Red Pill Initiates

Two things have happened in the four months I’ve been away: people have been asking me for male guidance and I’ve been squaring old business as any good businessman should. Naturally, the combination of these two activities necessitates a hiatus from writing and a doubled-down focus on the real world. If I’m going to help people or at least impart any kind of advice I have to be completely focused on what I’m talking about. The former is an ongoing project of male mentoring with multiple people so I expect my presence here to be sporadic for a while at best while I take those individuals under my wing. Get it? Under my wing.

All kidding aside, I’m happy the aforementioned people came to me. I tried to impart the advice on both of them over a year ago since I saw lives (and in one case, families) falling apart but they were not having any of it; it appears that both of them are now willing to accept the reality of the dichotomy between the sexes and therefore I may proceed. Keep in mind that I have not forced it upon them; they both sought me out for guidance. For the purpose I’ll be referring to the first in the A Red-Pill Man is Born section and the second in the It’s About Damn Time section.

A Red-Pill Man is Born

The other day I’m sitting at work doing my engineering thing and I get an instant message from one of the guys I work with. The entire text of it is “What does Alpha Fucks Beta Bucks mean”. I knew instantly where he had gotten that and knew why he was asking me that but I pushed for written confirmation.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Oh yeah, [NAME REDACTED] told me about /r/TheRedPill so I took a look”

Christ, I’ve created a monster. I told [NAME REDACTED] about that sub a year and a half ago so this has something to do with me at this point.

In my mind I’m impressed and going “Another one for the realists” and getting excited but I work in an open office environment so my outward reaction was much more calm than that.

He asked me a straight question so I told him what it means.

“So you mean an Alpha shouldn’t pay for a woman ever?”

He took it to the same extreme I expected just as all newcomers to the RP lifestyle do. I told him my honest thought on the subject: “Not necessarily. He can but he doesn’t make a habit of it”.

I find the “he doesn’t make a habit of it” portion to be the most important. The primary distinction is that an Alpha has confidence about him and a Beta uses the influence of his wallet. Each woman is different (yes, I know AWALT) in their reaction to it and it’s important to gauge it in order to figure out the probability of future events. When I sense a woman is more interested in the Beta ideology (i.e. the latter) I leave and never contact her again; I’m not going to bankroll her bullshit. Are you interested in me for my ability to work a room and draw people in with merely my personality? Okay, let’s talk.

If I fuck up and misjudge it? I couldn’t care less; abundance mentality is beautiful that way.

No matter what I do I keep the advice of the wise Christian McQueen (and a buddy of mine) in the back of my head each day: “Her being one in a million means she’s one of a million”. There will always be someone else and I try to impart that as one of the keystones of my advice no matter with whom I’m talking. I told the same to a psychologist/therapist friend of mine (we’ve known each other for 20+ years) and she was quite receptive to it and agreed wholeheartedly.

Getting back to the original point: I walked over to the guy’s spot in the office and saw him looking at the sub. I asked him what he was up to and he turns to me and says “There’s a lot of good advice here”. At that point the incubation period was going forward and he was well on his own way.

It’s About Damn Time

I just got off the phone with this one. Three different times he almost started letting his emotions loose in a bad way; I understood, of course, as I’d been there a few times myself a few years prior. I don’t begrudge him at all.

At one point he managed to tell me that he had written poetry about the break-up.

Not just any poetry; poetry for her.

Eighty-four multi-page poems for her.


Okay, some people get their feelings out in different ways and need different amounts of time to…

“I still talk with her mom and dad”

Dude, what the hell?

“Yeah, she still feels bad about breaking up with me”

I’m sure she told you that. You’re my friend and all but there comes a time where I’ll smack you in the back of the head, call you a dumbass, and question your sanity. She must have told you any or all of the standard female fare after a breakup (“I still think about you”, “I miss you”, “You were the best thing that ever happened to me”, “It’s not you, it’s me”, etc etc etc). All it is is rhetoric; it has zero basis in reality.

“She’s really upset”

How convenient. She’s trying whatever she can to keep you in her life while absolving herself of any responsibility while doing so. Been there, man! We call it “Rewriting the Past”.

“She sends me pictures of our dog”

Now she’s just screwing with you in a bad way. She’s trying to evoke emotion and a sense of togetherness over a shared experience to goad you into contacting her. Also how the hell did she get your dog?

“I don’t know what to do”

Turn your phone off or throw it in a lake; either one will have the desired result. I can’t necessarily be irked at him for not knowing what to do; hell, most things that caused the transition to The Red Pill were these exact kinds of events and even feeling helpless to some degree for some people. I’d much rather he come to me than start spiraling out of control.

Go no contact and take it a day at a time. It will absolutely feel like going cold turkey from an addiction but that’s the surefire way you’ll rebuild yourself into a hardened individual that’s capable of handling life and understanding the general truths of modern sexual relations.


You’ve now seen two completely true stories of transitions into the RP lifestyle. It’s always possible. Unfortunately there are times when it takes an absolute breaking of the spirit and the psyche to trigger it; these cases are the easiest to push toward the natural order of things, however.  In our cases experience really speaks and to the victor (he who has persevered) go the spoils.


We all have them.

At what point, however, do we look into ourselves to realize that it isn’t the end of the world? We’ve all done things that are better off buried and I’m sure we all have missed opportunities that we wish we could relive. Unfortunately that’s not life and we only get one chance. Somehow we have to find a way to live with our mistakes and keep on going.

Let’s take my colossal fuck-up as a pure example of how to live with regret.

The Setting

I went to dinner with my best friend, his girlfriend, and his grandmother. It was quite a motley crew if I do say so myself. Anyway, we went to a Norwegian dinner lodge so I felt quite at home (I’m part Norwegian and have quite a bit of the Viking culture in my blood). Being the dick that he is, my best friend thought he could catch me off-guard with lutefisk until I reminded him that I’m Norwegian and it’s the food of my people. I would feast on his now-downtrodden nature until we arrived at our location.

Upon arriving I had absolutely zero problem with the setting and felt quite comfortable among the other folks that graced our presence. I was wearing my “Haunted Mansion” shirt since I had just come from work so I felt a bit out of place as almost everyone else was in formal wear; I’m an engineer and a teacher so I’m allowed to wear whatever I please each day, luckily. I managed to find some kind of brotherhood (sisterhood?) in another patron as she had on Halloween garb and we discussed both Halloween and the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. I heckled her roundly to the joy of her mother who was also in attendance; she was quite cute and had a great sense of humor but that’s beyond the focus of this post.

The dinner was for the most part uneventful. I made fun of Halloween Girl quite a bit and we enjoyed each other’s company. When thinking about it as this point I really should have gotten her number. I finished up dinner with my buddy and his folks and we went outside.

While walking around outside I found all kinds of interesting tables filled with either Norwegian history or culture. The ones that didn’t have some kind of Viking collectibles had trinkets from places of interest. Behind each table was a knowledgeable person with some kind of story to tell.

The Screw-Up

At one point during my journey I happened across one unassuming table. As I was leaving the person who was manning the table noticed my “Haunted Mansion” shirt. She and I struck up a conversation and she told me she was in attendance during Disneyland’s opening day in 1955.

Anyone who knows me can confirm that I’m a huge Disneyland fan and pride myself on knowing all kinds of things about it. Could I really luck out more than meeting someone who was there during opening day and getting the low-down from a first-hand account? She and I talked for about a half-hour and it was one of the best conversations I’d ever had about the park.

I’m sure you can see what’s coming here. As my friend had to take off I unwittingly left my source. I was already in the car and pulling away before I realized just how badly I had screwed myself.

I still kick myself when I think just what kind of information I could have pulled from her. I easily could have spent another three or four hours talking to her as well as regaling my own stories from the park to her. That is easily one of my biggest regrets and I unfortunately didn’t realize it until it was too late.


Some regrets are preventable and yet others are contextual to the point where you don’t realize you’re leaving a good thing until it’s already too late. The trick is to realize when it’s salvageable or when you have to put in extra work to prevent yourself from leaving a good thing. Sometimes, though, you can’t prevent yourself from leaving a great source or a great conversation and you’ll regret it for quite some time.

The Great Steak Caper

Our story tonight takes place on a darkened night with a moderate storm occurring in the background.

Are we discussing the minutae of human nature?

Are we referencing anything that has to do with behavioral psychology?

Hell no. We’re talking about a manly subject that many of my readers have come to hold dear: steak and its preparation. Tonight we will discuss the strangeness that comes from invoking a remote spectator in the overall preparation of said steak.

Let’s get to it.

The Caper Begins

When I was in college we had a shared kitchen in the shared dorm. Suffice it to say that several of the denizens of said dorm were of sub-par cooking quality. There were those who could make basic dishes and then there were those who struggled with even the simplest directions that were printed on the basic Cup-o-Noodles recipes.

One of the idiots decided to microwave the equivalent of a Venti cup of a particular Starbucks roast. Needless to say that concoction wound up covering the ceiling of the microwave as well as its bottom; as the idiot stood cleaning it the rest of us gathered around and laughed at him in order to drive home the concept that the aforementioned should not be attempted in a simple microwave.

It absolutely gets worse from here so I encourage you to read on.

The Build-Up

Everything was normal except for the one guy attempting to cook noodles that night. How he managed to burn said noodles and set off the fire alarm is beyond me; however, he pulled off such a feat and therefore the majority of us wound up outside in the cold air of a 2 AM morning.

I talked with one of the fire officers and he had nothing to say beside “Yep, that bowl of overcooked noodles is responsible”. Of course we hunted down the culprit and exacted the college version of frontier justice but that is neither here nor there.

We were informed of the status of the building (i.e. we can all go back inside and go back to sleep) fairly early that night. There are some things that just won’t die, however, and they tend to live on through either written story or word-of-mouth.

I had yet to realize that I would soon be engaged in such a discussion in the worst possible time.

The Steak and Its Victim

As I stand urinating at the stall before me I hear a familiar voice.

“Hawk, does this look medium-rare to you?”

I’M STILL PEEING. For some reason, the stall door is still open so this is at least partially my fault.

“Hawk, take a look at this”.

I’m greeted with a piece of steak on the end of a fork while I’m trying to pee. My friend Alex had thought it proper to bring in this piece of steak for my review; while I generally don’t mind taking a look at various pieces of steak I have a mental block against doing it while I’m urinating.

“Hawk, this is medium-rare, right?”

Alex is now shoving this piece of meat in my face now while I’m trying to pee.

It has a nice exterior coating with just the right amount of internal redness so I figure “this looks good”.

“Of course that’s medium-rare. That looks good to me!”

He replies, “See, that’s what I thought! Thanks, Hawk.”

Upon realizing what has just happened I go back to my business and everything goes normally.


Sometimes your friends need your opinion on a specific cut of meat. Other times, your friends require your opinion in a restroom stall and nothing else can possibly serve the requirements for which have been set forth.

Either way, meat always has some kind of underlying ruleset that is modified based upon how it is cooked.

The 7 Key Wine Concepts

My buddy Mark Law has published an e-book called “The 7 Key Wine Concepts”. He asked me to review it and the link to his e-book is at the end of my review. If you’re into wine tasting and wine culture then you definitely won’t be disappointed. My review follows and you can get his book here:

From the very beginning Mark sets the tone and purpose of “The 7 Key Wine Concepts” effectively and presents to the reader a situation that many of us have encountered: “How do I select the right wine for me?” He goes on to stress the point that one cannot place the brunt of their decision on the reviews of a wine critic or anyone else who, all things considered, is the same as any other person: he has different likes/dislikes and the reviews of a given wine tend to be personal in nature as taste is subjective. Finally, he rounds out a method of picking a similar wine if your desired choice is no longer in stock; the described method is solid and takes into account several important concepts and characteristics. All of this has happened in the introduction and serves as the perfect hook. I read on.

Mark makes the distinction between red and white varieties of wine instead of lumping them all together as a group. For those of us who like to pair our wines with food (he gets to this later and touches well on what to expect with pairings) this distinction is important. He provides an in-depth discussion of varietals and regions as well as the one-to-one and many-to-many relationships for both. He also provides an accessible discussion on wine terminology that is direct and free from the typical word-salad and nonsense of didactic lessons. The section on temperature plays into the above sections nicely as well as there are few of us who have a dedicated temperature-controlled cellar in which to store our selections; he gives practical advice here that is easily digested.

Faults are discussed and he gives some common profiles; I’m sure we have all encountered at least one on the list. He then segways directly into tasting a sample at a restaurant before committing to a bottle. He yet again presents a solid method but this time it involves ensuring the wine is not faulty. I’m a fan of swirling my reds to release the aroma so I was glad to see this included. The final concept is then discussed and it ties the entire experience of both the book and wine selection together nicely.

The writing flows well and at the end there is even a list of online resources for those interested in learning more. I’d recommend this book to fellow wine consumers without a second thought.

College Cats: The Importance of Being Social

I was reading the blog of my buddy Hans Dix, a cool cat and the author of The Campus Hustler, tonight and came across his article An Open Letter to “Freshman Roamers”. This got me thinking about my own fraternity experience when I was in college and the difference between the social and non-social folks. When in college you should strive to be as social as possible (without it tanking your academic life, of course) and I remembered a particular sorority party I attended.

My comment on his article follows after the horizontal line.

Boy howdy do I have personal experience with #3. I shall now regale you with a story from my college days also known as “The Before Time”.

I rolled into a sorority party with four of my boys (this was a “no alcohol” party and I was completely sober the entire time); our entire fraternity was invited but only five of us actually showed up. Go figure. Hot sorority chicks making food for all the fraternity guys and only five of us from my group showed up? Damn near sacrilege is what it was. Anyway, we get there and all five of us are greeted warmly; I lingered to talk to and flirt with the two ladies working the door and the rest of my guys basically just went straight in without saying anything other than “hello”. This is the point where it went completely downhill for everyone except me. This is the point where I’d like to turn your #3 into both #3a (“Check your Attitude”) and #3b (“Actually Attempt to Be Social”).

True to form, unfortunately, my guys go off by themselves and huddle in the corner together (I was standing in the line for food, meeting guys from other fraternities, and making new friends). Every time I tried to include my guys and bring them over to talk with my new friends it was met with the most extreme form of shyness and stand-offish behavior I’d ever seen. It wasn’t any better when I started trying to introduce them to women (women whom I’d only met about fifteen minutes prior) but they were reticent to be included there too. At this point I just gave up since it seemed like they were happier in their clique and I went back to talking with the guys from the other fraternities and the ladies from the sorority.

Eventually my boys left without telling me (i.e. they abandoned me) and I wound up being the only person from my fraternity still at the party. “Fuck it”, I thought, “I’m having fun and meeting tons of people so I’m staying”. I stood around telling jokes and playing off what other people said; I was just having a grand ol’ time. I finally grab some food and flirt with the two ladies cooking then go off with two of my new buddies to a couple of couches so we can down the grub. We’re quickly joined by six members of the sorority.

Now, I have a VERY unique side-profession and that fact got passed around the sorority since it came up in conversation with the door gals. Apparently they referred to me as “exotic” and “you have to meet this guy”. I started getting opened left-and-right by these chicks. I began telling some of my stories from my side gig to the ladies and the crowd starting growing; when I finished my first story I looked around and an extra nine women had joined the group. The two guys with me had no idea where they came from but they weren’t going to question a good thing when they saw it. I do have my darker side and my stories exemplified it; I think I genuinely frightened at least a few of them but it worked out well.

A few more stories and I had to be on my way amidst the pleading of “Nooooo don’t goooooo!” I had class in the morning and it was one of the few I actually bothered showing-up to that year (programming class regarding something I already knew but I was tight with the instructor so he’d know if I was missing). I still talk to the friends I made that day.

That same sorority put on a party later that year and several parties after that. My fraternity was no longer invited with a single exception: I was always asked for by name.


Breakfast with the General

I’ve had coffee and the occasional breakfast with US Army Colonels, Captains, and other officers. However, this is the story of when I managed to corner a former US Army General and invited him to breakfast.

Several years ago I had one hell of an opportunity. The great part of the opportunity was that it was entirely by chance and was brought about by me not listening to my supervisor and attending an event for which I was not scheduled. I arrived at approximately 6 AM with the rest of the security staff; we stood around shooting the shit and just got ready for the pain that the day’s duties would surely bring. It turned out that I would be working the floor for a graduate-school ceremony and that a certain guest speaker would be gracing the ceremony with his presence.

I took up my standard position with the police department (right next to the Police Chief so he and I could bullshit our way through the ceremony while assuring an adequate level of protection for any important folks who happened to come onto the floor). The Chief and I babbled almost incessantly during the ceremony but we were so hopped-up on free coffee and muffins that we really couldn’t care less. It was only during the introduction phase of the speakers that I found out who this eventual speaker actually was. In his introduction I heard him mention that he was both a former US Army General and a former member of the Chiefs of Staff. The first thought that surged through my head was “I have to meet this man and get him one-on-one”. Such a thought would have made my military grandfather proud and I can’t say that it didn’t at least play a significant role in my decision-making that day.

After the speech was finalized the General left the stage and started walking through the staff-only corridors past the area I was guarding with the police department. I figured “Fuck it, this is my only chance” and I actually tried to run and catch up with him. His handler had no clue what was going on but acquiesced to the idea of a former officer talking to a civilian fairly quickly. I basically chased him down in the staff corridor and introduced myself to him as he stood there dumbfounded. He shook my hand and we struck up a conversation.

During the course of conversation I said to him (this was a little before 8 AM): “You know, we have free coffee and muffins in the break room. Would you like to come up for some breakfast?”

He responded “Hell yeah!” and the General and I walked side-by-side to the break room. I had essentially now made friends with a retired US Army General and we talked the entire way to the break room. Once we hit the breakfast table, though, the real conversation began.

Once we arrived to the break room he went straight for the muffins. My only regret was that I didn’t beat him to the table; we had chocolate-chip muffins and I would have happily fought him for the eating of said muffins. Anyway, we grabbed our food and coffee and found a table where we could talk one-on-one sitting across from each other. The real discussion began here with his handler sitting at a table that was close-but-not-really so the General and I could get to know each other.

I think I actually learned more about the military from this man in a single hour-and-a-half than anything I’d ever studied prior to this meeting. We even wound up joking about what I call the “Worst Mistake the US Navy Ever Made” (i.e. letting me drive an aircraft carrier when I was little and almost ramming it straight into a pier). When I told him the story his actual response was “Yeah, that sounds like the Navy!” I actually learned how portions of the Pentagon were laid out from this guy and we just generally enjoyed each other’s company. I told him some stories from my grandfather and practically had him in stitches.

When it finally came time for him to leave we bid each other goodbye in a bittersweet fashion. I swear talking to him was basically like talking to my grandfather since the General and I had bonded fairly quickly. I bid him goodbye and he took off in his limousine after we said our customary goodbyes to each other.

This account has to be the most memorable experience I’ve ever had in regard to working security.