Godammit, I’m Mad!

I am a big fag hag and always have been. I’ll bet it’s politically incorrect to use the term but I think my gay friends are okay with it.  There’s nothing I love more than a gay man who will talk about fashion or just talk shit with me.

I’ve been assured that gay men are not ALL witty and stylish, well-read and opinionated. I’ll have to take this on faith. In my experience, gay men are fun to be around because they are expressive. I feel completely comfortable in the company of gay men.  I may even be a gay man trapped in a woman’s body.

Except for my indifference to Judy Garland and Barbra Streisand, I’m a great big fag. I love to look at men’s clothes and I don’t mine wearing them if they fit nicely. I’m interested in the arts and I appreciated the theatrical in nearly every context. I don’t seek out gay men because they “make me feel safe.” They make me feel stimulated and free to be the bitch I am.

I wish more men were gay! I’m always ready to talk about hunky unattainable models and Dior Homme jeans. My gay friends don’t want to bother me with sports talk or even car talk. I like learning about grinder and I like hearing guys whine about their imaginary weight gain. I can appreciate their attractiveness without sexualizing it. I LOVE being called Doll. It’s all good.

If you’re like me and you enjoy a gay sensibility, you will love http://chateauthombeau.blogspot.com/ , http://fiercerthanyou.com and http://swallowglitter.blogspot.com/ to name just three dazzling websites.

Now. Who wants to chastise me for my terminology or stereotyping or what have you?

ASK A MAN #102: ABOUT NAGGING

“How do I make it sound less like nagging and more like reminding?”
-Sam

“It is of Hebrew origin, and the meaning of Samuel is ‘God heard’. Also possibly as ‘requested of God…’”

-thinkbabynames.com

While I’m no expert in regards to dude-on-dude relationships, I’m going to assume that your domestic partnership is just like the traditional male-female relationship only with 100% more man parts involved. Actually since monogomy is as mythical and rare as the female orgasm, most relationships have more knobs involved than your typical mosh pit but fewer than a Congressional session.

Since you’re asking the question instead of giving out answers I’m guessing you take on the female role in your partnership so my advice to you is to use your supernatural ability to imagine ways to improve interior decoration schemes, but use this skill to imagine yourself as the dominant partner. Imagine yourself running around and doing things, making decisions, dealing with immediate situations like bear attacks or “bear” attacks, driving well, and staving off the advancement of the French by recreating log traps you saw in that Swiss Robinson movie. I think there were net traps as well, but few things are as satisfying as felling trees and trimming them down to their trunks, then arranging them using your Y chromosome-endowed engineering skills in a precariously balanced heap in order to crush your enemies like so much foie gras! I don’t know for sure what foie gras is, but it sounds as if it’s mushy and French, so that’s what I meant by that last simile.

So anyway, imagine yourself out there doing things like stacking up gigantic logs and suddenly this person who knows everything but can’t stack logs and doesn’t even uderstand why you’re out there stacking logs in the first place, this person comes out to remind you that… Look, it’s like I can’t even imagine what would need to be reminded about because everything that’s important is being dealt with.

So what you should do is bring out a beer or, in your case, a wine cooler, because stacking logs is sweaty work, then praise the progress on the log trap, hand over the wine cooler, and then as your “husband” takes a swig, look with love and longing at the bulge in his plum-smuggler shorts, and then remind him of whatever it is you happen to think is so important that you have to interrupt the all-important task of shoring up domestic defense against the incursion of foreign threats.

And even though this is the best possible way to “make it sound less like nagging,” it’s still nagging and you shouldn’t do it. He heard your request the first time.

Question answered.

© 2011 Anthony Robert Russo

One of the exciting new features you can look forward to here will be the convenience of A Man to answer your questions regarding male behavior. The feature will be called Ask a Man, and written by my friend Romeo, who is not only male but has served in our armed forces, drives a truck and currently brandishes a forbidding mohawk.

Romeo has always shown a willingness, however reluctant, to answer all my questions and now he will answer yours, too.

Here are the ones that bother me most, or let’s just say they mystify me the most:

When two men greet each other with a handshake, how do they know which kind of handshake to use? If it’s the fist on top of fist, how do they know whose fist goes on top? How do they know whether it’s going to be just an ordinary handshake or a special Bro Shake? What is the signal?

My second question is, why are men so fucking touchy? They can’t take any direct criticism, obviously, but anything that might remotely be construed as some kind of criticism makes them get testy. While they love to open sentences with “You ought to try…” or “Why do you always…” it is strictly verboten to address a man like that unless you want him to snap at you or sulk for an hour. Why are they so thin-skinned??

While I await Romeo’s lucid explanation of these mysteries, feel free to submit your own question for him in the comments. I am looking at this coming Friday as the launch date for Ask a Man.

Godwin’s law (also known as Godwin’s Rule of Nazi Analogies or Godwin’s Law of Nazi Analogies) is a humorous observation made by Mike Godwin in 1990 that has become an Internet adage. It states: “As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches  100% .” In other words, Godwin put forth the hyperbolic observation that, given enough time, in any online discussion—regardless of topic or scope—someone inevitably criticizes some point made in the discussion by comparing it to beliefs held by Hitler and the Nazis. –  Wikipedia

~

I love this. This is the type of discovery that brings joy to my heart.

The definition continues:

Godwin’s law is often cited in online discussions as a deterrent against the use of arguments in the widespread Reductio ad Hitlerum form.  - Wikipedia

“Reductio ad Hitlerum” ?!?!

I fucking love language.  In fact, I made up a good word the other day:  Whateverism.  It’s the modern malaise, basically, and I’m against it.  Please feel free to bandy this word about, if you’re not comfortable with Reductio ad Hitlerum.

Recently I attended the wedding of one of Max’s oldest friends, who was also a member of his band.  It was a joy to see this wonderful young man celebrating his love for his adoring bride, his obvious soulmate.

The wedding was also an opportunity for me to see old friends, and to see some of Max’s school pals who were now grown ups.  There were babies and toddlers everywhere and I got to hold a placid baby girl wearing a pink tutu.

We couldn’t help but notice a family with three or four young children, all completely bald.  I assumed that one of the kids had lost his hair from chemotherapy and the others had shaven their heads in solidarity. You hear about this practice more and more, and I respect the sacrifice and devotion involved.

After several funny speeches, the bride and groom danced to a recording of a silly song about bees or something.  It looked like a dance you learn in preschool, with funny hand-motions. It was adorable. During their dance, one of the bald kids joined in, weaving between them and spinning around happily in her own world.

It was such a poignant bittersweet image: The glowing couple embarking on a new life together, the little child with cancer, whose fate was uncertain.

When I was drunk enough, I danced with my husband, who wouldn’t let me lead. Then I danced with some women who just wanted to shake it up regardless of the too-fast beat and our painful high heels. When we finally said goodbye to the groom, we learned that the bald kids had head-lice, not cancer.

Ha! See how things change depending on your perspective? It’s a good reminder that all experience is filtered through interpretation.  From now on, I hope I can remember that a tragic worldview could be a lapse of judgement or a tendency to see cancer instead of head-lice. I can’t think of a proverb to illustrate this insight.

Anyone up to it? It has to include the word head-lice.

Spouse A says to spouse B: You never want to talk to me!

Spouse A is :
1. Male
2. Female

In my entire life, I’ve only heard this complaint ONE SINGLE time where it was the other way around.

Five years ago I wrote about this state of affairs here and nothing has made me reconsider its veracity. Women want to talk and men want us to shut up.

Ladies, how do you deal with this? Have you adjusted to your mate’s low tolerance for your stories, questions and opinions? Have you found other avenues for your need to discuss the things that don’t interest your male partner, i,e, everything? Or do you insist on talking even while he sighs and adopts the grim look of a soldier off to the front line.

Do any of you have any strategies for making this conflict more interesting or entertaining.

I am anxious to hear your thoughts (since god know I can’t discuss it at home unless I just want to talk to myself!)

In response to my last post about rock bands, I received the following comment by someone using the name Gene Simmons:

i hate that old dried up cunt, the one who´s son died

~

Here are my thoughts. It’s wrong to attack someone like this, online or otherwise. Why the hell would a total stranger try to hurt me in this way?? Just because they could get away with it?  It is beyond my understanding.

So I wrote back to this person, and said:

What a horrible thing to write to me!   May I ask what moves you to write such a hateful comment to someone you have never met?  I hope you never experience the loss of a child.   Meanwhile, I’d like to know why you would invoke the loss of mine in response to an innocuous blog post about rock bands?   Sister Wolf

The next day, she replied:

you know what you are right
I´m deeply sorry
your loss is way too big for me to understand, and i was outta line
this is what made me write that:
“that girl whose boyfriend punched her in the face”
when a person suffers through abuse, besides the beatings and insults and humiliation
what hurts the most is the scorn of those around her,
things like
“that would never happen to me”
“that happens only to stupid bitches”
and it pissed me off that while you demand compassion about your situation,
you show none towards someone who was fucking publicly punched in the face and then mocked endlessly for it
sometimes the only person who doesn´t shit on you for being in that situation
(that looks so simple but it´s not)
is your abuser
so you go back because in that moment he is being sweet, when deep down you know that it won´t last
and it was a mistake I´m sorry
I know things don´t get better by insulting someone else in pain
and there i was trying to put you down to make myself feel better
when we are all fighting something
that random comment just struck a cord, felt personal you know?
óbviously I´m not without fault myself
I hope this makes you feel less insulted

yours truly
Gene Simmons

~

Having read and reread this explanation, I don’t feel Gene Simmons knows the difference between a pop star and a blogger who lost a child.  I don’t “demand compassion” as Gene Simmons states. I have no demands. I merely expect human decency from those who wish to leave comments.

Gene Simmons is actually a 31 year old aspiring artist named Gabriela who lives in Mexico. There she is, above. She needs to take responsibility for the things she writes.  She’s not 12 years old, after all.

I don’t want to hear ONE MORE WORD about my vag, which in fact does not suffer from dryness. And I don’t want to be taunted with the death of my child.

Please explain to Gabriela why her apology is worthless, since I don’t feel adequate to the task. Explain to her that the cause of abused women isn’t furthered by grotesque insults lobbed at other women, under cover of a pseudonym.

And if you want more of Gabriela in your life, you can visit her here.

Anthony Weiner is a gift from god for people like me who are struggling with depression.  His predicament (no pun intended) is so bizarre and tawdry, and yet Shakespearean. If character is destiny, Weiner is screwed, or as he would put it, “First I’ll make you gag on my cock before I make you cum.”

Let me say first that I was on his side, in terms of refusing to resign, until I read the text of his online chats with women he’d never met and had no intention of meeting.

It wasn’t the fact that he was a reckless horndog that provoked my disapproval. I was ready to accept the fact that the internet is an irresistible siren song to anyone with a “weakness.” Whether it’s a weakness for shopping, for social networking, for gambling or for porn, the internet makes it perilously convenient to indulge.

According to friends I discussed this with, “sexting” is now common among fifty percent of teenagers. It’s a Brave New World out there, where not much is considered too personal, not to mention sacred.

I will admit to chatting online in a flirtatious manner.  Years ago I was chatting with someone who suddenly suggested “Send me a picture of your C**T” and the word was not cunt. I was so stunned and horrified, I shut the chat window and felt deeply shaken. I had no idea that people spoke to strangers like this. I learned that it’s the wild west out there online.

With Weiner, I imagined his sexy chat was something along the lines of “Baby, You’re so pretty, What are you wearing?” Big deal. Maybe he’s bored when his wife is busy and he’s just having a little tame sexy banter…. I don’t feel that calls for his resigntion, since it’s his personal business and he didn’t run for the Priesthood. Better to have a politition with a sex drive than Bush or Nixon, who seemed more interested in abusing the constitution than in getting laid.

But no matter what liberal  principles you think you have, it all goes to hell once you read Weiner’s raunchy efforts at seduction.  The deal breaker for me was “Pussy Juice.” It’s just a big NO in my world.  You can’t listen to a congressman talking about jobs or taxes or healthcare once he’s said Pussy Juice.  It’s over. He is toast.

So basically, for me at least, it comes down to literary aesthetics rather than any moral judgement. Sexting online isn’t a crime that would make someone unfit to serve as a congressman or mayor. Sending pictures is pretty lame but again, no real harm. Lying about it is only natural: You would want to avoid embarrassing your family. But a man’s game does reflect his sensibility. And “Pussy Juice” cannot be condoned. If only he could have said “Are you wet?” instead.

I cannot emphasize this enough but it must be repeated: Words matter! Choose them like everyone’s looking.

Opinions or objections?

Reading the New York Times online, I just got sidetracked by a link that said: “Worried about your memory? 5 Signs  it’s Serious.”

As it happens, I have no short-term memory and little of the other kind either. People are constantly mad at me for forgetting things I’m supposed to remember.  They point out that I’ve told the same story twice, and that I’ve already seen a movie I have no recollection of. The signs are all there.

But memory problems are also common in people with PTSD, fibromyalgia, and a couple of other conditions that apply to me but I forgot what they are. I’m not joking here, either.

So, I’m reading this list of warning signs and going Yep, yep, I have Alzheimer’s, I’m screwed, when I get to number 5, Having Trouble With Choices, and I come upon this quote:

“If you used to be a definitive person and now you can’t work your way through choices, that’s a red flag,” psychiatrist Ken Robbins says. “Choosing involves enough cognitive powers — remembering what you like, thinking about how the options differ, and thinking about what you want now — that it’s a problem that shows up early on.”

DEFINITIVE?!?!? What the fuck?! That bastard means “decisive” and he used the wrong word! They’re not interchangeable, Dr. Ken Robbins, Moron Esq.! English, motherfucker! Do you speak it? Where is the fucking editor??

I’m trying to calm down. But it’s hard. And now I can see my future: I will be hopelessly bereft of all memory, including my own name, rank and serial number, but I’ll be flipping out about word usage with my last dying breath.

I fucking love Werner Herzog. I love his interviews and panel discussions as much as I love his movies.  He is a master at articulating abstract ideas and finding absurdity and allegory and pathos in almost every human endeavor. Max loved him too. He used to rent a couple of DVDs at a time and bring them over to watch together. We never got through the entire Herzog catalogue, though. I will have to go on with that alone.

Today I came across a writer, “Erik K.,” who knows how to get the most out of Werner. I’ve reprinted his post here but you can also read it at his blog  here. I love him and you will too.

~

A diverting game to play while in miserable circumstances

Earlier this week I found myself in an extremely interior circle of hell. I speak of the Comcast Customer Service Center in Chicago, where I thought I was just stopping by to pick up some self-install equipment. This stopping-by turned into over an hour of queueing followed by one of the most angrymaking customer service interactions I’ve ever had. I resurrected my long-dormant yelp account just so I could vent my spleen. Having gotten that out of my system, let me tell you about a fun game I play in situations where I might otherwise have a rage-out:

THE WERNER HERZOG GAME

Number of players: 1 (2 if you count imaginary-Werner-Herzog-in-your-head)

Prerequisite: Having seen one or more Werner Herzog documentaries (ideally late-period ones where the voiceovers approach a brilliant kind of self-parody)

How you play: Imagine Werner Herzog narrating your horrible experience. Allow his doomy-yet-weirdly-soothing Teutonic soliloquies to transmute your experience from one of mundane frustration, boredom, etc. to one of sublime terror, or one that exemplifies the murderousness of nature, or the pitilessness of the universe.

Some examples to get you started:

• “I believe the common denominator of this food court is not harmony, but chaos, hostility and murder.”
• “The blank stare of my oral hygienist bespeaks a terrifying malevolence. The scraping of her tartar pick is the nightmarish sound of cannibals whispering darkly.”
  
• “The post office is a place of pestilential despair, a primordial soup one wishes to crawl out of, if only to evolve to further Lessons of Darkness.”
  

Tip: If you’re having trouble channeling your inner Werner Herzog, imagine the person standing behind you in line, or jostling you on the overstuffed train car, or whatever, is Klaus Kinski, and he is trying to murder you. This always helps me get in the mood!