A recent study found that the sound of expensive sports cars increases testosterone in both men and women, thus causing arousal. I didn’t believe it until I played the video of the Maserati, the most potent car they studied. Maybe it’s the placebo effect, but I did feel a surge of something.
This solved one of the great riddles of my life. Every summer a group of classic car enthusiasts gathers in my area to compare cars and whatnot. The odd thing I noticed is that the men are generally bearded, out of shape, and unattractive. But the women accompanying them are often very attractive. Now I know why. Apparently the sound of custom car engines is like catnip to hot chicks.
The great thing about the testosterone study is that you don’t need to buy an expensive car to get the benefits. You can just play a recording of the engine sounds and your partner will be ready for action. The problem is figuring out how to introduce a sports car engine noise into your romantic evening.
The sneakiest method I can think of would be to have some recorded street sounds on your home music system turned down low, so it sounds like it is coming from outside. Every once in awhile you could mutter something like “damn kids need to slow down” and then return your attention to your date, who by this time is shedding clothes like a trailer park in a tornado.
I also wonder what other sights, sounds, smells, and textures boost testosterone. Someone needs to study this more thoroughly. Obviously porn does the trick for men, and the smell of pumpkin pie, according to other studies. Women are more mysterious. I once saw a study where sensors were attached to shoppers. For men, there was no special change in their bodies except boredom. For women, the stereotype held, and the instrument panel lit up like a Christmas tree as soon as they entered a store. So I think the sound of shopping would boost the happy feeling for many women. I realize how sexist that sounds, but you can’t argue with junk science.
The perfect montage of sounds for a woman might be something along the lines of ocean waves, followed by the Maserati, expensive shoes on fine marble, mall noise, credit card swiping, ruffling of a shopping bag, and then the sound of wine pouring into a glass, with a fireplace crackling in the background. I’d also add the sound of a chainsaw somewhere in the distance, so the woman can imagine her personal lumberjack getting wood for the fire.
What do you think?
The key to life is picking the right witnesses. Thanks for being mine.
1. More efficient solar cells (breakthroughs are coming daily)
2. Energy storage technology for the home, perhaps based on this:
3. Financing for solar cell installations
If you finance your installation of solar cells with a loan that costs you $300 a month, and save $400 a month in energy costs, you are cash positive on day one. At that point it also makes sense to have an electric car. There won't be much red tape to worry about in this model because every house is an island, and private companies can manufacture all of the parts.
I don't see the government having much of a role in creating that new world.
I once worked with a guy who referred to his older brother as the "white sheep of the family." The older brother was a CEO of a Fortune 500 company while his siblings had no ambitions that extended beyond lunch. That sort of thing makes me wonder about the whole nature versus nurture question. I assume all the kids in this fellow's family had a similar upbringing, but only one had ambition.
When I was a kid, adults often told me I would be rich and famous some day. Apparently I was giving off some sort of ambition vibe early on. I think ambition is a genetic defect. You can't have ambition unless you think there is something wrong with the way you are. Ambition is a state of feeling perpetually flawed.
By most objective standards, my career has gone well. By my internal standards, I am in a continuous state of not doing enough. A couple of years before he passed, Charles Schulz called me at home to see if I would be interested in a charitable activity he was passionate about. We chatted for awhile, and I don't remember how it came up, but he mentioned that Peanuts greeting cards had just passed the billion cards sold mark.
Pause to digest.
A billion greeting cards. I wonder if any other artist has ever sold a billion of anything. Unfortunately for me, that instantly became my new yardstick. So if you will excuse me now, I have a lot of work to do because apparently there is something wrong with me.
Also in the news, a woman accused an actor of pulling down her top in a restaurant. The actor is infamous for his crude behavior, and his name is... wait for it... Andy Dick.
And of course everyone knows the story of fitness guru Jim Fixx who died of a heart attack at age 52. He wrote a book telling people how to, in essence, not die of a heart attack at the age of 52.
With so many famous people doing so many things, some of those things are bound to be ironic. But that might not be the full story. According to studies, people named Dennis are more likely to become dentists.
Being the moist robots that we are, apparently we can accidentally get programmed by tiny cues in the environment. For example, another study showed that people who have overweight friends are more likely to be overweight themselves. The things you associate with, and think about, influence who you are.
This is tricky stuff because you might decide to name your child Richard, hoping the "rich" part would take hold, only to find out he prefers to be called Dick.
It is all very tragic, and yet I am amused by everything in this story, starting with the fact that the husband's first choice was to reconcile with his estranged wife. His second choice was to have her killed with a hammer. That is a man who does not recognize nuance. I wonder how many people in his life have escaped close calls.
Husband: "Hey, Fred, do you have another beer?"
Fred: "All I have is some light beers."
Husband (thinking): I should kill him with a hammer.
My other favorite part of the story is that the hit man carried his alleged client's phone number in his backpack while on the job. I never attended hit man school, but I have to think they teach you on the first day not to keep your client's phone number with you on the job. And on day two they probably cover the basics of not letting yourself get strangled by the lady you are sent to kill.
I can imagine myself in the place of the nurse who did the strangling. Once you subdue a hit man, you really don't want to take the chance of him getting up no matter how much he's promising he won't do it again. It blurs the line of self-defense, but you have no real option but to finish the job once you start. And I suppose if a guy has just hit you with a hammer, you'd probably enjoy making his eyes bug out like a cartoon character. But maybe that's just me.
The other great irony is that the strangler is a nurse. I'd hate to be a future patient who recognizes her face from the news. I'd hold my pee for a week before I'd ask that nurse for a bed pan.