10 Mar 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

I Have No Intension of Aging Gracefully

If this were the 19th century, most of you would be dead by the age of 40. If we had to go back to living the way people did in the 19th century, heroine overdose would be the leading cause of death in America, over cancer, heart attack and disease.

………….

First of all, there is no such thing as aging gracefully.

And anyone who tells you its part of his or her life plan is essentially giving up, which is already painfully obvious to the person looking at them.

For those of you who’ve forgotten what “aging gracefully” looks like, simply Google the faces of late 19th century people standing around like zombies in blighted landscapes with what appears to exposed horse and cattle ribcages all over the fucking place.

Sea Lions, for example, can’t even think about aging gracefully. They have to kill to survive, which is rarely graceful.

And human beings who apply this philosophy to their own lives just sort of fade away, which is often just as fatal in the absence of a trust fund.

10 Mar 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 5 Comments

Smitten. Smote. by Y.B.

I’m “in love.”

Which would be great, but I can’t be with him.

So, I have all these lovely feelings and nowhere to put them. I know I’m not thinking straight. I know I’m susceptible to making emotional decisions. I’m somewhat amused by my clumsy emotional state, but at the same time, I’m irritated because I know better.

And…

I don’t have time to indulge in these unreasonable feelings.

Reflecting on this loss is like being in a quiet, vast emptiness, and it is awful.  I can sit alone and listen to my heartbeat and hate it.

I know part of my suffering comes from being in a situation that’s gone on for years. It’s difficult to let someone go who’s been around for a long time.  And, he was my friend. We could talk about anything. And I mean – anything.  And we did.

Ah well…

I wouldn’t give up the history to spare myself this heartache. It was wonderful no matter how misguided.

Bumblebees fly regardless of the incalculable math.

Feelings. Feelings. Feelings. <Splat>

Now, my logical side (it’s not really a logical side, it’s more like a cold, calculating, emotionless side that couches everything I want in a favorable way – I highly recommend picking one up) is telling me a few things:

You like to enjoy yourself and you won’t deny yourself anything if you really want it.

True.

You knew it wouldn’t work, but you did the best you could to sustain it in an environment that was openly hostile to its existence.

Yep.

You loved him so much you protected him – even from yourself – when necessary.

I did try.

You took time for yourself, which made it possible to do everything you’re doing now.

I did and I love my life.

He may come back. This has been going on for so long that there’s a good chance he’ll sort it out one day. No pressure. We’re certainly not going to force it. Men always love you more when you’re heartbroken.

I know. Why is that?

I don’t know, but it’s useful. Well, I do know, but we’ll talk about it later…

10 Mar 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

A Note on Painful “Comments”

Writing is a craft, not unlike carpentry or sewing.

But it’s also other things that carpentry or sewing don’t require, like intelligence, a sense of rhythm, an ear for melody and an ability to canvas an idea without losing an audience in the process.

Having said this, most people can’t write to save their lives, which is why so many of them turn to psychologists to help unscramble the nightmares in their heads.

But if people actually wrote about the things they felt, they might learn something about themselves, and in the process, improve their writing skills.

But this is easier said than done because it’s a pain in the ass for people who’d rather be doing something else, like anything else.

Hence, the “painful comments.”

Please think before you post.

“Keep your comments pithy…and no bloviating.” B.O.

Thank you.

08 Mar 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Relevance: Hollywood’s Current Bane

For the most part, this year’s Academy Awards event was rife with broken seams and disconnected moments.

Of course, it was difficult to witness anything at all given the lack of adequate set lighting, which makes my point more obvious in an ironic sort of way.

And would someone please explain to me how an industry that created Avatar could build a set that produced black vertical lines behind the actors on the close-ups?

It wouldn’t happen in their films, so why would they allow it in an awards ceremony honoring them?

Frankly, it was like a weird morgue in there, with all the hanging rhinestone and large pockets of darkness, which included the sour face of George Clooney, who looked like he needed his ass kicked.

There was no unanimity of purpose, or spirit, or anything else in what appeared to be a room full of total strangers, forced together like inmates…disconnected, adrift and curiously self-conscious.

I suppose that when 98% of what you produce in a given year is animation and special effects you tend to feel subordinate to cartoon characters, hence, Ben Stiller’s sad- but-true satire on what we’ve become. It was the most relevant act in the show, which is why they were critical of it, without realizing why.

The only salvation for humanity came from Sandra bullock, who kept the evening from lapsing into complete surrealism. I have to say, however, that winning the Razzie before winning the Oscar is – in and of itself – pretty surrealistic.

Anyway, If you look at Hollywood the way I do, you imagine a gigantic advertising agency, whose job it is to reflect the mood of the nation. Not the entire nation, but a big chunk of it. With this in mind, politics isn’t exactly winning any popularity contests these days as the economy is in the tank, which affects everyone, so no one knows exactly what to feel.

There’s no war to collectively despise. There’s no person or idea to champion or to blame for our dilemma, unless it’s the administration that brought the Hope and Change it promised, but failed to deliver, courtesy in no small part to Hollywood.

So, since Hollywood has so much trouble coming up with anything original these days, I thought I’d help out with a new twist on an old theme:

This time around, a young heroine charges in on a white stallion and saves an affluent older man from irrelevance, which includes just about everybody in that room. It gives them all a second shot at what feels like adolescence, and another shot at romantic love at middle age, which they could all use a healthy shot of no matter what they’re age.

With this in mind, I happen to have a screenplay for anyone with enough cash.

The asking price is 2 million, which is damn relevant by today’s standards, Avatar notwithstanding.

08 Mar 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Comments Issue FIXED!

Our site’s Comments filter has been obliterated [fixed]. You may now free-associate.

Peace,

Jay

06 Mar 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

Letter from an Anonymous Reader on “I Love Women [please read the fine print]“

Note: Scroll down the page and read the article before reading this. Thanks, Jay

“Anonymous”

“Wow. I don’t know whether to be depressed or more determined to remain optimistic. I’d like to think that values do come into play at some point in the dating game.  As a recently separated 37 year old women, pretty and in decent shape, I feel more confident now than in my 20s. I no longer see sex as my number one way to take charge of a situation. I will never marry again, but I hope to find a partner in life who is my friend, my boyfriend, and my lover. Is this really unrealistic? I mean you couldn’t really bring home a 25 year old to your mom without her raising an eyebrow. At that point wouldn’t a professional woman late 30s early 40s with similar interests be a possible lasting choice? Could you ever see yourself in a relationship that bucks the temporary young girl looking for fun and guidance? Because who do you grow old with when your 70?”

My response:

Dear Anon,

Thanks for your thoughtful letter.

First of all, most guys my age would prefer to date a 37-year-old to any 22-year-old for the reasons you mention – not least among them – relevance.

I’ll leave my mother out of it because her mind is wide open when it comes to me.

The main point of my article was to suggest that women approach life more objectively, rather than allow fantasy to obliterate their expectations.

If you’re physically fit [you need to understand what this means], intelligent, well adjusted and confident, you’ll notice a line of men around the block. But because most women resist objectification, they have no idea where they stand in the food chain. This often leads to defeated expectations.

Women who win this game know where they stand.

And if this sounds decidedly harsh and unromantic, just check out “Animal Planet.”

Our cousins, the baboons, are really screwed.

03 Mar 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 10 Comments

Being “In Love” by Yvonne Boustany

I’ve always said that ‘love’ is a concept best understood in context. The older you get, the more ‘context’ you have to pull from and the better you understand the question:

What does love mean?

One of the nicest things about getting older is that you’ve probably been in love before, had your heart crushed and lived to tell the tale.

Okay.

You’ll get over it. No matter how bad it is. If the last thing you have to hold onto is stubbornness, that’s what you do.

You have to suffer, push past the pain, in order to get a clear vision of what’s going on.

Sometimes this is what defines your character. Sometimes it just reveals weakness. It can make you hate yourself, the light of day or the viscous nature of feelings that linger long after they are wanted, useful or safe.

In the end, it defines you. And more importantly, what you carry with you defines your future.

When love is doing its ‘burning brightly’ thing, it’s as important as when it crashes and that darkness falls over you.

Love is that connectedness that resonates with that primal part of you that experienced the world before it had structure. And if that sounds amorphous it’s meant to.

Until you understand yourself, you will inevitably run into someone that will handle your heart and you won’t get it until your feelings have dulled down a bit.

Love is not about thinking straight.

I can’t remember who wrote this but it helped me for a while when I felt lost.

Know yourself. Trust yourself. Only then will you know how to live.

03 Mar 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

I Love Women [please read the fine print]

I’m accused of never offering women hope, a way out.

They start out as beautiful young women – in their late teens and early twenties – with all the power on earth. They command the attention of men from all walks of life, every culture and continent.

Some argue some are hot enough to change the earth’s axis, but I’ve yet to verify this, in spite of repeated emails to Dr. Michio Kaku, who’s convinced it has more to do with earthquakes.

Nonetheless, the sad truth is that as women age, they depreciate in perceived value.

Aging men also depreciate, unless of course, they’re financially successful, in which case it tends to happen more slowly.

So each gender bears a cross.

Regardless, this is where the accusations start to fly, because what we’ve reached is a conundrum, where successful men are the only ones with a way out.

Here is a brief sampling of the fallout from my female readers:

“Misogynist!” “Superficial narcissist!” “Arrested adolescent!” “Pig!”

“What hope do you offer to women over the age of 35? Or, are we just screwed?”

Imagine waking up every day to this and you begin to understand why I have large walls protecting my home, and endure punishing “boot camps” every other day so I can get out situations quickly without breaking my hip.

With this in mind, read on and you’ll get to the “hope” part, which I know you can’t wait to read.

Let’s set up the paradigm:

The Merriam-Webster Online dictionary defines this usage as “a philosophical and theoretical framework of a scientific school or discipline within which theories, laws, and generalizations and the experiments performed in support of them are formulated; broadly : a philosophical or theoretical framework of any kind.”[1]

If you’re at the top of the food chain, you’re an attractive 35-year-old single woman with a college degree and a good job.

In the 19th century you’d be someone’s grandmother, but because you live in the 21st century, you’re just getting warmed up after your second divorce.

But be careful here.

There are no free rides, even for the luckiest among you, because a profile on Match.com, a cadre of single women who ply the same byways you did when you were ten years younger, fills the bloodstream with venom that leaches out when you close your eyes at night.

It’s no wonder you’re pissed, in spite of the fact that you set it up this way.

Of course men have disappointed you! Of course the fairy tale is skewed [screwed]. Chivalry is completely and utterly dead, and all you have to stand on is a job, an endless litany of fractured fantasies, and the realization that you’re a depreciating asset on vertical decline.

Having said this, there is a silver lining.

More than one in every two marriages fail. The rest just endure, particularly in the context of fantasy, which no one seems to be able to distinguish from reality anymore than they can distinguish “Playstation” from actual playing.

So if you happen to be single or divorced, you have a lot of company.

Big deal, I know. This doesn’t make you feel any better.

But this might:

If you’re still committed to finding the man of your dreams – attractive, handsome, successful – the first thing you must do is

1] embrace physical fitness like a religion.

Men are, first and foremost, visual. And the more they have going for them the more they will expect from you.

This means you have to look good, both in and out of clothing, including beachside…and you know what that means. If not, type “bikini” into your Google search engine and click “images.”

If you can pull this off, AND have a college degree, you come fully loaded, and thus, have to ability to demand more of him, which he’ll understand because he’s a man and used to objective evaluations that are analogous to, say, water-boarding.

So now you’re both playing the same game, only yours focuses more on physical maintenance, while his is growing his asset base, so that HE has something more to bring to the table than his education, which you can – and will – demand.

So now you’re closer to equal, except for one thing: Age.

A successful man between 40-50 is going to go for the best deal he can get. And if marriage is somewhere imbedded in his thick skull, he’ll be looking at women in the range of 25-30. And while this is a source of aggravation to women who think they have it all, except for the twenty-five part, they must face reality and consider what some to this very day resent: choosing someone considerably older. Not 90, but you know what I mean.

Both sexes face this to a greater or lesser degree.

38 year-old-women on sites like Match.com routinely state a preference for men in the 28-38 range.  This is ludicrous. While any attractive 38-year-old woman can get laid at the drop of a hat by anyone of any age, she can’t hold them because, as harsh as this may sound, they want more youth and beauty for their time and money.

If the same woman stated a preference for men 48-58, she might actually have a shot at finding someone who would fulfill her needs. But to many women, this constitutes “selling out.” If they have a lot, they expect a lot. But life doesn’t work that way, because to men, 38 isn’t 28, no matter how much you spend in therapy.

Okay, so what?

So you’re 38, in great physical shape, well manicured, pretty and sophisticated…so why sabotage your happiness? Take a 25-year-old lover if that helps. Just don’t expect any long-term commitments. And while some of you say that the same womanizing applies to older men, I would suggest to you that your odds of improve dramatically with a shift in your target demographic.

I must say that of the men my age, at my particular gym, the majority are either married to beautiful young women, or they’re in long term relationships with them.

Of course they’re affluent!

What the fuck do you think?

They couldn’t get away with this shit without the financial goods anymore than you can get away with ignoring your age — no matter what other goods you happen to have! Get over it!

The women who are blown apart by the game of life are those in the 38- 42 category who can’t accept the fact that a 38-year-old affluent stud is fucking five other women while they’re on some convention down in Florida.

Those of you who have the financial independence and the looks have as much as you can possibly have, but you don’t have everything, which I can’t seem to hammer hard enough into your heads.

Older, fit, attractive, affluent men can date women 15 to 20 years their junior with reasonable expectation of the relationship working.

But women simply cannot expect the same.

But that’s a good thing!

Because it means women might actually get their emotional needs met without feeling like hanging meat next to a pack of 22-year-old strippers at some nightclub in the middle of the morning.

All of this boils down to having reasonable expectations.

Men are feeding at will because women have allowed this to occur.

Therefore, men never have to settle down. But men haven’t changed. Women have, so stop blaming men for taking full advantage of the available spoils.

This is behavior is also what enabled them to acquire other spoils, so shut up about it and set your sights on someone older who’ll appreciate yours.

And, no, this isn’t a Jay billboard.

I already have enough walls around my life, as some of you well know.

01 Mar 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Trapped in Time

Take a look at the thing in the middle of the photograph above. It’s what life starts to feel like when you spend all your time examining it.

There are times when I can’t help myself.

When I have to climb out from behind the satire and just level with you. Not because what you read here is disingenuous in any way. It’s not. But because it’s cleansing to stand in the rain like a soldier washing the blood of combat from his face and hands.

For me, it’s an affirmation that fantasy is a luxury I’m blessed to afford, unlike many unfortunate soldiers, who never see the end until it’s over.

I’d like to share with you what it feels like being here, in my situation, at this stage of life, bare and exposed.

Sharing is why I started writing these essays in the first place. To connect with people who know this road, but not necessarily the journey.

……………………….

I have never lived a normal life.

And when I think about it, I’m forced to admit that my accomplishments pale in comparison to what I’ve overcome, like the early onset of the Noonday Demon and anxiety that left reality porous and relative.

I couldn’t afford heroine in those days, so I had to face it head on.

I was always one foot out the door, as though life was an illusion that taunted me to buy in so it could kick me in the teeth if I dared.

In those days – the 70’s – adolescent psych was in its infancy. There was no Ritalin, no SSRI’s, and no counseling…unless you happened to be criminally insane, which for me was only partially true.

Fast-forward a thousand years and here I am, at this desk, in front of these monitors, in the dead of night, looking out into a world that often feels just as alien. It’s a place where I have to piece together dreams, which usually dissipate before I can connect all the dots.

So in many ways, nothing’s really changed.

Yes, for the most part, the depression is gone. And, yes, the anxiety is at low ebb, unless of course, I don’t get enough sleep, in which case I end up at some physician’s office where I’m referred to a psychiatrist for clinical hypochondria.

At times like these I realize that the cards are still on the table strewn like the aftermath of a brawl, and I have to ask myself the same questions I’ve been asking for years:

Why am I not married?

Why do I not have children?

Where is the big office building that I was supposed to enter every day of my life for 30 years?

Where are my golf clubs, polo shirts and my distended midsection?

Why does my home resemble some sort of bomb shelter when compared with the traditional wood and brick masonry in winter white?

Thankfully, these moments pass and everything calms down.

That’s the difference.

Acceptance.

So while the journey is similar, I’ve learned to live with the turbulence that a mind like mine produces in spades.

I live in a strange world where nothing resembles anything I see outside of film and literature; a halfway zone not unlike the place I left back in the 70’s. Only this time around, I’m in it with both feet…at least to the extent that I define commitment to a world that, in many ways, feels just as fleeting.

Time can wear a person down. Even me. So I learned to play along because there was no other show in town. This was it. This was where it all happened whether I liked it or not.

“Imagine all you want, kid. It’s the only show in town…”

I still remember the first time I heard these words.

They were so simple…yet more powerful than anything I had ever heard before.

They absolutely flattened me, along with the grandiosity that fueled my narcissistic delusions.

In time, it became my life mantra: “It’s the only show in town, kid.”

So here I am, a stream of emotion on a blank canvas each and every day. I never know what I’m going to wake up to. I never know what the night will hold, much less the week, month or year.

But what I do know is that this is my reality, and my choices belong to me. If I complain or love or hate or cry it’s my choice to do so. There is nothing more, nothing less. No boundaries other than the ones I place on myself. No restraints other than my will to live the life I’ve carved out for myself.

So now that I’ve taken ownership over this reality, anyone who enters my world must bring something with them.

That’s the hard part.

Because if it’s the only show in town, I need lots of entertainment.

26 Feb 2010, Posted by jay rusovich , 1 Comments

The Psychodynamics of Erections [by popular demand]

Women should know that intense sex is not necessarily an indicator of lasting love. In fact, the opposite is often the true because, among other things, it usually involves some form of objectification. This renders such things as first and last names, education, felony rap sheets, mental history and, say, heroine addiction, superfluous.

Erections define masculinity, which is why impotence is such a powerful word in the male lexicon.

It suggests a negation of self, because that’s exactly what it feels like for any man who’s ever experienced it, which would include most men, by the way.

The good news is that unless there’s an underlying physical condition, like diabetes or hypertension – or you happen to be playing with psychoactive medications under your own supervision like a lot of guys I know – the problem’s in your head.

I’m not saying that a 35-year-old man should be expected to achieve and hold an erection after a 12-hour workday, two hours in the gym, and a bottle of vodka, but under normal circumstances he should be functional as long as he’s comfortable with the woman.

That’s right. The woman is also an integral part of the equation. And this shift in thinking can make all the difference in the world.

See, men are so accustomed to blaming themselves that they forget about the person they’re with. The assumption is that the erection is their responsibility no matter what the circumstance, and as usual, they’re dead wrong. Just try balancing the responsibility if you don’t believe me.

If a man doesn’t feel comfortable with a woman, the fact that she has a great ass doesn’t change the fact that she’s also a psychopath with a Demeral problem.

It also doesn’t change his erection status if he thinks he’s supposed to be attracted to someone based on a mental checklist, but in reality there’s no chemistry.

In other words, he can’t force an erection anymore than he can improve chemistry or behavior that belongs to someone else.

Homicidal sociopaths can do it, but not everyone wins the lottery.

So here are a few fundamental lessons:

Never, ever idealize anyone. They don’t deserve it, believe me. No one deserves it, and most men who project this bullshit onto someone are setting themselves up for failure. Remember, it’s not your job to be turned on and achieve an erection just to satisfy a woman’s expectations. There are two people involved here, and I’m damn sure you’re not going to kick her ass out of bed if she isn’t lubricated, so make it a two-way street.

If you feel comfortable with the woman, it will happen. But men often make the mistake of thinking that just because a woman is beautiful that everything else is their responsibility.

It isn’t.

Just try taking the pressure off of yourself and put it on her for a change. If she doesn’t like the shift in dynamics, hand her a Sasha Gray video and be done with it.

Do not ever allow a woman to set the pace. Remember, the cards are in her favor when she’s the one applying the pressure. She knows you’re the one who has to perform. And if you idealize her before you have any idea who [or what] you’re dealing with, you’re on thin ice.

Remember, you can’t slay her with your penis unless you feel comfortable with her.

Then you can kill her with the fucking thing.

If she’s that hot, just go for broke or walk away. It isn’t worth the embarrassment if you don’t feel comfortable.

On a personal note, I once dated someone I idealized, in spite of her controlling and abusive behavior. My thinking was that all I had to do was perform in bed in order to mitigate the nightmares, but what I discovered in the process was that I had assigned myself all the blame, and thus, pressure, which became a kind of crucible. I couldn’t change who she was no matter what I did in bed or anywhere else for that matter, so I couldn’t win.

But more importantly, we couldn’t win.

We were a poor match. Both of us. Together. As a couple. Not just me, the man.

It’s never just one person, which constitutes another one of those fundamental lessons men should understand, but often forget.

In that dire situation, if I didn’t perform in every way imaginable, I would lose her. So the pressure was enormous. And as time passed I was hobbling along on lost erections and an inability to orgasm, which made me feel like shit and doomed the relationship.

But in reality, what doomed the relationship was the inherent disconnect between the two of us, not the erection and/or orgasms. But because they’re so important to a man’s sense of self, that any problems became my fault. If I couldn’t perform for the woman of my dreams, I wasn’t worthy of dreams, period.

But she was never the woman of my dreams. She was an idealized version of the truth. When the relationship ended, I called up an old lover and we [literally] tore the house apart for three solid weeks, which was the beginning of an awakening that left the past where it belonged.

Note to women:

Never badger a man for sex. That’s his job. If your libidos are mismatched, move on. But never pressure a man you love if you want him to stick around. He won’t.

In summation:

1] Never idealize anyone. No one is perfect and most of the time, far from it, no matter what her ass looks like.

2] If you don’t feel comfortable, don’t proceed, period. If she’s right for you, the erection will happen.

3] Stop blaming yourself. It’s not about you. It’s about both of you and your ability to connect. And while her looks may be overwhelming, you might want to take a look at her brain, which may do the trick given all the empty space.

A final note to women:

Intense sex is not an indicator of lasting love. In fact precisely the opposite is often true. This is because when men feel this comfortable from the outset, it’s usually an indication that their brains are on autopilot, which is a bad thing if you expect them to remember things like your name, for example.

I get beaten up about this all the time