We now move from rhapsodizing about wedded bliss to seriously considering the implications of the axiom, “Ignorance is bliss.” I came across this thought-provoking article after checking out one of my favorite irreverent pop culture standbys, http://www.aintitcool.com. The Parents Television Council, a non-partisan grassroots organization based in the United States, just released its annual list of “Top Ten Best and Worst Shows for family viewing on prime time broadcast television” (http://www.parentstv.org/PTC/publications/reports/top10bestandworst/main.asp.)
Aside from the rather unwieldy title (which carries all the stentorian elegance of such captivating social tracts such as Karl Marx’s “Introduction to a Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right” 1844, Deutsch-Französicher Jahrbucher), I was initially intrigued by the list formulated by The Parents Television Council (PTC) because of, I admit, selfish reasons: I am a father, and I’m trying very hard to be a good one. In this sense, I share the sentiments of the aforementioned body (which you can find at http://www.parentstv.org/PTC/aboutus/main.asp.), when it talks of how television can be used to educate, inspire and entertain children. To a certain extent, I also agree with the body’s assertion that the parents should play a key role in determining what their children watch. However, I would like to feature several observations that this body has made regarding the worst television programs for 2005:
On The Family Guy, ranked 2nd worst:
Fox/ 9:00 Sunday - Returning show
This unbelievably foul animated series made a strong come back after being off the air for two years, thanks to the success of DVD sales among young males. The raunchy series follows the Griffins, a blue-collar New England family which includes a martini-swilling, talking dog and a matricidal baby bent on world domination. The show bases its humor on scatological and sexual references (including masturbation, incest, bestiality, necrophilia), and spoofs on popular culture. Institutions such as the church and family are held up to ridicule on a near-weekly basis. One episode this season featured Meg being deflowered by Jimmy Fallon on Saturday Night Live. Parents of young children should be especially concerned because Family Guy's animated format is sure to attract young viewers. Shockingly, since its return in May, Family Guy is the highest ranked show among 12-17 year olds, and the fifth highest ranked show among children ages 2 to 11.
On That ‘70s Show, ranked 8th worst:
Fox/Returning in November ‘05
That ‘70s Show follows a group of teens growing up in a small Wisconsin town during the 1970s. Frequently included on the PTC’s Top 10 Worst list, this series once again earns a spot for its casual and irresponsible treatment of teen sex and drug use, which are depicted as risk- and consequence-free. Frequent references are made to pornography and masturbation. In one episode, for example, Kelso decides that he has to start respecting women, so he gives Fez his entire collection of pornographic magazines. Jackie says that giving Fez a “box full of nudie magazines” is like giving a monkey a loaded gun, to which Fez replies, “No, it’s not. A monkey with a loaded gun can hurt a lot of people. I can only hurt myself.” When they see Fez later, he looks exhausted because he has done nothing but look at pornography all day. Episodes also endorse smoking marijuana as harmless fun.
On Arrested Development, ranked 9th worst:
Fox/ 8:00 Monday - Returning show
Arrested Development is the story of the Bluth family. The show picks up when George Sr. is arrested for securities fraud and his son Michael is left to pick up the pieces of the family and their business.
Arrested Development is designed to offend. Episodes regularly contain scripted bleeps. This enables the writers to use language, including “f**k” and “s**t,” network censors would never allow. Arrested Development also employs some of the most outrageous double-entendres ever to find their way into prime-time. In one episode, for example, Tobias says he was an analyst and a therapist, making him the first “analrapist.” Other episodes have delved into the bizarre sexual proclivities of the main characters, such as Lucille’s revelation that she and George derive sexual pleasure from being strangled with a belt.
It seems that the PTC, while well intentioned, actually encourages the development of lackadaisal parenting. Majority of their complaints regarding the aforementioned programs have a lot to do with presence of depictions of sex, the use of swear words, or the mention of such hot-button topics such as pornography and marijuana. Like it or not, these elements (sex, drug use, pornography) comprise part of the reality that our children will have to confront, sooner or later. My fear is that by suggesting that such topics become taboo to our children, we are in fact making these topics more appealing to them, by labeling these topics as falling under the heading of forbidden fruit. The best way to deal with the pernicious effects of a mistaken conception of sex, or the all-too real consequences of drug use would be to talk and process these topics with our children, rather than sitting on our rather ample behinds and let an organization such as the PTC do all the processing for us.
In fact, as an educator, I’m not very concerned with the dangers posed by taboo topics. Those topics, we can deal with: we just need time to process them properly with our children. It’s inane television that really gets my goat. Our kids need to be reasonably intelligent for us to process important topics with them, and television that seems designed to deliberately leech IQ points out of our kids’ brains pose more of a danger to their moral and spiritual health than Fez admitting that he can only hurt himself or puns on being the world’s first “analrapist”.
Though I do love 7th Heaven. In fact, I think that’s why we’ll never see a crossover episode between 7th Heaven and One Tree Hill. C’mon, Reverend Camden dealt with the evils of racial profiling and promoted the virtues of openness and understanding in less than 35 minutes. Two feuding brothers who share a passion for basketball would pose no problem for him.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Nat King Cole: That’s All
Today marks my 2nd wedding anniversary. It’s funny, but my wife Tina just observed the other day how time seems to have flown by so fast. It’s almost cliché: first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage. The fact that my life has taken a decidedly nursery-rhyme turn for the better would have filled me with dread during my bachelor years. The last thing I wanted to happen then would be for my life to be ordinary. But it seems that “a life quite ordinary” is precisely where I am headed, and the prospect fills me with much joy.
Earlier, I woke up quite early to bring Tina to her badminton quorum at West Drive Badminton Center along West Capitol Drive, Barrio Kapitolyo. Near the end of her game, a friend from work, Vince Cruz suggested that since I don’t play badminton, maybe next time I could just drop her off and she could hitch a ride to work with him or one of the badminton players. Oddly enough, that arrangement never crossed my mind, and Vince’s good intentions notwithstanding, I would not consider taking him up on his offer. Despite the fact that I am a faux morning person with little inclination to pick up a racket and play this rather fascinating indoor sport (alas, I remain too much of a misogynist to consider playing any sport which involves a cock), I really enjoy taking my wife, well, anywhere. With her, even the ordinary becomes quite extraordinary, and even though I seem to have trapped myself into expressing the mundane in the most artless way, that’s precisely how I feel.
Later, we hie off to Il Ponticello, “the scene of the crime”, for dinner. One reason why I like taking her to Il Ponticello for our anniversary stems from the fact that “Ponti” bridges the gap between my carefree bachelor life and the wedded bliss I currently enjoy. I will always remember Ponti with fondness: how else could I feel about a bar whose bathroom tiles I know rather intimately? The smoke-filled days of wine, women and song, (okay, maybe not the women, but the prospect of women, which my blurry memory can always magnify into magnificently fictional encounters with women I’ve spent most of my life not having) seem to have segued rather smoothly into an enjoyment of fine Italian dining (it seems Ponti served excellent Italian food, a fact which escaped me during my younger years). And a beautiful house we don’t spend enough time in. And a beautiful son we can’t get enough of.
Happy Wedding Anniversary Sweety. Life certainly is grand. Take it away, Nat.
I can only give you love that lasts forever
And a promise to be near each time you call,
And the only heart I own
For you and you alone,
That’s all, that’s all.
I can only give you country walks in springtime
And a hand to hold when leaves begin to fall,
And a love whose burning light
Will warm the winter night,
That’s all, that’s all.
If you’re wondering what I’m asking in return, dear,
You’ll be glad to know that my demands are small.
Say it’s me that you’ll adore
For now and ever more,
That’s all, that’s all.
Earlier, I woke up quite early to bring Tina to her badminton quorum at West Drive Badminton Center along West Capitol Drive, Barrio Kapitolyo. Near the end of her game, a friend from work, Vince Cruz suggested that since I don’t play badminton, maybe next time I could just drop her off and she could hitch a ride to work with him or one of the badminton players. Oddly enough, that arrangement never crossed my mind, and Vince’s good intentions notwithstanding, I would not consider taking him up on his offer. Despite the fact that I am a faux morning person with little inclination to pick up a racket and play this rather fascinating indoor sport (alas, I remain too much of a misogynist to consider playing any sport which involves a cock), I really enjoy taking my wife, well, anywhere. With her, even the ordinary becomes quite extraordinary, and even though I seem to have trapped myself into expressing the mundane in the most artless way, that’s precisely how I feel.
Later, we hie off to Il Ponticello, “the scene of the crime”, for dinner. One reason why I like taking her to Il Ponticello for our anniversary stems from the fact that “Ponti” bridges the gap between my carefree bachelor life and the wedded bliss I currently enjoy. I will always remember Ponti with fondness: how else could I feel about a bar whose bathroom tiles I know rather intimately? The smoke-filled days of wine, women and song, (okay, maybe not the women, but the prospect of women, which my blurry memory can always magnify into magnificently fictional encounters with women I’ve spent most of my life not having) seem to have segued rather smoothly into an enjoyment of fine Italian dining (it seems Ponti served excellent Italian food, a fact which escaped me during my younger years). And a beautiful house we don’t spend enough time in. And a beautiful son we can’t get enough of.
Happy Wedding Anniversary Sweety. Life certainly is grand. Take it away, Nat.
I can only give you love that lasts forever
And a promise to be near each time you call,
And the only heart I own
For you and you alone,
That’s all, that’s all.
I can only give you country walks in springtime
And a hand to hold when leaves begin to fall,
And a love whose burning light
Will warm the winter night,
That’s all, that’s all.
If you’re wondering what I’m asking in return, dear,
You’ll be glad to know that my demands are small.
Say it’s me that you’ll adore
For now and ever more,
That’s all, that’s all.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Conrado de Quiros, Gene Hackman, and Bill Bixby: the Nobility of Anger
It was inevitable. A blog entitled “Flowers from the Rubble” would eventually blog the author of “Flowers from the Rubble”.
I’ve been reading Conrado de Quiros for quite some time now, and apart from the elegance of his writing and the ease with which he marries the philosophical with the political, I’ve always been impressed with the quality of his anger. In this respect, Conrado de Quiros is very much like Gene Hackman. Fametracker: The Farmer’s Almanac of Celebrity Worth (http://www.fametracker.com/fame_audit/hackman_gene.shtml), once observed “there are few thrills in modern cinema more satisfying than the sight of Gene Hackman losing his temper. Whether low and coiled or at a rolling boil, Hackman has more shades of anger than most actors have shades, period.”
I suppose what I’m saying is that I like Conrado de Quiros, especially when he is angry. I only mention this because many of my friends share the same sentiments as Marlon Alcantara, who opined, “I used to read with great interest the columns of Conrado de Quiros. But they have become nauseating; all they contain are views against President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. I am not pro-Gloria, but I hope De Quiros will once again appreciate variety, not just limit his columns to Arroyo stories.” (Published on page A12 of the October 18, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer, and http://news.inq7.net/opinion/index.php?index=2&story_id=53686&col=77)
De Quiros acknowledges the fact that Alcantara has every right to his opinion, but he also insists that as a writer, he cannot help but write about President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo:
“Ages ago, during the launching of my first book, I said that at the deepest level of things, you do not really choose your topics, they choose you. You write about them because you are compelled to, because they are there, in the sense that Edmund Hilary used the phrase. When asked why he climbed Mt. Everest, he answered, “Because it is there.” He did not mean that as a choice, he meant it as a necessity.
I write nearly exclusively about Ms Arroyo today because she is there. In this case, that isn’t just metaphorical, that is literal. I am exceptionally compelled to do so because Ms Arroyo is there when she should not be there.”
It might be tough to slog through a de Quiros column nowadays, but I still keep at it. He might be stubborn, overly dramatic (at times), or too emotionally invested in his sincere concern for the Filipino, but he’s still a damn good read. Besides, he’s the anti-Bill Bixby, from The Incredible Hulk, the TV series. Make him angry. You would really like him when he’s angry.
I’ve been reading Conrado de Quiros for quite some time now, and apart from the elegance of his writing and the ease with which he marries the philosophical with the political, I’ve always been impressed with the quality of his anger. In this respect, Conrado de Quiros is very much like Gene Hackman. Fametracker: The Farmer’s Almanac of Celebrity Worth (http://www.fametracker.com/fame_audit/hackman_gene.shtml), once observed “there are few thrills in modern cinema more satisfying than the sight of Gene Hackman losing his temper. Whether low and coiled or at a rolling boil, Hackman has more shades of anger than most actors have shades, period.”
I suppose what I’m saying is that I like Conrado de Quiros, especially when he is angry. I only mention this because many of my friends share the same sentiments as Marlon Alcantara, who opined, “I used to read with great interest the columns of Conrado de Quiros. But they have become nauseating; all they contain are views against President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. I am not pro-Gloria, but I hope De Quiros will once again appreciate variety, not just limit his columns to Arroyo stories.” (Published on page A12 of the October 18, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer, and http://news.inq7.net/opinion/index.php?index=2&story_id=53686&col=77)
De Quiros acknowledges the fact that Alcantara has every right to his opinion, but he also insists that as a writer, he cannot help but write about President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo:
“Ages ago, during the launching of my first book, I said that at the deepest level of things, you do not really choose your topics, they choose you. You write about them because you are compelled to, because they are there, in the sense that Edmund Hilary used the phrase. When asked why he climbed Mt. Everest, he answered, “Because it is there.” He did not mean that as a choice, he meant it as a necessity.
I write nearly exclusively about Ms Arroyo today because she is there. In this case, that isn’t just metaphorical, that is literal. I am exceptionally compelled to do so because Ms Arroyo is there when she should not be there.”
It might be tough to slog through a de Quiros column nowadays, but I still keep at it. He might be stubborn, overly dramatic (at times), or too emotionally invested in his sincere concern for the Filipino, but he’s still a damn good read. Besides, he’s the anti-Bill Bixby, from The Incredible Hulk, the TV series. Make him angry. You would really like him when he’s angry.
A Man for All Preseasons
I love professional basketball. It’s easy to insert a joke at this point, comparing my basketball skills with this observation regarding my singing: “John-D loves to sing, but singing doesn’t seem to love John-D”. However, like most of the things we love doing in life, my comparative skill at playing doesn’t seem to diminish my passion for the sport.
The NBA season is about to begin, and the only thing that can compare with the thrill of watching the actual games for this basketball fan is speculating on how the season could unfold. I’ve always suspected that most of the thrill of participating in NBA Fantasy Leagues comes from the basketball fanatic’s subconscious belief that he (or she) can run an NBA franchise better than the actual people involved in running a franchise (with the arguable exception of the San Antonio Spurs, which is a topic for another day). This is why basketball fans, in general, gleefully sift through the different sporting websites in order to weigh the different preseason analyses against their own unassailably correct basketball genius.
I’ve noticed that when it comes to this undeniably sweet basketball pleasure, it rarely matters whether or not the preseason prognostications of our favorite basketball pundits are invariably proven to be right. I remember having a discussion with my good friend, Ralph Lumo regarding the differences in enjoying Fox Sports analyst Charley Rosen and ESPN Page 2’s Bill Simmons.
Charley Rosen’s analysis, albeit a bit dry, curmudgeony and sometimes insufferably arrogant, is based on his encyclopedic knowledge of the game (both as player and coach), his insistence on establishing workable, patiently nurtured systems in teaching and playing the sport “the right way”, and a sincere desire to help everyone (players, coaches, fans) involved in the sport appreciate the subtle elegance of pristine ball. Bill Simmons’ analysis, while overwhelmingly biased in favor of his favorite team (the Boston Celtics) and sometimes lacking in terms of both method and substance, is unapologetic, funny, insightful at times, and undeniably passionate. Simmons also represents to some extent the current incarnation of the die-hard sports fan: knowledgeable, but in a way almost totally devoid of accountability, well-read, and almost frighteningly immersed in pop culture (who else can successfully mate quotations from The Godfather with an engaging, thoughtful commentary on the NBA Draft process?).
Ralph cut right to the heart of the matter, saying in effect, “Rosen, damn him, might be right most of the time, but I don’t always want to read stuff that’s right. Simmons is funny. He might not be right all the time, but he’s funny.”
Enjoying NBA basketball isn’t just about seeing your favorite team win. It’s about rooting for a team which you, for your own specific, personal reasons, identify with. You may not win all the time, but winning is beside the point. Your enjoyment of basketball is rooted in the fact that you root for a team that, for better or for worse, represents you.
At any rate, Simmons is taking his sweet time coming up with his NBA preseason preview (still, you can view his stuff at: http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/simmons/index), but Charley Rosen is all fired up and ready to go. He’s been remarkably prolific lately. It’s almost as if he’s aware that thousands of basketball fans can’t wait to argue with him about his painstakingly argued, but insufferably pompous pronouncements about the upcoming season. Check him out: http://msn.foxsports.com/writer/archive?authorId=227. Then, try to knock the bastard off his high horse.
The NBA season is about to begin, and the only thing that can compare with the thrill of watching the actual games for this basketball fan is speculating on how the season could unfold. I’ve always suspected that most of the thrill of participating in NBA Fantasy Leagues comes from the basketball fanatic’s subconscious belief that he (or she) can run an NBA franchise better than the actual people involved in running a franchise (with the arguable exception of the San Antonio Spurs, which is a topic for another day). This is why basketball fans, in general, gleefully sift through the different sporting websites in order to weigh the different preseason analyses against their own unassailably correct basketball genius.
I’ve noticed that when it comes to this undeniably sweet basketball pleasure, it rarely matters whether or not the preseason prognostications of our favorite basketball pundits are invariably proven to be right. I remember having a discussion with my good friend, Ralph Lumo regarding the differences in enjoying Fox Sports analyst Charley Rosen and ESPN Page 2’s Bill Simmons.
Charley Rosen’s analysis, albeit a bit dry, curmudgeony and sometimes insufferably arrogant, is based on his encyclopedic knowledge of the game (both as player and coach), his insistence on establishing workable, patiently nurtured systems in teaching and playing the sport “the right way”, and a sincere desire to help everyone (players, coaches, fans) involved in the sport appreciate the subtle elegance of pristine ball. Bill Simmons’ analysis, while overwhelmingly biased in favor of his favorite team (the Boston Celtics) and sometimes lacking in terms of both method and substance, is unapologetic, funny, insightful at times, and undeniably passionate. Simmons also represents to some extent the current incarnation of the die-hard sports fan: knowledgeable, but in a way almost totally devoid of accountability, well-read, and almost frighteningly immersed in pop culture (who else can successfully mate quotations from The Godfather with an engaging, thoughtful commentary on the NBA Draft process?).
Ralph cut right to the heart of the matter, saying in effect, “Rosen, damn him, might be right most of the time, but I don’t always want to read stuff that’s right. Simmons is funny. He might not be right all the time, but he’s funny.”
Enjoying NBA basketball isn’t just about seeing your favorite team win. It’s about rooting for a team which you, for your own specific, personal reasons, identify with. You may not win all the time, but winning is beside the point. Your enjoyment of basketball is rooted in the fact that you root for a team that, for better or for worse, represents you.
At any rate, Simmons is taking his sweet time coming up with his NBA preseason preview (still, you can view his stuff at: http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/simmons/index), but Charley Rosen is all fired up and ready to go. He’s been remarkably prolific lately. It’s almost as if he’s aware that thousands of basketball fans can’t wait to argue with him about his painstakingly argued, but insufferably pompous pronouncements about the upcoming season. Check him out: http://msn.foxsports.com/writer/archive?authorId=227. Then, try to knock the bastard off his high horse.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Oddly enough, it's about ME...
After a long dry spell creatively (I anticipate another such period sometime soon. A "long dry spell" indeed! How inventive!), I finally worked up enough nerve to write. Thanks to the good graces of ME Magazine, and the personal initiative of Annie Nisce, I finally got published. It's a short feature article, and I can at least assure you that the article is better than this rambling, frustratingly artless post. Enjoy!
Dragons are too Seldom Here
By John-D Borra
Published in ME Magazine, October 2005 issue
I am a voracious reader, which makes sense since I am currently employed as a literature teacher in one of the top liberal arts institutions in Metro Manila. One time, after digesting (and thoroughly enjoying) Ogden Nash’s poem “Dragons Are Too Seldom Here”, a young lady whose fashion sense bordered on the surreal asked me what I thought of her current ensemble, which looked as if it had been spewed from some Anne Klein fall catalog for the aesthetically challenged. I manfully struggled to stifle my initial reaction and tried to offer her some kind words to celebrate her independent attitude towards fashion.
“Well, what do you think?” she prodded.
“In my humble opinion, your look is very Ogden Nash. After all, ‘where there’s a dragon, there’s a miracle’.”
I meant to say that I appreciated her absolute fearlessness in choosing color, cut and style. I meant to applaud her refusal to bow down to the inexorable march of the “fashion trend of the moment”. I meant to say that the unconventional and the odd could, in the blink of an eye, be an opportunity for grace and beauty.
I am a fool. And despite enjoying several years of wedded bliss, I know next to nothing about women.
Now that I have recovered sufficiently from that experience, I would like to help other women, if not accept, then certainly understand how otherwise kind-hearted, educated males such as myself can be thoroughly unmanned by issues that all women seem to know by instinct.
FAT
The five most dreaded words in the English language, at least for males who entertain the ambition of not going through life alone, are contained in the following question: “Honey, do I look fat?” Honestly, men have no idea how to respond to that honey-toned mantrap of a question. It’s a lose-lose scenario. If we say that you could stand to lose some fat at the hips, you automatically flash that hurt expression that people normally associate with babies whose candies were confiscated by the mean boy down the block. If we say that you look fine, you immediately retort, “You’re not even paying attention! I’m serious!”
Well dear, so are we. And since this is a case where silence can truly be considered golden, we meekly tiptoe around the subject or divert your attention with “Wow, I really enjoyed that show on the Lifestyle Channel. I had no idea that there were so many different ways to make an apartment look bigger!”
SHOPPING
Another occasion that never fails to send chills spindling down men’s spines is shopping. Men do shop, and we do spend either roughly the same amount of money or more on our caprichos, but we cannot understand how women can spend so much time and energy just to discover the perfect baby-tee at the bottom of some bin that previously held what smells like the remains of a pack of terrier pups. Whenever I find myself accompanying my sisters to the suspiciously timed annual three day sales of the local malls, or surreptitiously navigating alleys that I would never venture into without updating my immunizations or sans a battalion of Scout Rangers, several questions whir through my brain:
“How do you know that it’s the perfect baby-tee?”
“What are the dimensions of perfection? Should it fit snugly, or should there be allowances for certain body parts to move about freely? What pantone does the perfect blue/pink/yellow/orange baby-tee come from?”
“How do I get out of this mess?”
SIGNALS
Subtlety. It escapes us. Despite the fact that you probably think that you have dropped enough clues to indicate your mood or your displeasure, take it from me: we didn’t get a single one. I once read that the significant, fundamental differences between men and women originate in the differences between male and female brains. Men, supposedly, are more inclined to the speculative pursuits. Women, on the other hand, due to their more highly developed corpus callosum (that which integrates the left and right hemisphere of the brain), are naturally more gifted at managing minutiae. What does this mean in practical terms? Simply put, men are not genetically disposed to pick up on the many different hints that women drop. This is not because we don’t care. We just didn’t think there was something to care about to begin with.
This is by no means a comprehensive listing of what men find puzzling about women, nor is this an attempt to facetiously explain away our difficulties without admitting to some culpability. This is more like an apology. You do matter, and whatever you are concerned about is important enough for us males to be concerned about also. At times, in the course of trying to make relationships work, we try to take the only bit of advice that sticks to our minds (mainly because this advice oftentimes comes from the first women we ever loved, our mothers): be genuine in dealing with the people you love. After all, it is in the act of loving that one is most genuine. Pardon our shortcomings. Let’s go out and find that perfect baby-tee.
Dragons are too Seldom Here
By John-D Borra
Published in ME Magazine, October 2005 issue
I am a voracious reader, which makes sense since I am currently employed as a literature teacher in one of the top liberal arts institutions in Metro Manila. One time, after digesting (and thoroughly enjoying) Ogden Nash’s poem “Dragons Are Too Seldom Here”, a young lady whose fashion sense bordered on the surreal asked me what I thought of her current ensemble, which looked as if it had been spewed from some Anne Klein fall catalog for the aesthetically challenged. I manfully struggled to stifle my initial reaction and tried to offer her some kind words to celebrate her independent attitude towards fashion.
“Well, what do you think?” she prodded.
“In my humble opinion, your look is very Ogden Nash. After all, ‘where there’s a dragon, there’s a miracle’.”
I meant to say that I appreciated her absolute fearlessness in choosing color, cut and style. I meant to applaud her refusal to bow down to the inexorable march of the “fashion trend of the moment”. I meant to say that the unconventional and the odd could, in the blink of an eye, be an opportunity for grace and beauty.
I am a fool. And despite enjoying several years of wedded bliss, I know next to nothing about women.
Now that I have recovered sufficiently from that experience, I would like to help other women, if not accept, then certainly understand how otherwise kind-hearted, educated males such as myself can be thoroughly unmanned by issues that all women seem to know by instinct.
FAT
The five most dreaded words in the English language, at least for males who entertain the ambition of not going through life alone, are contained in the following question: “Honey, do I look fat?” Honestly, men have no idea how to respond to that honey-toned mantrap of a question. It’s a lose-lose scenario. If we say that you could stand to lose some fat at the hips, you automatically flash that hurt expression that people normally associate with babies whose candies were confiscated by the mean boy down the block. If we say that you look fine, you immediately retort, “You’re not even paying attention! I’m serious!”
Well dear, so are we. And since this is a case where silence can truly be considered golden, we meekly tiptoe around the subject or divert your attention with “Wow, I really enjoyed that show on the Lifestyle Channel. I had no idea that there were so many different ways to make an apartment look bigger!”
SHOPPING
Another occasion that never fails to send chills spindling down men’s spines is shopping. Men do shop, and we do spend either roughly the same amount of money or more on our caprichos, but we cannot understand how women can spend so much time and energy just to discover the perfect baby-tee at the bottom of some bin that previously held what smells like the remains of a pack of terrier pups. Whenever I find myself accompanying my sisters to the suspiciously timed annual three day sales of the local malls, or surreptitiously navigating alleys that I would never venture into without updating my immunizations or sans a battalion of Scout Rangers, several questions whir through my brain:
“How do you know that it’s the perfect baby-tee?”
“What are the dimensions of perfection? Should it fit snugly, or should there be allowances for certain body parts to move about freely? What pantone does the perfect blue/pink/yellow/orange baby-tee come from?”
“How do I get out of this mess?”
SIGNALS
Subtlety. It escapes us. Despite the fact that you probably think that you have dropped enough clues to indicate your mood or your displeasure, take it from me: we didn’t get a single one. I once read that the significant, fundamental differences between men and women originate in the differences between male and female brains. Men, supposedly, are more inclined to the speculative pursuits. Women, on the other hand, due to their more highly developed corpus callosum (that which integrates the left and right hemisphere of the brain), are naturally more gifted at managing minutiae. What does this mean in practical terms? Simply put, men are not genetically disposed to pick up on the many different hints that women drop. This is not because we don’t care. We just didn’t think there was something to care about to begin with.
This is by no means a comprehensive listing of what men find puzzling about women, nor is this an attempt to facetiously explain away our difficulties without admitting to some culpability. This is more like an apology. You do matter, and whatever you are concerned about is important enough for us males to be concerned about also. At times, in the course of trying to make relationships work, we try to take the only bit of advice that sticks to our minds (mainly because this advice oftentimes comes from the first women we ever loved, our mothers): be genuine in dealing with the people you love. After all, it is in the act of loving that one is most genuine. Pardon our shortcomings. Let’s go out and find that perfect baby-tee.
