How to Become a Master Pick-Up Artist

People are always asking me, "Jeff C., how do I become a master pick-up artist like you?"

Obviously, there is no simple answer to this question… and really, let's be honest, the chances of anyone out there becoming even half as skilled as I am at meeting and seducing scores of beautiful women are slim-to-none. I got to where I am today – proudly perched atop the apex of the seduction community – through a long, arduous process of experimentation, analysis and frequent, painful rejection. Everyone in this world is different, and our individual life experiences shape each of us in a unique manner. That said, I do believe there are lessons to be learned by the path I took in my younger years, and if I can help just one lonely, self-conscious teenager gain the confidence he needs to succeed with women later on in life, then perhaps my story is worth telling. So here goes…

I was born in 1979 in the suburbs of Philadelphia. While my childhood was generally happy, marked by sun-drenched memories of Little League games and days spent swimming in the local pool, my teenage years felt more awkward than most. As my elementary school friends expanded their social circles, began going to weekend parties and dating, I retreated into an introverted shell, surrounding myself with comic books, video games and television. My average Friday night consisted of watching The X-Files alone in my bedroom while eating an entire box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

In hindsight, I allowed this to happen. Childhood, generally-speaking, allows us to be free-spirited at all times. The rigors of day-to-day life do not concern us, because we tend to not be conscious of them. However, at a certain point, we cannot help but become conscious. We begin to see the world as it truly is. We begin to form individual thoughts and opinions. We begin to recognize our place in the universe. With this consciousness come self-consciousness. And, in my case, with that self-consciousness came self-doubt. Uncomfortable in my own skin and no longer feeling accepted by my peers, I decided that it was safer and more serene to reside in my lonely, solitary world than to risk rejection or judgment by those who populated the outside world.

Then came college.

I applied and was accepted to a school far from home. As I packed my bags, I could only envision a new town, new friends, and a new beginning.

But, as I spent the first several weekends alone in my dorm room while other freshmen went out and mingled, I realized that a simple change of environment wasn't enough. In order to fully experience life, I needed to change as well.

The television in my dorm room, with its seventy-odd channels and perfectly-adequate reception, worked just fine. But, rather than spend Sunday afternoons by myself, I strolled out to the lobby to watch football, long a passion of mine, with a handful of other students. In doing so, I gradually became friendly with several of them and, before too long, I was chatting with those same individuals during the bus ride to class. I was running into them in the library. I was being invited to their rooms on Friday nights to drink beer with their circle of friends and watch True Romance. I was going with them to keg parties at the homes of strangers. Which brings us to the most important part of my transformation…

Alcohol

I never drank in high school. Mostly because no one ever offered me alcohol. During my first few months of college, though, I learned two things: 1) I didn't particularly like the taste of beer, and 2) I absolutely, positively loved being drunk.

In an editorial from the May 2004 issue of Modern Drunkard Magazine, Frank Kelly Rich compares drinking to the tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. If you'd like, go ahead and read that editorial now. It's not very long. I'll wait, I promise. Done already? Okay, let's continue.

My Dr. Jekyll was painfully quiet and insecure. He was intelligent and had opinions he wanted to share, but far too often, he erred on the side of caution and kept his mouth shut. From afar, he looked at beautiful girls in awe. More than anything else, he wanted to approach them and strike up a conversation, but he was crippled by fear.

On the other hand, my Mr. Hyde was fun and outgoing. He was loud, gregarious and quick with a joke. He liked – nay, he loved – the feeling of making others laugh. He stole an orange cone from a street corner and carried it several blocks back to the dorms because he thought it would look good in his room. He showed his friends how, if you kicked the sprinklers in the park just right, they would break and shoot water straight up into the air. He could talk to anyone about anything. He was omnipotent.

Gradually, like Frank Kelly Rich, my Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde began to merge as well. My sober self became less insecure and more comfortable in social situations. In addition, during those numerous nights spent standing near a keg in someone's backyard, he learned a valuable lesson: That everyone likes meeting new people and, as long as you're kind and respectful, even the most stunningly gorgeous girl will happily have a conversation with you. Which brings us to the next aspect of my transition into a master pick-up artist…

Have Something to Talk About

As a teenager, I was passionate about the following things, in no particular order: Sports. Comic books. Video games. Masturbating.

Try having a conversation about any of those subjects with the blonde girl from your Intro to Psychology class. See how that works out.

Around the age of nineteen, though, I began reading voraciously. It started with a handful of music biographies, specifically those about Jim Morrison, who fascinated me at the time. Upon learning that he was a fan of On The Road, I ventured back into the writings of Kerouac and the Beat Generation. Then the Lost Generation of Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Then Existentialism. Then I jumped forward to the novels of Bret Easton Ellis and various other contemporary writers.

And you know what I realized in the process? That girls love talking about books. They love talking passionately about their favorite authors, about books they've read and about books they're planning to read. And now that I had painstakingly developed a passion for books as well, we had a common ground.

From then on, rather than trying to explain to girls how the New Jersey Devils ruined hockey with their defensive style in the mid-90's as they nodded vacantly and their attention wandered, I could always fall back upon books and carry on an intelligent, stimulating conversation.

But there is still one more piece of the puzzle that I need to discuss…

Don't be a Miserable Douche

You could be the smartest, most insightful man on the planet, but that means nothing if you don't understand how to talk to others. Simply put, it doesn't matter what you say if the manner in which you say it is a turn-off.

Even after I successfully emerged from my teenage seclusion, I still carried with me the attitude that I'd used as a self-defense mechanism during my lonelier years. With a few cups of negativity and a dash of unearned pomposity, it would need to be shed before anyone truly wanted to talk to or be around me on a regular basis.

And, on one balmy summer afternoon, I decided that it was time for a change. No longer would I be negative. No longer would I have an artificial ego. I began to say "please" and "thank you" at every opportunity, sometimes in excess. Every now and then, if the situation seemed appropriate, I'd throw in a "sir" or "ma'am." I held open doors for everyone. I even made a conscious effort to limit the number of negative words and phrases I used in conversation, such as "no" or "never" or "I hate [insert name of crappy band, movie or television show here]."

You know what? It worked. From girls in bars to customer service reps at the bank, people were immediately nicer and more receptive when I went out of my way to be nice to them.

After speaking to you, others should walk away feeling good about themselves. Don't make them feel less important to you. If need be, go out of your way to make them feel more important than you. Don't let them see your ego. Instead, do everything you can to boost their ego. Don't belittle anyone. Their opinions are just as valid as yours. And don't be miserable and mopey. No one's life is perfect, and they don't want to hear about your problems.

So, to sum up, here are a few basic things you need to do to become an internationally-acclaimed master pick-up artist like me…

1. Leave your comfort zone and meet people.

2. Drink heavily.

3. Read a few books, dumbass.

4. Be someone whom others want to be around.

Building a Better Crab Boat

As all you know, I am a master pick-up artist, unrivaled in the art of seduction.

That said, every now and then, I feel trapped by this label. Sure, I can walk into the best bars and clubs and leave an hour later with my arms around the best looking women, but do those women really appreciate me for who I am inside, or are they merely under the spell of my devastating charm and charisma?

Ultimately, it is advantageous for all individuals to ask questions like these. Self-rumination leads to a better understanding of oneself, and the better you understand yourself, the better you understand all of humanity. Questioning that which you sometimes take for granted leads to enlightenment. And the enlightened mind has an advantage over all others, simply because occasionally we can become blind to our own flaws. We do something so often and for so long that it eventually becomes commonplace, and it remains just successful enough for us to never once consider changing that habit. And maybe there's no need to. But, every now and then, just outside our peripheral vision, there's a better solution to the problem. All we need to do is look a little closer.

Which brings me to the point of this post. I warn you, it doesn't really have anything to do with meeting beautiful women or driving them to the heights of passion. But it is something I've needed to get off my chest for a few weeks now, ever since I watched a Deadliest Catch marathon on TV a few Sundays ago…

Crab boats should be safer. And I have a few ideas for how to make them so. Once these changes are implemented, the show can officially be renamed Moderately Exciting – but Definitely Not Deadly – Catch. So here goes:

1. Apparently, people get knocked off these boats by waves all the time and get sucked out to sea. Which is why, on the ultra-safe crab boat I'm designing, we will have eight-foot high fencing along both sides, with a small sliding door on both sides that can be opened when it's time to drop some cages into the water or pull them out. Should a giant wave come along while the men were hard at work, it might knock them over. It might fling them against the fence. But no longer would they tragically get swept away to their deaths.

2. Admittedly, while the fence will save countless number of lives, it's still not foolproof. What if a fifty-foot wave came out of nowhere and tipped the boat on its side? Well, I'm glad you asked. All of the fishermen on the deck will be tethered to the boat using bungee cords. These will clip harmlessly onto their belts and allow them a full range of motion at all times. But, should they somehow managed to get tossed overboard despite my brilliant fence idea, they'll still be connected to the boat, and they can be pulled in with ease.

3. Another everpresent danger on the deck of a crab boat is the giant cages that are always swinging around at the end of the crane. On television, these cages look to be about eight feet wide and eight feet tall and, even when empty, might weigh close to two hundred pounds. Needless to say, this isn't safe for anyone. If you and your deckmates are dropping those cages into the water in a vicious storm and you get clipped with one that's swinging around, you're knocked clear across the boat, often mumbling to yourself, "Geez, it's a good thing that fence was there… otherwise, I woulda been knocked into the water." Which is why my new generation of crab boat will eliminate those cages. Instead, we will use high-strength steel netting. A salt-based pole will be placed inside the net before it enters the water. This will hold it open and allow the crabs access. However, after 24 or 48 hours or whatever, the pole will dissolve and the net will envelope the crabs inside. When pulled back into the boat, the fishermen must merely dump the crabs, then toss the pliable, lightweight net into a pile. No longer will all boats need giant stacks of cages at the start of their trip. They will merely need a nice little pile of nets.

4. I'll admit, this fourth suggestion might not be feasible quite yet. But, with an eye toward the future of crabbing, I feel that all captains should examine the possibility of eliminating the crab boat entirely, to be replaced with, you guessed it, submarines with crab-sucking vacuum arms. This way, the crew would be completely enclosed at all times, eliminating virtually all danger, and the crabs could efficiently be sucked off the ocean floor, into the submarine and sorted.

And there you have it. You're welcome, crab-fishing industry.