Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is an intriguing guy...[he] asks great questions and answers others with style, flair, reason and wit. On the blogroll he goes. Make him a part of your regular blogospheric reading. I certainly will.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Common Sense Junction: Misha @ Anti-Idiotarian never ceases to amaze me. He keeps finding other good blogs. I went over to A.I. this morning for my daily Misha fix and he had found this guy named Morgan Freeberg in Fair Oaks, California, that has a blog, House of Eratosthenes. Freeberg says its "The Blog That Nobody Reads" but it may now become the blog that everybody reads.
Jaded Haven: Good God, Morgan, you cover a topic from front to back with a screwy thoroughness I find mind boggling. I'm in awe of your thought proccesses, my friend, you're an exceptional talent. You start by throwing in the kitchen sink, tie in someone's syphilitic uncle, bend around a rip tide of brilliance and bring it all home in a neat, diamond dripping package of an exceptionally readable moment of damn fine wordsmithing. I love reading you.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
Philmon: When Morgan meanders, stick with him - he's got a point and it'll be worth it in the end. He's not a hit-and-run snarky quip kind of guy. The pieces all fall into place like tumblers in a lock and bang! He's opened a cognative door for you.
Rightlinx: Morgan at House of Eratosthenes is one of the best writers out there. I read him nearly every day because he manages to provide an interesting perspective, even though I don't always agree.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
Now imagine this. A lady goes on a blind date with a gentleman and discovers, to her horror, that her beau is incredibly self-absorbed. It’s like the old line about “Enough of me talking about me; you talk about me for awhile.” She’s about to call the evening a total loss, when — almost by accident — the Casanova says some things that pique her interest. He keeps it up, and since she decided from the get-go that he’s kind of cute, they go back to her place. By this time she’s on a complete hormone high, but at the moment of carnal bliss he passes out on her couch and she’s left alone with her disappointment.
Today’s question is about flogs, click the link if you don’t yet know the meaning of the word. How fast would a flog move to write up this scenario? Heh. You’d better not stand in the way.
Well, some fellow named Josh Hopkins has put up a pretty high-quality video describing the opposite. Ah…as if that could ever happen. Since when has a guy gone out on a date with a woman, and discovered to his disappointment that she only likes to talk about herself, and thus been plunged headlong into an incredibly boring evening? Hmmm…
The video ends with some humorous suggestions about date rape. This is unfortunate. All around the world wide web, feminists are now shaking their bony fingers at us instructing us to find the entire video hideous, because of the ending. Well, I’ll say this much. If it were my video, I would not have ended it this way. I would therefore excise from this work the material our shrill feminists tell me has aroused their anger this time…but unfortunately, I would keep the stuff that I suspect really has.
They’ll never confess it no matter what, of course. But I think they understand this isn’t about date rape. Beginning to end, the video draws on an interesting device in which the main character has split in half; the well-dressed version represents his corporeal self, and the guitar-playing “narrator” is dressed in a tee shirt and jeans, representing the thoughts in his head. This is crystal clear. And of course when the time comes to “mount” the drunken floozy, guess which guy is doing it. Right. It’s not the corporeal entity.
So that takes care of this concern about promoting rape.
But that’s all Captain Obvious stuff. None of this is really on-topic, and the feminists know this to be true. They don’t want to discuss what the video is really about.
And you know what I find interesting about that? The video isn’t really about much. Men, it turns out, can suffer from boring dates too. That one sentence covers just about everything. Pretty innocuous, and yet it manages to excite a “throw a rock into a pack of wild dogs, the one that yelps is the one you dun hit” moment. Our feminists really, truly, down to the marrow of their bones, do not want us to see this video. And if we do see it, they don’t want us to find anything good about it.
It’s all speculation, but if it’s fair for the feminists to psychoanalyze men, it’s fair for someone else to come along and do the same with the feminists. I think they see this video is all about a complaint that is perfectly valid, and they’ve been aroused into an instinctive frenzy of finger-waggling at everyone else, whether we’ve seen the video or not, whether we’re interested in it or not — because the valid complaint undermines their entire message. At least, the message from the brittle, frigid, extreme feminists. Their message has been one of expanding the definition of oppression.
Rape, battery, inequitable pay, everything in between, these are forms of oppression. Extreme feminism is about including more things. Putting up posters, pictures and drawings of women with better-looking bodies. Indulging in inappropriate humor in mixed company. Saying bad things about women in any setting. Saying good things about men. Passing laws that NARAL wouldn’t like. Voting Republican.
Feminism in 2007, is about stopping us from doing any of that. And if we can’t be stopped, it’s about getting rid of us.
For the past several decades, they’ve succeeded in this. And in early 21st-century America, we find ourselves in a culture in which a specimen of the fairer sex, whether she is well-bred or otherwise, regardless of her level of sophistication, feels a lack of motivation to broaden her horizons.
During my eight or nine months of single-hood a few years ago, I noticed this. There was me; there was an apparitional golem representing the man my “date” for the evening would want to meet. Some vision she had dancing through her head long before she met me, that had not been altered one iota since she learned about me, and would not be altered in the course of meeting any man, ever. Very much like the vision she had for a wall hanging or piece of furniture, just before heading to the mall to shop for it.
Questions about me, should they have arisen at all…had to do with any differences that might exist between me and that apparitional golem. A genuine question-question, I noticed after awhile, was a real occasion. And from the comments I see from other single men, this is not a unique experience at all.
I expect most of the single ladies — extreme feminist or otherwise — are somewhat clueless about how insulting that is for a man. And you know what’s funny? They aren’t supposed to be clueless at all. For much of my early-teen adult years, the feminist movement was supposed to be all about “objectification.” As in, admiring a lady’s bare limbs or conspicuous cleavage. Well…what better way to objectify someone, than to compare them with some preconceived ideal that has nothing to do with their personalities, or other individual attributes, whatsoever?
Anyway, in my meager experience that’s what single life is in modern America. A shallow woman talks about herself all night…and if she’s a real deep thinker and somewhat interested in you, she’ll ask a question or two to figure out how well you’ll blend in with her wall hangings, ottoman and Berber carpet.
The women who can think in more grown-up terms, it seems…to plagiarize from the single ladies unapologetically…are already taken. I’m just glad I have one of them now.
But like they say, it’s not easy out there.
All of which begs the question. If dating isn’t all peaches & cream for our spinsters, and it’s no more fun for the bachelors either, where’s this oppressive patriarchal society that our feminists keep telling us about?
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