So LinkedIn is the most boring of the social platforms?
Why in the world, businesswoman, must that be?
You’ve been looking for a job, consumers, or funders
But it’s Pamper-Her-Friday—may I pamper thee?
The old canard: Business and pleasure shouldn’t mix
The billionaires beg to differ, they’re having all the fun,
Must we wait ’til the after-work party begins at 6?
Listen, a free-enterprise woman’s work is never done
Trapped in the cubicle or cuffed to the corner office
Your midday predicament has become rather routine,
If you’ll allow me to be your romantic accomplice
I can rescue you from that dreadful work scene
Click a new window…away from the boring spreadsheet
Close the charts and graphs on recent marketing trends,
Artificial intelligence, big data, rise of the robots
You’ll survive them all but your happiness depends
On your ability to engage a Friday escapade
If not your body then surely your creative mind,
Visualize an azure lagoon into which we’ll wade
I will decouple you from that corporate bind
Did you hear of Amazon’s bid for Whole Foods?
Well, I sold some shares after the big run-up,
The capital gain? Woman, I’m splashing it all on you
It’s so much fun to share a runneth-over cup
Where would you rather be in this moment, now?
Cancún? The Moroccan Isles? The South of France?
I’m coming via a new Tesla, courtesy of the Dow
A whirlwind summer’s weekend I’m eager to finance
Time for removal of your buttoned-up work attire
Delivery of sand and surf fabric leisures by drone,
Gucci, J.Jill, Tory Burch, no matter your desire
I simply want you captive to my summer zone
No, not corporately captive as is now your case
But captivated by the catamaran awaiting bayside,
I’ll mix exotic cocktails, then unfurl the twin sails
On the cushy topside, on my chest, you’ll reside
We’ll sail straight into the sunset, relieved of cares
LinkedIn no longer; but linked on my arm you’ll be,
Reading about romance on your social/digital wares
Only pales to sharing Pamper-Her-Friday with me
I’m in the lobby as you read this, businesswoman.
Ready?
________________
***
Pamper the woman . . . like a summer romantic. -Rg2
When I texted, “Are you in love with him?”
Perhaps your answer lost itself in translation,
Did you assume a “yes” would cloud my emotions dim?
Quite possibly, I might have demanded reparation
I mean, what the hell was he doing in your pool?
Which of you was doing the entertaining—he?
So you interpret a bouquet of flowers the essence of cool
That provocative Instagram post…was that for me?
Of course it was, and, no, I’m not full of myself
Your action was highly subjective—a visual statement,
That I was no more than another product on your shelf
And that I needed to consider emotional abatement:
Power down, young man, curb your enthusiasm
A woman is prone to do strange things out of hurt,
Krista, we were opposing ends of a romantic chasm
Figuratively knock a man down but, gosh, don’t kick dirt
That was last summer, a season lost to mutual misstep
You never replied to the text, “Are you in love with him?”
I truly believe it was an uncomplicated answer you kept
I didn’t cross your mind? Woman, the chances were slim
I’ve never lacked confidence but I’ve tasted humble pie
I never took for granted that you would agree to dinner,
Perhaps you wanted this writer to be an extraordinary guy
Make no mistake: My father sired a bona fide winner
I was walking toward you; maybe you preferred I run
It might have been you wanted to inner-feel my passion,
What if our reserved dinner table faced a setting sun?
As I pull your chair, as you approach, in romantic fashion
The most sorrowful of all words: What might have been?
Though even more pitiful: The summer that wasn’t,
Woman, as I write this, I swear, I’m sippin’ on gin
To imagine what your fragrance is like, girl, I mustn’t
That was a summer ago; I trust you read my letters
The irony of it all? You were the hidden theme of most,
That was then; my creatives this season are even mo’ better
Consider this a new series: The initial Rg2 post…
Of a summer’s romance collection inspired by you
I’m sending one more text: With whom are you in love?
A woman’s heart doesn’t function well when it’s not true
Might I be the one you haven’t rid your thoughts of?
If there’s another fella with whom you’re sharing idle time
A lucky chap, he, but those’re but moments frittered away,
Such is the nature of emotional infidelity—on his dime
Are you afraid of how you’d feel on Pamper-Her-Friday…
…with me…
Krista, my summer’s free.
Can we be…
A summer’s romance?
Remembrance,
Rg2
______________
***
Pamper the woman . . . to make up for the summer that wasn’t. -Rg2
Admit it, woman, a summer love would be so nice
Alas, the outdoorsman in you is eager to play,
Sipping berry daquiris alone on warm nights won’t suffice
Will you sit with me on the dock of the bay?
Wasting time with you will be time well spent
The steamships will be watching us as they float by,
As I take your hand at sunset—with your consent
You can trust this romantic . . . no need to verify
I ordered a clutch of summer dresses and pretty wraps
Of violets and fuchsias and poly-berry tints,
If you would do me the honor and model them perhaps
The effect on me the sight of you would be immense
A woman in a summer dress . . . is that not God’s gift?
The hem of which billows to the rhythm of the wind,
With you on my arm, girl, the other fellas are miffed
Ours is a season genuine; theirs but a summer’s pretend
You see, not everyone is fortunate to share a summer
When concerts in the park are made all the better,
By the shared patch of grass beneath the shade tree
Our being together is a natural romantic tone-setter
Have you ever been pampered inland to shoreline?
The San Bernardino mountains offer a cabin getaway,
Sauna soaks beneath the open sky—with French wine
Binge-watching our favorite shows to the break of day
On to a beach run—oh, what fun!—we’ll go
We’ll transform from mountain trekkers to land-walkers,
I’ll have you mount my back, your body I’ll tow
Once laughter fills the air we’ll drift into sand-talkers
Holding hands as the tide rolls towards us ankle-deep
Seagulls alight into the hue of the descending sun,
Woman, these are summer moments we’ll certainly keep
Your attempt to conjure up better memories? There are none
Love me tender, I’ll love you gentle, we’ll be true
At the end of our rainbow, there, is a pot of gold,
Neither a mirage nor some imagined figment view
We’ll be the greatest summer love story ever told
What is summer without a companion to share
Alas, the outdoorsman in you is so eager to play,
I’m ready to engage you in all the fun you can bear
Why don’t we start tonight—it’s Pamper-Her-Friday….
_______________
***
Pamper the woman . . . for a summer’s romance. -Rg2
How’d you sleep last night, angel? Any pillowy dreams?
It was near three a.m. that our eyes finally sunset,
How would you rate my application of the silky creams?
It’s likely that neither of us has quite recovered yet
An open-air dinner for two under the night’s stars
I swear, I could see blue ocean currents in your eyes,
The Milky Way we could nearly reach out and touch
June ushered its version of a pre-summer surprise:
Leaves gently rustling in the whispery evening breeze
Stem glasses refusing to stay empty for long,
Temecula Riesling eager to tickle our spirit fancies
Were you aware that you actually broke out in song?
“It’s All About Our Love…So Shall It Be Forever….”
You were giving Sade a run for her vocals money,
Your etching an imaginary stage in the sand was clever
Your night fragrance, woman, oh, was it sweet as honey
I wasn’t aware you have an interest in the theatre
And Fences is slated to make a run in Long Beach,
To learn that sculpture is among your artistic endeavors
Well, I’m a willing student if you’re willing to teach
You could sit behind me as if an intimate instructor
Cradle my hands with your own as the wet clay spins,
Steadier and steadier I could eventually become
It’s true a man, who takes his time with a woman, wins
There was just something about last night . . . in the air
I believe I learned that there are levels of affection,
Nary a clothing item needed to be removed
These Saturday thoughts of you have inspired reflection
Of the sort that soothes the mind and fosters a re-thirst
For another drink of your company by moonlight,
If you haven’t shared a telescope view of the Big Dipper
Nestled in the lap of a summer-man…I’ll be the first
About last night . . . I swear, I didn’t want it to end
You left me with your reputation unquestionably intact,
Serendipity isn’t known to appear twice in a row
But what fun we could have in our effort to re-enact . . .
I make no apologies for my erotic fire tonight
Burning your candle, I will, at both sensual ends,
You haven’t had a man touch you like a prophetic flame
That moist dream you had is about to pay dividends
You’ve languished in silent desperation long enough
Those selfish men indulgent in their own self-pleasure,
Having left you disenchanted with the notion of intimacy
You’ve fallen one too many times for the fleeting gesture
Of a sweet line, a paid-for dinner, flowers sent by assistant
When each of them has dissipated, what’re you left with?
You wanna put your hands on the granite chest of a man
Who’s neither storybook character nor fictional myth
I’m live and in the flesh, woman, you need me tonight
And you’re ready to unleash the hidden freak in you,
A quadruple of scotches on the rocks will tip our scales
I want every piece on you peeled away except the shoe
Paired, each heel not having yet touched the floor
Vertically positioned and then horizontally repositioned,
Innumerable spanks to coincide with the countless yanks
Woman, the animalistic lover in me you’ve commissioned
Your beck is my call, tonight you simply want it all
I’m prepared for you to slap me at the height of anger,
Take all your pent-up frustrations out on me, the G
Woman, I’m gonna phuck you like a handsome stranger
Your temperature’s rising and my hands are hypnotizing
Exactly a medical practitioner I must admit I’m not,
But while they’ve read books, I’ve tested on soft skin
You’ve read about me but tonight you’re the thickened plot
Stir you, I will, stir me, woman, is the ultimate thrill
Seems like you’re plenty ready for the unexpected,
You’ve been following me, even trolling me, across the ocean
And finally the man behind the words has been requested
To enact the prequel written so utterly beautiful
You’ve visualized everything about me pre-sexually,
The mind and the imagination are terrible things to waste
Woman, are you ready for this Pamper-Her-Friday intimacy?
______________
***
Pamper the woman . . . like a stranger in her dreams. -Rg2
Indications suggest you’ve caught summeritis
Is there any wonder I can feel you from afar?
You’ve remained elusive most all of spring
My lake house in Castaic, its door’s ajar
Come away with me on a preview excursion . . .
A spontaneous getaway from your urban demands,
Relieve you of sooted air and your driver’s duties
We’ll share a sherbet sunset as the horizon expands
Warmer days are in the offing; What are your plans?
Woman, have I ever crossed your mind?
The first time ever I witnessed your eyes . . .
It was obvious that we’re a twin-soul kind
How would you like to come away with me . . .
To the serenity of lakeside hammocks side-by-side?
I want you to experience the joy of flamingo sightings
A rowboat picnic for two, floating on the gentle tide
Strawberry mint juleps we’ll sip in the shade
I wanna swing you gently beneath the willow tree,
All the thoughtful little splendors your girlfriends wish
They’re inherent to this writer, woman, it’s me
A lakeside getaway, a cathartic take-you-away
Is exactly what you need for emotional balance,
If you’ll make me wholly responsible for your summer
I guarantee you’ll be blessed by my romantic talents
So what do you say, woman, can I sweep you away
For a preview of summer on the lake we’ll play,
On the hammock we can brainstorm our coming events
This weekend is the beginning . . . it’s Pamper-Her-Friday.
The Strikingly Beautiful Mother of Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2, Ms. Linda Brooks, and the Founder, her son, Rg2
Dear Mother,
I wouldn’t be mistaken if I assumed that each and every son the world over feels his mother is the most beautiful of them all. I can only hope they all feel such a way.
Call mine the ultimate bias. I know you’re the most beautiful.
The story that forever epitomizes my eternal love for you is the one of heartbreak. Upon losing your own mother at the tender age of 14, and your being the eldest of the Brooks kids at the time, Aunt Lina broke the gut-wrenching news shortly thereafter: “Linda, you’ve got to quit school and get a job to help out.”
Jarring must have been that sequence of unforeseen events, and that’s an understatement. A job at the hospital was lined up for you, your having no say in it, and the ultimate curveball of life had hit you like a swift bullet—your adolescence not yet fully formed. Your first paycheck was so paltry, you literally cried all of the long walk to a home you no longer recognized, and this, in the dead of winter of a frigid, unforgiving Canada.
That story, among the many others, lives in me so vibrantly, like a tattoo—as do you, mom. Somehow you matriculated an adversarial maze of a life, raising three kids void of any semblance of a parental guide, reconciling with your estranged father, all the while working (I honestly can’t recall your taking off one day in 30 years of tenured work) to achieve an enviable retirement.
Hard knocks are not just for the broad-shouldered.
Beneath that velvet, touched-by-an-angel, made-for-the-silver-screen exterior is no less than a warrior.
I see why father fell for you on first sight. And left America to become a Canadian citizen. A man, no matter his age, will go where true love lives. He loved you. That kind of love is rare anymore. Father was fortunate.
If I haven’t told you that you’re my hero, let Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2 be the record that speaks volumes. For you, mother, are the genesis of it all.
You are the “mother” of a quiet yet global movement that, in all your majestic modesty, you wouldn’t dare think of taking credit for. But you are.
I thank you for everything you’ve done for me. The prayers. The tough love. The gentle hand. The inspiration for charting my own path in forging a life worthy of my effort and my dreams. To remain true to our roots whether wealth or hardship.
We honor you on Pamper-Her-Friday and this Mother’s Day . . . and ever after.
I love you, mom.
Forever and always,
Your son,
Roy
______________
***
Pamper the mothers . . . for they are the life-givers. -Rg2
The new ZO2 Prime basketball sneaker from Lonzo Ball of Big Baller Brand®: A Market Disruptor debuts
My Angel,
In honor of Pamper-Her-Friday, I bought a little something for you.
Part gift, part conversation piece, part thought provoker . . . that a woman of your ilk would understand.
The ZO2 Prime signature basketball sneakers from projected No. 2 NBA draft pick Lonzo Ball, the UCLA one-year wunderkind, have debuted. I reveal the price tag—north of $500—not as some silly indicator of my love for you—frankly, that is priceless. Nor to imply the cost arguably borders on outrageous, as many feel. But simply to express an opinion.
The market will let a man know how it feels about his product.
Whether the shoe flourishes or flops, it makes a powerful statement on the very essence of the American gestalt: The ingenuity to imagine, build, and take the risk.
The critics say the father, LaVar Ball, is boisterous, audacious, even delusional. His sons don’t think so. The pundits say the son isn’t as good as the marketing implies. The draft’s opinion matters more. The naysayers say, “How dare the Ball family reach for the moon,” when the universe they’re used to has always posed limits. Even if they fail, the Balls will still be among the stars, no?
When Phil Knight and his partner Bill Bowerman brought to market the Nike waffle-sole running shoe in the early ‘70s (yes, conceived from a waffle iron), players like Converse, Adidas and Puma were established athletic-shoe powerhouses. How dare Phil try to shake up the market and establish his own brand.
He did.
Phil Knight may well be a fan of LaVar Ball’s. Sure, he also hopes he fails. Why would Nike want the competition? But, quietly, Phil understands and may well be rooting for LaVar. After all, he was LaVar back in the ‘70s. Phil said, “F@#k you!” to the established competition and chased his dream. The rest is Nike history.
Love, you know what I think about more than anything regarding this basketball saga? The poor, inner-city kid, the fail-but-try-and-try-again dream chaser, the would-be entrepreneur who has no financial backing except his savings and sweat equity, the Horatio Alger with only a dollar to his name but a vision he can’t get out of his head.
If established companies, to say nothing of the dream killers, exert total dominance over markets and refuse—understandably, to protect their market share—to allow new entrants, how will America continue its storied business prowess? Its intellectual, technological and economic dominance over global competitors?
Who had heard of a Google before it launched? And now that Facebook dominates social media, should Snapchat even bother? Of course it should. Why would Uber make the cab market uncomfortable? Because the market was ready for something new and perhaps more efficient.
Uber is a disruptor. Markets need disruption now and again because of simple human evolution. The market wants faster, better, cheaper, more convenient, more fabulous, more exclusive. The market apparently likes disruption. Otherwise those new entrants wouldn’t succeed.
Why should Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® bother to challenge the established romance space? Why not?
Why should a Barack Obama even try to disrupt such a historically exclusive club? Why not? Obama is the ultimate disruptor.
Big Baller Brand® is a disruptor. It makes consumers who are devoted to their established brands uncomfortable, not to mention the CEOs of those companies. But the market has proven throughout history that it makes room for newcomers. Whether that newcomer has the wherewithal to sustain its presence in the market will determine its success.
But the effort, the audacity to dream, to risk and to deliver, is the essence of the American spirit.
The Ball shoe may well fail. Quietly, I’m pulling for them, Love. And dreamers all over the world are pulling for them, too, truth be told.
Should they fail? Well, they tried. How many others have dared to try?
Just as I’ve tried to win your heart . . . on Pamper-Her-Friday. I can’t say I’ve succeeded. And the gift of these Ball sneakers certainly may not do the trick.
But aren’t I in your mind? Call me the “Romantic Disruptor.”
And for good measure, next Friday you’ll receive a delivery of sneakers of a slightly different brand:
The “Zero Dark Thirty” LeBron 14s—collector’s edition.
Why?
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.
Athletically yours,
Rg2
________________
***
Pamper the woman . . . regardless of the naysayers. -Rg2
Remember when I advised (borderline begged) you to invest in Bank of America, Wendy’s, and Ford company stock—not to mention a handful of others—a few years ago? We were not yet a couple years removed from the Great Recession and each of those company shares was trading around $5 bucks per, historic, once-in-a-blue-moon lows during a time when the markets had tanked and most everyone had lost their appetite for equity investing.
Despite my not being a certified financial/investment adviser, you took me up and waded in tepidly, understandably so. You’ve gone on to quadruple your investment in BofA. Nice run and much deserved. Your aversion to fast food, however, disallowed you to invest in Wendy’s (even though it was still paying a dividend throughout the turmoil and has now tripled since my initial suggestion). Yeah, you missed out big on that one but each investor has to live with her conscience and be able to sleep at night, right? Understandably so.
Warren Buffett says, “When others are fearful, be greedy.”
I don’t believe in greed. My needs have never necessitated avarice. But the sage knows both market and human psychology like the back of his weathered hand. The market, once spooked, will definitely fall—-but it never neglects to come right back.
The current bull market, I still call it the Obama bull run, certainly looks frothy. Between interest-rate increases and the potential for war, this current market could likely tumble any day now. Even if it does, money still has to be made, no? Which brings me to new opportunity.
My research has yielded a few under-the-radar, if not beaten-down picks that you would be wise to consider. Lloyds Banking Group plc, a London-based banking/financial services concern, like most other banks during the Great Recession, had lost its way and had to be rescued by the British government. After years of working to redeem itself, it just recently paid back all its government loans and is now once again in private sphere, where it should be. I got in at just under $3 per and it’s quietly making its way to $4 while paying a divvy all the while (ticker: LYG). This is the “BofA” moment of those years ago for this stock. I would advise you, as then, to not hesitate. Time, after all, is profit.
Ever heard of Jack Dorsey? He’s the founder of not one but TWO publicly traded companies you may’ve heard of: Square, the plug-it-into-your-smartphone payment device and processing system maker, and Twitter, the social and breaking news site that looks to be evolving into “Twitter TV” in due time. Well, Twitter went public back in 2013, touched $75 per share and has since tumbled to as low as $14 and change as recently as early this week. Dorsey had left the company and recently come back to right the ship.
Twitter (the stock) has garnered nothing but negative press during its fall from grace, while Facebook has eaten its lunch. It’s rare that a founder of a company doesn’t care about its success. People bash Dorsey for running both companies simultaneously and, thus, not devoting enough quality time to Twitter to restore investor faith. I believe in Dorsey. Just as I believed in Steve Jobs upon his return to Apple after he was ousted from the company he’d helped found with Wozniak. While everybody seemingly abandoned or shorted Twitter stock and criticizes Dorsey, I’ve done a “Buffett”: pivot from the fear. Given more time, Dorsey will right the ship. Now’s a good time, Carol, to bet on him—before the herd comes back and the stock price runs away from your current comfort level. Ticker: TWTR.
Lastly, Weight Watchers International, Inc., is a name with which you may be familiar. The weight management, lifestyle, and nutrition company years ago once sported a stock price north of $80 per. It too lost its way, whether via weak management, identity crisis or mission stray. Enter Oprah Winfrey, who snapped up several million shares at around $6 per back in late ’15 and now sits on the board. We know the scale of Oprah’s integral influence and stellar business acumen. I’ll never bet against Ms. Winfrey, whatever her endeavor, so it’s no surprise to me that the stock has reached $20+ and she has spearheaded the recent hiring of Mindy Grossman, the standout CEO of multichannel retailer HSN Inc., to helm Weight Watchers and take it to the next level. Grossman has an impressive business record and is widely respected in industry circles.
The future looks great for the company, especially with Oprah’s involvement. Ticker: WTW.
I’m no expert, Carol. And you certainly aren’t obligated to take my advice. The pamperer in me, however, just has to come out, as you well know.
And who better to be on the receiving end of this week’s Pamper-Her-Friday than someone as lovely and deserving as you?
The thing about spring is its novel possibility
We can put to pasture any lingering regret,
Such as a dinner invitation gone unaccepted
Or a bookstore date still curiously unmet
The past once passed doesn’t have to be prologue
Recall the white dress you donned in the photo frame?
You wrote, “You would’ve really liked it up close…”
That remains a mind ember of a still-kindled flame
Where’d that dress go . . . is it forever closeted?
Will ever I witness it draped from your shoulders?
Where’d our spring go . . . I can only posit it
Those eyes, woman, your eyes are memory holders
What’s most associated with the coming of spring:
Native flowers so anxious to boast new petals
I will be your water if you’ll be my sunlight
Our carbon dioxide to their roots will settle
Like a woman eager to bask in a new season,
A pantyless stroll through a fresh-bloom meadow
A whiff of his spring cologne provides every reason
To break free from the chains of that emotional ghetto
Of failed lovers you’ve suffered no fault of your own
He had access to your home, though nowhere your heart,
That was last spring, admit it, you weren’t in love
A forgetful season. . .have you examined your part?
Vanessa, where are your thoughts of that romantic writer
He wrote of taking you with him to the water’s edge,
There’s a sunset that shed tears for your mutual absence
Long ago he took the Romantic Oath; his pledge:
Do Her No Harm—more than a medicine man
Woman, these are tumultuous, climactic times,
Should we lose the optimism of a coming spring
I swear, I’ll surrender the value of my nickels and dimes
For what are they if can’t buy me substantive love
I needed to know nothing of you was purchasable,
If they bought you flowers, I’ll take you to dandelions
A field of gold where both our hearts are searchable
For something lying a little deeper than most
My letters, each one, it resonated with you,
My summers, my autumns, my winters laid bare
But it was springtime you realized my ilk is few
Your fragrant hair, the fragrance of your hands
Your lips the texture of them I haven’t known,
If you’ll permit yourself the taste of my spring
Allow this letter to set a romantic tone
I ask for your hand in this arrival of spring
Reintroduce the white dress to a brand-new season,
Let me inspire your heart to a never-before bloom
Pamper-Her-Friday has given me ample reason
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Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 