Welcome to the sexual dystopia!

Wikipedia, my one-stop knowledge store.
I love it; in its absence, I’d need to rely on Google.
Which represents actual “work.”
It used to be work involved hoisting a big heavy encyclopedic edition from a shelf.

Couple of entries:

Dystopia

“…is a vision, of an often futuristic society, which has developed into a negative Version of Utopia. A Dystopia is often characterized by a authoritarian or totalitarian form of government. It often features different kinds of repressive social control systems, a lack or total absence of individual freedoms and expressions and a state of constant warfare or violence.”

Complementarianism
 

“…is a theological view held by many in Christianity and other world religions that men and women have different (complementary) roles and responsibilities, as manifested in marriage, family life, religious leadership, and elsewhere.”

Wondering how I will tie this shit together?

It’s quite amusing that I find myself sharing this commonality with the religious crowd when it comes to the subject of Man and Woman.

Complementary equality.
A grand idea. A grand concept.
A potentially inflammatory concept.

The solidity of its practice essentially rests on trust.

Do you believe men and women can perform any physical, cognitive or emotional task the other gender is able to (short of giving birth or walking in high heels) with identical aptitude?

If so, you must then believe that men and women are identical.

I do not believe this.

Whereas the God-fearing man believes “God” created Adam and Eve, similar, but also vastly different and possessing of contrasting but complementary natures and bodies, I believe evolution has done this job quite aptly. But as happens frequently in nature, many interdependent dynamics are zero-sum games. One party gives, the other takes. When all is said and done and the final computations are spit out the adding machine, when all factors are accounted for and the final equation states a-b=0, nature is at equilibrium.

Complementary equality. As stated above in the “Complementarianism” entry, it is a balancing act of interdependence. Men and women bring their respective gifts to the table, their special offerings. Qualities the other does not possess. But working carefully together in a state of mutual dependability, harmony is achieved.

Complementary equality dictates that we entrust in the other gender the ability and willingness to supply us with that which we cannot produce or nurture on our own. Complementary equality presupposes that we are at peace with our shortcomings. It asks us to admit we are incomplete beings and that our path towards completion can only be hastened by the presence of another person who possesses that which we miss. And vice versa. Our own presence in another’s life may bring a sense of completion in those traits we ourselves possess that the other does not.

The belief that we are fully capable of “self-supplying” our own elemental cohesiveness is contrary to the principle of complementary equality.

The belief that we are fully capable of achieving independent completion due to the fact that our nature is “fully-equipped” from birth is also at odds with complementary equality.

Above all, the peaceful existence of complementary equality resides in our willingness to discover contentment in our abilities and calm acceptance of our inabilities. To fight and argue with one’s nature is to upset the delicate house of cards that represents complementarianism.

When genders lose this peace of mind and resolve to assume all the roles and natural talents of the other gender, we have entered the “sexual dystopia.”

There is civil equality…equality granted both genders in the legal and cultural realms. I believe this equality is deserved and fully support it.

What I believe has happened, however, is that in the aspiration and fight for such sweeping civil equality, equality, as a concept, has leisurely bloated into a sense of entitlement of equality where the personal realm is concerned. At the expense of complementarianism.

Anything you can do at work or in school or at the voting booth became anything a man can do, a woman can do…left open-ended and unqualified.

Thus granted such free-wheeling and uncharacteristic freedoms, men and women have driven us into the modern sexual dystopia.

PUA/Game…is it instilling a false sense of empowerment?

An article appeared in the Valentine’s Day-adjacent issue of the conservative Weekly Standard and has left the PUA blogosector abuzz. Entitled “The New Dating Game”, the piece presents a masterful and intricate examination of today’s PUA (my acronym: Pick-Up Artistry) phenomena while simultaneously delving into the very pertinent societal offshoots of women’s liberation and evolutionary psychology.

In the internet sense, this is “old news.” The article has been insightfully and thoroughly discussed, in manners much more cleverly than I.

The article is 12 pages long and you need to set aside at least 30-45 minutes if you wish to read it intensively in order to absorb all the knowledge it throws at you. While much of the mansphere appeared to rejoice in the fact that a dissection of the PUA movement has filtered down as far as a stodgy conservative publication like the WS, the halting pessimist that is me isn’t quite so pleased. Unease becomes me…

On page 10, there is reference to Conor Friedersdorf:

Earlier that year Roissy got into an online contretemps with Conor Friedersdorf, a frequent guest-blogger for Andrew Sullivan, over the “neg,” a pickup artist tactic that involves teasing an especially attractive woman about her looks instead of complimenting them, on the theory that she probably gets so many compliments that she brushes them off. It’s an updated version of Lord Chesterfield’s dictum to his son that “a decided and conscious beauty looks upon every tribute paid to her beauty only as her due, but wants to shine and to be considered on the side of her understanding.” Friedersdorf, however, declared that the negger’s intention “is to reduce her self-esteem, or even worse to play on her insecurities with the knowledge that some women react to that technique by having sex or hooking up as a coping mechanism.” Roissy responded by making fun of Friedersdorf’s name.

In response to Friedersdorf, I can only say, “Yeah, so what?”

Of course it’s manipulative.
Dude, Game is manipulation. Just about all human social interaction involves varying degrees of manipulation. And believe me, manipulation is involved in just about every instance where a man persuades a woman to have sex with him for the first time. If you’re Brad Pitt, the manipulation factor is non-existent, but for most guys, the element of coercion is inevitable.

And sometimes coercion is half the fun.
We call it the “chase.”
Friedersdorf’s argument holds no water.

Game is not an obscure formula or spell. It is not a forbidden secret chiseled on stone tablets buried in the depths of an Egyptian pyramid.

Game is old and game it is instinctual.

Friedersdorf doesn’t seem to have harsh words for men who get it without having to buy tapes or videos or attend workshops. Men such as this have existed for ages. These men learned and absorbed the fine art of seducing women and their power was rare, hence, precious. They practiced something that came natural to them. They didn’t call it “Game,” they didn’t ponder routines or negs or cocky/funny…they knew what worked, from trial and error. They learned and refined the social devices which were proven to melt women’s hearts and loins.

Game is merely the studious and methodical conveyance of these time-tested items which rakes have used for centuries.

And Game works. Still. Maybe less so. As I said, the ancient art of seduction was rare and precious. And as the recognition of Game’s power attained recognition in the modern era of mass communication, this preciousness translated to “profitability.”

Is it not so unbelievable to ascertain that those men with the most money to burn and semen to unload are also the most repressed and blue-balled segment of male society?

Think about it. You have massive numbers of young guys with bloated expendable incomes and sexual frustrations to match and it comes as no surprise that PUA mentors such as Mystery and David D’Angelo stand to make fortunes off the wisdom they can impart to lovelorn men (especially if the advice works and earns a reputation as such). Profits ballooned and the PUA movement became nothing but a cheap whore…worse yet, an attention whore which seemed intent on announcing its prowess and self-involvement to the world.

Why these guys take pleasure in the mainstream-ization of PUA puzzles me.

PUA is like the Fight Club.
You don’t talk about it.
To anybody.

For Game’s greatest strength is (was?) its sly and oblique mode of attack.

I know a lot of guys would love to assume it, but many women are not stupid and they are not illiterate. (Edit addition: At least not the women we should be chasing!)
And the typical 19-year-old hottie who suddenly finds herself swimming in a sea of a bunch of stammering PUA’s throwing incongruous negs at her and trying cocky and funny but only coming across as pathetic and self-conscious will most likely have seen and read it. Been there and been done that to.

Every little dude in her demographic is now a PUA!

Now that the democratization of PUA is nearly complete, how will men stand out now?

Reminds me of a point I made last week in my Alpha post:

If there was a grand shift in the social mechanics of the world (perhaps by a strange Twilight Zonian meteor shower) and all men woke up “alphas” tomorrow, I guarantee you that over time a new subdivision of alpha would evolve, a “super-alpha” of sorts who would reign supreme over all the existing alphas.

You see, my point is this.
Humans are one of the most adaptable species walking this planet.
Physically and intellectually. Our adaptability is astounding.
PUA has historically been practiced by the very few.
And the rest…got married. Marriage is man’s contrived cultural tool which allowed him a steady and dependable supply of sex.

So as waves of men gradually assume their new role of PUA, then what?
Women will adapt and they will devise special counter-weaponry designed to fend off the common PUA. And a new legion of “super-PUAs” will step in to monopolize the worthiest of all women.

That is nature man.
A constant battle of forces, of yin and yang.
Nature dictates that for each attack there will be a defense.

So pessimistic little me must ask. How is the commercialization and ubiquitous presence of a rare art (which was so for a reason) deemed a good thing?

The bar has been raised and cocky and funny or negs will have lost most of their illustrious horsepower.

Interestingly, over on The Obsidian Files, a new post Why Women Frequent Game Forums which touches slightly on the phenomena of the petulant and headstrong woman who dives headfirst into the quagmire of the Game community and roars “it won’t work on me!” Only to prove it can work on her. Hmmm, Game must be powerful!

Obsidian extrapolates from a select few women who do have a tendency to hang out in that blogosector and suggests that Game still works in spite of the target’s full awareness of what’s happening and of course, her eventual relinquishment of sexual power to the Gamer.

I have trouble buying this argument. Most of the women who frequent PUA sites are really just their own category of “cybergroupie” and they enjoy the male attention in the same way that some chicks love football. For the surroundings it affords them. I highly doubt the women who crowd PUA forums are indicative of the general female population at large.

“Lone Justice”: the greatest band that never was

 

Back in November I took my son to his first concert, Wolfmother, at the Wiltern in Koreatown. The show was all about Wolfmother as was to be expected, but one of the opening bands, The Heartless Bastards, gave a great performance and reminded me of a group I remembered fondly from the 1980’s, Lone Justice.

 

Do you remember Lone Justice?

 

I doubt many of you who happen across my blog were even born during Lone Justice’s heyday, their small blip of fame, and if you were born, you were probably in diapers.

 

Lone Justice’s lead singer, Maria McKee was the star of the band. She was born 3 months before me in 1964. Her voice was deeply soulful and belted out the most heart-wrenching and mournful ballads. Her voice was real. Check out the live video. Nothing studio enhanced about her. And she was a doll. I had the biggest mid-80s disembodied crush on her.

 

 

Music critics lauded Lone Justice. The band made various “best” lists and one Rolling Stone magazine writer even called their first album, the self-titled “Lone Justice,” one of the best albums ever made. I still agree with that.

 

During that period in the mid-80s, I listened to the CD at home and the cassette in my car over and over and over. Bolstered by the same critics who excitedly proclaimed Lone Justice’s illustrious future, I held tight to their music and waited for their next album. And waited.

 

But the critics misled.

 

Typically, they recognized great art but lacked familiarity with the intricate tastes and trends of the music-buying public. Their brand of soulful country rock didn’t quite match the musical mood of the time. The album was not the rousing success it had been with the critics.

 

Following the album’s release and Lone Justice’s ensuing tour as U2’s opening act, the group disbanded when 3 of the members left McKee to continue Lone Justice alone. She re-formed Lone Justice with new musicians and the second album, Shelter, was released. I don’t remember it very well and that fact in itself speaks volumes. It was not memorable. It did not stand out, in spite of McKee’s distinctive voice and vast talent. Shortly after its release, McKee broke up the band and embarked on a solo career which failed to capture the magic of Lone Justice’s first album.

McKee seems to have dropped off the face of the planet.

She started a website called Maria McKee but it appears abandoned. It has not been updated since May, 2009, at least, for that is the date of the last “concert info” link, which incidentally doesn’t work. The website speaks of her “new” album, Late December. There is even a special handwritten note from Maria herself telling us the album is set to be released on April 24th. Unfortunately, all that info is 3 years old, for the date was April 24, 2007.

 

Nothing from McKee since.

 

Lone Justice, the band and the album, pinnacled in 1985. Smack dab in the middle of my greatest decade. A personal span of time marked by bittersweet periods of blossoming adulthood marred by bouts of despair and depression.

 

Lone Justice embodied all that; to watch as the band’s memories wither away is to truly put that decade to rest.

 

Spending Super Bowl Sunday with a drunken country singer

Is there an internet shorthand-y, acronym-y set of letters that conveys a good guffaw?

LMAO is as good as you get, I s’pose.

Sometimes when I contemplate the state of my own manhood. GUFFAW

What kind of man am I?

What kind of man bonds with his son on Super Bowl Sunday, the pinnacle of testosteronized macho indulgence, by going to go see a flick about an aging, dissolute country singer, with a showtime one hour before kickoff?

What kind of man are you David?
LMAO!

I’ll tell you one thing. I was a surprised man when I drove into the parking lot of the Alhambra Renaissance Theater this afternoon at 1:30 and saw that the parking lot was crowded.

This is the reason I specifically go out during that unique window of time when the rest of uncivilization is howling drunkenly and getting in barfights. Those nice few hours you expect a little piece of rare quietude.

Instead I found a lot of cars.

However, the lobby was quiet. I guess the cars belonged to people who caught the early shows in hopes they could leave the theater and rush home before the game. Modern man, in all his rushed glory, seeking to make use of every single second of the day.

How many people ever rest for the sake of resting?

More curiously, how many people are able to cart gargantuan family broods to the theater without sinking into bankruptcy?

Just me and my son, mind you.
One adult and one child admission.
Then, a #1 combo which included 2 drinks and a barrel of popcorn.

$36.00.

Sitting in a theater with a bunch of older and indifferent men and disaffected wives while the bars and restaurants outside were brimming with bad sports afficianado fashion?

Priceless.

With my creepy little popcorn barf tale still fresh in my mind from the other day, I nevertheless proceeded to polish off the full bucket with a little help from my son.

When you think about it, popcorn is a bizarre food. To contemplate the steps that led to its discovery baffles the mind.

But it is so damned good and its consumption during a movie seems to increase the cinematic enjoyment tenfold. It’s a mental device, we are pawns of suggestibility and the movie studios and theater chains have cultivated this Cult of Popcorn paradigm of movie watching. Watching a movie without popcorn is like watching a movie without a soundtrack. Think about it.

We have been conditioned to expect such things. And to define the experience as such.

And such was the experience as we watched Jeff Bridges wail away drunkenly in “Crazy Heart,” in which he plays Bad Blake, the iconic hard-drinking, hard-living, hard-sexing, weathered country singer devoured by his own inebriated demons. He follows in the tradition of a long line of similar American populist artists such as Merle Haggard, Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. Men fragmented by loss and pain and self-abuse.

All in all, the movie was good. Not great, but good.

Mostly, I enjoyed its portrayal of two opposing views of country musicianship with Bad Blake symbolizing the “old school” country singer. The one who is not preoccupied with public image or marketing or grand production devices

Opposite him, his former bandmate, Tommy Sweet, played by Colin Farrell. Tommy is the “new” country, soulless and large and commercial.

Earlier in the movie, someone refers to new country music as “plastic.” A true sentiment I agree with.

Country, more than most other musical genres, is born of populist roots. Country music never claimed to make a man wealthy or afford him a life of luxury or extravagance. Country has always been done best when it’s done simply, amidst the ruins of one’s tortured and disassembled soul.

Country music is rendered inert by luxury and success; it is a musical form built on the grit and grime of imperfect humanity. It seems shallow and contrived when the artist is making millions of dollars per album and living in a spacious mansion.

It was a good movie and the parking lot was more crowded after the movie than when we arrived earlier.

Who won the game?
Forget that…who played? All I know is that one of the teams was the New Orleans Saints.

The Super Bowl is obviously an event that now transcends the sport. It is an unofficial holiday, a social gathering of sorts.

Perhaps that is why I ran into the arms of spiritual torment.

My name is David. And I’m a nice guy.

Deconstructing masculinity is fun. This practice is part and parcel of all internet PUA sectors.

For instance, Alpha, and the fixation with all that is Alpha, oozes out every blog and forum in the Mansphere. And there, alongside it, the corresponding discussion and compulsive dissection of its antithesis: the maligned nice guy.

Yes, the nice guy.

No one spells out what the nice guy is. No one explains his essence. Nevertheless, we have an innate instinct for this guy who can be found throughout every layer of society.

You can find him waiting in line at See’s Candy, or perhaps in the line outside the theater waiting for the 7:40 pm screening of Valentine’s Day (undoubtedly after handing his date a box of $25 chocolate, but before getting a peck on the cheek and a hurried “goodnight” before the door shuts on his crestfallen face).

Everyone dreads the nice guy; no one wants to be associated with him and men will do anything not to be him. In fact, so repulsed are they by the prospect of becoming him, that they act out in obnoxious opposition to the concept of “nice.” They put on the asshole mask. But it is worn like a self-conscious charade.

There nothing quite as repulsive as a man who has a good heart who tries to appear anything but. Who seeks to portray that which is the polar opposite of his own character.

It’s an incongruency that assaults our senses like a bad haircut.

I don’t believe it’s a question of “nice.”

Nice is a trite justification of a deeper personality issue that eludes recognition for some odd reason.

These men are not too “nice.”

They are bland.

Got that?
Bland.

I came to this conclusion because amidst the ubiquitous and dire pronouncements of the ill-fated nature of the Nice Guy, it occurred to me that I have known several equally “Nice Gals.” Women who presented all the obsequious and pathetically unobtrusive qualities of the Nice Guy. I’ve known such people. They were not nice. They were bland.

Bland people possess qualities which mimic niceness.
Retiring. Inoffensive. Agreeable. Lacking strong opinions and/or viewpoints. Bleached senses of humor.

From the perspective of society, bland people don’t make much of a splash.

They don’t intrude upon other’s lives.

They are not the type of people to leave you with strong sensations in either extreme. And thus, because of this, you label them “nice” by the absence of the negative. But in the absence of positive, it’s hard to say what these “nice” people really are.

They lack influence. They leave your soul untouched.
They are bland.
Innocuous.

Socially, historically…the role of the bland person has traditionally been fulfilled by women, and furthermore, expected of them.

The woman who succumbs to this mentality does not experience repercussions; it is latently expected of her, and in fact, many men, especially the traditional-minded, still expect such behavior of a woman. Besides, personality (or lack of it) does not generally detract from a woman’s desirability. In fact, boasting of a woman’s personality raises eyebrows and dooms the unseen girl to a hideous sight unseen.

But for a man.

Blandness connotes invisibility, and in the context of manhood, lack of vitality.

For maleness denotes aggression; the alpha archetype is not a shrinking violet. Manifested in our modern era, a man’s persona is boastful and raucous and fearlessly outspoken. With a tinge (or a wallop) of danger, of prison-bound behavior.

Decidedly un-bland.
Male vigor, with its raging, in-your-face, fury. The anti-bland.

And niceness. A positive trait of humility, thoughtfulness, respect and kindness, which has been truncated and distorted in the minds of many PUA’s and PUA’s-in-training. They have latched on to the word “nice” and reactively vilified the concept. They even structure their lives around the tenet of turning nice on its head in the blind pursuit of girls.

All because of bland.

See I wouldn’t care about the anti-nice “movement” if I didn’t view it as harmful and misguided.

Horny young men are endlessly impressionable. Tell them if they do “A” to get “P” (yes, as in), and I guarantee that you’ll need to dive behind a wall in order to avoid the hordes of guys as they cut a swath of destruction in their lemming rush to find “A.”

“Niceness” is nothing but an emotional decoy which has distracted a whole generation of PUA’s from the true essence of the personality shortcoming they fear.