House of Eratosthenes

I’ve seen both Stepford Wives movies, and I’ve never understood either one of them. They seem to define a tragic situation from what I consider to be a happy one, and vice versa. Gorgeous, graceful, devoted and docile wives — a sign of trouble? Men happily sipping from brandy snifters, smoking cigars, farting into luxurious leather chairs while their happy, agreeable wives bring them plates of sandwiches…that’s an ominous harbinger of doom? Argumentative, buzz-cut harpies arguing with their henpecked husbands just for the sheer hell of it — that’s the way things are supposed to be? The Katherine Ross version came out a third of a century ago. In all that time, I’ve managed to remain entirely clueless. I just don’t get it. I don’t show signs of getting it anytime soon.

But I get the opposite. Folsom, California 95630 absolutely, positively has a “Stepford Husbands” problem.

How do I know this? The parking lots. The parking lots with great big SUVs parked in them. SUVs that no true man would ever buy. With loud, obnoxious, mouse-like dogs barking their fool heads off in the front seats. Dogs no self-respecting man would own.

In the twinkling of an eye, anyone with a head that’s worth more than a hat-hanger knows exactly what has taken place here. She (and maybe the kids) came home with an adorable puppy dog that he did not pick out, nor did he assist in picking out…and in response…he said “oh, alright.” Folks, I’m here to tell you right now, no man from the planet I call “Earth” would react that way. Nobody with red blood would react that way. Normal people raise it as an issue — um, would you care to discuss this with me before you consign me to indentured servitude living adjacent to this annoying little yip-dog? What in the hell is the matter with you, woman?

Beast from Hell Yes, I mean it. It’s not a “man of the house” thing; it has nothing to do with dominating your wife. It’s basic self-respect.

Not so with the Folsom husbands. They just say “oh, alright” and that’s the way life is from that day forward. I speculate recklessly? How else did that damn dog get in there? It was his? Hah. Tell me another. It’s a rapidly spreading sickness. An epidemic. How do I know this? Because the next car over is also a halftrack-sized leviathan gleaming-metal-skinned creature…with an annoying little yip-dog barking his head off in the front seat. And the next car over from that. And the next car. And the next car. You think Folsom is like any other place in the union? You think wrong.

These Stepford Husbands who do the unthinkable so regularly…behold such an evil canine/rodent creature taking over their home and acquiescing to the invasion in such an unmanly, French way…they don’t live in my world. But they live in Folsom, that’s for sure.

Folsom — land of the tank-sized vehicles people drive to work, while they worry incessantly about global warming.

Folsom — urban mecca of the enormous SUVs with irritating little marsupial-rodent dogs, bred to be carried around in purses, barking, barking, barking some more, with high, glass-cutting animal sounds you’d expect out of a birdcage.

Folsom — where men talk to their very own kids as if they aren’t really men. Children go through their entire childhoods, never seeing anything good coming out of masculinity. Folsom, which is slightly conservative-leaning…for now. Nobody with a brain expects it to say that way. How can it?

Why do we live here? Because until people start forcing each other to raise their kids the same way, it’s still a good place to raise kids. And you can unpack groceries from your car, forget to lock up your car…in fact, leave the trunk yawning wide open…and come back the next morning to a concerned neighbor (walking his wife’s annoying little yip dog) pointing out “Hey dude, you left your trunk open and I closed it for ya.” This offsets my concerns about what’s happening to the culture. We don’t have manliness, but for now we do have some order. We still have the “good guys should win bad guys should lose” spirit. It may be the next casualty, but it’s still around for now.

I’m reminded of a protocol that is supposed to be effective within the United States Marine Corps: Be courteous to everyone, friendly to no one. This is a good distinction to keep in mind, I think, and it would benefit the average Folsom family man enormously to learn it. It would be good for his family, too. It’s never, ever a good thing for kids, to have a “friend” instead of a father…or a mother. And I think that’s the problem. I see kids playing with toys, obstructing heavy pedestrian traffic. The proper response from the parent is to move the child out of the way and then provide admonishment, commensurate with the age of the child who doesn’t know his place, that he shouldn’t be getting in the way. This doesn’t happen often in Folsom; seems lately like I’m the only one who bothers.

Gum on the sidewalk. Let’s be fair about it, Folsom is not a “gum on your shoe” capital of the world by any means. If I want to get gum stuck on my shoes, I’ll head to midtown. But nevertheless — why does it ever happen at all? My own kid isn’t even allowed to chew gum outside. He hasn’t expressed an interest in it. If he did, he would be properly schooled in how to dispose of the gum when he’s done chewing it. Kids leaving gum where it can get stuck to your shoes, reflect poorly on their parenting. They should’ve been taught things. They show, yet again, their parents were in too big of a hurry to be buddies rather than parents.

Yeah, the SUV/Global Warming thing. Conflicting GoodPerson Fever badges.

If I drive a smaller car, I’m endangering my Chilllllllllldren. If I don’t, I’m warming the planet.

Solution? Blame the oil companies and the people I didn’t vote for for not forcing me to behave differently to dodge the warming charge, and wear the Chillllllllldren’s Safety badge instead, so I can do what I wanted to in the first place without feeling guilty.

Frankly, I’m actually starting to consider something like a Rav4 for a little more room to haul things from Lowe’s, pack tents, sleeping bags, and coolers, and have a bit more road clearance than my Ford Escort for driving places like Guenella Pass Road in the Rockies.

But I am addicted to my 35 mpg highway mileage. And I’m probably only willing to compromise back to 30.
- philmon | 08/11/2009 @ 07:19
Ah yea, Folsom instanly makes me think of Johnny.

“I hear the train a comin’
it’s rolling round the bend
and I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when,
I’m stuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps draggin’ on”

Anyways, no particular reason I included that…

“I’m reminded of a protocol that is supposed to be effective within the United States Marine Corps: Be courteous to everyone, friendly to no one.”

I like the other version –

Be courteous to everyone, and be ready to kill everyone in the room…with a yip dog…who talks like they lost their balls…

…just sayin’.

“Well if they’d free me from this prison,
if that railroad train was mine
I bet I’d move just a little further down the line
far from Folsom prison, that’s where I want to stay
and I’d let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away…..”
- tim | 08/11/2009 @ 08:10
Morgan. I keep tellin’ ya: Texas.
- bpenni | 08/11/2009 @ 10:26
Classic tune, Buck, from a classic artist. One of my favorites!

Thanks for the link to the video.
- philmon | 08/11/2009 @ 10:29
My pleasure, Phil. I love Chris Rea!
- bpenni | 08/11/2009 @ 12:24
[…] and every day, albeit having managed to ensconce himself in the partial security blanket that is Folsom; the older one is in the enviable position of having extricated himself from it altogether. […]
- House of Eratosthenes | 08/20/2009 @ 05:53
[…] so I set out on the streets of Niner Fiver Six Three Zed. I have some bills I need to pay; the late Father’s Day presents need to be acquired; we need […]
- House of Eratosthenes | 06/21/2010 @ 20:30
[…] think there must be an enormous ancient flying saucer, or meteor, or mineral deposit buried under Folsom that shrinks […]
- House of Eratosthenes | 10/24/2010 @ 14:51

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Tuesday, August 11th, 2009