Author Archives: Wald

The American and the European Method on Solving Problems

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I often wonder whether I should consider myself American, or European. I’m American by birth but European by upbringing and general attitudes. Generally, when I’m in the U.S, I feel European and when I am in Europe I feel American. The difference between me and most Americans? I have different political views, I have different views on sex, religion, alcohol, relationships. Damn near everything. The difference between me and most Europeans? I love guns and distrust government. There’s a smaller difference there.

My thought process moved to problem solving. That is, how do I solve problems? American? Or European?

But first I must decide in my mind how Americans and Europeans solve different problems.

To my mind, Americans solve problems in a simple manner. If ain’t broke, don’t fix it. It seems to be very trial and error, with simple fixes preferred. The old joke goes, in school, you learn a lesson and then take a test. In life you take a test and learn a lesson. To me, it seems as if the American way is to try something, learn something from the results, and try something else. Rinse, wash, repeat, ad infinitum until goal is achieved or resources are depleted.

The European method, is a little different. It appears as if they wish to learn everything they can about a subject or endeavor,  develop a theory about it and then attempt to go about accomplishing the goal. When they do not accomplish what they wish, they go back to the drawing board and tweak the theory. Rinse, wash, repeat ad infinitum until desired result achieved.

I feel like the way I go about problems can be either way. In terms of game, when I first learned about it, I was a voracious reader and read everything I could on the subject. I poured through the entirety of [redacted] and Roissy and any other blog that piqued my interest. I was just in high school and internalizing some of the themes I read already started noticeably improving my life. But not only did I have my theories, or ideas in my head from what I read, I actively experimented. I experimented with my smell and with growing a pair. I did a series of “Red Pill Experiments“.

I recognize that there are some things you can not just theorize about. You have to go out and try things out for yourself. Cold approaching for one. I’ve never done much of it. When I do it’s not intentional, it’s an afterthought when I see a pretty girl who enters my space. I still have approach anxiety. I can theorize about it as much as I want, but I’ll never conquer it until I approach until it hurts. And then approach some more.

Until I got to Germany, I was encapsulated within military university. Not only were there not a lot of girls to approach, but they weren’t  even worth the learning experience. Most of the girls are not that good looking and the ones who are, are potential career/cadetship enders. No thanks. I primarily kept my sanity through messaging Au Pairs on POF, in the DC area. Turns out my efforts were worth it. I’ll write more about that in the coming days.

But how did I go about it? I didn’t read up on a whole bunch of blog posts on how to do online game deliberately. I had some knowledge in my head stored from reading random posts. But I thought of the “openers” myself. I messaged hundreds of girls. I edited the message ever so slightly, adding a space here or comma there to avoid the copy-paste sensors. I found out what opener worked for me and what got the most amount of replies up to 70%. Did I figure that out by reading a blog post? Nope. I figured it out by repeatedly messaging girls with different stuff until I found out what stuck. I’ve read some online dating tips or read some tricks of the trade from other guys in the manosphere. I never made a really hot girl account or two to draw the guys away from other girls. I never made a second account just to test out openers. I got to where I did by good old trial and error.

Going back to the American or European bit, I’m not sure to if I can categorize myself either way. I can use both methods and they both have their uses, like direct or indirect game. I’ve never really been able to label myself nor have I ever really cared to, though I am always curious about what I think I am or what others think I am. Most of my life, I’ve never had a label and have therefore been able to hang out with any group as I pleased.

There’s a lesson in here somewhere, but I have to catch a plane.

~Wald

Twitter

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Despite the fact that I’ve long thought twitter is retarded and contributes to shortening humanity’s already reduced attention span, I’ve decided to sign up for it. It appears to be useful for accruing page views. And because I’m not an old dog, I’ve no excuse not to learn new tricks. Still, I’m not quite sure what else to do with this thing. Makes me feel like an old dog.

Follow me here.

~Wald

A Small Thought On Facebook

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I remember reading a post at Roissy’s last year about an alpha facebook comment:

Here is decent Facebook game:

There was a very attractive girl, a verbatim 9, who had self-shot herself. She was smiling with even white teeth, managing to angle the shot just right so that you could see her sitting with shorts, her legs revealed.

Five people liked it.

White Beta Male with his name written in katakana: Radiant.

Beta Male twice her age: Your always so beautiful!!

Grrlfriend: so pretty~!

Chick with a mirror shot: Man I wanna pierce my nose soooo bad! I like the hoop on you :)

AzN Beta: Bang’n

Duckfaced Douchebag: holy sheeet

Me: I like your left eye better.

She immediately responded to me, and to me alone: “Hahaha!”

I’ve tested this out. I’ve always gotten a like or some sort of response. I also tried another thing, for shits and giggles:

Me: Yikes! I didn’t know you were part Bulgarian

Her: Huh bulgarian ? how

I’ve always gotten a response to that too. I’ve never liked any of these pictures. Or comment with anything else (anymore). I rarely add pictures (people add pictures of me) and don’t add any information anymore. I don’t have my full name on it. I have an email on there that I never use except to log-on. I have a hard time deleting my facebook for good, because it’s hard to keep in touch with my friends otherwise. Perhaps that will change soon. When I do, I’ll change the name, falsify all the information, change all the contact information to fake emails, take down the photos, un-tag myself from my friends’ pictures and let my friends who matter know what I’m up to and how they can keep in touch. Maybe I’ll just get a twitter and friend everybody I know on there.

~Wald

My First Salsa Lesson

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Two weeks ago Sunday, I went to a club in Berlin that offers Salsa lessons, for 5 euro entrance fee.

I walked upstairs and saw that the group had already started, doing some sort of turns around their partner. I was confused for a minute because I was an absolute beginner. I thought maybe I had misread the German on the website. I continued to watch when I noticed a hispanic woman come close to me. I looked her briefly up and down and then shifted my gaze back to the instructors. The girl walked past me to the bar nearby. Eventually, the instructors told everyone to try the move and see how it works. The aforementioned girl walks next to me. And she then confirmed my suspicions that she wanted to dance or practice with me.

“Willst du mal probieren?” 

(Do you want to try?)

“Ich habe doch nie Salsa getanzt. Ich bin gar nicht mit Salsa erfahren.”

(I have never danced Salsa. I have absolutely no experience with Salsa)

“Ah okay. Die Anfänger sind im nächsten Zimmer.”

(Ah okay. The beginners are in the next room)

Sure enough she was right. I walked into the room next door and saw that the men and woman were arranged in opposing lines, with the instructor and her demonstrator in the middle.

At first I was completely lost. But eventually I got the hang of the the front to back moves. Then the instructor started doing side to side moves. I figured out how to do those as well. Then she lost me when she started transitioning between the two. I had no idea which foot to transition off of.

It was time to pair dance. I got the teacher’s demonstrator. She was large and obtuse. But if I stared at our feet, and our legs, I could reasonably pretend I wasn’t dancing with a blimp. I’ll admit it made it easier to pay attention to my dance moves.. After first I was nervous and had no idea what I was doing. But my partner was helpful and explained what I had to do in German. I learned that the man transitions on the left foot. On her insistence, I stopped announcing transitions and started just doing them. Suddenly I was dancing Salsa!

Back to the lines.

We practiced transitioning again and this time we learned how to let the girl do a turn, with a raised arm after a left step on the man’s part as the signal. At first I was completely clueless on how to execute this maneuver  Now I am just mostly clueless. I managed to twirl her around.

Back to the lines.

We practiced some more and then the lesson was over. It was time try out my new found skills. Unfortunately, most of the girls my age were taken. They had come with a date. Or they found a better salsa dancer. So I decided to dance with the older ladies. That way I could focus on my dancing anyway.

I simply walked up to a lady who was not offensive to my eyes and offered my hand. I wasn’t turned away once, if I recall correctly. They were very patient with me, even when I would stop after making a mistake. They’d say it’s fine and just to keep moving. Even for older women, these ladies knew how to move. Note to self – find cougars who are good at salsa.

Eventually, I believe my frustration would bleed through (or boredom with simple moves) and the woman would say thanks for the dance and I’d find the next lucky woman. The hardest part for me was to keep up with the rhythm  When I was dancing with these ladies, they kept wanting to ask my name and where I was from, distracting from my dancing. We’d have a conversation and the further the conversation progressed, the worse my dancing would become.

Something was afoot though. The last woman, presumably in her forties started closing her eyes as we danced. As if to go with the flow. Then every now and then she would stare in my eyes smiling. Of course I’d smile back, but in my head, I’d wonder, “What the hell is she looking at?”

Then I realized.

I shall try this Salsa thing again and keep up with it.

I leave you with a video of Brazilian kids from the 90’s. Damn can they move.

~Wald

(H/T Vanancier Permanent for the video)

A Way To Go…

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On a recent Monday this February, I got off my lazy ass and finally forced myself to do push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. My diagnostic could only be described as scary.

I haven’t done a proper work out in over 6 weeks.

How did I do that day?

  1. 64 push-ups in two minutes
  2. 54 sit-ups in two minutes
  3. 10 pull-ups in two minutes (the pull-up bar fell down half-way through, but I could still do ten)

Not so good. The good news is that I’ve nearly reached my first set of fitness-goals before. I’ve done 100 push-ups in two minutes before. I’ve done 80 sit-ups in two minutes before. I’ve done 16 pull-ups in two minutes before. And I can do them again.

Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, I will do push-ups, pull-ups, and sit-ups. The weekend days are my rest days.

I’ve got no excuse but to go forward now.

~Wald

Cleaning Up House

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I am going suspend progress on this blog for roughly a week to two weeks.

The simple story is that I am behind on school work. I am behind because I have been lazy and more focused on drinking, playing video games, and sleeping. Also, I don’t really care. It’s hard to make myself care these days. Also, my classes are pass fail.

I also have not worked out and not progressed almost any of the goals I of which I wrote in a previous post. In short – I’m a mess. Some people would question me at this point – “How did this happen?” or more specifically, “What’s wrong with enjoying yourself? You’ve been cooped up in military school for a year and a half for christ-sakes.”

I say that it is good to enjoy myself – but part of what I enjoy is the ability to excel, no matter how hard or how stupid something is. I enjoy being able to turn things in on time or even early. I enjoy being able to keep my word. Okay. Enjoy is the wrong word. I take pride in the fact. If I am not organized I feel like a mess and the quality of my life suffers as a result. Sure. It’s a lot of stress, a lot of probably unnecessary stress to deal with. A lot of it I impose on myself. It’s how I keep myself accountable and how I keep myself moving forward.

I feel like for all the time I’ve spent in military school and knowing how to do things the right way I’d be able to have the self-discipline to do all the must dos and should dos when I need to so that they do not accumulate and clutter up my life. Plus I cannot enjoy the wannda-dos as much when I have a hundred should dos at the back of my head, turning into must dos the more time goes by. I know I am not perfect. But I also know, that I can be more than what I have been these past 5 weeks.

~Wald

Reblog: Mike makes a breakthrough

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I recently read this post at The Red Pill Room. It made me laugh and brought a smile to my face.

Here’s an excerpt:

 A friend of mine had a red pill breakthrough I’d like to share.

He’s a nice guy, and a Nice Guy, a Beta (actually, more of a Delta or Gamma, but we’ll use the alpha/beta dichotomy in this instance) in his late 30s who has been in and out of relationships his entire life.  He often makes poor choices when it comes to mate selection, and once he’s in a relationship he loses Alpha at a predictable rate . . . with predictable results.

He’s got a sister, whom he’s somewhat close to, and his sister has a friend – let’s call her Candy – who he’s not particularly close to but who has been a part of his life because she’s his sister’s BFF.  As he explained, she’s flaky as hell and irresponsible about just about everything, can’t seem to keep a man or a job (she’s a dog groomer), and spends her life, well, like a 30 something flaky chick usually does.  She hasn’t hit the Wall yet, apparently, but it’s right around the corner, and she’s got no idea.

Anyway, Candy is about a 7 on a good day, a 6 normally, and is headed for Fiveland on the evening bus.  My friend – let’s call him Mike – is comparable, having recently completed a technical degree and started a new job, as well as working out a bit.  Mike was attracted to Candy once, years ago, but her personality and proximity soon made her a woman to tolerate, not to date.  Besides, as his sisters BFF, she was hands-off.

But Mike is a Nice Guy, and over the years he’s been forced to do all sorts of shit for her out of politeness and filial duty to his sister.  At this point, he can’t stand her much at all, but she’s still under the impression that he’s been harboring a secret crush for all these years.

Last month, Candy apparently broke up with her boyfriend – again – lost her job – again – and had to move out of her apartment – again.  Mike lives over an hour away, within driving distance, but his new job makes it hard for him to go visit his sister often.  He thinks it’s a comfortable distance for kin, but apparently not enough to make him Candy-proof.  She called him up one Saturday morning, and he’d just read something I’d written over coffee, and he was feeling . . . rebellious.

Click on the link up top to read more.

~Wald

Shooting Shotguns and EQ

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One of the reasons why I got to know my Dad so well in the last 4 to 5 years is because I spent more time with him.

On weekends at school, I would come home, play video games, go shooting with my Dad on Saturday, watch a movie with him and my mother at night, play video games, sleep, play video games, and then get driven to school. Almost every weekend played itself out like this.

Some weeks I would go shooting more than once during the summer. It took about an hour to drive to the shooting club and an hour to drive back which gave me ample time to pick his brain on all sorts of things. One of the things I learned was the idea of Emotional Intelligence, or EQ. EQ is essentially your ability to control yourself and your emotions. That is to say, how you conduct yourself when you are highly emotional and when you are not. If you are in a sour mood and behaving badly, your EQ is low. If you are in a sour mood and you are behaving good your EQ is high.

I remember when I went shooting with my Dad the first time. My Dad hit most of the clays he shot at.The instructor made a cursory effort at safety instruction and then it was my turn to shoot.  I shot a twenty gauge over and under. Out of fifty clay birds I shot at, I hit three of them. I was ecstatic. We drove home and I showed my mom the guns we shot with, my shooting kit (that’s gear for Americans) and was so proud of myself. She was almost as proud as I was until I almost put the dirty guns on her white couch. I still laugh at that.

The next time I went shooting with my Dad, we went to the West London Shooting club. Met up with an instructor, Tim. Tim gave me another safety brief and then my Dad and I took turns shooting at the traps. Right away, I noticed that my Dad seemed to be hitting all of the clays, and I wasn’t. Tim, with his eagle eye, told me that I held my gun like a pillow. He showed me how to properly mount the gun. Immediately I shot a little better. At the end of the session, my Dad and I ate bacon sandwiches with brown sauce and I got ice cream.

As the year went on we shot many more times and many more types of birds. We shot crossers, teals, driven birds, rabbits, pairs, going away, and even some mini birds.

As we shot in the first year, my Dad and I would compete. On friendly terms of course. Sometimes we’d bet one pound to make it annoying, sometimes we’d bet an ice cream, and sometimes he’d be a dick and bet me my ride home. Despite the fact that these bets weren’t serious, I’d get pissed off when I didn’t shoot as many clays as my Dad. I had stands I disliked, mostly the driven birds at first. When I shot poorly, I would get pissed. And when I got pissed, I would shoot even poorer. It was a vicious cycle.

Eventually I got a little better, but I would still have bad days and get extremely pissed. I didn’t talk much as it was, with Tim or Dad when we shot. When I pissed, I was dead silent. I seethed inside with anger. My Dad of course (and Tim) would joke with me, send barbs my way when I shot, and I would get distracted when I was shooting and miss clays.   I tried to do the same to my Dad but his concentration never broke. The one day I told him a girl I was seeing was pregnant, he paused for a second, but missed only one clay on a double.

My Dad and I would talk about this at length in the car. He explained to me that I was just beginning and that I shouldn’t expect to shoot well right away, let alone better than him when he had been shooting shotgun for a while already. He explained to me that, even if I felt pissed or annoyed, I should just let it slide. Eventually, I adopted the mantra, “I’m here to learn and have fun. I’ll have good days and bad days. So be it.”

Eventually, over the year, we both got better. I was always really good at crossers and going away birds, but couldn’t shoot driven birds for shit. I missed damn near every one of them it was so frustrating. My Dad could shoot the ones I couldn’t and shot them well. The only problem he had was shooting crossers, which was a holdover from his rifle shooting days. Being an expert with a rifle, his instinct was to stop moving the gun as soon as he fired. He also had a problem with the concept of lead, giving too little or too much. I loved lead and shot through crossers no problem. When he shot doubles, he sometimes had trouble shooting the second clay pigeon after he shot the first. Other times he would shoot the wrong clay first so that the other one had already hit the ground before he could shoot it. My favorite stand was a doubles stand because I sometimes got two birds with one shot. The one and only day I beat my Dad shooting was won at that stand. I have the date written on a special hat somewhere. It was my second year shooting for sure.

Another problem I encountered shooting was my jerking of the gun. When I would shoot, I would unconsciously jerk the gun in any random direction other than where it was needed. When I had low EQ I jerked the gun more. When I shot with my Dad’s twelve gauge I jerked less because of the weight, but I preferred to shoot with my twenty gauge all the same. I had a twenty gauge, Beretta, silver pigeon. I still have it. The next problem I had is that I shot from the mounted position. This made it hard to see some clays, because I shoot right handed, but am left eye dominant. This is what made it so hard to shoot driven birds. I would track them with my gun, but as soon as my gun covered up the clay, I would jerk my gun when I shot, missing nearly every one. However, Tim taught me how to shoot the gun from an unmounted position and bring it up to my cheek to the same place every time  As soon as I got good at that, I shot the driven birds really well. They are now my favorite bird, shooting them a testament to the obstacle which I overcame. My good grasp of lead made it easier to shoot targets far away than my Dad and eventually I started to shoot close to his level.

I learned other things like setting up my feet so as to have maximum swing over my kill zone area. I learned how to turn my gun when I brought it up to track driven birds that curve (so much fun!) I learned how to take my Dad’s barbs and Tim’s barbs without being annoyed by them and I learned how to retort with my own. I only out shot my Dad once, but nobody in my family has been able to ever out-shoot me. My older brother to this day, is probably still annoyed that I shot better than he did that one New Year’s, even though he had been in the army and worked elsewhere that required shooting.

My Dad and I shot through the rain, sleet, and snow. Towards our last year we had gone from shooting C to B to A level (70/100 to 80/100 to 90/100 clays, roughly). If we had kept it up, we may well have entered AA and AAA (World Champion) level. We planned to go competitions to try it out and see how good we really were, but unfortunately, never got around to it. Sometimes, I’d joke with my Dad that I was going to buy my favorite gun, a bolt action Karabiner 98k, and shoot sport clays with it. One day I will. In the last year, I almost never had a bad day, and when I did, it was simply because I didn’t shoot as many clays as normal, and would have been considered a good day when I shot my first year.

We had a lot of fun shooting at West London and Tim’s a great instructor, in our opinion, the best. I didn’t speak much of him, but he’s got a terrific eye and whenever we have a chance we go shooting with him. Shooting with him is as much a pleasure as it is educational. If I ever got married, he’d be invited to the wedding.

My Dad and I still compete when we shoot with the difference that now I don’t give a damn if I win or not. I’m just happy to be shooting and spending some quality time with my old man.

Not my gun, but similar

~Wald

P.S. I also realize that, if I can shoot a clay at 100 yards away, with lead if needed, shooting a man is trivial in comparison.

How I Define my Life

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I was reflecting on things the other day in how I saw my life, or rather, how I organized were I to explain the story of my life. You know, I have my life in country A, B, C or life in various schools.

In high school and shortly afterward I organized my life in terms of women. My ninth grade year I was infatuated with  Turkish Delight. I spent the first half of tenth grade getting over it, where I learned that I had absolutely no game whatsoever at a party and striking myself out with the Latvian. Then, in the second half I took the path of least resistance, and instead of dating the camera whore like I wanted to, I ended up letting her friend seduce me. She was also the first girl I ever kissed that I could remember. I’ll include more details soon. Then she dumped me but I had already been cheating on her with another girl, who I could have fucked (and got a Puerto Rican flag) but was too chicken shit to disobey my parents. Then in eleventh grade I flirted with an Austrian girl but never escalated, even though I should have because she would have advanced my skills considerably, then I failed with the Ecuadorian girl. Then in twelfth grade I escalated but did not fuck an Indian chick with a nice ass and then got into the longest relationship of my life.

I hope that was painful to read. It was painful to write. The point is, I defined my life by the women I was with, chasing, or pining after. Now I am starting to change my view-point.

I am thinking of my life in terms, year one, two, or three in the game. I think of it in terms of year one with the red pill. I the last three months of 2012 I fucked three women. They are but blips on the radar of my life. I think of myself as a work in progress and am starting think of my life in terms of what goal I am working on next. Or maybe I see my life as in different versions of myself, and I am undergoing a new transformation.

No longer are women central to my life.

That does not mean I that I will not seek to fuck as many women as I can or continually develop my game. It’s just that now I know my purpose. I know my dream and I am working on it a little bit every day. Women may or may not be a part of my dream. But my dream is no mere woman or gaggle of women. It is to rid the world of the blue pill and those who would propagate it upon an unwilling, unknowing population. It is to stop humanity from merely looking into the stars, and have him use his technology to be among them.

Even if I were to die on my path to greatness, I would not lament fate in my last breaths. While I would wish I had more time to do great things, I would be content in that I died on the path that I chose for myself. If I am to be a martyr, the idea I will die for is my own. Myself. Deus ex Walderschmidt.

There are those who would call me selfish. I would call them too foolish to realize they are wasting their lives at someone else’s behest.

To me, living the dream is accomplishing the dream.

Are you living the life you want?

~Wald