Don't Heckle The Supervillain

Her caffinated-caramel master.

It's a good thing, I think, that small things in life can make bad days better and average days fantastic.

For some it's a venti peppermint java-chip frapuccino with caramel on top and a warm voice on the phone (but mostly the coffee). For others it's a $.99 song from iTunes.

These are small things but thanks to them..."Life looks good, good, good;"

To quote Jimmy Buffett "If we weren't all crazy, we would go insane."

Amen.

That is all.

Misandry

You only hurt the ones you love. When I was a kid I hated going over to my cousins’ homes. Detested it. I’ve never been into sports, at least not paying attention to nationally televised sports. I don’t mind playing them; I just never got into watching them on TV or following the statistics that go with them. My many male cousins, however, were interested. How these guys could remember who had what batting average two years ago but couldn’t keep in their heads the number of members in Congress was stunning to me. Anyway, my male cousins used to tease me about how little I knew, it was the currency of their realm and I was cash poor. My mother told me “They tease you because they love you.” I didn’t believe it then and I don’t now.

Why must we do things to injure, pester and annoy the people we supposedly love to show our affection for them? Not a new question, I grant you, but certainly appropriate in relation to recent conversations. In a discussion I was having with someone I care about I was accused of, basically, being dispassionate. “Why don’t you ever get mad at me?” It wouldn’t bother me so much but it isn’t the first time I’ve been asked this particular question. More to the point, this person didn’t mean why don’t you get mad at me but rather, why don’t you ever show me you are angry.

My response, and I think it’s a valid one, is that like most men I have been trained to control my emotions. My parents, teachers and society at large have all told me that I’m not allowed to lose my temper. That I must control myself and restrain any anger or frustration I, as a man, feel. “It’s wrong to hit a woman, even if she hits you.” My father told me. “Be nice to your sister.” My mother said. “In an argument you remain calm. Never attack the person, attack their argument.” My debate teacher instructed me. “Even touching a person can be considered assault and battery.” A professor told our law and government class. The last time I struck a woman was when I hit my sister when I was 15 years old and I regretted it the instant it happened. I knew why not just from all I’d been taught but in my very core: It is immoral to use your superior physical strength to intimidate others.

So I’ve learned control, not just over my body but my emotions as well because assaulting someone with your voice, saying things which are cruel and intended to hurt another are just as morally reprehensible. But in almost EVERY SINGLE adult relationship I’ve had there has come that point where it was clear, ABSOLUTELY CLEAR that my partner was attempting to exhaust my control. To push me to the point where I would either physically or verbally explode at them. Why? “Why?” I ask them. Responses vary. Some lied, some told the truth as best they understood it, including one who told me “If you hit me, it proves that you love me.” How fucked up is that? Finally, I’ve come to the realization that women thrive off of emotional reactions. And not just emotional reactions but negative emotional reactions. While they love the highs I think they also need, nay crave the lows. Now, in some cases, this need is also matched with psychological issues of abandonment or trust. Yes, that one very disturbed girl was abused as a child and thus, in her mind, equated physical assault with love but even women, in the light of day, must recognize that to desire any attack from someone you supposedly care about is insanity.

There is no way I ever want to nor would I strike a person I love. Why then would I seek to hurt them emotionally either? Why, if I won’t hit you, would it be any more appropriate of me to bruise your soul or heart? Now, I admit, accidents happen. In the same way that someone might get hurt wrestling on a couch or bed, things can be said or implied that hurt each other. These are just that, accidents, and can be mended in the same way, though, words are a bit harder to heal I think. The reason being that while we can see that the person’s arm slipped we cannot always be sure that their tongue did. We worry that maybe, just maybe, they let us see a secret opinion they hold. We can’t read minds but we can see actions.

I think it’s untrue that women are more emotional than men. I think men are trained by their families and society at large to restrain their emotions more. A woman screaming at a man is accepted in society a man screaming at a woman is considered abusive. Any good feminist would tell you that either would be unacceptable because, ultimately, true feminism is about equality. And I’m not saying that I want an unemotional partner or relationship, I think emotions and the ability to express them are one of our unique traits as a species. I am saying that I would like a relationship where abusing your partner is unacceptable. I want to share joy and love with someone. And I understand, differences of preference and opinion happen, no two people are so perfectly suited but do we have to hurt each other in the expression and discussion of those differences? Are we required by fate, biology or psychology to forever needle each other with barbs until blood is drawn?

Misogynist. The word means “woman hater”. “Miso” being greek for hate and “gyn” for woman, the “ist” indicates that it is an agent noun. This little rant might be described as such I’m sure but I think the behavior it describes is a fundamental component of male/female relationships. It’s not the men who hate women but the other way around. Trying to be reasonable, kind and understanding get you nowhere. What it comes down to, I’m sad to say, is that women don’t want a partner. They want to be dominated. They want the bad guy. And they want the drama that goes along with it. That other crap is all lip service. So go ahead, be an abusive jerk…she’ll love you for it.

Right ladies?

Now shut the hell up and go get me a beer.

That is all.