America The Oblivious

The Original Reality TV Show

2011-10-07T14:16:00.000-07:00

The first "reality television" experience started back in 1861.

Civilians and journalists alike from the north were pressuring newly- elected President Lincoln for a swift end to the Civil War, which had begun in April with the attack on Fort Sumter. As the north was comprised of his most supportive constituency- and purchased many goods from the south- Lincoln thought it prudent to prevent the country from splitting in two.

By July, troops were dispatched from Washington D.C. under the inexperienced command of Brigadier General Irvin McDowell. His troops were unseasoned, and often strayed from formation to gather berries and seek shade from the blazing sun while en route. Their intent was to cut off the supply of goods and information from the Confederate capitol of Richmond.

By the time the Union reached a small creek known as Bull Run, they were tired, and their supplies were near exhaustion. It wasn’t the greatest show of force in the first land battle of the Civil War.

The Confederate spy network had kept secessionists in the know; southern reinforcements, equally inexperienced, made the journey north of Richmond in an attempt to surprise the invading forces.

They came with a fresh supply of food and munitions. They came with motivation and full confidence of their victory. They came under the command of the unpopular- among- his- peers Brigadier General P.T. Beauregard.

Despite the chivalry often associated with the Civil War in movies and textbooks, Bull Run marked the beginning of the bloodiest war on American soil, made possible through industry; the army now had railroad and telegraph at its disposal, and armament had become more efficient than ever.

Small arms had evolved: flint muskets of the Revolution had been replaced with rifles, side arms and grenades which had a greater range and were more accurate.

Howitzer canons used something called a “grape shot”: small iron balls were wrapped in cloth or canvas and tied with string, making it look like a bunch of grapes. When fired, the wrap disintegrated, releasing a spray of iron, much like a sawed off shotgun would today.

The brand- new Gatling gun was the first rapid fire weapon- the grandfather of the modern machine gun- and was operated by a hand crank. It could fire 200 rounds per minute.

Stunning weaponry of the day, and so it was fitting that both sides of the battle had an audience; Bull Run was the first war in American history with a cheering section.

Historical accounts attribute nearly 500 excited spectators having drove carriages to watch the stand- off, having been much talked of by the media and in taverns, and it was presumed to be an easy and sweeping victory for northern forces.

With the audience, believe it or not, came vendors; earth- hardened families who pushed carts filled with apples and baked goods for purchase among the crowd.

The carriages ranged from the humble wagons of journalists, farmers and rope makers to grand stagecoaches owned by politicians, mayors and their opera- glass toting wives: all curious, all completely unprepared for what they witnessed that day.

Bull Run was the bloodiest war ever fought on American soil up to that time. Some 4,700 men lost their lives during the 5 hour battle, and nearly 3,000 others lost an arm, a foot or an eye to a little iron ball.

The crowd saw it all.

But that’s not what bothered the crowd the most.

That Union forces lost wasn’t the first outrage for many spectators, either. What bothered people more than anything else they say that day was how they lost.

They ran away.

Northern forces had been completely unprepared for a battle. Out of sheer panic, and due to poor leadership, the Union soldiers retreated with manic temperament. Many left pouches, weapons and clothing on the field.

Some even stole horses from carriages so they could escape. Several civilians were knocked over by evading troops, who were met with a flurry of boos and insults from the crowd.

They wanted more.

The south won that day, but that’s really not the point. Bull Run was that first car wreck we slowed down to gawk at in fascination.

We’d tasted blood. And we wanted more.

And then there was Cops.

Combining the humor we saw in the “gotcha!” candid camera shows of the 1950s and 60s with suspense of a police drama, this television show was born thanks to a Writer’s Guild strike in 1988. It left a watermark on society; our guiltiest voyeuristic pleasures had gone public and were becoming socially acceptable, and our culture completely redefined what it meant to go dumpster diving.

Nothing was private anymore: bathrooms, having evaded years of Soft Scrub use, would be harboring fugitives behind the bathroom curtain. Gay lovers were arrested after fighting over another man in a gas station. Naked drunks dancing in the street. Hookers hiding in dumpsters behind hotels.

All paving the way for even darker secrets to be exposed; once- shameful labels of “slob” and “bad parent” were now sources of entertainment. Instead of shaming the guilty, we embrace with understanding and gentle reconditioning.

Soon, femininity took over reality TV as well, shaking its finger at anyone who can’t control their children or wash their clothes. Admittedly out of sad necessity, Super Nanny schooled parents who really should have never had children in the first place.

While I’ll never understand why anyone would appear on this show willingly, or under their real names, it’s a perfect look at how poorly maintained the American family structure has become. The show revolves around a British nanny who dismounts her high horse for a few days to follow the movements of an American family with disrespectful, violent and snotty kids. Behavior is dissected and faults of the parents are broadcast and then corrected.

Of course, after one week, the children have been magically transformed into angels because the nanny comes from a country with a deep history of compassion.

The British.

The same people we fired 230 years ago.

And now we’re asking for their help.

Talk about tail between the legs.

Our maddening lack of shame has also driven up the ratings of other self- improvement reality shows like Wife Swap, Hoarders and Clean House. Because nothing in the world makes us feel better about ourselves than seeing the filth someone else lives in.

Even the once- snooty, high- cultured A&E channel jumped on the sewage bandwagon with shows like Intervention. This is a television show that videotapes addicts shooting up crack and smoking meth and winds up winning an Emmy award.

And it’s all under the guise of wanting to make people better.

Reality TV is only one example of how feminism is ruining our lives, but it is most candidly obvious by listening to some of our nation’s most popular women from throughout time:

“If we (women) mean to have heroes, statesmen and philosophers, we should have learned women.” ~Abigail Adams, wife of John.

“Remember; Ginger Rodgers did everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels.” ~Linda Ellerbee, NBC journalist and Washington D.C. correspondent.

“Everybody loves you when they’re about to cum.” ~Madonna

“You can have sex with hundreds of people with a condom on and get nothing.” ~Lady Gaga

Since the Church of Rome is infallible and the Church of England is never wrong, shocking feminist remarks of today are protected under freedoms of expression, speech and art.

We’ve become a culture that celebrates immaturity and bitchiness.

We’ve become a culture insisting our demands are met immediately, no matter how ridiculous.

We’ve become a culture of waning social skills.

We’ve become a culture that has forgotten any understanding of the opposite sex: women want a man who’s both sensitive and a little dangerous.

Men want a woman who is part librarian, part hooker.

These characteristics have attracted us to one another for thousands of years. We’re breaking our own fingers trying to reinvent the wheel.

Meanwhile, men are left alone on their couches and in their bedrooms with the likes of Jenna Jamison, a bottle of hand lotion and a box of Kleenex.

I’m sorry- I mean facial tissues.

How the Vibrator Helped Women Take Over America

2011-10-06T14:28:00.000-07:00

Thank God for Hamilton Beach.

The company known today for toasters and coffee makers invented the first retail electric vibrator in 1902.

Some three hundred years before Christ, the Greeks recognized what would come to be called “female hysteria”. They considered the condition to be horrific, the onset of which was of no fault to the victim: the uterus wandered listlessly throughout the body, strangling the victim and soon she succumbed to all manner of disease.

The word hysteria even derives from the Greek “hystera”, meaning “uterus”.

The prescription for these poor women was simple: have sex immediately. Women already married were encouraged to have intercourse, while single gals were advised to get married as quickly as possible. If neither means was available, a midwife would be contracted as a last resort to perform the arduous, often hours- long task of “pelvic massage” to assist the patient in achieving orgasm, therefore relieving her symptoms.

Thus, the first noted girl- on- girl action in the history of mankind.

Victorian England, on the other hand, describes the afflicted with all the compassion the age of proper society has ever displayed for women: she was certainly a deranged person who suffered as a result a mental problem, likely due to her inability to attract a man.

The list of symptoms was, at one point, 75 pages long; nearly any sickness could fit the bill, making it a very lucrative business for physicians of the day, as ongoing treatment was often necessary. Among the recognized symptoms were sudden fainting, nervousness, insomnia, shortness of breath, irritability and “tendency to cause trouble”,

The affliction prevented, at least in the eyes of the medical community, women from functioning in daily society.

And if the description of these symptoms didn’t keep women off the streets, its initial treatments surely did: afflicted women were primarily prescribed bed rest, bland food, seclusion and sensory deprivation.

It was the perfect way to keep women quiet, unlearned and out of the way.

But if women’s needs couldn’t be met on some regular basis, proper Victorian society would come to a standstill: there would be no women on the arm at public appearances, housekeeping or child- rearing, and women would soon break from their proper unobtrusiveness and turn into flesh- eating maniacs, unless a convenient solution was found.

As the treatment was very labor- intensive on the physicians’ part, doctors came up with all manner of inventions and procedures to “assist” women, lest lose them to midwives, (who took money from the male- dominated medical community) until finally, a handheld device could be used in the privacy of one’s home- a subtle beginning of what would become the feminist movement.

The vibrator was the 5^th household device to be electrified, behind the sewing machine, fan, tea kettle and toaster.

So it would appear women’s needs had already been deified for centuries before the 1980’s, when vibrators (and an amazing array of other sex toys) became more accessible in mainstream society, but were still hidden behind blacked- out windows of something called an “adult bookstore”, a misnomer made popular because women are masters of bullshit.

Our country forced an evolutionary change in an unnaturally short order as the male/ female roles of hunting and gathering had swapped: women hunted for pornography to admonish during the massive anti- pornography movement of the 1980’s. They hunted for corporate deals and clothing sales, and began to tout some of these hunting events as holidays like Black Friday. They even hunted for themselves; hence the popularity of self- help books; hence the rise of “Women’s Studies” sections in libraries.

Men became gatherers of NO MA’AM memberships. They gathered around Cliff Clavin homilies. They gathered up their own balls out of sheer panic.

There is no section, however, entitled “Men’s Studies” in any library anywhere in the world.

The changes even became apparent in the way each gender does it shopping: women hunt for deals, men gather whatever package is closest and shiniest.

Ever see a man compare prices in a store?

That’s because it doesn’t happen.

Women only just received the right to vote in 1920, and many still don’t earn equal pay as their male counterparts.

So, how did this change all happen?

Simple: breasts and Anita Hill.

Words never before heard in the same single sentence, I assure you.

Yet the thought of either one brings a man- willingly or begrudgingly- to his knees in utter subjugation.

Breasts arouse men; want of these controls their purchases, self- confidence, gym schedules, hairstyles, ring tones and choice in car air fresheners.

Anita Hill makes men scurry and scares them stupid, fearful of approaching any woman unless she first overtly displays physical interest. This process does, however, totally confuse a man’s super ego, which deems her aggression as a red flag, and his id, which tells him to spread his seed and go for it.

In late 1991, Hill was called to testify during a Senate confirmation hearing for her former boss Clarence Thomas, who had just been nominated to the Supreme Court. While any confirmation hearing is an automatic dirty- laundry fest, this was one for the books- quite literally.

Hill claimed to have been victimized during her employment as a legal advisor to Thomas nearly a decade earlier, when he barraged her with sexual remarks and stories of his own prowess.

Historically speaking, bragging is often how a male found his mate; a woman spurned or embraced a man based upon an emphatic wardrobe (codpieces, anyone?) or his stories of victory. Unless you were Sir Lawrence Olivier, in which case you’d need only to grab a woman and kiss her hard.

But Thomas never grabbed Hill and kissed her hard. Hill’s claims didn’t include any physical abuse. It didn’t include rape. It didn’t include unwanted physical contact of any type.

Her claims did, however, forever change the landscape of male/ female relationships with two little words: sexual harassment.

Two little words that forever changed the way we counseled executives, the way we taught health class to junior high students, and the way we qualified soldiers; because being a trained killer doesn’t mean you can’t be posh.

Two little words created an entire industry on the dangers of dirty talk.

Two little words that completely outshined the details of Hill and Thomas meeting, dining and talking on the phone on various occasions after Hill claims she was harassed, and subsequently fired.

Thanks to the Hill debacle- and with the man- hating support of Ms. Magazine and Barbara Boxer- women have become conditioned to feel threatened when a man opens a door or offers to pay for dinner.

It leaves women with little choice but to portray a biologically unnatural aggressiveness, and leaves men feeling unnecessarily un- masculine because he no longer has a bear to kill or a log cabin to build.

The importance with which masculinity is held by society had become clear once television shows like Ice Road Truckers or Dirty Jobs began to air not on regular television, but the pay- services of cable television’s Discovery and History channels; because masculinity is modern day oddity to be gawked at right after the documentary on the world’s oldest conjoined twins.

Think about it- what’s the last Dirty Harry movie you saw that wasn’t a Dirty Harry movie?

Die Hard: With a Vengeance was way back in 1995.

T2 was even further back.

And John Wayne is dead- along with any male character who kept his house in order in such fashion.

Women saw to it.

Women didn’t like rock music that portrayed sexual acts they themselves weren’t willing to participate in. So they hopped on the Tipper Gore band wagon and labeled them as dangerous and Satanic.

Women don’t like the smell of smoke. So they banned smoking in public places.

Women don’t like what processed foods did to their bodies. So they insisted on nutritional labeling; even on bottled water.

Women didn’t like their husbands looking at other women’s bodies, but they enlist the pride into seek and destroy missions with the oddest inconsistency.

A Seattle area drive- thru coffee shop called Knotty Bodies was forced to close down after several parents complained their children could see the bikini- clad baristas as they walked to school. This calamity was, however, utterly void of any supporting studies showing the damage bikinis can have on children at the beach.

Then there was Super Bowl 38: Janet Jackson’s breast, despite being covered with a pasty, turned into a fiasco designated “Nipplegate” that resulted in half a million complaints to the FCC, who launched an immediate “investigation” to determine how many people were offended by the snafu.

The investigation resulted in an increase in the allowable maximum fine for indecency- $550k fine for CBS, who was then kicked out of Viacom, and MTV being banned from further involvement in production of future NFL half-time projects.

Talk about overkill.

Later that same year, the sexual depravities of Draw Together or Desperate Housewives premiered on primetime television. Local and national news shows plastered the obscenities of Abu Ghraib and footage of terrorists beheading hostages.

The morality attack dogs barely raised eyebrows. Not even for the “GoDaddy.com” Super Bowl ad, which I’m still too young to watch.

Women missed the point of the GoDaddy.com commercial, by the way. Sure, it was appealing to men, but it was also a message to women: flaunt what ya got for your man.

But years of feminization has taught women to dress for themselves, not their man or anybody else. Modern women have been taught to dress for their taste and comfort, and they do at great length. But instead of taking initiative to spice up the bedroom once things get stale, the problem is quite literally laid in the man’s lap. If a man isn’t capable of rising to the occasion, then screw him if he can’t get a boner right.

It’s an insult thinly disguised by Smiling Bob.

Why advertisers couldn’t find a more heterosexual- looking male will probably never be clear, but quality family television time has been inundated with Enzyte, Viagra, Cialis and Entenze commercials ever since the FDA relaxed prescription drug marketing in 1997. These spots undoubtedly did more to create more questions for the “Under 10” group than it did to answer questions of men wondering, “What kind of guy would ever sit in a bathtub on the beach?”

Women are often stereotyped as a “ball & chain” for berating their men when he stinks up the house with his cigars. They get angry when he leaves his beer cans on the floor next to his Lazy Boy. They criticize his shirt & tie combo, his friends, his job and his mother.

Now his penis isn’t even good enough.

At the rate we run these commercials, you’d think the extinction of the human race was right around the corner.

But these commercials aren’t for men, though- they’re for women. Sexuality was the last uncontrolled area of human existence: it was now, just as bike helmets and car seats for 8 year- olds, a controlled substance. Gone was the passion created by spontaneity that is became such a peculiarity so revered and sought after, the success of reality TV was just a huge mistake waiting to happen.

How Kleenex Destroyed American Masculinity

2011-10-06T11:00:00.000-07:00

I've referenced the shopping habits of the elderly in my previous post, "The Maddening Lack of Shame in Women", and it is with this thought I'd like to begin this post.

We've all seen old folks shop for groceries at 5 in the morning, and the reason behind it is very simple: modern parents drive them absolutely mad. They understand these people who stumbled upon parenthood merely by getting too drunk one night indeed have a communicable affliction. It goes by many names, but for now let us call it "obliviousness".

Older folks have been around long enough to know how quickly this affliction can infect one another, and it is why they distance themselves from large crowds.

They also know the culprit for this whole mess is Kleenex.

At one point in our country’s history, schoolchildren were expected to carry handkerchiefs on their person. It subconsciously made students aware that personal hygiene was their own responsibility, and taught that privacy and discretion were quality traits expected by society.

These ideals carried over into adulthood: men carried practical handkerchiefs in their pockets, and often fashioned silk into a breast pocket as a sign of social stature when they dressed for an occasion. Women carried lacy versions in their purses, though it was understood this was meant to be used only as a last resort, because runny mascara is simply impossible to get out of eyelet seams.

The measure of offering a hanky to a disparaged woman, as was expected of any gentleman, was a universal sign of chivalry, sympathy and goodwill. It was the ultimate speed date: whether or not a handkerchief was monogrammed, the quality of the stitching and the type of fabric he’d chosen told a woman how financially well- off her potential suitor was. The brush of a man’s hand when accepting the hanky gave women a hint of his hygiene and profession. And how long he allowed the woman to hold his hanky told her a great deal of his patience and interest in her.

In turn, offering a hanky allowed men to begin an otherwise very personal conversation. Since a handkerchief was offered in emotional situations, it gave men the chance to gauge how dramatic a woman might be in high- stressed situations, or even what she deemed as stressful, often very telling of her childhood and family values.

Once she accepted the hanky, he might sit next to her or place a hand on her back as an additional means of support: if she allowed this, it could be a sign she’s single. It could also give men a better idea of her style and fabric preferences, and how expensive she might be to maintain.

Following this experience, chemistry could be assessed and an invitation to coffee could ensue. If all worked out, they would be married in a year.

Try pulling a crumbled- up Kleenex from your pocket and offering it to a crying woman.

Not quite the same gesture, is it?

For that matter, try finding a man who carries Kleenex at all.

Kleenex goes back as far as 1924, when Kimberly- Clark began to offer women a disposable tissue to remove cold cream and makeup. Before long customers began to comment how convenient these were for wiping noses and the company’s market went in a whole new direction, and the product flew off the shelves.

It paved the way for the Q-tip, which came along in 1926, and later, the paper towel, an absorbent tissue paper intended for use only once before it was discarded. This replaced the unsightly household rags we’d been using for years to clean our windows and walls, which despite repeated washings kept the thought of our home’s filth at elbow’s reach and therefore always in our minds.

That’s it: the cleanliness of our households, and our persons, used to be always on our minds.

But as appearances would become so vital in proper society of the 1950’s, discarding our waste was deemed of higher importance than ever before.

Housewives of the 1950’s had an easy life compared the struggles of their mothers, who suffered the Depression and the subsequent Dust Bowl, but these women would have deemed even the rationing of the 1940’s as better life.

World War II efforts were so extensive our government limited the amount of various items one could purchase because of high military demand: coffee, tea, butter and meat were rationed so deployed troops could eat. Even sugar was rationed, because its byproduct (ethyl alcohol) was turned into fuel for gunships and dynamite.

Thanks to this, mothers had become creative: enter Spam, Jell-O pie, fortified margarine, and the old standby in times of hardship, chicken pot pie.

Women gave up nylons as silk; wool, rayon and cotton were collected from neighborhoods and used to make parachutes, tents and military clothing. People were even encouraged to donate scrap metal- even brand new car bumpers- for the building of military hardware.

Though the government encouraged women with young children not to enter the workplace unless they’d exhausted all other options for means of survival, 19 million housewives and mothers flocked to replace men called to kill off Nazis. Many worked long hours in dirty, hot, unventilated factories building tanks, planes and ships- all without the many comforts we enjoy today under the Family Medical Leave Act (1993); the Civil Rights Act (1964, 1968); the Age Discrimination Act (1967); the Sex Discrimination Act (1984).

But in the summer and fall of 1945, men returned home to their families and sweethearts, creating a marriage boom, a baby boom, and an economic boom. We’d beaten the Nazis and saved the world: morale was at an all- time high.

Now that the men were back to take the reins, women returned to their kitchens and household duties; some, happy to be rid of dreary and dirty factory life; others, sad to be going back to the grind after having a life and a voice- some for the first time- outside the home.

But they’d have to deal with any perceived demotion some twenty years hence during the Sexual Revolution: now they had shiny new… well, everything they’d never had before.

Suddenly, women all over the country had their first house during the “white flight” to suburbia. Every family would own a brand new car in short order. Soon, women who grew up knowing strife and want would own new furniture, a television, washing machine and toaster, and would decorate their kitchens in soothing blues, yellows and greens.

They had new shiny appliances: food mixers, hair dryers, electric sewing machines, fridge/ freezer combos. With the advent of saran wrap, nonstick pans and instant ice tea, came obligatory fondue and Tupper wear parties and church socials.

Now that rationing was over, Americans had everything they never knew they wanted at their fingertips.

And they had to do it with perfect hair.

At least that’s the way it seemed in Look magazine and The Saturday Evening Post.

But common of the day was kind of female servitude deemed laughable and even offensive by today’s standards. Conditioning for being a “good wife” began in high school, as shown in the following excerpt from a 1954 home economics textbook:

· Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal, on time. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.

· Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so that you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people. Be a little gay and a little more interesting. His boring day may need a lift.

· Make the evening his. Never complain if he does not take you out to dinner or to other places of entertainment. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure, his need to be home and relax.

According to the now- defunct magazine Housekeeping Monthly, a good wife’s goal should be to make the home “a place of peace and order where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.”

These “duties”, of course, were not for want of nothing; husbands, in turn, were expected by their wives, their children, and certainly by society, to maintain fulltime employment and pay all the household bills. They were expected to make all the arraignments for little Johnny’s college tuition and annual family vacations, and deal with plumbers, electricians, noisy neighbors, crank callers, insurance agents and car problems.

All in all, it’s not a bad trade- off.

But the stresses of that homemaking, mixed with the very relevant red- baiting and blacklisting of feared Communists, the threat of nuclear fallout, not to mention girdles, petticoats and corsets, crying babies and now the f*!&ing cookies burned, caused total mental meltdowns, and wives felt distant from the outside world, lonely and overanxious.

Their husbands had his nightly Gin and Tonic to relieve his stress.

Women had valium.

What become known as a “mother’s little helper” kept women calm and quiet for most of the 50’s, until its affects were replaced by the socially- friendly marijuana in the late 60’s.

By then women had spent a decade stoned out of their gourds.

But 1960’s society freed women from the oppressive duties of baking casseroles and waxing floors: The Beatles, The Graduate and The New Left gave birth to a braver, looser and more vocal society. Men burned their draft cards as women worked to change their status as a mere homemaker.

And they did it without their girdles, their curlers or their bras.

Today’s “people of Wal-mart” ought to take note: not wearing a bra was meant as a social statement, symbolizing freedom from rigid 50’s life. It is not an option if you are larger than 200 pounds. And it should be an offense punishable by public stoning if you’ve had more than two kids.

That once- revolutionary social statement has since morphed into a new kind of overpowering feminism that permits hairy legs, unwashed hair, pit- stains and ill-fitting clothes. And by “permits”, I mean “burns holes in our corneas every time we turn a corner but we’re not allowed to say anything”.

By the time the 1980’s rolled around, pot and valium had moved to the backburner as means of recreational entertainment (though clearly not used enough) thanks to numerous anti- drug programs publicized by Nancy Reagan and the Rockers Against Drugs PSA’s. Besides, the new threats of Russians lobbing nukes at the Heartland clearly outlined the dangers of being mellow.

Were women to not have given up their drugs and provided such incredible upheaval, the great social changes of that decade might never have happened. By this time, women had found a new drug, and it has proved more addictive than any other the country had known: pity.

The term “feminism” goes back as far as 1895. It is defined as an “organized activity on behalf of women’s rights and interests”, and it began as a spearhead for the woman’s voice in a world of suffrage and domination.

The cause began with women gaining employment in fields once dominated by men, went on to provide anti-discrimination support and equal rights under the law, then on to break the glass ceiling, and eventually peaked with feminine- laced legislation we are likely to suffer for years.

Through the struggle, what did women find?

They found a louder voice, and greater influence over office politics, business policy and legislation than ever before. They found greater affluence, greater pull over household decisions and finance.

They found Victoria’s Secret, Maybelline and the Power Suit.

They also found themselves negotiating hostile takeovers 50 hours a week. They found themselves out of touch with their two kids, their two cars and their two televisions.

They also fell out of touch with their traditional place in the home: cookbook sales plummeted while frozen dinners and fast food- early precursors to the obesity phenomenon 20 years hence- found a new place at the kitchen table.

Family finance began to include buying everything on credit; and now that many women brought home just as much, and sometime more, bacon than their husbands, newly fangled superstores enjoyed a surge in sales as in- store plastic saw a peak in popularity.

What women forget during all of this was the honor once found in homemaking.

Women forgot that ruling the home was just as important, if not just as life altering, as the good ole boys club that debated war and trade in smoking rooms and Senate halls. After all, the home is where future leaders are first suckled, reared and taught. It’s the one place that gives the men that go on to rule councils and nations their first spanking, first taste of a chocolate chip cookie and first definitions of comfort after mom tucks them into bed on crisp, freshly- washed sheets.

Women forgot that ruling the home is not a perpetual state of infancy or second- class citizenship.

Women had begun to turn their husbands into sniveling Al Bundy’s who tiptoed around their wives’ monthly cycles lest they be faced with another self- help book or women’s group meeting in the living room. Children began to turn into gelatinous masses demanding more of everything, as they sat in awe before the birth of MTV and Atari.

And then there was the music: a scene dominated by spike heels, lipstick and lots and lots of hairspray.

And sometimes the women dressed up, too.

But women had finally done it: they had effectively turned their men into women, and no genre was immune: Michael Jackson, Motley Crue and The Oak Ridge Boys all adorned their album covers dressed like dolls and in rouge and eyeliner.

Television shows of the 1980s should have erased any doubt that feminism also had begun to take over the FCC either by direct involvement, or through any number of watchdog groups like the PMRC and Parents Television Council.

Hardened John Wayne- types that stared in Bonanza and The Untouchables had virtually disappeared from Hollywood. Instead, even the most intense cop shows were replaced by inticing studs of 21 Jumpstreet and Miami Vice and the female- friendly Cagney and Lacey.

Funny men Jackie Gleason and Red Skelton were replaced with the sexier Dennis Miller and Eddie Murphy.

Matriarchy overpowered male- geared advertising with the saturation of tampon and shampoo commercials, Golden Girls, and the precursor to sensitivity training, the After School Special.

Even the NFL suffered a feminine overhaul with the introduction of ridiculous- sounding penalties that included ‘grasping a facemask’, ‘taunting’, and ‘late arrival on the field’, and later, feminine- laced products endorsed by the league, the latest of which includes Febreeze, the “official air freshener of the NFL”.

Feminine values have even infiltrated the DMV: the Department of Transportation is permitted by law to refuse issuing any license plate that could be deemed offensive to good taste, whether a requested personalized plate or a random combination of letters and numbers.

Feminization has also invaded nature: male fish in several major river basins throughout the nation are exhibiting female characteristics, to include laying their own eggs.

Even our cars are feminized; nagging one just like a wife with loud buzzers and bells that ring for every little discretion from leaving the lights on, to failing to strap your 8 year- old into his car seat within an inch of his life.

Black studies, women’s studies, children’s studies and media studies were new fields gaining credibility in matters of legislation and society. Women ruled the country.

The only bastion of true manliness to have survived is the jock strap aisle at Dunham’s.

It became a world unlike any humans had known before. Trends began to turn towards public welfare, as seatbelt, helmet and child safety seat use became mandatory though out the nation. Cigarette ads began to disappear from magazines, billboards and television. After school specials taught our kids to Just Say No to sex- because you’ll surely get AIDS and die- and drugs, because they come from places like Columbia, and once we declared Satan having left Russia, it was surely the only place he had left to go.

Conservative Christians, also known as the Christian Right, also rose to popularity in the 1980’s. Hardly fast friends with feminists, they did at least agree on the evil of sexuality during the anti- pornography movement.

But the similarities ended there: the Christian right was terrified of feminists, simply, because they spoke. They didn’t stay home to take care of the children. The asserted their own thoughts and insisted on recognition. So when AIDS gave these puritan values a shot in the arm, it seemed to prove them correct: sex had become dirty- and not the good kind.

And so, enter the stereotype of the frigid feminist: a busy body so eternally turned off and uninterested in sex with men that her only emotional release is in supervising the lifestyles and choices of other people. Modern women had been raised to be sexually independent, but the fear of STDs and seemingly the reasonable religious and feminist arguments, coupling would just have to wait.

The Maddening Lack of Shame with Women

2011-10-05T14:17:00.000-07:00

Women have a secret agenda.

Or, at least, we used to.

The color and choice of our underwear used to be a private, yet subtly alluring, affair. The products used to “put on our face” were once a source of mystery for men and a traditional rite- of- passage for young girls.

The trials we endured to produce the oft- illusion of an hourglass figure and large breasts were known only to the women of the family.

Today’s women have managed to completely dissolve that feminine mystique by forgoing all the ritual. They wake up, roll out of bed, wash their face, and brush their teeth and…

Well, I guess we’re lucky some of them bother brush their teeth.

But some don’t.

Many more don’t trade out their jammies for day clothes when they leave the house; and I’m not talking about that midnight run to the corner store, having thrown a ratty coat over nighttime unmentionables, because you need milk for breakfast.

I’m talking high noon on Monday.

Wal-Mart.

I’m talking women walking around in mixed company as if she were behind a closed door in her own bathroom.

I know you’ve seen her- she could be a young lady or a middle- aged mom, but she’s wandering around the frozen food section wearing oversized Mountain Dew men’s lounge pants, free- range breasts bouncing under a two sizes too- small nicotine- stained white tank top and pink fuzzy house slippers- sans socks.

Look closer and you’ll see that tank top started out life as a camisole; the Christopher & Banks logo is hiding under the ketchup and coffee stains. Trust me.

At first, she appears to be shopping alone, but upon further inspection you find anywhere between three and five youngsters under the age of 7 straggling some twenty feet behind her. Every once in a while she’ll stop her cell phone conversation and yell for them to hurry up.

The youngest daughter pulls on her mommy’s shirt to get her attention, to which the mother rolls her eyes and responds, “Shut up! Mommy’s on the phone.”

Then she sighs loudly, rolls her eyes and mutters, “God.”

At some point in her shopping trip her cell phone conversation becomes impassioned to the point where she can’t walk and talk at the same time. So she stops her cart smack in the middle of aisle eight and starts flailing her sailor talk even louder, forcing the 73 year- old lady who was trying to compare bran cereals to scurry away in fear.

I know you’ve seen her.

You want to smack her profusely about the head and neck. You want to shake her. You want to knock the phone out of her hand and slam her up against the Fruit Loops and scream at her to cover herself and pay attention to her kids before they pull down the oatmeal display at the end of the aisle.

But you decide not to. Instead, you try and pierce through her protective shield of selfishness with an angry glare. Cuz that’ll get her off that phone and stop her kids from climbing into the milk coolers.

But you can’t.

You know the second she catches your dirty look, she’ll have no problem at all not only returning the look, but pausing her phone conversation to ask you what your problem is.

And you know it’ll only escalate from there. And the last thing you want is to wind up on an episode of Cops because her irresponsibility turned you into a criminal.

So you deal with it, right along with three hundred other people in the store. And right before you pay for your purchases, you pick up a bottle of aspirin and a pack of condoms- because you’re beginning to have second thoughts about having any kids- and decide to stop at the liquor store on your way home because you just wrap your brain around the idea we live in a nation that requires a license for driving, hunting, teaching, catching a fish- even building an addition to your garage, but we let anybody at all have a child.

It’s no wonder old folks always look so frail and timid when they’re out in public; they’re terrified of these people.

Remember that scene from Witches of Eastwick when Susan Sarandon’s character does her grocery shopping without a bra? She’s shamed and shunned by the neighborhood women until she leaves the store.

We don’t shame anymore.

We don’t shun.

And we should.

Why We Can't- And Shouldn't- Mess With Bullies

2011-10-03T23:31:00.000-07:00

The further one delves into the many websites of the United States Government, the more obvious it becomes as to why we can't balance the budget, or why it takes so long for more than three Senators to agree on anything. Redundancy runs through many of the names of organizations, and far too many "Office of Such and Such" seem to have far too specific titles.

Take the Office and Safe and Drug Free Schools; it sounds dignified enough, although I didn't realize an entire government office was actually required to track this problem, but things get confusing when you consider offices already exist to preform this task, like the Health Resources and Services Administration. Or you could also take into consideration the Substance Abuse and Mental Services Administration (for future reference, I refer to these three groups as the “trinity of political correctness”). This trinity has created a massive bully prevention program that sells the idea of prevention by promising constituent schools that “bullying is by no means a childhood inevitability”.

So from the top down, parents are taught that our main goal for our children ought to be erasing all their pain and suffering off the face of the earth.

The Trinity of P.C. provides videos, motivational speakers, pamphlets and booklets discussing what they call “bully- prevention”. These safety ideals were put into action in the Public Playground Safety Handbook, and were later introduced to the masses with what is called “Anti- Bullying Legislation”.

Legislation.

Blink.

Blink, blink.

That means somewhere in an office, a state representative will encounter the term “bully- prevention” in a proposed bill. It means national “Bully Prevention Awareness Week”. It means bully phone- trees. It means bully- prevention ribbons, Mothers Against Bullies and after school anti- bully clubs.

It means the first public official not to leave the gate running over any such policy, funding proposal or potential legislation with the wording “bully- prevention” buried in some pork will undoubtedly be crucified in the media and either voted out of office or impeached because he’s “soft” on bullies.

Translation: Social policy is being dictated to the majority by a few over- protective parents.

Translation: Parents are no longer responsible for their children’s actions. In fact, neither are the children.

What happened to, “stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”?

How many bullies went on to be bigger and better than everyone else after high school? It doesn’t happen, even in the movies. They always wind up becoming drunks, second- class husbands, inmates or fragged by their own troops.

In the end, bullies never win.

It’s always the nerds, the ugly people, the fat kids, who overcome the nasty name- calling from fellow students. It's the geeks, stutterers and acne- ridden who bury there noses in books and figure out how to turn doo- hickeys into handy household devices, or suddenly become so beautiful at the age of consent they launch their own makeup line. They turn into millionaires.

Ever hear of Steve Jobs?

Richard Simmons?

Nerds have far fewer “issues”, far less baggage, far less insecurities. Their flaws are public. There is no escape and they know it. They capitalize on it as a means of survival.

If you were on the receiving end of taunts and teasing in school, be patient.

And if you were the one taunting, your day is soon coming- and I can promise you the humiliation will be public.

In the immortal words of Louis Skolnick from Revenge of the Nerds:

“We have news for the beautiful people; there are a lot more of us than there are of you.”

Bullying is nothing more than an imbalance of power or strength, usually shifted by those who don’t have any balls.

Ever been to the DMV? Fill out the wrong shipping form at the post office?

Bullies.

Everyone of ‘em.

They may have better pensions, but we get laid more often. And we live longer.

I consider that a fair trade- off.

The Pussification of the American Child

2011-10-03T22:07:00.000-07:00

Pussification is a strong word. You might even be offended by it. But after consulting numerous dictionaries, thesauruses and online sources, there doesn't seem to be an actual word that describes what we're doing to our kids. In another time it might be considered abusive, outlandish and totally inappropriate~ imagine any other time in American history prior to, say, 1980: modern society would be a freak show so shocking it might be unrecognizable as Earthly.

Since America’s most recent glory years (post- WWII), our culture has become more about safety than fun, more about feelings than facts and is now solidly centered around child worship.

To put it plainly, we are proving Darwin’s theory of evolution was just that; because in large part, we are devolving.

We are becoming the dumbest, fattest, laziest and most feminized, paranoid and smothering of all societies on the planet.

If that offends you, good, because you're the type who must not have any idea why your 12 year- old weighs 300 pounds, since the diet cola surely cancels out the half pound burger he wolfs down four nights a week.

You must be the single parent with social entries in every date of your calendar who can’t understand why your child can’t read.

But I've got my own kids to worry about. You’re sharing their air.

And what you’ve got is contagious.

There’s a doctor somewhere that can prove it.

At some point since our own teachers taught us about survival of the fittest and natural selection, and After School Specials taught us about life not being fair and losing gracefully, our generation picked up a over- exaggerated sense of entitlement, with children treated like royalty from no reason other than being born.

When I was a young child, it was widely understood that every kid should have the same chance to make it on the team, but not every kid should be considered good enough to play. Every kid should be given the same number of chances to catch the ball, the same quality cleats, and the same chance to run the field- all with the same encouragement from the coach.

But if your kid can’t throw the ball or run that field, he ain’t gonna play. Not everyone is good enough to make the team- that’s why they have tryouts.

Not every child is special. Not every kid deserves desert, not every kid deserves to watch television.

These aren’t rights; they are privileges.

Teachers, lawmakers, and subsequently parents, have taken all cause and effect out of the lives of children and treats each one as someone deserving of recognition, whether they catch that ball or not.

We live in a giant jungle of twisted metal and exhaust surrounded by wild animals and hurricanes, and the law of that jungle has for million of years been survival of the fittest. Unfortunately, our overly- thin skinned society has dropped our edge on the food chain.

Here’s how it should be:

Cause: Little Johnny is great at punting a football.

Effect: Little Johnny will probably start as the team’s kicker, giving him the confidence he needs to do anything; getting that college scholarship, fixing Mrs. Olsen’s banister next door, and teaching his own son the rewards of hard work.

Here’s how it is:

Cause: Little Johnny is great at punting a football.

Effect: It doesn’t matter how good Johnny is because everyone is special just for showing up. The team doesn’t have a regular starting kicker because it’s not fair to any of the other kickers on the team. Little Johnny will realize there’s no point to trying hard at anything, and since he has no healthy outlet for his biological prowess, he’ll become addicted to crack and beat his women.

We can’t really blame the kids for this whole mess; like Mr. Miyagi said, “tee-cha say, stoo- dunt do”.

We, the adults- the teachers- are screwing up all of humanity by regulating their playtime, and by studying, labeling and restructuring what should be spontaneous fun, all in the belief we’re making their lives better.

Think about a typical playground in 1980- it consisted of tall and winding slides and see- saws; all made of metal that cooked in the sun before we got outside for recess. We had merry- go- rounds requiring ridiculous amounts of energy before they’d spin for even five seconds. We had creaking wood jungle gyms with splinters jutting out of every angle and swinging bridges connected with real metal eye hooks and thick bolts.

All such mechanisms designed to instill and excite in children the basic concepts behind vigorous movement, territorial boundaries, sharing, physics and urban combat.

Today’s playgrounds are completely foreign to anyone born before 1985; all devoid of anything that could possibly hold the interest of any child over the age of four. They are brightly- colored masses of rubber- coated plastic that couldn’t bruise a banana.

The monkey bars barely rise three feet from the ground.

Kids descend from a whooping 15 degree angle on ridiculously- wide plastic slides into matted- down mulch arranged over rubber matting.

Jungle gym wood has been replaced with plastic painted to look like wood, and the swinging bridges don’t really swing anymore.

The only things left from yesterday are the swing sets.

No child today knows the joy of being stuck in a human traffic jam in the middle of a twist- slide, being jabbed in the kidney with someone’s shoe or getting bashed in the eye with a strange elbow.

Bouncing back from a gushing eye wound or wearing a cast for six weeks from playtime injuries told the world everything they needed to know about us: I can handle it.

Today’s playgrounds teach our kids they can’t be trusted to control themselves, they aren’t capable of maneuvering obstacles and are too fragile to suffer even the most mundane injury. It’s why they can’t relate to their parents- or appreciate the sense of order in the larger world around them.

And whose fault is that?

The Department of Education has joined forces with the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission, and together they’ve created a whole slew of programs, pamphlets and booklets produced to inform us how at risk our kids are when they play.

Because how the hell would we know? We’re just the parents.

One such publication is titled The Public Playground Safety Book, and it’s a hard book to read. I had to slam a few boilermakers, and then nap awhile before choking it all down.

This book is proof that too many fields of study gain credibility too easily in the belief that their furtherance make us better people.

Somewhere along the line, a group of bored, middle- aged, safety fanatics decided our children were too helpless to traverse the complicated inner workings of “heavy metal swings”, “multiple occupancy swings” or “rope swings”.

This booklet advises against these types of swings on public playgrounds, claiming they pose risks of “potential strangulation hazard” and “impact injury”.

Impact injury??

I always thought that’s what childhood was; a series of impact injuries. Whoever survived got to move out and play their music as loud as they want and drink and smoke and walk around their house naked.

And if you were a kid who was strangled by one of these swings, then you ought never move out of your parents' home.

The book also instructs schools to remove all "trapeze bars" from playgrounds. I remember having a helluva lot of fun on things, and there’s nothing quite learning how to hang upside down. It keeps you limber, keeps your defense up and gives you an idea of how to look at the status quo from a different perspective.

But no longer are these lauded as attributes. The booklet claims trapeze bars are “athletic equipment and not recommended for public playground use.”

That’s a direct quote from the book.

I couldn’t make that up.

Seeing as how athletic equipment has no place on the playground, then it would follow that neither does athletic ability. Schools in Wyoming, Arizona, Washington and at least three other states have sent the message loud and clear: “Sorry kids, but we have no faith in your resilience, strength or ability.”

Translation: No tag, no dodge ball, and in some cases, no physical contact whatsoever.

One school in Connecticut instituted a “hands- off” policy in early 2009. The school’s over- reactionary principal banned all physical contact including high- fives and hugging, all stemming from a playground incident that left one kid with a groin injury.

Spontaneous play at recess is essential to a kid’s emotional and physical development; you either win or lose based on your ability to think quickly and react immediately. You learn basic means of self- defense and deductive reasoning in a feral environment.

All key mental and physical elements that must be mastered before adolescent milestones can be met.

Everything from getting laid in a bucket seat, manipulating a stick shift or maneuvering obstacles and crowds at an airport or rock concert could never be achieved without conquering these.

I knew a girl who broke her wrist during recess tag in the 4^th grade; as she was taken to the hospital, the playground teacher gave us not a lecture, but a warning; she laid the responsibility where it all belonged- right in our laps.

“I pity the poor boy that ran into her, because she will find out who you are.”

The message was prophetic.

She did find the guy; she smacked him across the face with her cast. He had a terrific gash in his lip for weeks, but guess what? He never ran into another girl at recess.

But it didn’t go to a committee. It wasn’t made part of a study. No new safety rules were implemented. We, the guilty, learned firsthand about consequences. We weren’t paying attention- somebody got hurt. We were expected to act accordingly from then out.

But we all survived, and it had nothing to do with a video, booklet or safety pamphlet.