a higher level of underwear self actualization!  In thinking about this I found that men only buy underwear for 17 years of their life, so perhaps it's not about having a hangup as much as simple laziness or being unimaginative about buying underwear.  I say between mom and your wife, use that period of your independent underwear buying life to establish notoriety and use it as a jumping off point to establish a sexy bond with your significant other.  Simply put let's talk about stepping up your game guys!

Let's explore an association and find out why men should relish the opportunity to seek and procure undergarments and in fact use it to their advantage!  Recently I wrote an article about Dads.  In it I talked about how much women love to adorn things.  You know what I'm talking about throw blankets and pillows on couches, matching towels and soap dishes.  Even if you only use that downstairs bathroom twice a month, your wife has to have just the right vanity and towel bar.

I say men are the ultimate accessory for women.  How we look says a lot about who they are and more importantly their sense of style and taste.  So let them give you advice on just the right skinny pants and shoes to wear and the perfect tie for that Brooks Brothers shirt and suit.  But don't end there, remember that soap dish in the downstairs bathroom; it matters to her.  And just like that soap dish what's going on downstairs, or rather underneath all that fashion, matters to her as well.  Get her involved, make it fun.  For Christ sake, let her shop with you for underwear.  It will lead to something, trust me!

Over the past few years Sandee and I often meet at an outlet center between where we work.  Often it's just for coffee but on a few occasions I've needed to shop for something such as a belt or shoes.  On one occasion I needed a belt.  I was using a gift card to pay and had a few bucks left.  Then the question was, what else to buy?  As is often the case boxers and briefs were near the cash register counter as an impulse purchase.  I jokingly told Sandee to pick out a pair she wanted to see me in or better yet pull off of me.  What was a joke turned into a sexy playful game of pick out the best pair of undergarments for Ryan.  Ryan is a fall so is maroon with anchors best?  Perhaps the forest green with elephants, or should we go patriotic with American flags.  We picked the forest green but really it didn't matter, it got us to thinking about how we looked underneath our work clothes and how much we wanted to see one another in those undergarments.  What was utilitarian became sexy in an instant and trust me the next time we met intimately I had that pair of underwear ready for her to take off!  :)

I do in fact own several pairs of Tommy John boxer briefs.  I do like that secure feeling.  I have found we do look so much better in well fitting clothes.  Cheap clothes are really made to fit a wide audience.  Better manufactured clothes are a bit more expensive but are also more intentional about how they adorn the human body.  Well fitting clothes frame and then shape and allow our shoulders and hips to form the underlying architecture of our body.  Ill fitting clothes make us look sloppy, well fitting clothes make us look sharp and well put together.

So I guess the message for today is be intentional about what you wear outside and inside and make it a fun thing to enjoy with those you enjoy!

Authors Notes:  As a Kenyan Anti-Colonial Socialist I of course abhor shamelessly promoting commercial products.  When I first started this blog and was fed numerous money making opportunities to merchandise my blog, I always turned away for the sake of art (that's your opportunity to laugh)!  But you know my ego and hubris can always be gotten and will usually over-take my morals when scratched just the right way.  So that is why today I relent and discuss underwear.  After all this is about the evolution of the human experience, or so my Id tells me when in conflict with artistic morals!

Hey can you believe there is an Underwear Expert blog!?

Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.  So in keeping with the flow enjoy this fun Underwear song -

London, Washington (Richmond), Anywhere You Are I'll Run

It's been a very busy and active summer around the Beaumont household.  We "finished" our basement over the winter months and over the past month finally found time to relocate one daughter's room from upstairs to her new room in the basement.  That was then followed the next weekend by moving daughter #2 to daughter #1's old room and then followed by cleaning daughter #2's room and making it ready for future use as an office or other miscellaneous activity room.

Imagine Ryan moving your bed

What that means is that Ryan has been doing a TON of moving of "stuff" over the past several months.  I actually feel so relieved though for having purged so much junk; it's amazing what we acquire over a lifetime.  But having moved so many times in life and knowing how particular and yet detached Shannon is during the moving process, I know to be very careful to examine every last nic nac to insure that nothing valuable is discarded.  As tedious and arduous as that may be it does give one an opportunity to revisit old treasures such as mementos, pictures, trophies, and maybe even an old record or tape.

I came across one tape that simply said "Shannon 1989."  Curious, I played it on the way to the dump (one of those many purging missions) and got a wonderful memory from Shannon's past.  Of course I was not a part of that memory but it helped me travel back to Ryan's world circa 1989 and remember what I was doing one state to the north during that same year.

Oh, the other thing I just realized is that it's summer.  And that means Ryan kicks back a bit and reminisces about days gone by and enjoys writing about "Old Flames."

Yes, I did play the tape for Shannon.  She smiled and laughed and then gave me the back story on the tape which leads to her memory of an Old Flame from days gone by.  Which of course is another one of my favorite writing exercises, writing in Shannon's voice.  So let's take a trip back in time, back to Big State U in fall, 1989 and hear about one of those Old Flames from Ryan's past.  And then let's go one state south to Shannon's Big State U and hear about Shannon and her tape.  Let's start with Ryan.

Of a Girl and a Governor, Ryan circa fall, 1989-winter, 1990

I don't talk politics much in this blog but I've always been fascinated with and active in politics.  I suppose my parents, both active Democrats in county affairs, inspired me.  I think the thrill of the competitive aspects was always attractive as well and to feel as if you are part of a movement; to be in the scene and breath the same air as that man who is inspiring us to act.  I suppose the apex of my political involvement was in the late 1980's.  Like me, my state always seems to have a contrarian streak.  If the country is going one way we tend to go in a slightly different direction.  The 80's of course were dominated by Reagan conservatism.  By 1989 the country was feeling pretty good about itself but perhaps starting to wake up to the hangover that was the less taxes, more drink defense spending the Russian's under the table/party all night atmosphere of the Reagan years.  After converting to a red state through the 70's and continuing on a red state path in national politics, my state began favoring an urbane, socially moderate/fiscally conservative Democratic model for Governor.  Quite in contrast to the nation and particularly the South, we had elected two such Governors earlier in the decade amid the Reagan revolution.  We were that model of the "blue-dog" DLC Democrat that America would fall in love with three year hence when "a man from Hope" would come onto the scene.  The second of those Governors had an African American as his Lieutenant Governor.  And so long before a young African American with a funny name from the Midwest came onto the scene that very same African American Lieutenant Governor from my state started to have an audacity of hope that he could step up and be the nation's first African American Governor.  Now, it seems as if by 1989 America would certainly be ready for an African American Governor but this was not Massachusetts, this was the Old Dominion; the former seat of the Confederate capitol.  This was that moment and that well dressed, urbane gentleman with the smooth slight bourbony southern accent created just the atmosphere I wanted to be a part of.  He was someone I could champion, follow, and would aspire to emulate.


I've mention my friend Jules once in the blog (here). She was a fraternity little sister and a very sweet girl.  We were always good friends but I'm quite sure she had a "thing" for me early on.  However, early on I was not so interested.  She was fairly nice looking but sometimes I am just too choosy for my own good.  We went out often as friends, we even went to a frat formal once.  I'm quite sure I could have taken her home and we surely would have had sex but I passed for some reason.  I remember later, after the formal, I realized the error of my ways.  But unfortunately at the point I realized sex with Jules might be rather satisfying, Jules had other ideas.  So things just never came together for us.

That fall of 1989 I helped out here and there with Democratic party endeavors in support of the campaign for Governor.  What that really meant was stuffing envelopes, counting votes at party caucuses, answering the phones at HQ, and on big occasions I was the go-to bartender for big-wig fundraisers.  So not that fascinating but I did get to meet some influential people and did get to shake hands with the candidate on a few occasions.  It wasn't much but it felt like I was in the moment, if only to pass out wine to people writing checks.  At the end of an exciting campaign our guy won and of course to the winning team go the spoils.  For all my hard work I landed an invite to the Governor's Inaugural Ball!  Well maybe it was the check Father Beaumont wrote, but let's just assume the invite was for all that fantastic bar-tending Ryan, Jr. did.

Regardless of why I got the invite I decided it would be fun to go but I needed a date?  Most girls in my surroundings didn't seem to be interested in politics as much as I.  But I got around to asking Jules and now seemed to be just the right time.  She was getting over another guy who had sex with her and dumped her and I think getting out of town felt right for her at the moment.

So we made the trek to the capital city on a Friday afternoon.  That night we hung out with friends and crashed at their place.  It was friendly and chummy but I noticed a few times Jules looked at me across the table with that look and you just know.

The next morning we were up early for the Inaugural parade and the actual Inauguration.  After the speeches we waited well over an hour in a line to shake the new Governor's hand.  It was cold but all this still felt very much part of a movement.  I don't think Jules was as into the movement as I but she seemed to enjoy being together.

We were not going to crash at the friends house that evening so we checked into a cheapo hotel on the outskirts of the city.  We dressed for the ball but went down to the chic brick road downtown of the capital city for a drink.  After a drink we proceeded to the capital colosseum for the Inaugural Ball.  While it was a reception one found that simply serving drinks at fundraising parties didn't merit heavy hors d'ourves.  We got a few baby carrots and I think the edge of a piece of cheddar cheese.  We walked around and viewed the beautiful people.  Jules looked great btw.  Her silky blue gown set off her sparkling blue eyes.  She was not a fashionista, mostly a jeans and sweater gal, and so her tall frame often made her appear frumpy.  However, in that well fitting gown she was very shapely and rather sexy.  I could see myself and started to imagine myself with her.

About an hour after we got there the new Governor was introduced and he and his wife took the first dance.  Now I say that as if we were just across the floor waiting to catch the bouquet of flowers or whatever is done in there types of things.  But our tickets didn't get us on the floor, rather in section 399, row ZZZ, seats 68 and 69 if I remember correctly.

We watched the festivities for a time, walked around the concourse several more times looking again at the beautiful people.  Jules was a real trooper and smiled through it all but I could tell she was bored.  At one point she stopped and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and pulled off her high heels.  Between the parade, standing in the hand-shake line, walking in downtown, and walking around the colosseum she had rubbed a wicked, now bleeding, blister on her Achilles heel.  We decided to leave.  She leaned on me on the way to the corner to catch a cab.  I was practically carrying her and rather enjoying it in spite of my embarrassment at seemingly causing the nasty blemish to her foot.

Once in the back of the cab she meekly thanked me and apologized for having to leave.  I felt bad.  She looked at me with those solemn almost sad eyes of hers.  I could feel that her eyes yearned for a kiss and I slowly moved forward to do just that.  She passively accepted my kiss, at first a peck and then a deep kiss once I realized I was welcome.

At the hotel I again had to help her out of the car and up to the room.  Once in the room we just collapsed on the bed.  At some point she rolled over slightly placing her hand on my chest and gently stroked and again apologized.  I told her there was no need.  I asked her if there was anything I could do to help.  She said she would like to soak her feet.  She went to the bathroom to start a bath and I went to get two drinks.

When I got back she was in the tub.  I told her I had our drinks and she said "bring it to me, I need a glass of wine asap," giggling.  I gingerly peered through the door.  Jules was in fact in the tub albeit still partially clothed from my angle as I walked in.  She smiled and said, "you can come in, oh thanks that is just what I need."  I sat down on the floor next to the tub, she smiled at me.  I asked it there was anything else I could do for her.  She smiled and said "I need a foot rub."  She lifted her feet to the edge of the tub and I obliged.  As I rubbed at the other end of the tub she sipped her wine, rested her head against the wall, and sighed.  After several minutes of satisfying her feet I decided her calves probably needed a massage as well, so I massaged my way up her legs.  Again, Jules sighed in calm contentment.

Almost looks like us  :)

She then invited me in.  I took my clothes off and got in, nestling myself behind her.  She then leaned back, her back to my chest.  We sipped our wine, me stopped occasionally to kiss the nape of her neck.  I ran my hands along the inside of her thighs and she sighed and arched her back slightly giving the clue that she wanted more.  She still had panties on so I reached inside and pressed my finger into her.  Again she archer her back, and tilted her head to me as if to beg for a kiss.

It was not long before we were out of the tub and onto the bed.  The next 15 minutes was the release of two years of circling one another and wondering what this would be like.  And it felt incredible.  She was wrapped tightly around me looking directly into my eyes, fingers deeply intwined into my hair, pulling me into her as she moved her hips into mine.  The euphoric exhaustion from the day running into the mounting anticipation eclipsed into what I can honestly say was the most powerful, voluminous orgasm I have ever had.  I was not sure I would ever stop.  The tingling at the ends of my toes and fingers almost hurt at the end.  We both shrieked at once as Jules came just behind me.  My entire body shivered in response to the tingling feeling.

Not us, just looks like us

We lingered side by side for some time after, giggling at one another and yet within minutes we were in conversation again with one another as friends even as our naked bodies were still draped onto one another.

The next day we were friends again.  By the time we were back at Big State U I think Jules' boyfriend wanted to reconcile or maybe I was chasing someone else.  I don't know.  It seemed like we were always friends.  I now have so many fond memories of throwing darts with her and just handing out around Big State U.  Even now as I see her on Facebook I can feel the intimate connection we shared.  Thinking back she is probably the one that if I had dared take the plunge, she would have been so much fun.  We were always chasing something else but at least we always knew something very good was close by.  Perhaps that allowed us to pursue other people knowing something so good and comfortable was just a friend away.

So that's Ryan's sexy retro-1989 memory.

Come back next week for Shannon's mission to 1989!

And here are the Smithereens with one of those 1989 chart toppers!

I Am a Rock, I Am an Island

Ashley Madison and the Fermi Paradox
by R. Beaumont

So the Fermi Paradox states that there is an apparent contradiction between the high estimates of the probability of the existence of extraterrestrial civilizations and humanity's lack of contact with said civilizations.  According to Fermi logic would indicate that there must be intelligent life out there and yet we have no evidence that life exists leading one to say "where the *uck is ET!? or better yet that Green chick from Star Trek!"

Enrico Fermi specifically outlines that:

*     The Sun is a typical star and there are billions of stars, many of which are older.
*     Even at a very low rate of life supporting planets per star, the shear number of stars in the cosmos necessarily should imply that there are many intelligent civilizations out there.
*     Again, even at small percentages one would assume that a fairly substantial number of intelligent civilizations would have developed interstellar travel capacity.
*     Even given the challenging physics of interstellar travel one would expect galactic colonization by now.

So given this line of thinking one can logically conclude that the Earth should have been visited by extraterrestrial life.  But obviously only the POTUS and a few dudes that work in Area 51 know if that is the case.  The rest of us are in fact scratching our heads and saying "where is everybody?"

Of course the flip side to that argument is that the Earth is very atypical, if not exceptional.  If that is the case then maybe we are all that's here.

So which one is it?

Well we need to consider scale and probability.  Accorging to wiki there are apparently 200-400 billion stars in the galaxy and well over twice that in the visible universe.  So at a 0.01% intelligent life frequency then the Milky Way should have about 20,000 intelligent civilizations.

But, but... maybe we just are exceptional anyway!!!

Well now (to quote one of my favorite Hemingway lines) "isn't it pretty to think so!"

What Fermi also infers is the "mediocrity principle" which states that "if an item is drawn at random from one of several sets or categories, it's likelier to come from the most numerous category than from any one of the less numerous categories."  Point being it's more likely we are the norm not the exception.

OK Ryan, this must be a very slow Tuesday.  Is there some relevant point here!

Of course there isn't but I'll go ahead and give you one of my mixed up paradigms anyway.  Which in fact leads us to Ryan's Ashley Madison Paradox which states:

"If Ashley Madison is the world's #1 'married dating' site with over 36 million members, approximately 50% of whom are supposedly female, why don't women write me back anymore?  Where the *uck are they?  :)"

Well we can also use the Drake Equation to explain why ET is still at home.  Which will give me the inspiration to derive why so few women throw themselves eagerly at my messages (or your's) on Ashley Madison.

Please let me be abducted by her!

So here goes:

the Drake Equation:

N = R * p * n * l * i * d * L

where N = number of alien civilizations or AM women who will *uck us
           R = the average rate of star formation or AM New Members notifications
           p = the fraction of new stars with planets or AM New Members that are actually real
           n = the average number of potential life supporting planets per star or AM New Members that are real and interested in contacting a male of the species
           l = the fraction of potential planet supporting planets that do in fact spawn life or AM New Members that are real, interested in contacting men, and happen to log on just prior to you sending a priority message (ahead of the 100 other messages she will get on that given day)
           i = the fraction of life spawning planets that end up developing intelligent life or the AM New Members that are real, interested in contacting men, that happen to see your message, and you in fact write an intelligent message (rather than a "hey babe you look hot; hit me up and let's get cra cra!  :)"
           d = the fraction of planets with intelligent life that in fact release detectable signs of life or the AM New Members that are real, interested in contacting men, that happen to see your message, think your message exhibits intelligent life, and then are motivated to in fact return a message to you.
           L = the length of time said intelligent civilization continues to send messages out or the AM New Members that are real, interested in contacting men, that happen to see your message, think your message exhibits intelligent life, are motivated to return the message, and continue writing back until you can get a hotel meeting.

So let's make some assumptions:

R = from my inbox it appears that there are about 6 new ladies per day within my 25 mile radius so over a month R will trend to 6 * 30 = 180.
p = Now from my experiences at least 67% of these new women are fake (prostitutes, dudes, Russian scammers, etc).  So let's go with a low estimate of p = 15%
n = If you have read any of my posts about e-mail queens you would know that a lot of these ladies (or men scouting the competition) are just out there for a little titillation or to see how desperate men can get.  Let's put n = 25%
l = The cold hard fact is that writing women is a crap shoot, you know a good profile is getting 80-100 messages per day so even with the best message luck is always a factor.  And let's face it we never know what is going on in a woman's minds; it can be so random you know.  That being said, never write to anyone who hasn't logged on in 4+ days, never write on the weekends unless she is on-line (although even that can be very inaccurate).  Best to write early in the morning on a Monday so your note is at the top of her mail when she sits down to her AM mobile Ap at Starbucks with her Mocha Cappuccino.  That's when she will be most receptive!  Let's go with l = 25%.
i = Well now this really comes back to you.  But as I said above who really knows what women want. You can read their entire profile and regurgitate it to them but if that is the day Fabio writes them to say "hey babe let's go taste some wine and roll in the hay," well let's just say women are visual as well.  But let's be confident and say here i = 50%.
d = Oh shit, did you realize that you could be Brad Pitt with the writing ability of Hemingway and she could be as horny as a green alien around Captain Kirk but if she has a hair appointment, a PTA meeting, a job deadline, her hubby shows up with the first set of Opera tickets in a decade, or she is just feeling frumpy none of this may matter at all!!  Yep random error or lack of motivation on her part could kill all of this so let's set d = 50%.
L = Even if you get an interested women who likes you and you don't screw it up over multiple e-mails you still have to be patient.  And most guys aren't patient.  She may not just show up in your bed after that third e-mail.  It may take time, a few meals, and the luck of two schedules with openings next Tuesday between 2 and 5 pm and the ability to get to the Comfort Inn off I-70.  Let's set L = 2 weeks.

So with all that here goes.  The number of new women on Ashley Madison who are currently willing to have sex with me is:

N = 180 New Ladies/month * 15% * 25% * 25% * 50% * 50% = 0.42 women/month @ 2 weeks per identified interested female.

So what this means is that it will likely take:
 1.0 Women Who Want to *uck You/0.42 Interested Women per Month = 2.38 months to find a women that will likely have sex with you and then another 2 weeks of patiently waiting to get laid!

OH and you will have to write to well over 100 women to accomplish that.

Of course, who knows, the Mediocrity Principle may not apply to you and you may get laid with an economy package buy in!  But do the numbers really support that hypothesis?  Heck, I'm gorgeous and an amazing writer and I've only had sex with 4 ladies I met on AM.  God only knows how many messages I had to write to get to that number.  I guess based on that Drake Principle I did have to go Outer Galaxy to get to Sandee!

Even Kirk had to strike out a few times before he got to the hot Android

So guys there is some advice on how to succeed on Ashley Madison.  That being said, I would estimate that about 75% of my readership is female.  So why then would I write something so lame and aimed at men?  Because chicks love to laugh at dudes!  So as I often do, I'm really writing for the ladies as always just so they can shake their head at me!  Have a good laugh on men, I'm a hopeless guy!  But who wants to chase aliens anyway when we have so may delightful women right here on planet Earth.  So really if you want to meet chicks start a blog or get a Pinterest account!  :)

BE cautious the hotties may be Borgs!

But if you do sign on to Ashley Madison take Bill Nye's advice.  Start listening and listen closely and don't give up, somebody must be out there.

Here's a vid on the Fermi Principle by that Science Guy everybody likes:

Here's that Simon and Garfunkel song: