Archive for August, 2009
Over the seas and far away, in the land of flaxen-haired vixens and Northern Lights dancing on the horizon, there lives a girl named Sandra Janszó. Sometimes outspoken, sometimes calm and collected, she is practically the only girl I’ve met that is interested enough in Game and the Love System’ s community to actually write a Masters Thesis on it!
Sandra hung out on our last Comprehensive Bootcamp and Day Game seminar in Oslo, so we got to know each other pretty well over 4-days of hitting on the most gorgeous girls in the world. She speaks the language and knows most of the routines in Routines Manual (which I think is hilarious) but most interesting perhaps is the fact that she’s been able to postpone judgement on the sometimes controversial approach that we take on improving guy’s success with girls, and simply observe what works and what doesn’t objectively, and write about it in from an academic perspective.
Check out her blog to see our smiling faces and her first installment of the Thesis she is writing on pickup: Sandy Eye Candy
Over and out – time for the weekend!
This post is about my favorite place on Earth: The Playboy Mansion! Look, Disneyland is cool and all but, this is the Happiest Place on Earth. I mean, what could be better then a place where:
1.) Girls have to apply, with headshots, to be accepted to attend
2.) Everything is on the house once you’re inside (drinks, chocolate covered strawberries etc.)
3.) By the time the party really gets going…scores of gorgeous models and playmates strip down and jump in the Grotto?
The answer of course is nothing really beats it. On a practical level, it is pretty easy to get into conversation with girls at the Mansion. I mean this in the sense that, all the hired guns that are there repping a modeling agency or dealing blackjack are basically being paid to be sociable and friendly.
This means the first 30 seconds of conversation is in the bag even if you revert to full AFC mode and ask “so do you come here often”…which is actually a legitimately interesting question given the context. I want to meet the kind of girls that frequent the Mansion for sure
But what I’ve noticed is that after a minute or two of banter and maybe a couple photos, the girls start screening extra hard for value. She wants to know, or to reassure herself, that you are a mover and shaker that can either:
1.) Move her career forward, whether that’s modeling, singer/actress or simply a well-heeled well-connected that has relationship value, or
2.) That you are a challenge to her and won’t simply pander to her like 99% of the guys that she meets.
If you really are in the industry then you can fall into #1 and not have to work to hard (or consciously) to continue the interaction and continue it later; except the caveat is that she’ll have a perception of you that is more “work-related” than attraction based. This could lead to expensive dinners and dates and not much in the romance department
Fortunately Option #2 is a roll even a broke, out-of-work car salesman can fill with some direction and a game plan. You want to be this guy. There is plenty of situational humor that can make interactions fun and keep them that way. Sample conversation snippit to illustrate
You: (Deep sigh, and a smile on exhale then): “You know, this place is finally starting to feel like home”
You: “Ever since Uncle Hugh finalized the adoption papers I’ve started to see this place as my home, my refuge…my castle even.” (sweeping arm gesture at the turrets above the Mansion)
Her: “No way, you’re not related to Hugh!”
You: “Well, I wasn’t always…He started me out as pool cleaner, which was cool cause I got to get a feel for what the parties were like…you know, random polka dot bikini bottoms floating under the waterfall, champagne bottles floating in the hot tub, crazy stuff. But now it’s all legit and I may even get my own room!”
Her: “I don’t believe you! Introduce me to him…”
You: “Sure, but first I gotta check on the monkeys, they get really pissy if they don’t get fed every hour, on the hour. You know what happens when you approach a pissed off, hungry monkey after mealtime? Come on I’ll show you…”
…and on and on. My recommendation would be fun roll plays and creating mini adventures with girls checking out all the different parts of the property. Avoid the deep comfort building and life-purpose kinds of questions. Bounce around the property, feed her a couple strawberries, and 10 bonus points to you if you wore your swimming trunks under your outfit (don’t leave home without it). The Grotto is where the action is.
Anyhow, all of this is to say, that I’m excited to go back to my (imaginary) home at the Playboy Mansion. This weekend Savoy will be leading an Advanced Bootcamp at the Playboy Mansion. This weekend and the Superconference are the only times Savoy instructs nowadays and if you want to take your game, seriously to the next level, check if there are any available spots left. May be too late. Either way, go out and have a kick-ass weekend!
Starlight – Over and Out.
I’m walking through Changi airport in Singapore. There are twenty some guys on their knees saying “Alluha Akbar” and bowing while their wife’s try to stop children from crying. I take a moment to appreciate the fact that I have no kids, no wife and that I don’t get on my knees and bow five times a day. Right now I have to fly to Manila in order to fly home to SF cause when Mr M booked my flight months ago I asked him to leave 3 weeks open after the Singapore bootcamp. Perhaps, I thought then, I’ll be rich and won’t need to do shit but bounce around Malaysia or Thailand for a few weeks. But things changed and I gotta get home. Upon calling Singapore airlines yesterday I learned there no, repeat Zero, seats are available on Singapore Air for the month of August. Shit. Whatever. Book the cheapest thing that flies and hope for the best.
So with 30 hours of timezone ping pong looming, I did the only sensible thing and stayed out until 6:30 in the morning with Asian Rake and some Malaysian lesbians, singing karaoke in a KTV room of Social House.
It’s moments like last night that make life worth living. Day two of bootcamp was infinitely better then night one, when a cadre of Singaporean PUAs recognized Soul and proceeded to try and AMOG every set our guys were in. Cool guys, get a life. Now I have 6 phosphoresent stamps on my wrist and the bouncer with the black light is like “Whoa” when he sees my arms light up like a Christmas tree.
I want to be in the club with the techno music and the bikini party. I want to take advantage of four-for-the-price-of-two vodka Red Bulls at 2:30am before informally judging said bikini contest at Social House. Actually I want to be singing Sweet Child O Mine in a private karaoke room in the back of the club with a bunch of hot asian chics playing dice games and pouring McCallen 12 year aged scotch to numb my throat. But once that’s done I want to walk to McDonalds and get the breakfast special with the Malays and get invited to lesbian after-after-after parties that start at 7am (!?). But by the end of the night I want to be in the back of a taxi with a chic from Penang pulling her hair while she kisses my neck and watching dawn break on the horizon before the doorman at the Intercontinental wishes us a cheerful “Good Morning!” and swings the door open so skillfully that I don’t break my stride up the cobblestone esplanade.
I got what I wanted. And now I want more.
But let’s back up. It started a few weeks ago at sunrise in Hong Kong. 15 hour time difference makes Starlight a confused boy when the suns coming up and I’m dizzy but energetic after getting my bags. Straight to the Peak for a jog around the top of HK island. then pass the fuck out at Bishop Lei Guesthouse on the mid-levels. I awake to a doorbell and give Mr M a big hug in my jockey shorts. He’s fresh off the plane and looks like I did 10 hours ago. Eventually we both catch up with ourselves and assume some semblance of normalcy as the next chapter of our adventurous pop-up picturebook life flips open and animates.
We ditch the hotel and move into the chic apartment of a former student-cum-approach coach living in central Hong Kong. He’s not there. Last minute trip to Macau, but left us the key and I couldn’t help but notice his three different passports lying on the counter. Very James Bond. This will be a smaller, more intimate bootcamp and all the students are Chinese, except for one Israli-American living in Shenzhen.
Two of the guys had true inner game changes over the course of the weekend. Both had recently been dumped by girlfriends who cheated on them, which we determined was caused by falling into the Provider role at the expense of demonstrating any characteristics of a Lover; the guy who girls think is a jerk but still call at 2am when their lonely and their boy-toy suitors bore them to tears. Many Asians strive for the approval of others, especially parents, and to feel an inviolate pride get bruised when blow outs inevitably occur. By the end of the weekend they were both standing tall, going in direct and “bringing the fun.” Girls were loving it and one of the students said this bootcamp was “the single best moment of my life!” Wow.
I felt the pull of being in the same city as Kiki, who I fell in love with over New Years Eve, but resisted the urge to call. Instead I met a designer for Victorias Secret and had a great conversation about fashion, business, Chinese culture and whether she likes it more when I nibble on her ear or kiss the side of her neck. We went out the night after bootcamp; up to the top of Aqua hotel to watch the lightshow and drink lychee mojitos. Then I brought her back to the apartment and was surprised to learn, while lying half-naked in bed, that she is a virgin and determined to stay so until walking down the aisle. She meant it. I decided not to propose. In a way I was impressed by her resolve, but also wanted her to experience what she’s been missing.
The night ended peacefully and Mr M and I got up early for factory tours in Shenzhen.
My USB factories sent drivers to the Shangri-La and we visited the factories, checked out some new products and had a super spicy Sizchuan meal before heading to the (now infamous) Shiwai Taoyuan bath house. Without a word of English spoken the luxuries and cultures of China unfurled; sauna, green tea hot tub, towel rub down, scalp massage, pedicure, foot massage, two-girl two hour massage, dinner, ear cleaning and a shave…for less than $100 each!
Now we’re in Guangzhou, the provincial capital of boomtown Guangdong province, in a shoe factory on the edge of a jungle. The factory manager bounds out to greet us in full Wall Street regalia; three-pronged suspenders, a striped shirt and khakis with a massive wristwatch. He beams and I tell him “Ni de gongchang, hen you yi se!” (your factory is very interesting). Pictures ensue. Now we’re on the top floor infinity pool watching lightning light up the clouds on the far off coastal horizon.
I head to grab beers and Mr M takes a nap…but he’s exhausted and locks the door with earplugs and an eyeshade. I’m banging and kicking the door yelling at him to wake the fuck up…then get half of the maids in the hotel gathered around clucking while I tell them to cut the lock cause he may be unconscious. I flashback to an article on some American actor discovered in a hotel room in Thailand hanging from a necktie with a rope around his balls. I whisper to myself “Please God, don’t let Mr M be hanging in the closet with a rope around his balls.” And as if my prayers were answered he throws open the door with his eyeshade half on. Dick. I was almost gonna kick the fucking door down. We proceed to drink beers and get ready for the train back to Hong Kong tomorrow.
Another day, another city. Actually another country. Back we go through three layers of infrared checkpoints at the Lo Wu border in Shenzhen.
“Stash the tissues and hold in the coughs homie”
“Don’t wanna end up in the quarantine”
“If they come for you I’m gonna run for it. Swine flu is no joke here!”
Chill night in HK, looking over Project Rockstar applications. Apparently people of all ages and all walks of life put things off till the last minute. Literally hundreds of applications were flooding the inbox as the hours counted down to minutes, to the last seconds….and then the opportunity to apply for the opportunity of a full life Rockstar, bad ass international playboy life makeover closed. Forever. For about 2 minutes till more applications came in prefaced by apologies for one reason or another as to why they should still be considered. Tough shit! (just kidding… looking at the late apps now)
Good Morning Hong Kong! Time to take a taxi up to the Peak and run around in the jungle of butterflies and rubber trees while the sun comes up and the clouds move in over Victoria Harbor.
Then me, Mr M and the approach coaches from the HK bootcamp are chilling. This is so relaxing. What a chill way to start our travel day to Singapore. This is so…”Dude, does our flight leave at 2:00p or 2:30p?”
“Um, lemme check”
“It leaves at…11:10am!!!! FUCK it’s almost 10am now!”
“Oh shit! I’ll go get a cab, throw that crap in your bag and let’s roll.”
“Dammit. Ok. GO”
Astoundingly we get the slowest fucking cabbie in Hong Kong who I have to yell at in Chinese and throw Yuan at to get him to drive the damn speed limit. Then, like something out of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, the clouds break open and it’s thundering rain on the highway. The driver grips the steering wheel tight and floors it! That’s more like it.
We check our cash situation and find that we’re short by 200+ HK Dollars.
“Um, ok when we get to the airport, you sprint down to check in and I’ll get some cash out and pay him”
We get to the terminal at 10:35am. I can almost hear the final boarding call through the maze of check in queues and customs lines. Then I get a flash of inspiration. In my backpack there are four different kinds of currency. I grab some Chinese RMB that look like HK Dollars and stuff them between the money we do have. Mr M gets out of the taxi and unloads the trunk.
I start talking rapid-fire Chinese and stuff the money into his hand thanking him profusely and saying keep the change, may all good fortune and bountiful harvest be yours for eternity. He looks confused. I check over my shoulder. Mr M gives the thumbs up. I jump out and we run like greased lightning into the terminal.
Out of breath and sweating profusely we arrive at the check in, drop our bags, clear customs, run more, catch a transfer train and walk up to the gate as the boarding begins. Like a wind chime blowing in a fucking hurricane we arrive disheveled and moist. Mr M bears the brunt of collateral damage with bloodened heels and compromised knee cartilage. We made it. Singapore, I’m taking this out on you.
There is a guy at the baggage claim with checkered shorts and a striped shirt. He looks British, and yet surprisingly tanned and. Wait. It’s Sheriff! What’s up dude.
Then outside of customs there is a short Asian guy with a sign that says Mr. M. He approaches. Opens. “Dude, you guys are the fucking legends aren’t you? You’re Mr M aren’t you. Oh Shit!”
“Hey, um, thanks for picking us up man. How’d you know it was us.”
“You’re all smiling and a foot taller than everyone else here”
We throw our baggage into is mini-compact, jamming it into the trunk until I can practically hear my cologne cracking open and dousing all my clothes in Armani Attitude.
The guy gives us both of his business cards and asks us if we’ve ever slept with hot models, what’s the best routine to transition out of the Best Friends test, and if we’re going out tonight.
The answers are: Yes. Do a cold read. And we’re going to the rooftop heli-pad party at Swisshotel downtown, to which Mr M’s high school buddy had scored us tickets to!
We arrive at the Value Hotel. Soul is there and we all exchange a quick nod signifying that Singapore will not be the same after this weekend. The Value hotel should actually be called the Low-Value Hotel and have a warning sign that your manhood will be mocked and demeaned by checking three dudes into a room the size of my closet. Sheriff, fortunately, finds this situation too untenable and opts to use his 3 nights of free stays at the Intercontinental Hotel in exchange for me taking him to any strip club of his choice at such time that “I am rich,” which I think is a totally fair deal. So Sheriff and I jump in a cab giving each other a high five while Soul and Mr M get the closet to themselves.
Mr M: “Dude, why does this shit always happen to you?”
Starlight: “Cause I paid attention at your SCM lecture. Thanks.”
Mr M: “Damn you”
Starlight: “Don’t trip, I’m naming my first born son Mr M in your honor.”
Sheriff: “Let’s go catch the sunset from our luxurious suite downtown. I hear they have a champagne reception at 7:00p”
Soul and Mr M in unison: “Fuck you!”
Or something like that…and we’re off. Look, I won’t lie, the Intercontinental is the shit and me and Sheriff have a Pillow Menu to select whether we’d prefer the green tea infused pillow…or perhaps a full-body pillow with soothing jasmine and lavender. Value hotel? Who’s high-value now muthafuckas! Me and Sheriff. That’s who. (personal note: Thanks Sheriff!)
But it’s all good. We head up to the 73rd floor and proceed to take in Singapore from on high.
There is dancing, there is drinking. Who knows, maybe even talk to a couple girls…
~ To Be Continued ~