Men and Relevance: Crucible of the Gender

Men perceive aging as an indignity. Women learn to accept it. Once a woman is past a certain age she capitulates. For a man, it’s the day before he dies. That’s because on the actual day of his death, he’s usually on a morphine drip…jbr

……………………………

An article in the December issue of Detail’s Magazine caught the attention of one of my readers and was forwarded to me for comment.

It was written by Simon Dumenco, and titled, “Welcome Back, Asshole.”

In short, its thesis is that men have become emasculated by two principal forces: “Girl Power,” which the author describes as “the stuff that enthralled indie/campus culture in the Cobain years,” followed, and perhaps eclipsed by, “Sex in the City-style materialism.” The combination of the two, asserts Dumenco, “gave women license to be both ballsy and old-school girlie [to have the cool career and the fuck-me
pumps].”

As a result, “guys felt not just emasculated but complicit in their own de-ballsing. The sensitive guy’s answer to riot-grrrl rock was poetry readings and the Counting Crows…”

He concludes that “men are no longer fighting the war of the sexes – just mounting a sad little insurgency…”

Oh pity me.

I guess he didn’t bother looking at the U.S. Census Bureau’s latest divorce statistics. If he had the “sad little insurgency” thing would look more like War of the Worlds.

Sure, some men are doing things today that they wouldn’t consider doing 20 years ago - like separating plastic from glass - but when it starts to threaten their masculinity, they start separating their Madonnas from their Whores.

The irony in all of this is that women know exactly what men need in order to feel validated and happy, but they resent it.

“Why should men be men and women women? Who came up with this bullshit? We’re exactly the same, with a few minor exceptions…”

The idea behind this mantra is to somehow force men to declare an epiphany wherein they dismiss their former selves the way a psychotic disconnects from one person before becoming the serial killer on the 5 O’clock news.

Women cannot expect the man they once honored and embraced to go along with the idea that it’s now conditional. And while a man doesn’t mind picking up a free-range pork loin from Whole Foods without having to actually go out and kill an 800-pound pig, he still needs to feel respected as a man, as though he just dragged the damn thing into a cave.

Women fold into their lives the way dead leaves rejoin the soil. They regenerate through children and close female friends. This becomes their primary food source. It fulfills their journey, while a man’s is ongoing.

With this in mind, you can understand why women without children are like men without penises.

A Brief Lesson in Life for Older Women

Consider this a rant if it makes you feel better…I have someone specific in mind.

I’m a little annoyed at the moment. I just left the Florida Keys 3 days early because of an impending cold, which makes flying a fucking nightmare on my ears. So I’m not in the mood to soft peddle the truth. Not that I ever am, but especially now.

What I’m about to say is true. Certain women will hate me for saying it, but it changes nothing. And the sooner you get over it the happier you’ll be.

Here goes:

You women in your late 30’s, who are saddled with narcissistic delusion, will never find a compatible mate your own age or younger no matter how many weekly aerobics classes you teach. You should know this by now. But because your affliction has obliterated your cognitive skills, I’m probably better off talking to the rocks over at Stonehenge.

Nonetheless, for those of you who can somehow subdue the hallucinations for 5 minutes, the reason for this is because the men you identify as your targets are just as narcissistic. And because men are far more superficial than most women I have ever known, you’re already walking on thin ice.

Never, ever forget narcissism and its relationship to reflection. If I have to elaborate then you’re probably better off sticking with your unrequited fantasies.

Your assumption is that an idyllic man must exist because you’re the idyllic woman. Unfortunately, though, you aren’t, and neither is he.

With this in mind, I can’t count the number of older women I see out at night with men twice their age, and 100 times their net worth.

These are the same 37 to 40-year old women who go on websites like Match.com and demand a “fit, handsome, professional, family-oriented man between the ages of 28 and 38…no exceptions!!!”

Yea, well what about the guy I saw you out with on Saturday night who was age-appropriate, but 6 times your girth?

And dare I mention the revolving door of younger guys who come and go like hedge funds?

You can’t win this game. And believe me when I tell you it is a game. And it’s fixed. No matter what you do, the house wins.

The “glory days,” if you will, are over.

If you wanted everything you should have locked someone down when you were attending Dartmouth. But you probably didn’t attend Dartmouth because you were too busy teaching aerobics classes, so I guess it’s a moot point.

Pushing 40 qualifies you for many things, but not the delusions that flood your cerebral cortex like barium.

Personally, I find athletic, 37-year old women extremely beautiful. But I’m also 15 years older. If I were 15 years younger, I would be looking at women in their mid to late 20’s.

You can play the career game for two or three years, but your fuse is short. Once you hit 28, you must make it a priority to locate the “fit, handsome, family-oriented, professional man” before he can’t see you anymore.

Of course, you could just stick with the fantasies and end up with a aspiring WWF wrestler named “DIEHARD,” with a penchant for strippers and aggravated assault.

Women and Relevance: A War They Know How to Win

The things in the above illustration [Dinogorgons] lived during the Permian period of our planet’s history.

So for you women in the throes of a mid-life meltdown, it should be of some consolation to you that they predated your great-grandmothers by 290 million years…for whatever it’s worth.

And speaking of abstractions, I won’t bother dwelling on the findings of Dr. Michio Kaku, the theoretical physicist often seen on The Science Channel talking about parallel realities, and the mathematical possibility that there are an infinite number of universes…as if one wasn’t big enough.

Could we possibly feel any less significant than we already do…thank you very fucking much, Dr. Kaku.

With this in mind, let’s briefly compare the life of a 20-year old woman with that of a 45-year old.

The 20- year-old stalks the earth like a Teflon wrecking ball, killing things at will [metaphorically and otherwise], and leaving a mess wherever she goes. She can burn your house down and still get a date with your next door neighbor. So unless she’s behind bars for manslaughter, she can keep doing it until she gets bored.

Consider the relationship between heroin and junkies and this all begins to make sense; particularly where the neighbor is concerned.

The 45-year old doesn’t see the relationship between Teflon and her own skin because there is no relationship. And the mess she leaves behind is usually what the house looks like after she discovers her husband’s affair with a 22-year old stripper.

So these women started fighting back.

In an evolutionary flash, massive numbers of middle-age women began mimicking the behavior of women half their age. They appeared at yoga classes, rock concerts and cocktail lounges in growing numbers dressed in what appeared to be clothing stolen from their teenage daughters.

They offered unfettered sexual access to any male under the age of 30 - as long as they agreed not to tell their parents - and routinely booked concierge-level suites at nearby hotels where they would ravish their prey.

This struggle for relevance was as bloody as it was amusing; but this was one war they could never win.

Eventually, their lovers left to build families with beautiful, young women, which made sense at the time. But as those women got older and started reminding them of their mothers, they went back to the strippers.

Regardless, the family thing was always a reasonable alibi when cornered by a pissed-off older woman with a loaded gun.

Here are just a few of the many excuses that were effective in avoiding cold-blooded murder:

1] “Listen, I loved the awesome sex and all, but I want a family of my own. You already have 6 kids, and I think I may have dated one of them.”

2] “I don’t know if you remember this or not, but I took your daughter to the Elington High prom 3 years ago.”

3] “I feel like I need to get a job and start a career. Would you be willing to pay my rent and car note for the next 5 years?”

4] “I want to go out with my friends tonight and get toasted. Do you have a problem picking me up at around 3:00 AM if I lose my keys or whatever?”

5] Don’t get me wrong, I have a blast when I see you. I just don’t want to limit my options…and then regret it and blame you…”

As women age they become more pragmatic, and arguably, more accepting of who they are and where they are in life. This may be one reason they live an average of 5.2 years longer than men, who struggle until the day they die, which they don’t accept either.

Older women acquires pets; usually a dog or two, which they identify with men. For our purposes here, think of them as surrogate men. Then they bond with other females, with whom they feel comfortable sharing their lives, without having to explain what that means. And eventually they become lovers.

Life partners is probably a better assignation, given their age.

But you have to hand it to them. In the context of evolution, there could be worse journeys. Just ask the two women in the above illustration.

The Perfect Life…

This was the chronology of life from the perspective of my upbringing:

You attended college.

You married.

You worked.

You built a family.

You took said family on vacations.

You retired from work.

You joined civic organizations.

You and the wife took a drive through Arizona.

You and the wife took a drive through Florida.

You and the wife decided which place you liked best.

If it was Florida, you fed the seagulls.

Arizona, you stared at the desert.

And then you died.

Florida seems to be full of dead people, metaphoric and otherwise.

So your obituary is filled with accomplishments that no one will ever remember, unless you’re Julius Caesar. But even he’s unknown to most kids these days that have no cultural or historic reference beyond Madonna.

The truth is I can’t keep track of whose died, and often go on and on about these people as though they were still anchoring the evening news.

When you’re starting out in life you think the world revolves around you; that you’re incredibly important, relevant, wired into the engine of the life. Everyone wants a piece of it, as though there’s something transcendental in your blood. All I knew was that I was getting more attention than I could swallow…and without spending a dime. This was my life’s greatest accomplishment, feeding at will on people who didn’t know better. But no one does at 25.

Having said this, some probably deserved a lot less, for those of you who think narcissism clogged my veins like maple syrup.

So this was essence of my transcendentalism.

I was so fucking important. I hadn’t accomplished anything, but I was convinced the world would have noticed my passing like a shift in its tectonic plates. I was young and immortal. I could pick and choose my journey like grocery shopping. Nothing fazed me in the least. I was almost sociopathic in my bloodlust for self-fulfillment. I felt connected to everything and everyone around me. I was an integral component in the nerve center of life; a conduit through which everything was siphoned.

Now I sit here and wonder who these people surrounding me are; as though I’m watching them from the balcony of some theatre in Central Europe. Will I ever see any of them again? If so, will I ever remember them? There’s a certain detachment in the air that wasn’t there before. Do people just settle into life and vanish? What happens to them? Do they build great empires? Or do they just live out their lives in obscurity; passing on the teachings of one generation to the next from tree-lined enclaves out in Suburbia?

Celebrities never seem to die. They fade, but they never die. Marilyn Monroe is as alive today as she was 50 years ago. Elvis continues to rake in huge profits. We talk about people like Martin Luther King and John Lennon like they just dropped by for a pizza.

But what about John Joe and his wife, Catherine, from Manhasset, Long Island? That couple down the street who raised three kids, went on vacations, and then died in the arms of oblivion? Who were they? What did they talk about? Where did they spend their time? On the same subway seat while travelling into Manhattan, 5 days a week, year after year? In a Suburban, with a cappuccino, 3 kids, a Labrador Retriever…and 5 mile journey to and from a middle school?

Where the fuck is everyone, I wonder, as my friend and I watch the passage of time from this balcony seat?

For those of us - men and women - who chose another path, the stage eventually becomes dark and quiet – almost an abstraction - but it’s just as well because I don’t really give a shit anyway…which, of course, is a lie I can no longer tell with a straight face.

Another Existential Meltdown: So What Else is New?

This was a bold headline for 1966.

It probably wouldn’t have the same impact today, since God has become an abstraction in search of a purpose.

Sensing an opportunity, the yoga movement has made a killing selling answers to our existence for $25.00 a session. And from what I hear, they’re making some headway.

But what happens if there are no answers?

That Asian guy on TV keeps talking about parallel realities, and the possibility that there are an infinite number of universes that look like bubbles all smashed up against one another. If he keeps it up, the cost of a yoga class is going to rival a house payment.

Anyway, no matter what any philosopher, mathematician, social scientist, pundit, politician, theorist, anarchist, historian or religious leader has to say about the nature of existence, we still want to get laid.

And no matter what mayhem rages in the universe – including asteroids, black holes, exploding stars, or comets the size of Australia – our minds are “still in the gutter,” as my mom used to say.

So no, God is not dead.

“You know of course that the Tasmanians, who never committed adultery, are now extinct.” (Somerset Maugham)

“Help! My Dad’s Dating Someone My Age!” [a reader writes]

“I read your blogs/essays on a regular basis and have a pretty good idea what your take on this is going to be. This notwithstanding, I would still appreciate your input.

My mom and dad divorced 8 years ago — after 28 years of marriage. It was tough on all of us [I have two sisters], but we got through it just like everybody else these days. Fortunately, my father was very successful in life…so we didn’t suffer financially when things went south.

Anyway, we recently had a get-together with family and friends, and my dad showed up with this vile little strumpet, less than half his age! I consider myself open-minded, socially liberal, and always willing to listen. But this is completely off limits in my book. To put things in perspective, he’s 60 and she’s 28! That’s 9 years younger than me, and a year younger than my youngest sister!

Does he actually think she’s interested in him for anything other than his money? If not, what else could it possibly be? How pathetic! Has he lost his mind? It’s embarrassing to all of us. Why do so many men fall for this? Why can’t he just find a “lady-friend” his age and do what other people do, like take cruises, go to the wine country and visit museums? Help!” Claire, 37

Jay:

Why doesn’t your current husband fill up some of the emptiness left by your father? Not that he could make a dent, given its apparent vastness.

That ‘vile little strumpet’ may be just the injection your father needs to shock a dying heart. Who are you to challenge the validity of his relationship; his needs, his desires? Perhaps you should take a look at your own waning sense of relevance. Does it bother you more that he’s no longer with your mom, or that the ‘strumpet’ is 9 years your junior?

It sounds like you want to banish your father to some barren wasteland where he watches the sun set for the last time in the presence of a woman who paralyzes him with frozen images of granite icons, open fields and ancient oaks.

But you will lose this war because his spirit is resilient.

Given the context, it’s interesting that his life almost resembles an 18th century romantic poem, while yours teeters on the edge of an Aristotelian equation.

Your father hasn’t forgotten what it feels like to be in love, Claire. Though his relationship with your mother ended - for whatever reason - the man he once was still sees a beautiful young woman bending over a bathroom sink.

Is this a sacrilege for any man?

Your father, and men like him, are alive until the day they die. And any attempt on your part to derail his happiness will kill the love you’re fighting to preserve.

In short, your father wants to wake up to someone who inspires him to fight back when death knocks until its knuckles bleed.

Jay Responds to 10 Questions from Readers

The questions:

1] “I’ve been reading your blogs for quite a while and am beginning to understand and appreciate where you’re coming from. Getting right to the point, when it comes to women, I can’t find “the one”  to save my life! I have a good job, stay in pretty good shape, own my own home and have lots of women in my life who would love to date me. But they’re NEVER the ones I want to date. Okay, you might say [not you, of course, but other people – mostly women], so why not just date the women who are interested? Because I’m not attracted to them! Because they’re not attractive! The hot ones are all scamming me, or working 2 or 3 other people at the same time. Talk about evolution at work! Beautiful women are just playing the numbers until every last fucking line item on their fantasy resumes is checked. I’m losing my mind over this bullshit and thought I’d write to someone who can appreciate my position. Anyway, I look forward to any advice you might have for me.” John, 32

Jay:

First of all, there is no “one.” There’s a two or a three, but no “one.” Some people claim to have discovered it, but they fail to mention the fact that they also had an affair or two along the way; or that they were able to distinguish fantasy from reality and were okay with settling for less. They still have the affair, however – with a computer or live human being.

I might also mention the fact that some people are less sexual than others, and frankly, I think this is the best scenario because there’s less turbulence, and thus, a better shot at making it work. Sex becomes monotonous over time, and because people have fantasies, you usually find one partner – or both - acting out from time to time.

Having said this, it is possible to have a few good years of uninterrupted bliss, which is more than I can say for most people…and not bad in relative terms.

2] “I’m 45 and recently divorced. To get back in the game I started looking through the women-seeking-men section of Craig’s list. Is it just me, or is the whole online dating thing just a scam?” Mitchell

Jay:

It depends on what you’re expecting to find. Craig’s list is notoriously scammy.

Here’s a breakdown of the site:

If you’re dumb enough to expect a relationship out of the deal, you better be prepared to relax your standards. Most women on Craig’s resemble pasture animals. They refer to themselves as BBW’s; code for morbidly obese and unable to find a date under normal circumstances. The literal translation of the acronym is ‘Big Beautiful Women,” and they are everywhere on the site.

Then, there is the 20-something hottie. She’s either a hooker, or her image was stolen from an image bank and used to pimp someone else’s porn site.

You have to accept the fact that attractive women DO NOT NEED CRAIG’S – OR ANY OTHER ONLINE DATING VENUE TO SCORE A DATE. Attractive women need only exist.

Other dating sites are similar. Most of the women featured are suffering some debilitating handicap they’re not disclosing, but you discover after you meet them. One’s missing two fingers; another has a skin disorder; the third one is a recovering sociopath. The list goes on.

Read “Origin of the Species,” or “The Descent of Man.”

3] “I consider myself to be an attractive woman, but have a tough time finding quality men to date. Are men just after the sex or do any of them actually have an interest in a genuine relationship?” Michelle, 41

Jay:

Men are interested in genuine relationships, but they want to have them with women they consider to be physically attractive. The problem most women have is in distinguishing what’s emotionally attractive from pure physical beauty. Men can slice and dice reality like a lamb shank. With this in mind, I suggest you get a handle on how attractive you actually are before wasting your time wondering why men aren’t all over you.

Men will take a wounded gazelle and, after a few drinks, drag it behind a bush. But this doesn’t mean they’ll call back. They’re just not interested in a relationship with something that doesn’t jive with their brain chemistry. It’s not their fault. Men want the visuals, first. The rest they sort out down the road.

Finally, no matter what a woman looked like at 25, once she’s reached 42, the game changes…unless, of course, she’s Cindy Crawford…which she isn’t.

4] “Jay, a lot of women consider the things you say to be somewhat misogynist.  They think you objectify women the way pork belly futures are bought and sold on the futures exchange. But I sense this isn’t true and that what women resent is the fact that you expose male superficiality for what it is. With this in mind, do you think women encourage men to objectify them based on the way they present themselves?”  Shelley

Jay:

Great question.

Of course they do. How many men do you see running around in thigh-high patent leather boots and mid-rifts? How many men apply a full regimen of make-up before going on a date – or to the grocery store, for that matter? How many men wear “Miracle Bras?”  It’s a double standard that women both love and loath. They love the attention it elicits, but loathe the fact that the attention hinges on whether or not they do it…or have what it takes to pull it off without embarrassing themselves.

5] “I’m a 60 year old guy in great shape, well educated, affluent and respected in my field. My problem is that I am not attracted to women my own age and am having trouble finding women younger women interested in pursuing a relationship with an older man. The ones who are interested tend to be either gold-diggers, or severely wounded souls in search of the father they never had. Any suggestions?” Michael

Jay:

Your situation is an existential nightmare…unless of course, you’re a celebrity or filthy rich.  There are younger women who will play this demographic, but you may have to settle for someone as old as 40.
If you’re focused on the 20’s and 30’s demographic, you’re looking at either gold-diggers or the clinically unstable, which comprises approximately 9 out of 10 cases. These women do tend to be exceptional lovers, though, if only because they have no boundaries…so there is a silver lining.

Unfortunately, though, you can’t hunt them down. You have to be introduced, and they have to make the conscious choice to pursue you. You can’t just pick up the phone and call a 26year old out for a date without risking a hang up. She has self-respect too, and your assumption that she would automatically date someone that much older may come off as a lack of respect.
One final note: If you do find someone who is much younger, make sure that her medications have taken effect, and that she’s not cocktailing it with more than 3 glasses of wine, cocaine or some kind of inhalant.

6] “I’ve been following your work for a while, and I was wondering if you could shed some light on what you think women generally look for most in a man?” Dave, 40

Jay:

Security.

Women care about how a man makes them feel, emotionally. This is why you see so many women sleeping with their girlfriends. Hope this helps.

7] “In a nutshell, why do men cheat?” Catherine, 42

Jay:

The short answer is because they can; especially guys with a lot of money. They’d sleep with a German Shepherd if it got them off. They want the kick. The excitement. The high. The escape. It’s always another notch up, like drug addiction without a price tag. Not all men do this, but most step close enough to the edge to warrant a conversation.

I’m sure that some men are completely faithful to their wives. But in these cases, the woman has kept up her end of the bargain by staying in top physical condition, providing great sex when and where her husband wants it, and never, ever nagging him about anything whatsoever, under any circumstances, period, the end.

8] “There are lots of men to date, but how does a woman go about finding a soul mate?” Carmen, 26

Jay:

There are no soul mates, so stop looking. You sound like those yoga people. This is a woman’s biggest misconception. Soul mates are nothing more than two people who swap pathologies.

For example, a woman may have issues with men, courtesy of a dominating father, so she chooses a man she can dominate in order to heal the wound. The man she chooses never had a father at all - or he was a cross-dresser or something – so he finds the key to his capricious masculinity in the arms of a dominant woman.

In short, soul mates are the keepers of the keys to childhood trauma.

9] “With every physically flawless female there always seems a closet full of skeletal remains and a marriage, or series of, and exes or ex-husbands…ALL of whom couldn’t put up with anymore of their shit. It is a frustration to keep going down the road and meeting the same people. This does beg the question, why divorce is so expensive? And the answer you know - because it’s worth it. Better to go down a different road or look for something different than the magnetically deranged. These people seem to be living out of touch with any reality we know. It looks sad and detached to me because their existence is so unconscious. I’d like your input.” Thomas, 51

Jay:

Once a gorgeous woman hits her 30’s, she starts to emotionally disintegrate. The extraordinary power she once wielded is beginning to wane, and because her self-esteem hinges on the perpetuity of her physical beauty - she finds herself in deepening shit.

Most women of this caliber marry “well” by the time their 25. They pick the best possible candidate and secure a nest egg in the likely event that things go south.

You rarely encounter these women, because when their marriages do fall apart, there’s always a qualified candidate waiting in the wings. If not, they can travel to Europe and find one. The last place you’ll meet them is in a bar. If they were smart enough to nail a retirement package the first time around, you can bet your ass they’re fishing in deeper waters.

There are several websites that cater to wealthy men who demand the very finest when it comes to the women they date. One’s called millionairedate.com. You simply swap commodities: Cash for youth and beauty.

Finally, you must understand that the most physically beautiful, interesting, bright, creative, sexy women are fucking insane. It comes with the territory. They’re maladjusted before they ever leave their families of origin. They’re the ones who got kicked out of high school for doing bongs behind the bleachers. They’re the narcissists, the self-involved, the delusional and the heavily medicated. And they won’t settle for shit. They just wander the earth in search of redemption from being who they are, whoever that is. With this in mind, do you think they actually care who you are? They’re “magnetically deranged” because they’ve never found a home, and like other feral creatures who have the strength, but not the insight, they survive on the margins…where, ostensibly, they meet people like you.

10] “If a guy’s in his middle years and kind of average when it comes to money and looks, does he have a shot in hell of landing a hottie? Frank, 49

Jay:

No.

[end]

Playing Cat and Mouse with Destiny [or...My Evening in the Company of Adults]

On a whim, I agreed to accompany a woman I met at a gallery opening to a “friend’s’ 50th birthday party; some elaborate event already underway in another part of town.

She named the hosts, but I didn’t know them. It didn’t matter, anyway. I knew what to expect. I was in for an evening in the company of adults. Maybe they’d have some kids - or a dog – to keep me entertained before the boredom started shutting down my central nervous system like masonry cement.
 
Anyway, the residence featured a massive amount of landscaping that stretched all the way to the street; making it impossible to see the house. We first had to cross a bridge over a small stream before we saw what appeared to be the front door of a recently-constructed [not designed], Mac-Mansion of the obligatory Mediterranean genre.

I get the distinct impression that the owners of these places set you up for the experience well in advance. It’s like you’re conditioned to conform to someone else’s reality before you even step foot on the property.

Go camping in Alaska without a 12-gauge shotgun and you get my point.
   
Fast forward to a conversation I had with a man sitting next to me at one of the many tables set up for the event:

Man:

Susan and I have been married for 22 years. Our daughter is at Andover and our son is in his second year at Dartmouth.
 
Me:

That’s great. So how old are you?

Man:

51. How about you?

Me:

52.

Man:

Really? Are you married? Any kids?

Me:

Nope.

Man:

Didn’t want to go that route, huh?

Me:

That’s a complicated question; but no, I guess I didn’t.

Man:

It’s all a trade-off. Don’t get me wrong. I love my wife…and my kids are great, but we all wonder what it would be like to be single again.
   
Me:

When you’ve lived this life you mature differently. You see life from a different perspective…mostly, your own. You’re more self-centered, introspective, and arguably, adolescent.
 
To be honest with you, even though we’re the same age, I feel like a kid in this environment. I mean, all of us speak the same language. We’re educated, and ostensibly, successful. Our life experiences are probably quite similar. Yet we’re light years apart. Whatever made you choose the path you’re on pushed me in another direction. I’m not sure why. But people like me are outsiders looking into a world that doesn’t know what to do with us. Your families, your homes…the propriety and decorum. It’s all in sync with a culture that trusts you, believes in you, closes its eyes at night knowing that their next door neighbor or co-worker is on the right track; balanced, sensible and accepting of life’s most fundamental tenets.

See, I write all day long. I see a therapist once a week. I go to the gym every day. Pay someone to push me through what feels like a crucible, because I can’t sleep at night without the punishment. Take from that what you will. I still do what I want, when I want. I live in a beautiful home. I travel at will. I have close friends and a family I love and cherish.

But I’m still an outsider.

While you’re at some seaside resort with the wife and kids, I’m sitting at a bar in Los Angeles with two women half my age and a bottle of Vodka.

It sounds kind of intriguing, doesn’t it?

It isn’t.

You see my life the way you did when you were twenty-one and back-packing around France with a Eurail pass. The blur of youth hostels were filled with gorgeous young women who connected with you because you shared a similar place in life.
 
That was the glue.

Today, the glue is money, celebrity, fame, power…period.

You become a different sort of commodity. You’re exchanged differently; traded to and from a different set of buyers. You’re at the dawn of a new age of single and/or divorced middle-age gypsies who share the earth, but not the path…because there is no path.

That’s why you feel to me more like my late father than a guy who once lived my life 30 year ago today…”

Man:

Would you like another drink?         

“From the middle of life onward, only he remains vitally alive who is ready to die with life.”
Carl Jung 

The Exquisite Pathology of Love

First of all, no one has the vaguest idea why the men fall in love. There are lots of theories, but no conclusive facts.
 
Some argue that we unconsciously scan a woman’s psychological blueprint to see if it complements our own. I like the tenor of this particular theory, if only because it implies that men do, in fact, have more than one brain.  — Jay

First of all, no one has the vaguest idea why men fall in love. There are lots of theories, but no conclusive facts.
 
Some argue that we unconsciously scan a woman’s psychological blueprint to see if it complements our own. Therefore, if a man happens to be an emotional train wreck, he’ll attract women who thrive on chaos; perhaps because it enables them to feel something…rather than, say, nothing.
 
Such men might also attract surrogate mothers in search of another hopeless rescue mission.

The list goes on.
 
I see this process as syncing pathologies, but that’s just me. I don’t like sugar-coating the obvious.

Anyway, through this merger, we pave the way for the ‘psychological whole’ people love to talk about. What this means, I don’t know…but heroin addicts probably do.

Imagine finding the entrance to a wormhole into an adjacent galaxy. How does one resist the temptation step through it? It becomes an obsession that coats the nerves with a kind of neurotoxin that subordinates everything else to it; like eating, breathing…and of course, thinking.

Eventually we just close our eyes and step through.

This is how men fall in love. The why part I still don’t know…but the thing about ‘syncing pathologies’ keeps coming back - like the wormhole.          
 

What’s the Point?

Early one evening, Virgil Sikes walked into a neighborhood pub and calmly asked the bartender to dial 911.

“He told me he’d forgotten who the hell he was, and thought someone ought to take a look at him before he forgot to breathe,” stated Douglas Reed, the bartender. 

“I just shook my head and laughed. And then I started mixing him a double. But the second I turned my back, I’ll be damned if Virgil didn’t collapse on the floor. A group of regulars ran over to help him. They propped him up against the bar and tried to figure out what had happened, but none of us could bring him to.

But that’s not the worst of it.
 
He started to fade away. He started to disappear, I swear to God. First it was just a little fuzziness around the edges of his body. But soon it took over his entire body. It was insane. I thought I was losing my mind, but everyone was seeing the same thing. Were we all nuts, or was I dreaming? Nobody fades away, except in people’s minds. But Virgil was; and the process wasn’t slowing down. It got to a point where you couldn’t distinguish the physical boundaries from just plain air. By the time the EMT’s arrived there was nothing left but a bunch of us crouching around an empty space. I thought that maybe I’d died or something. It was so bizarre. I was scared as shit, and so was everybody else. We just stared at each other like we’d fallen into some kind of black hole or something.”

“Where’s the victim?” asked the emergency personnel.

Norma Jean Walters tried to explain to them that he was on the floor, but that he somehow disappeared.

The explanation didn’t go over well.

“Is this a joke? Because if it is, you people are all going to be cited.”

Norma Jean started to cry as everyone staggered away from the scene and sat down. By the time the police walked in the scene was positively surreal. No one spoke. No one acknowledged being spoken to. And everything became very confused. The police could sense that something unusual had occurred, but because there was no rational explanation, they maintained their composure and tried to get to the bottom of it.

They never did. 

…………………………

This is what dating is often like dating these days.

You either feel invisible because your date’s a figment of her own imagination [which doesn’t include your reflection], or you’re the focus of every projected fantasy she’s ever had, which makes you want disappear.

But I have a simple plan for dealing with the problem. It’s called an onsite virtual reality-check.

On your first date, bring along a laptop computer, with a wireless connection. Your date may find this odd, but do it anyway. Request a social security number, driver’s license number…and full name. Go to one of many websites, like backgroundchecks.com, and press ENTER.
 
If what she’s has told you jives with what appears on the screen, proceed. If she requests the same of you - which she has every right to do – pray your bullshit was kept to a minimum.

Note: A two-week stint at a federal penitentiary does not constitute an unexpected vacation by the sea.
  
The bottom line here is that when reality becomes relative, we all end up like Virgil.

And that’s “the point.”        

Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead.  We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces.  ~Sigmund Freud