It's all about the ....

The endlessly entertaining Roissy put up a post that has caused a comment-fest unlike any I've seen in a while that doesn't involve religion (though one commenter sure tried to drag religion into it).

His premise in a nutshell: Don't get married, because as Devlin points out, many women are fickle vulgar sluts, especially these days, and men are expendable in today's society and legal system, so most will probably get tossed aside eventually; therefore, if you (guys) have to get married, keep in mind that few women are worthy, so make sure she's beneath you (in all the ways that that can be taken) or filthy rich.

I really have no interest in picking that apart (or the full version of the post) - because in the context of what's Roissy's writing about, most of it is true. I might back off of the less-than-flattering characterization of women, as it reflects a double-standard. If a society is OK with fucking around, then it takes two to tango, etc. (I suspect, like other guys, after years of male-bashing gender feminism, it's nice to see someone openly snarking back. Even if some of it is as specious as some of the male-hating feminism was (is).) (And Devlin and Roissy are both seemingly correct about the divorce thing. Every couple in my circle who's gotten divorced did so at the behest of the woman. Not a single exception.)

What I noticed is that most of the commenters have overlooked (or forgotten) one small detail: Roissy's blog is all about getting pussy. That's it. In the comments, he even reminds everyone about his definitions of alpha and beta, and it's all about how many trips down love canal you've had. (According to those definitions, I'm a greater beta, much to my surprise. Thought I'd be closer to the Omega end of things. More on that in a bit.)

He often tries to expand this into an all-encompassing world view - "Make no mistake, at the most fundamental level the CRUX of a man’s worth is measured by his desirability to women, whether he chooses to play the game or not. Pussy is the holy grail."

I say there's more to my life than strange.

TLD: I cracked myself up when I followed that thought to it's logical end and envisioned Roissy as a dad talking to his kid. There they are, on the porch. Progeny says, "Daddy, can you help me with my homework?" A babe walks by and Roissy gestures toward her and says, "No, can't help with the homework, but I could sure hit that if you wanted me to."

Now, on Roissy's blog, it IS all about banging strange pussy, so everything is filtered through that prism. It's a variant on the adage that if all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. And, as readers of his blog know ... wait for it ... he nails things a lot. Thank you! Remember to tip your waitresses! Whoa! That's not what I mean, Roissy!

Though I am a greater beta according to Roissy (and, to me, that always conjures the image of a Japanese fighting fish ensconced in a Styrofoam cup at Walmart, destined to go home to a 4-inch-square aquarium, waiting for the inevitable flush down the commode), and I have no aspirations for being a lesser alpha, because I did some of those things - cheated, slept around, etc. - and I didn't like what it did to my soul. The trade-off for a half-hour of biological ecstasy just proved to be too dear for me.

And here's one reason why, to give an example: during a college break, the four of us remaining on the dorm floor (too poor to go anywhere), hit our favorite bar for some chat and 12 oz. curls. There were three of us guys and one of the girls. A pleasant chat was had by all. One of the topics was fuck buddies, or "friends with benefits." Even the gal at the table was chiming in on the affirmative how nice it would be to have someone you could call for a quickie with no strings. Well, the other two guys got up to play a game of pool, so I turned to the lady and said, "So, are you serious? You'd be up for that?" So there I was a couple (long) hours later, knocking on the door to her dorm room (which we had chosen because everyone else around her was gone).

The next day I was Uncle Remus sauntering off down the animated blvd., whistling "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah," with the little cartoon things bobbing around my shoulders (or they were probably just hallucinations from a complete lack of sleep). But during breakfast came the time for another cartoon archetype; the little devil and angle appeared on each shoulder with a "poof." Angel inquires: was it fun? Devil says: hell yeah! Angel says: I wasn't asking you. I say (not out loud of course): dammit anyway, even though there were no strings, supposedly no consequences, I still feel ... wrong somehow.

And, I've always had that slightly soul-dragging sensation after the few one-night-stands I've had in my life.

Then I cheated on a girlfriend, and that felt like hell (after the fun part, natch). So, I'm just one of those who can't ignore the emotional and whatever-the-hell-it-is that creates a [can't be defined] connection, wanted or not, with someone you have sex with.

During a college bull session, one guy said that one religion believes (and I've never discovered which one it was, if there is one like this at all), that every person you have sex with will be joined to you, and will essentially be your spouse in the afterlife. (He put it in male-centric terms though: every chick you screw will become your wife in the afterlife for all eternity.) The color drained out of many faces at the thought. I, of course, think that's total bullshit, but it does come close to evoking the sensation I'm trying (and doing very badly) to evoke in the previous two paragraphs.

Getting back to Roissy's view of the world ... that's just not a world I want to live in. However, I'm not going to go so far as to say that MY view of the world is what will work for everyone.

Y'know, cheers to the Roissy's of the world, and the woman bedded by them. Hey, you go girl, for the girls who like to hit the maypole whenever and with whomever they please.

I'm a little hesitant to wave the pom poms for folks who are encouraged to cheat on their spouses, particularly when a corporation is cynically trying to cash in on it:
(Note the guy is no real gift to humanity either.)

When you begin to hurt others, well, that's bad.

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To take things in a different direction, one thread that blossomed in the comments to the Roissy post is what constitutes a pretty woman. "El Guapo" offered a rundown in comments 132 and 160.

I really have no retorts regarding those, but serendipitously/synchronicitiously I happed across this fantastic article that reports the results of actual research about what men prefer about women's looks, and women's (inaccurate) assessment of what men like. I can whole-heartedly agree with this article. (And I'm gonna get a nice color printout of the opening graphic and hang that sucker on da wall.)

Roissy's always talking about how hot (or not) someone is, and how perfect (or not) their body is. (Again, no hating on Roissy; it's his life.)

I have a different perspective on that. When I was a teen, I was fixated on perfect bodies for a short while - the more perfect, the more alluring. But as I aged, and actually got some experience with the lovely variety that's out there, I kinda turned into that guy in the James Brown song "Mother Popcorn":

Some like'em fat, some like'em tall
Some like'em short, skinny legs and all
I like'em all, huh, I like'em proud

I like'em all. My only exceptions are 1) morbid obesity (see Good Luck Chuck for a hilarious example (slightly NSFW) of that), or 2) a pervasive funk (some peoples just smell bad all the time, nothin' they can do).

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One final note, again in what might be serendipitously/synchronicitiously, an article on where the singles are popped up on the web this week. So, for those of you who are still looking for THE ONE, here are the places where the odds are for ya rather than against ya.

One cynical note, though. I note that Berkeley, Boston, Boulder, and Minneapolis are high on the list, and I bet I know why. Every one of those places is home to a major university AND those universities have overly strong Identity Politics depts. whose sole job is to turn perfectly nice people into haters and bigots in order to create a better world. A good proportion of the women you meet in those towns are hard-core man-haters, and good proportion of the guys are emasculated sensitive new-age guys, so that might explain the higher numbers of lonely hearts. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

Those are places where Roissy's "game" might come in handy.