As follow up to my EconGuyinism post, check out the link:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZbFb9klQ5Q

As a refutation to Ecofeminism, Guyinism will be assembling a compendium of pictures and vids of girls pissing, shitting, and dealing with that icky period stuff in public.  Please email me or alert me to pictures, videos, and links.

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How many times have you read an advice column with a question like this?

From the Weekly Planet:

Dear Karma Cleanser:

My boyfriend told me last night that he’d rather spend Thanksgiving with his friends than with my family. He’s met my family several times and they like him a lot. He says he thinks it will be awkward and wants to go to his friend’s potluck dinner instead. I just don’t understand. This is my third (!) boyfriend who’s skipped out on going home with me for the holidays. Is it karma or am I missing something?– Eating Me Up

And how many times have you heard a female “sexpert” or “relationship expert” give a stupid answer like this?

We hate to break it to you, hon, but your family is really irritating. Let your beau eat his potluck in peace. Just kidding, of course. Seriously, though, you should take a step back and see what these three guys have in common — other than a fear of turkey and cranberries. Maybe you’re attracted to men who just don’t do the family thing so well.

As we guys know, and as Greg Behrendt tried to get through to them, if we are really into a chick, the sooner we can meet her family, the better – and if we are not into the permanent relationship thing with a girl, never is a good time.  I was so scarce around the family of one of my exes, her father thought that she was hiding him from me and that I must have been black, but for other girls, I’ve dreamt of waking up the morning I’ve met in their parents’ house, invited to breakfast, in like Flynn.

In large part because its part of human nature to believe what we want to believe, girls don’t seem to get this.  I guess in large part they also have a different perspective – we have lower standards for short-term mates, they tend to have higher standards – so they kind of just don’t get the sexlationship thing, where we date with no intention of marriage.

And so, to girls, the holidays are break-up season. 

On the other hand, for guys, especially regular guys, and always for me, the holidays are opportunity season.  According to at least one study, 15% of guys have 85% of all heterosexual sex, but 15% of guys can’t take 85% of girls home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, can’t be at their side for every Christmas party, can’t take them all out for New Year’s, and can’t juggle them all on Valentine’s Day – and of course, the married guys can’t take any of them out – so a lot of hot chicks go back on the market. 

Oh sure, there are those first few days after Thanksgiving – those are the best days of the year for the studs.  Those are the days when women, using only what is considered logic to members of the female sex, figure they can do better – after all, if you get dumped by a 6’1″ guy who makes $100K, then why not try for a 6’3″ guy that makes $200K?  After all, it couldn’t be that I’m not 6’1″, $100K a year material – it must just be that he didn’t appreciate me?  That kind of “logic.” But other than those first few days, a bacchanal for the Jeters and A-Rods preying on the clueless and too overloaded with new phone numbers to juggle them all, especially with all the other holiday events, the holidays belong to the regular guys. Its our time of year  – the only time of year – where by taking a genuine interest in a woman, we can compete against the tall rich guys and the guys who can afford lots of coke

That’s why its the most sickening time of year for girls – not only do more than 80% of them get dumped, but, even more nauseating to them, they find out what monogamy would look like, and the type of “loser” they’d have to spend til death with in a truly monogamous society.  Is it no surprise that they now flock to anti-Valentine’s Day parties to escape this reality?

Tampa “b Scene” columnist Brooke Palmer, who cavorts with ballplayers and other Tampa Bay brahmin practically nightly, fessed up in a column in February of ’06 that she had her first real (or at least so she thought) Valentine’s Date at the age of 28. Talk about thinking no one’s good enough for you! By 28, one should figure out that even if they make themselves easy sex for the rich and famous, that doesn’t mean they’re hot enough to land one.

Hungarian Kathy (see Johns by Choice) was a Valentine’s Date.  She was 29 and had been in the states for several years, including through an entire marriage, but had still never celebrated the holiday.  I was never so proud as when I got to sport her out on Lincoln Road on South Beach, and I still have the large picture of us I paid the restaurant for somewhere – me beaming ear to ear, Kathy’s face forever memorializing all the enthusiasm of a sex slave, as she visibly envied the girls who were on the arms of the guys who owned the restaurants, not some schmoe like me who had to wait in line to get a table at one.

When I was 40, I managed to land 23 YO Clover, a glitter girl in a girl ballerina’s body, as a Valentine’s Date.  We had hooked up in mid-January at a swinger’s party, only a couple of weeks after she came home one night to find out that Darrin, the ex-porn-star who she would continue to refer to as her “boyfriend” for three more years, had moved another girl in in her place.  Darrin was a shrewdy, promising Clover that he would get back together with her on February 18 – just long enough to keep Clover away from guys on V-Day so he could recruit girl number three.  Clover never moved back in with him  – in fact, she eventually moved into my house – but Darrin remained her “boyfriend,” and she never missed a single one of his late-every-Thursday-night booty calls.

In fact, nearly all the hot chicks I’ve ever landed, almost down to the one, were between Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day.  As opposed to the affectionate but not as hot girls I’ve dated I’ve met other times of the year, most of my holiday-originated girlfriends didn’t seemed real thrilled to be stuck dating me.

And so, here we are, just days away from Valentine’s Day.  Everywhere I go, there just happens to be a broad nearby where usually there are none.  Taking a play out of my book, on nearly every aisle I turned yesterday in the supermarket, suddenly moments later a broad happened to need to buy the same thing, and the scenario repeated itself in Target.  High heels are so out in force, Target today looked like a parade of hookers in front of the Lincoln Tunnel at 3 AM.  Women usually use their phone as an excuse to turn their backs on and not engage me, yet stealing another one out of my playback, yesterday a cute suddenly seem to be holding make-believe conversations just feet from me and was looking right at me – with actual eye contact.  I was tempted to say “do I know you?”

But I didn’t.

Why should I? 

To end up with a DABA Girl at a place with an outrageously priced special Valentine’s Day menu, when I can have Jess for $180, or Summer (real alias) for $150:

or Brianna (real alias) for $140?:

Truth be told, I have had a reservation at Fleming’s at 9PM for some time now – I always make reservations at high-end chains for V-Day and New Year’s, since they tend to keep their regular menu and end up being cheaper than private restaurants (two more tips – buy roses in the supermarket, and keep some Swedish Fish in the car to offer your date on the way to dinner).  I’m keeping the reservation, just in case.  I have two parties I can to go to that night, so its not like I’ll be sitting home alone, but I’m not chasing, anymore. 

If one of those girls in the supermarket or Target wants to go out with me, let her start talking to me, not just subtly diss me when I ignore her.

I’m empowered now.   I have options.  I don’t need to chase and degrade myself with stupid lines.  I have money and all the sex they want, and they none of the money and only some of the sex I want. 

I don’t need to fork over $85 each for a meal – not including drinks - centered around Jade Pesto Steamed Lobster Tail at Roy’s just to try to get sex. 

I don’t need to feel like I’m dragging someone around town, forcing her to face the sickening reality that her “equal” is just a schmoe like me.

I can choose, just like they get to do the rest of the year.

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If you’re a judge or a politician or a clergyman, you can only have one.  But for the rest of us – with the odds of getting busted so slim to begin with, and with solicitation arrests all but unheard of in the comfort of one’s own home –  why be stuck with only one whore?
 
This issue has come most recently to mind while reading the trials and tribulations of the DABA (“Dating a Banker Anonymous”) Girls (http://http://dabagirls.wordpress.com/page/4/) who have been been garnering some big-time press of late.  The DABA girls, not to be confused with their shallow and less career-successful underlings, Bottle Poppin Girls (http://dabagirls.wordpress.com/2009/02/03/bottle-poppin-girls/), are professional women who profess to be attracted to the human qualities that wealthy investment bankers, who probably went into banking quite by accident and whose bets with other people’s money were so incompetent the most notable absence from the stimulus package before Congress is now funding for infrastructure to produce Soylent Green,  just happen to have.   Of course, the Bottle Poppin Girls are the girls the FBFs really want but think they can’t bring home to mother.

As the fortunes of their FBFs (Finance guy Boyfriends) have dropped, so have the lifestyles of the DABA Girls.  In the months since the global financial meltdown began, the DABA Girls have had their Bergdorf allowances halved, have had bottle service cut, and have had, at least on occasion, to stay in for dinner.  Now, apparently, they can’t even get laid.  http://dabagirls.wordpress.com/2009/02/09/sexless-in-the-city/  They’re going sexless in the city, experiencing part of the widely-reported trend of girls no longer getting asked out.
 
I like to think that with some extra time on their hands, their laid-off or otherwise underemployed ”math nerd” FBFs have put their math skills to work.  After all, if DirkJohanson and his underwhelming five-figure salary and low-six-figure-life-savings can afford a few dozen girls less than half his age a year, it doesn’t take a finance whiz to conclude that the mere remnants of a seven-figure former life can go a long way in New York City, with its expensive rents that Bottle Poppin Girls need to figure out a way how to pay.   In fact, considering back when I worked on the Street I could get a face-full of tits for a buck and a half (that’s, one dollar and fifty cents) at the windowless peeps on Ann Street,  I like to think that the FBFs were even making these calculations when times were flush, and viewed carrying the DABA Girls as an obligatory expense to make their parents happy that they were on daddy-track, and to have someone to bring to company functions and to travel with who technically wasn’t on-the-clock during sexual downtime. 

In an earlier age, marriage was only for the rich – it was a luxury average guys couldn’t afford, as it is fast becoming again – clearly, marrying DABA Girls was a luxury only pre-2007 bankers could afford.
 
One could say that, in a sense, DABA Girls are the human equivalent of the fake LV sold by Nigerians on tables in front of the flagship Bloomingdale’s.  On the other hand, unlike real LV, real whores are a lot cheaper in the long run than the copycats, as any guy with rudimentary math skills and time to focus can figure out.  

And as any DABA Girl knows, there’s nothing like the quality of the real thing.  When you need a root canal, do you go to a bar and try to ply a non-dentist with alcohol and pickup lines to do the root canal free?  Of course not.  Why should it be any different for sex?
 
And, guys, who looks like more fun - 
 
DABA Girls, the expensive imitation?:   
 
 
 
or, for the price of a boring or contentious dinner, the real thing?: 
 

at http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/ers/1027791862.html

And if its educated you’re after, how about Eastern European grad student “Paulina” at http://new-york-escorts.cityvibe.com/escorts/?do=catview&cat=ES  Here she is: 

 
Now, us guys still need to push for the guys’ right to choose – just in case, and because even judges and politicians and ministers should be allowed to have more than one whore, too.
 
Well, maybe not politicians.
 

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You don’t need me to tell you about the game – it was on TV all over the world- if you gave a shit, you were almost certainly watching, and certainly know all you need to know about the game by now.  What I will report on is what else matters, or should matter, to guys like us – the sex.

Tampa, normally the Las Vegas of porn, or the Bangkok of the United States, was like a reverse Bangkok during Super Bowl week. 

The cops continued their assault on hookers, including making numerous Craigs-related busts, both prior to and during Super Bowl weekend.  Girls who got busted were reporting to fellow providers that anti-law enforcement strategies that had served them well for years, failed them during Super Bowl week.  And, as I reported in my Joe Redner Exclusive!, business at Mons Venus was apparently down, and the cover charge more than doubled.

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In a game day exclusive early this afternoon at the Spruce Street headquarters of Redner Enterprises in Tampa, just three blocks from Raymond James Stadium and around the corner from his legendary Mons Venus, strip club king Joe Redner told Guyinism.com that Super Bowl XLIII has, at least through Saturday night, been a bust financially.  He told Guyinism.com that business is down 25% from the last Super Bowl held in Tampa (XXXV in 2001, Ravens/Giants).  Though he is making the same money because he temporarily raised the door fee from $20 to $50 over the weekend, apparently the legions of hot naked chicks allowing guys to fully feel and fondle their tits and asses while they rub the guys’ cocks and balls with their legs aren’t doing so well.

Redner blames it on the economy, not on the teams, including the obvious paucity of Arizona Cardinal fans in town.  However, his property manager, Frank, had a slightly different take take.  Frank told Guyinism.com that a Philadelphia Eagles/San Diego Chargers Super Bowl would have been more lucrative, because there would have been a lot of wealthy Californians.

On the other hand, Guyinism.com also observed that very few attendees of the game were willing to part with offers for ticket stubs after the game.  At least one guy was even offering face value, which was from $500.00-$1,000.00 this year – not bad money for a used ticket, compared with the $10 – $20 generally offered after World Series games the past couple of years.

It is possible that Mons has lost some business to competitors.  Through what Redner attributes to overly-aggressive election tactics, Mons has lost out in recent years to nearby 2001 Oddysey for best strip club in the Central Florida Adult Entertainment Awards.  Dirk still prefers Mons. 

In addition, Seven Seas has launched a new advertising campaign, handing out small, cheaply made in a photocopier, black-and-white flyers near Ray J Stadium biling itself as “TAMPA BAY’S OLDEST AND SLEAZIEST STRIP CLUB.” 

Perhaps the fortunes of the Mons turned around today, after interview time - indeed, at least one guy approached me in the packed 7/11 catycorner from the Ray J parking lot on Himes and Columbus, told me “you look like the kind of guy that would know this,” and asked me how to get to Mons – he was down from New York, but had no intention of going to the game while he was in Tampa, just Mons (and, apparently, 7/11).  Imagine being down from New York and running into none other than DirkJohanson of all people, fresh from a Joe Redner exclusive interview no less, from whom to ask directions to Mons Venus!

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It didn’t hurt that I was the one with the blow.
 
But that wasn’t the only reason. 
 
Jenny Hendrix – porn’s queen of cameltoe http://www.iseekgirls.com/blog/2005/11/21/jenny-mr-camel-toe/ , and winner of a 2009 AVN for Best Threeway Sex Scene, really wanted to fuck me  – because she really wanted to fuck –  and really wanted to fuck me.  For free.  I shit you not (well, maybe that’s not the best choice of terminology – read on).
 
The scene:  Club Illusions, Tampa, Florida, in 2006.  Just another Saturday night at the swing club, or so it first seemed.  She was just another young hot chick there with her boyfriend, or so I first thought.  
 
I was there with Amber (real alias), my escort ex who had become my girlfriend some months before after I hired her for the night.  As often occurred, we were cruising the club with our wingcouple-with-benefits, Dave and Jamie Cox (first names changed to protect their identity, last name their real alias).  Even though both Dave and I (and I suspect Jamie, though the meth may have added some years to her complexion) were already in our forties, the four of us were a lethal combination picking up couples with young hot chicks.  We all look good and had mastered the territory, and it didn’t hurt that maybe four-foot-eleven Amber looked like she was about 11.
 
Jenny Hendrix (real alias) was bouncing off the walls, appearing to be in a manic phase.  She swung from the pole at the atltitude of a trapeze artist over the pulsating dance floor, seemingly defying the laws of gravity by rotating at a 90 degree angle from the pole for what seemed like a dozen times. Indeed, I could swear (or so it seemed – it could have been the ecstasy combined with vodka Red Bull), that at one point, she actually completely let go of the pole and hung fully-levitated in mid-air for a 30-seconds - the image of her I will always carry in my mind.
 
Dave was in full-bore heat for Jenny Hendrix, I a bit less so but still enthused, and eventually, we all started talking and shooting pool – the game interspersed with the girls tooting up my eight ball in the ladies room.  Eventually Jenny Hendrix kept screaming almost at the top of her lungs how horny she was and how much she wanted to fuck, meaning we were uncharacteristically long past our cue to move the action into a play room.  There was an explanation for the delay – Jamie was petrified that once her husband sampled pussy like this, he was never coming back, and began employing a four-corner offense – but the star of AVN nominated Best All-Sex Release “Fuck Me:  Jenny Hendrix,” just one of her nine 2009 nominations, wanted it too badly and was forcing the issue.
 
Amber and Jamie caucused, and the decision was made that, no matter what, Dave was not going to fuck Jenny Hendrix, that Amber was going to fuck Dave, that Jamie was going to fuck Jenny Hendrix’ “fiance” Jack (the nature of Jack’s relationship to Jenny Hendrix has been speculated about in the porn media and even patently that night seemed to be a matter of dispute between themselves) and maybe me, too, and that I, and only I, was going be the one to fuck Jenny Hendrix.  Jenny Hendrix wanted to know if I had a big cock, and the girls boasted about my 9 1/2 inch.  She wanted to know if I knew how to use it, and Jamie assured her, “he’s good.”  But, terrified that the plan might not work and Dave would manage to sample Jenny’s wares, the stall continued – there was fear in Amber’s face and voice, too, but she relented to Jamie.  I guess in the swingers’ world, the same leverage that often causes a married woman never to blow her husband after the wedding date translates into a married woman not letting her husband fuck 22 year-old porn stars. 
 
Dave and I managed to move all of the bottle club side and toward the play rooms, but Amber and Jamie planted themselves on couches in the lobby in between.  But Jenny Hendrix, who once had sex with her own sister and sister’s actual fiance in a film, was tiring, but not deterred.  Perhaps just bracing me for the size of her cameltoe, she started loudly telling the girls how badly she wanted to have her ass licked.  I immediately interjected that not only would I do so, but that Amber and Jamie could vouch for the fact that’s I’d licked both of their asses, a statement which caused both of them to let out a synchronized “EEeewww,”  - somewhat surprising to me since on at least one earlier occasion, Jamie had licked my ass before I ever tasted hers,  and while I had initiated analingus with Amber during our first shower, in the course of the next year-and-a-half, she must have reciprocated that about 50 times (generally in combination with a tongue-washing of my balls) while I did it to her again at most twice (which was not at all a bad reflection on her, but more a reflection on how much she loved everything else we did to each other – there simply wasn’t time).  
 
Finally, obviously being frozen out in the lobby, and perhaps crashing out from the below, Jenny Hendrix began to yawn and talk about how tired she was.  It wasn’t long before she leaned on Jack, a recidivist dater of porn stars (yes, I’m extremely jealous), to go, and met little resistance, since presumably didn’t consider himself on the winning end of the three-way trade.  Jenny told us she was having a pool party the next at her house, and invited both couples.  We exchanged numbers, and I still have both Jenny Hendrix’ (including her real name) and Jack’s in my phone.
 
The next day, Dave and Jamie went over to Jenny’ Hendrix’ house and Dave ended up fucking her.  Amber didn’t feel well, so we didn’t go.

As Jenny Hendrix advertised as an escort, over the ensuing months I’d try again.  I called, but no calls were returned.  I emailed, but no response.   Reports had her in Jacksonville, Miami, and, of course, the Valley.
 
Jenny Hendrix really wanted to fuck me.
 
But alas, it was not to be.

Yet.

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As you may know by now, single-mom Nadya Suleman, sought fertility treatments to add eight children to her pre-existing collection of six, giving her a total of 14.

Alisyn Camerota of Fox News doesn’t like this.  She finds it irresponsible – not necessarily irresponsible for Suleman, mind you, but of the doctor, still unidentified, and apparently presumed by Camerota to be, a guy. Camerota writes, “his seems to be gross irresponsibility on, at the very least, her doctor’s part.”

This from a commentator on our nation’s conservative news network, who is supposed to be for individual responsibility.  And at least one of the guys on the broadcast this morning with Camerota chimed in, emphasizing that Fox is not blaming anything on the mother.

Camerota particularly questions, “why would her doctor transfer 8 embryos into a woman who claims to only want one more child?”  So it would be OK if Suleman, who lives with her parents, sought fertility treatments to have number seven?

When are women going to be held responsible for their actions in this society?  Women in this country have been angling for decades not just for equal rights, empowerment at guys’ expense from special rights, and yet almost always are given a free pass on their conduct – this being an octassential example.  Obviously Suleman, a graduate student, knows just as well as the doctor the ramifications of having so many kids.  Obviously Camerota knows this - and yet she seeks to find a guy to blame.

The Guyinism movement will put a stop to this hypocrisy and these double-standards. I just posted on this subject the other day on January 25 in EconGuyinism, before this story broke.  Perhaps as long as hours before Suleman even went into labor, I was warning of events like this. What’s going to cost more – our piss, which rain washes into the gutter, or the massive mess Suleman is creating?

If women are exempt from the responsibilities that come with being adults, should they have the full rights of adults let alone special rights?  For hundreds of years, the wisdom of the ages prevented women from being able to enter into binding contracts.  We did away with that venerable legal principle, and within short order, 70% of our economy is consumer spending dominated by women, and, juala, our financial system is melting down.   Of course, when a woman overspends, there’s usually another guy that needs sex that comes along to bail her out. 

And when a woman can’t control herself, even an educated graduate student like Suleman, there’s always the media to the rescue.

On that note, I’ll leave you with a link to a clip of Jasmine Tame, recently fulfilling her foremost long-held fantasy in her much-anticipated-by-herself-and-about-6-guys-from-Tampa return to porn, while acting responsibly at the same time. Notice that despite fucking six guys, she won’t be having octuplets  – or any babies at all – at least not anytime soon.  http://dirtydvod.com/flv/tampabukkake/gallery/123/fhg_1.html?nats=MTQ0MTU2MzozOjE 

Jasmine shows us all why, even under a Guyinist regime, female porn stars will still be allowed to vote.

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As you may have heard, Lingerie Bowl has been canceled.  Sticking to its guns, host resort Caliente apparently refused to require textiles be worn in its nightclub. http://www2.tbo.com/content/2009/jan/26/caliente-too-nude-lingerie-bowl-event-canceled/  

This a victory for Guyinism.  Guyinism is a participatory sport – its not about broad-worship, like Maxim, GQ, and AskMen; Guyinism is about putting our cocks in girls when they’re fully naked, not watching them run around on TV when they’re only half naked; Guyinism is about fucking and sucking like at Caliente night club afterparties – the real game.

My biggest question:  will presumptive-swinger and deposed Quarterback Rebecca Reyes, alias Reby Sky ( Naked Bowl I – the Super Bowl its Not. ) show up at Caliente after all – for the real game?  Or will she be too sore from fucking Dennis Rodman there this upcoming Friday night?

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Would you prefer the movement were know as that?
 
I’ve received a significant number of comments about the name, “Guyinism.”  For instance, one highly respected commentator to this blog, himself one of the guiding lights behind the philosophy of Guyinism, finds it Jim Jones-ish.  
 
Another, who has contacted me privately due to fear of recrimination for his Guyinist tendencies, finds the name gay-ish, though I suspect posts subsequent to his commentary have made it clear that Guyinism is anything-but-gayish, unless it has to do with girls doing gay things to each other while guys’ cocks are in, about to be in, or were just in, them – or teens doing each other as practice for same.

To me, these concerns remind me of the politically correct movement a few years back, when people seemingly rolled out of bed and decided they didn’t like being called things called black, Oriental, or indian any more, even though they were the ones calling themselves that and for the life of me I don’t know what ever was wrong with being called those things.  As we know, even using the “n” word isn’t quite what using the “n” word once more - it all depends on intentions, the situation, who’s saying it, relationships, etc.  (I refer you to “The Strange Career of a Troublesome World,” by Harvard University Professor Randall Kennedy – http://www.randomhouse.com/catalog/display.pperl?isbn=9780375713712&view=rg ).

Listen, my niggas:   guy-up

Given the importance of what Guyinism stands for, and what Guyinism is going to mean to the world, you should be proud to stand up and call yourselves “doodie-faces” if that was what this movement were called.

On a slightly different note ….

You may be asking whether there is one central place to access all Guyinist theories, principles, precepts (which will heretofore be known as “gism” – with a soft “g“).  The answer to that question is no.  Guyinism is an evolving doctrine. Guys who have been intimidated into silence for years finally have a centralized outlet to share ideas, and the collective brilliance of guys all over the world will, on a virtually daily basis, contribute to the specifics behind it.  Obviously, by now, you should have a pretty good idea of where we’re going with this.

That having been said, as you’ve probably already ascertained, I recommending using the following rules of thumb in order to determine what our gism should be.

1.  Our sex is women’s money

2.  If women are for a particular issue, you should probably be against it even if it seems like you should be for it.

3.  An exception to is when it is something that will get us more sex and make our balls feel good, in which place you should be for it, even if it seems like you should be again it.

4.  In case of a tie or conflict, just whatever is best for your balls.

Finally, Guyinism doesn’t demand that you actually agree with every milliliter of gism – we are a big pants-tent movement.  You need not agree with all of it, or believe all of it – pretty much all that is required is that you must be willing to quite vocally espouse all of it.

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Due to travel and major media commitments, the revolution will be, more or less, on hiatus until around February 9.  I’ll get a thing or two up there, but don’t expect much, and I don’t want you guys to end up wasting a lot of time checking the site as often when there’s not going to be much new material.  To that end, I do recommend making the site your home page, so you won’t miss what little new material there will be, not to mention what I expect will be a prolific resumption of activity, but I certainly understand that you may want to choose another site in order to know whether your bank is failing instead.  In any event, mark February 10 on your calendars, and if there’s nothing new that day, check the next.  For those of you that haven’t been following along, this is your time to catch up.

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