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28 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 5 Comments

The Myth of the “Urban Cougar”


Condensing it all down to a social idiom, an “Urban Cougar” is a middle-age woman who preys on younger men. This is an emerging demographic, principally comprised of affluent, independent self-proclaimed feminist freedom fighters who have decided to turn the tables on men their own age attempt to date their daughters.

Men have been doing this forever. We’re unapologetic about it. We’re simply hard-wired beauty junkies. But as we get older we also want all the other stuff, like nurturing and love, but this time, under one roof. But we’re not anymore likely to find that than older women are likely to find it in a frat house.

Personally, I love very fit, intelligent, 40-year-old women. I find them very sexy, often grounded, more self-actualized and in possession of better lingerie, handbags and shoes, for example. The problem is that my breed of man is perceived as enemy terrain; not in the context of a friendship, but certainly in the context of sex and love. They don’t particularly like experiencing – what they assume will be – an onslaught of objectification, burdensome intellectual and emotional challenge, and/or deconstruction by someone who can see through the veneer. So they seek refuge in the arms of a naive, younger man who is happy just to be getting laid by someone who can also afford to take him someplace other than Burger King.

The big problem with this picture is that people who share the most are least likely to bond. This isn’t about empowerment for women. It’s about detachment, alienation and self-aggrandizement at the expense of a meaningful connection by both sexes.

Let’s take a closer look.

If a woman is extremely success-driven, she is less likely to jive with a similarly-inclined man who isn’t going to be tolerate her being at board meetings and golf outings. It happens, but it’s more often than not an “arrangement,” rather than a traditional marriage.

The two egos tend to negate one another.

The divorce rate in Hollywood comes to mind.

Powerful women are morphing into what was once male terrain, while men continue to do what they’ve always done. Now, one in the same, the new Cougar merely reflects her male counterpart.

This is cultural attrition in a new world order. The biological desire to procreate will remain, but they may opt for having their children out of wedlock, hiring nannies to raise them as they climb the corporate ladder.

In the end this may not make them any happier, but ironically, they do gain a better understanding of what it feels like to be a man.

28 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 4 Comments

Plight [Flight] of the Middle-Age Metrosexual


As you slide into your late 40’s, you will begin to notice a decline in the pool of available women; particularly women you would ever consider dating. There are many reasons for this and none of them are particularly pleasant or encouraging. But there’s a silver lining here, so bear with me.

If you’re reasonably handsome and affluent, you can expect to meet and date a relatively large number of divorced and/or disenfranchised women in their mid-30’s, usually with a kid or two. These days, the divorce rate has carved a new class of Cinderella refugees and you’re now on the receiving end of why things didn’t pan out. So get ready. These women are everywhere and they need your support.

And since you’re at the top of your particular demographic food chain, you expect her to be at the top of hers, but conditionally. If you want the flawless body, you’re going to have to pay for it. Not in the “leave the cash on the counter” sense, but over time, which will cost a lot more. Remember that most guys their age won’t take the bait because they’re looking at the mid-20’s women who haven’t been through the emotional Cuisinart.

So this 30-something group is looking for the best deal they can get – and this time around – romance isn’t their biggest concern. Doing the math, you subtract a little over 50 percent of the previously available women, add some baggage, and you’re down to somewhere in the range of 48% of the now available women who have either, 1] never married, 2] are divorced, without children, or 3] divorced with children. If you subtract the women who’ve never been married, you’re down to somewhere in the 15% range…and that’s being very generous.

This is your target group, but it’s also the most difficult to mine.

First of all, most of them have been through hell and back. They’re jaded, angry, defensive, callous and often, heavily medicated. Many have been in and out of rehab, psychotherapy and AA. They are not going down easily as they watch the rest of their sisters fight custody battles, financial meltdowns and abusive spouses. They’ve learned the art of independence. They are sharp, literate, self-sufficient…and, more often than not, narcissistic. They still believe that THE ONE is out there…and he’s within 5 years of her age. Her job is to find him, and find him she will, so step out of the way, Jack. Unfortunately for this woman, she will probably be on the hunt well into her 40’s and, hopefully, have a trust fund to support her unrequited fantasies.  In short, this diamond in the rough is more like a shard of glass in the sand and better enjoyed from a distance as she beds 20-something guys – one after the other  – in a vain attempt to hang on to her fading youth. Forget this one. She’s not worth the aggravation.

The next group is compromised of divorced women, without children. They’ve been down the road and know what to expect. They understand that marriage is about partnership, compromise and endless negotiation. They’d love to still believe in fairy tales, but they read romance novels, instead. They have jobs, they have lots of dates with men within 5 years of their age [if they’re fit and attractive], and they tend to remain single until it’s too late. They don’t want to make the same mistake twice, so the men they date have to fit an exacting set of criteria put for by self-help books, female talk show hosts, and all-about-me magazines.  If you’re more than 10 years their senior, be careful. They don’t want to feel like their selling out, so they’ll wait until their very late 30’s to pull the plug on the fantasy. This group is a tough sell because they’re pulled in all directions. Young enough to still attract 20-something guys, and old enough to appeal to the sensibility of older, more sophisticated men – who want more than just a trophy – these women have their hands full. Their biggest problem is in trying to find someone “age-appropriate” with whom they can bear a child. Remember, she’s 35 and the guy is nowhere in sight.

This places enormous pressure on an early 40’s guy who might prefer a couple of unencumbered years with her before playing dad. In many ways, this is your go-to girl, but the odds of a 50 year old guy seriously dating her – regardless of his attributes – are not good. He’ll have to wait a couple more years for her to come to her senses.

The final group is comprised of women who have had to raise a couple of kids by themselves after their husbands ran away with their secretaries. Nonetheless, you will still have to tolerate the peripheral presence of her ex or ex’s, which may include custody battles, small skirmishes, and other emotional fallout that has nothing to do with you. The big question you have to ask yourself is whether or not all the turmoil improves or obliterates an otherwise charmed life? After all, you’ve experienced success. You have a nice car or two, a nice home and well-balanced portfolio. Do you really want to inherit this nightmare? Most men think twice about it and run for the hills.

Now that we’ve gone through this exercise in generalities, let’s look at some special cases. A rock star, movie star or sports star can – more or less – date anyone, any age he chooses. In this group, it is very common for a man to be 20, 30 or 40 years older than his girlfriend or wife. Unfortunately, this is not a template for most of us, but there are some exceptions. You might have the fortune of meeting an enlightened, open-minded art school graduate, musician or dancer who loves the attention and upscale lifestyle of an intriguing older man. She may even fall in love with you. And this may be your ticket. Most guys I know try to focus on this largely untapped group because they are everything a man wants: Intelligence, creativity, youth, beauty, low damage, no baggage…and great sex.  But you have to go where they go to make this happen, and that is often the toughest part. Hanging out at a rock club at 3 in the morning can beat the shit out of anyone, but for an older guy it’s almost unbearable. Try coffee shops and art openings, instead.

In the end, though, there is always some salvation for the older guy who just can’t live without the beauty, the hot sex and the conversation, which brings me to the ubiquitous stripper and/or gold-digger. Most guys, though, don’t like the stigma of dating an outed stripper, so they choose the later. These women haunt the upscale establishments of major metropolitan areas. They often speak a couple of languages, thanks to a sugar-daddy who put them up in Paris or Madrid. Many just learn a second language – or parts of a second language – in an effort to live down a pat that’s less than luminous. They usually whitewash everything that happened before they met you and hope you’ll just focus on their perfect ass, porn star sex, and good cocktail party banter.  These women are fine as long as you don’t mind losing a few million along the way. Remember, they’re building an asset base, not looking for love…or you, as in the REAL you.

So there you have it. The silver lining I mentioned earlier is the fact that the cards are in your hands. You’re not the one who has the biological need for kids. Your bills are paid. Your health is good. You play when you choose, how you choose…and for how long you choose. No “you can’t always get what you want, but you get what you need.”

The bottom line is: If you hit the lotto, congratulations. If not, live long and prosper. Do a few laps in your own swimming pool, have a margarita and bounce a nickel off the tight butt of that little stripper who visits on Thursday afternoons…

25 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 2 Comments

The Subtle Art of Cock-Blocking


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Here the set-up: You run into a woman you met a long time ago who wants to engage you in conversation. She is in the company of an exquisite friend who she introduces, hoping the the focus will remain on her. However, if for any reason it doesn’t  – and she senses that you’re more interested in her friend – you will first notice a marked change in her body language, which will morph as quickly as her charming demeanor. You are now experiencing experiencing the first stages of being cock-blocked.

Women are vigilant when it comes to the emotional vagaries of their friends – particularly where men are concerned – and can immediately sense negative energy from the friend in question [the one scorned]. This sets off a chain reaction of behavioral shifts, otherwise referred to as backpeddling. If she doesn’t tow the party line, she runs the risk of offending her friend, who introduced you in the first place.

Hey, it’s survival of the fittest, and if the less attractive friend can effectively nudge her competition out of the ballpark, she’ll do it for no other reason than spite. This is not about altriuism, folks. Its survival. And these women play to win…even if they lose in the end. Women will respect the boundaries of another woman long before they ever consider doing the same for a man. Their connected wiring leaves them vulnerable to one another, and their tacit code of ethics insures this end.

Just an observation from last night…

24 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

The Power of Imagery


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Recently, DC published an oversized graphic novel Wonder Woman:Spirit of Truth in which the amazon princess questions her roll as a superhero. She goes to an unnamed middle eastern country in order to help the populace, but they merely stone her as a foreign, half-nude temptress of Satan. She has similar reactions in other countries (though not as extreme) and decides to visit her buddy Clark Kent and ask how he deals with the issue of being “other”. His answer: blend in. Take a secret identity. She tries it, likes it, and returns to this unnamed middle eastern country, this time covered from head to foot in order to blend in. This can’t last, though, and in a very dramatic scene she drops her abbaya and steps forth as the shining godess she is.

24 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Life as a Guy


This video’s quite amusing, if not telling. 

 http://www.grhacker.com/images/Geoff/Mark_Brinker/lifeasaguy.asf

21 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 4 Comments

Rock Star Clothing on Parade


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At one point in recent history, rock stars were the only people walking around in shrink-wrapped leather, embroidered denim, and a complex array of gold, silver and ruby-studded adornments, reminiscent of mummified Egyptian royalty. Of course, it was expected of them, and people were willing to shell out enormous sums of cash to witness these demi-Gods prance around on halogen-fired stages as though they had just dropped in from the Orion Nebula.
 
But society has changed, and now that we’re all a race of sociopathic narcissists, there is nothing in the stores BUT rock star clothing. From True Religion to Juicy Couture, we can all look like we just stepped onto the stage with Steven Tyler. So what’s a real rock star supposed to wear? Leisure suits?  We’re all so fabulous and interesting and famous-looking, that most people can’t stop tripping over themselves. In a society where being noticed is the name of the game, this fashion trend is a revealing anecdote to perceived invisibility.
 
The problem is that most people aren’t rock stars – and at some point – they begin to realize it. This is where the shit starts to fly. Why am I not a rock star? Why don’t people notice me? Am I actually here at all? Maybe I should blow some people away and get on Fox News. That’ll make me relevant.
Reality can be somewhat problematic for the narcissist, in that being a rock star, or famous actor, athlete, talk show host, author,  or whatever – takes, in equal measure, enormous talent, perseverance and luck. If you’re a narcissist, however, you feel entitled to it – sans the aforementioned. So when you don’t get it, you wonder why. And the next thing you know, you’re walking around in a black trench coat and hanging out in front of school yards.

Personally, I love a lot of the clothing. In fact, this season features some of the most creative clothing design for men I have ever seen; albeit a bit heavy-handed on the appliquéd. I’ll leave that stuff to the guys who are actually on stage. That way I don’t look like a total idiot.          

20 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 6 Comments

“Art Cars” and Hippies


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Reminiscent of scenes from the first “Mad Max” movie, Houston’s ubiquitous “art car” can be summed up as an assemblage of whatever items a stoner can find in abundance; preferably at a local junk store, and then glued or blow-torched to the frame of an old car, and driven around town like a Mardi-Gras float. Hippies on parade. Although the “art car” phenomenon is a national movement, it is unique to many in the Heights area of town where, among other things, one might go to find original, signed prints from Woodstock, organic patchouli oil, and beads and shit, man.

Actually, I like the Heights and its colorful residents. I’d just like the Heights to confine its “art cars” to the Heights. Yes, I’m sure it’s obvious by now that I’m not a fan of art-for-art’s sake. If you’re going to create something that you intend to display publicly, make sure it’s worth the public’s while – as opposed to, say, just your while. I’ve been around a bit and my tastes have changed since the 70’s. For example, I appreciate the craftsmanship of those guys on American Chopper. When they pick up a blowtorch, it’s used for more than lighting a joint. They actually create – for example – a beautifully sculpted set of chrome handlebars. And that guy from Italy – what’s his name – Leonardo something? Oh, and Miro. He did nice sculpture. These are my benchmarks, folks. I grew up in New Orleans and used to love attending the parades with all the elaborate floats, but for the rest of the year they were locked away in warehouses where they belonged. Not so for the “art car.” They’re out all the time…and because no one pays much attention to the people who drive them; particularly when they’re not driving them, they tend to drive them all the time.

I personally like the Ferrari GT, with its sleek lines and jaw-dropping performance. This is what I consider a work of art, using automobiles as a template. Even the Indy cars have beautifully crafted artwork in their finishes, which add to the excitement of these ferocious machines. With this in mind, is it at all compelling to see a clunker with haphazardly placed toy soldiers glued to every square inch of it? Nuf’ said.

At the root of this is, of course, the thematically repetitive, boring irreverence directed towards wealth, success, power, beauty, manicures…and the rest of the stuff hippies love to bitch about. Little do they know, their forbearers are now working over at Merrill Lynch.

17 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

Gay Men and the Foibles of Predatory Wiring


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Heterosexuals are often repulsed by the behavior of sexually promiscuous gay men, but the truth is, many are just pissed off that women don’t respond in the same way. As a direct result, we see the endless proliferation of topless clubs, massage parlors and adult websites catering to every imaginable sexual fetish; along with enough firewall protection to keep the illicit [and expensive] action discreet.

The truth is many gay men have had fleeting sexual experiences with, literally, tens of thousands of others throughout the course of their lives. Think I’m exaggerating? Think again. Let’s start with the number 20,000, and then do some basic math. Starting at 18 years of age, a single, sexually active gay man of 45 will have been running his game for 27 years. This breaks down to 740 sexual experiences a year, 61 per month, and 15 per week. Okay, now let’s say he goes to what the gay community refers to as “circuit [sex] parties,” where he may give and receive oral sex from 12 men during the course of a given night. If he attends just one of these events a month, he’s up to 144 sexual experiences per year – and over the course of 27 years – the number is 3,888. We’re talking about ONE NIGHT A MONTH, FOLKS.  Not that anyone would necessarily do this for 27 years, but there are also bathhouses, adult arcades, restrooms in malls and office buildings, city parks, washrooms, etc… 

Why does this surprise – much less shock – anyone?

Let’s put the cards on the table. If women behaved like men, the heterosexual community would be in the same ballpark. It is women who keep the situation from descending into total debauchery by simply refusing to have indiscriminate sex. If a straight guy could get a blowjob from a woman at the drop of a hat, he’d be getting them all day long. He could literally go to Kroger and score a B.J. in the parking lot within 15 minutes.
All of this leads us to some fundamental problems for both persuasions. While heterosexual men have a difficult time getting all the sex they desire, they 1] don’t suffer the disdain of society at large, and 2] they have an easier time finding a life mate due to procreation and the female sensibility. Whether or not this makes them any happier is open to debate, but the point is that men are men, regardless of sexual orientation, and given the right circumstances, they would behave identically.             

16 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 3 Comments

ARTURO’S HOUSTON REVIEW


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The Infamous Thursday Night of the Living Dead

Download Marilyn Manson’s, “Para-Noir,” and it will all make sense.
In short, this is where affluent, 50 to 80-something men congregate, particularly on Thursday nights, where they stand shoulder-to-shoulder, pretending to have conversations with one another as they scan the bar area for some of the city’s most ubiquitous gold-diggers; women on the hunt for a free island vacation, car payment, rent check, or mansion, tucked away in the Hill Country. This trade is over-the-top transparent; often one foot out of Treasures, but one foot always in. Be very clear: We are not talking Carnegie Mellon, Vassar, Smith, Brown or Princeton graduates here, folks, no matter what they may tell you…though many of the men may have attended one of the aforementioned, a long time – and many divorces – ago.
Some of the guys look like they were once members of the mob, with their comb-overs, shiny shirts, sans-a-belt slacks and gold-buckled Gucci loafers. Others look like middle-age corporate burnout cases, fresh out of 20-year marriages, a little soft around the edges, and unprepared for the sharks that encircle them. Then there are the married guys out for a “social drink” in their Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirts, pleated slacks and brown Giorgio Brutini tasseled loafers.  But the best laughs are had watching the REALLY old-timers with the crooked toupees. They’ve dumped the pretenses altogether, fists tight with wads of cash for the first trawler willing to take the bait.
The women are either, married and looking for an even bigger dog [i.e., bank account], single and hunting  for a “soft target” who doesn’t know the drill, or one of the cadre of regulars, known to the management and clientele for her availability, at the right price. It’s a circus, and one you shouldn’t miss if urban social studies is your bag.
If you’re there to dine, pick a table away from the bar; particularly if you have a sensitivity to “adults” who appear to be terminally trapped in a Fellini movie.

15 May 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

HCP’s “ANTENNAE”


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Bored out of my freaking mind, as usual

Please tell me why I bothered stopping by this week’s Houston Center for Photography [HCP] opening? I walked in to what looked like an un-chaperoned high school reunion.
The first thing I saw was a bull’s ass stuck in a mirror. Do they think this is somehow interesting? Original? Germane? Oh, I get it…the bull is being reflected, so in a sense, it does involve optical effects. Sorry…no gold star, kids. Sadly, the “work” was – for the most part – sophomoric, uninspired, poorly [cheaply] staged and more in the vein of the annual Arts and Crafts Show in Memorial Park. I should have gotten stoned first.
A note to you Gen Y’ers: You do occasionally suck. You do have to lift a finger to make a difference. The world doesn’t revolve around you. Your audience doesn’t give a shit what you do if what you do looks like a kindergarten student did it without even realizing it. Never take your audience for granted…and yes, whether you like it or not, you must take your audience into consideration unless you’re Cartier Bresson, which you’re not. The bottom line is, your work does not exist without an audience, and the audience in question should not be a bunch of your classmates looking for chicks, while bumming cigarettes in the parking lot. Life is not just about you. Others live here as well. Get very clear about this because many of these “others” are prepared to invest in serious new artists; artists who understand the importance of busting their asses to produce meaningful work…AND do what must be done to get it noticed. Do not expect people to appreciate the fact that you managed to present anything at all. They don’t. Try framing – or even mounting – your work. And since this is HCP, perhaps you could also try employing something other than Photoshop to create interesting imagery. The ubiquitous Bush-bashing piece in mixed media [shredded news clippings], along with the video of the young girl in the swimming pool are both hackneyed themes no matter how many winks and nods you get from the sycophantic anarchist dudes in the trench coats. Here’s the message: Dig deeper.
What the hell is photography these days? It used to be tough to capture a great image. People would spend entire careers trying to find something worthy of hanging in a gallery. Whether you conceived of and produced it, or found defining moment on a city street, you released the shutter and presented that image. Now it’s all “lens-based” art; composite sketches of 50 photographs all sewn together in the computer. And don’t tell me that photography has “progressed” beyond what it was. If you took the canvas and brush from a painter you would no longer have painting, period. Perhaps HCP should rename itself, Houston Center for Multi-Media Arts and Crafts [HCMMAC]. I’m over it, already.

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