Books, Intellect, Looks - Whip Me Up a Charm Coctail

This morning, while walking into the kitchen looking more like Angelica on literal fire rather than Angelica in her legendary I-always-look-perfect-and-never-salivate-on-my-pillows bed pose, my mother handed me a package she said came from Canada. Canada? Who in the name of maple syrup do I know from Canada? And then it hit me, like a piano falling from the sky. I carefully opened the package (apparently they're fans of superglue-ing bubble wrap in Canada) and extracted from its deformed contents a book and an envelope with my name printed in grotesquely large lettering across it. As if that wasn't disturbing enough, the title of the novel read something along the lines of "How To Become a More Effective Person In 10 Days" (if it ALREADY isn't clear to you, this boy was doomed the minute I read the book title). Seriously, who READS bullshit like that? Or if they do read it, WHY? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY? (Excuse my over-reaction, I'm not a fan of utter literary crap).

To continue this dis-enheartening tale of a Valentine's attempt gone wrong, I open the envelope and immediately, two read sticker hearts fall out. There is no, absolutely no elaboration needed upon why that fact within itself is just nauseating. But oh no, ladies and gentlemen, it doesn't stop there! The last line of the letter read "Would you be my Valentine?" For clarification, this man is 20,21? What kind of a sick combination does it take a man to try to charm a woman with a worse than mediocre motivational book and a line like that? Someone definitely got their ingredients down wrong there.

So what recipe does it take to charm a woman? Of course, we have the classic - looks. Anyone who is remotely superficial enough to pretend that the physique and picture frame have nothing to do in the intrinsic foundation of charm is sadly and bitterly mistaken. Looks, great, delicious, amazing, good looks will always sweep one away. However cocky, over selfaware or just plain out there, if one looks good, an immediate sturdy foundation for the quality of charm is created. A woman is more likely to think a great looking man with mediocre conversational skills is charming than an ugly turd who can engage you in a fascinating conversation about phosphorylation. Whether it is chemical programming, sniffing the testosterone until you get a mental hard on, looks lay solid charm foundation. On the contrary, I must point out that at least with women who have a large enough mental capacity to comprehend mind realms and perverse obscene thought, men who are dumb-butt stupid will never be charming. However delicous.

A dear friend of mine met with a person of the opposite sex the other day. This man, however physically unattractive (fine, he's not that bad. But an auburn goatee?!), seems to have the competence and mental capacity of at least 5 great minds on TED.com (I cannot find the copyright symbol, you know who you are). How big of a factor does intellect play? Of course, a man who is capable of engaging you in such an intellectually spurring and inspirational converastion that utterly stimulates your entire being must have something into him. However, is intellect really that important? Yes, I do believe so. If a man comes up to me and tries to talk to me about my shoes, however gal-friendly, I am not getting a mental or any kind of hard on for the record. If you got the brain package, you got a package, that's for sure.

But is that all enough..? I was pondering the other day the nature of the whole "spark" phenomenon. "Oh yes, there was a definite spark between us". Bullshit or reality? Is it possible that the entire concept of the spark is based entirely only upon the desire of people to fabricate charm where it really isn't present? Is it possible that people basically live in the illusion that they click, charm, enamour people? However it is, I believe that charm is illusive and never unintentional. Everyone has their specific coctail, or lack of it, that they whip up for themselves and the opposite sex to indluge in. Bartender, whip me up a French accent, love for books and dancing and an affinity for obscene passionate sex. Ran out? Pitty.