This is officially my first “post within a post.”
Fascinating concept, isn’t it?
OK, maybe a little. I understand the concept has probably been beaten to death but that is no reason for me not to give it a shot.
How does a post within a post come to be?
Well see, my original goal was to write a post which would allow me to pipe in with my thoughts on the great “alpha debate” I’ve witnessed raging across the internet.
What is alpha and how can a man be alpha and will being alpha get him laid. On and on goes the great alpha debate. My understanding has always been that the “alpha” figure of any pack is just that…a figure. Singular. Little wolf pups don’t order online books or tapes in the hopes they can all be alpha. Wolf pups follow nature and the concept of denoting and mimicking the leader of the pack for any reason other than survival would surely leave the pups aghast, if in fact wolves had the mental and emotional faculties to experience ironic humor.
I can’t take it seriously when every Tom, Dick and Harry in cyberspace self-professes alpha or alpha striving.
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.
Primitive and evolutionary nature is not egalitarian.
Mother Nature doesn’t dole out equal slices of pie.
You are not alpha, I am not alpha, hardly anyone is alpha.
Anyways, the point of my post was going to be how I think all this adulation of alphaness misses the point. Actually, no, the problem is, there is no point. If the goal is to pick up chicks, you’ve instantly disqualified yourself from alpha running right off the bat. To structure your life around the immense procurement of pussy is an incredibly weak and helpless way to live your life.
My alpha post is almost complete, but it’s very, very long. It’s exhausting. I need to excise a lot of B.S. from the main body. I need to trim it down, put it on a diet. The first step is taking out the beginning portion and let it be a post in itself. The opening paragraph of that post will now be this post. It shall stand alone.
Back in the early 90s when I was on an art-house/foreign movie kick, I saw a great French Canadian movie called Leolo.
It was one of those great movies that no one saw. It followed the young life of Leolo, a boy growing up in a dysfunctional and poverty-stricken Quebec ghetto. A slightly twisted coming of age story. Well, the first pre-pubescent glimmers of coming of age anyways.
Leolo has an older brother, Fernand. Fernand is about 16 or 17 and as the movie begins, he is easy fodder for a neighborhood bully. The bully is ruthless and it’s painful to watch Fernand mocked and slapped in front of his younger brother. Fernand finally can’t tolerate it anymore. I had visions of those comic books ads from days of yore in which the 90-pound weakling finally decides to take matters into his own hands after he gets sand kicked in his face once too often.
Fernand begins to lift weights and snort protein shakes. As the scenes slowly move forward in time, his rapidly expanding musculature is amazing and obvious. The 90-pound weakling is no more. At home and around Leolo, his confidence is unmistakable. This is not the same Fernand.
One day he lumbers along the street with Leolo by his side when they encounter the bully standing in a door sill. Now it should be noted the bully looks like a twerp. He is skinny and mousy, but he’s got balls of stone. He makes light of Fernand’s fresh muscles and one thing leads to another and Fernand pushes the bully who falls helplessly to the ground. Fernand appears ready to launch into spinach-powered fury.
Suddenly, the bully jumps back to feet and sizes Fernand up fearlessly, and throws a quick punch which catches Fernand squarely in the nose, drawing blood. Fernand is shocked and when he sees his own blood smeared on his hand, he collapses to the ground in a heap of sobbing muscles. The bully laughs and runs off. Leolo watches helplessly as his brother, an enormous mass of ridiculed muscle, succcumbs to his weak heart.
Great scene. And a great lesson for aspiring alphas. “Aspiring alphas.” How can that be so. Does one aspire to such evolutionary status? No, I don’t believe that is possible. Alphas are born, they are not created. Alphas can be mimicked and they can be re-enacted. But alphas cannot be made and shaped from scratch.
That was the beginning of my alpha post.
And my point being that this whole alpha thing is such a slippery concept; it is one of those traits that I feel must be allowed to happen. Hands off. Don’t think about it, don’t force it. Common perceptions of alpha lead us to make many mistaken presumptions. I thought of this while I read this post over on Gucci Little Piggy. Is alpha solely the provenance of the strong and athletic and wealthy and powerful? Hell no. I’ve seen way too many instances where the ostensible superficial qualifiers of alphaness failed to create the Frankensteinian alpha who lived on paper, who possessed all the alpha traits. And this was a lesson poor Fernand learned the hard way, for he allowed his concept of alpha to take the reigns of his good sense. And he ended up with a bloody nose.