Sunday, June 28, 2009
LL Sexy Darcy
Yes. You heard me right. Ladies Love Sexy Darcy. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorite books in part because of Fitzwilliam Darcy. He is surely a bit of a snob at the beginning of the book. But as anyone who has read the books or seen the movies knows he's not proud, he's discerning. He's a man of principal. He isn't simply a handsome rich dilettante like Binghley. He's not a playboy and a bounder like Wickham. He's an adult male. And adult males are often in short supply. My best friend Tim thinks Elizabeth Bennett was a bit of a gold digger because she didn't really like him until she saw his gorgeous estate Pemberley. Pure coincidence. She fell for him when he showed her his vulnerability at Lady Catherine's home when he admitted that he is not in the habit of conversing easily with people he doesn't already know. And then she liked him a bit more when she saw him with his beloved kid sister Georgianna. But sadly I think one of the reasons Elizabeth liked him is that he fulfills the female fantasy that inside that rude, insufferable, jackass that treats you like dirt beats the heart of a lovestruck young man who doesn't know how to show you how much he likes you. This is a dangerous thought. It's insanity like that, that convinces women to date men who never call and don't pay attention when we talk. For me it's more about the way that he loves her in spite of his own common sense. That he loves Elizabeth despite the impending embarrassment of being connected to her humiliating family. That he spent thousands of pounds and untold hours helping her family out of a jam. He made sure Lydia was married because her disgrace would distress his beloved. Darcy is a man. Darcy takes care of people. As a modern independent woman I don't need a man to pay my rent, or buy my food, but I do from time to time need someone to take on a task so big and overwhelming that it makes me want to take to my bed. Darcy would carry a sick dog a mile to the vet. Darcy would change all my light bulbs to energy efficient ones. Darcy could mop up 10 gallons of water and get a plumber to fix my toilet. Darcy is sexy because he is trapped in amber. He has been traditionally masculine for 200 years. For him the definition of manhood never changes. That's what we like about Darcy. Society changes but he stays the same.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Nothing Gold can stay
Like Most people I was sad to hear about the passing of Michael Jackson. No matter what we all think of his personal peccadilloes he was a father, a son, a brother, and a friend. He died quite young and the people who loved him will miss him. Long after the public memorials are over people will mourn him privately for the rest of their lives. The Onion made a funny yet incredibly tasteless joke about the fact that he "died at age 12." And that got me thinking. As tributes and memorials fill my television I can't help but note that that all the praise is tempered by a focus on his personal shortcomings. The plastic surgery, the child molestation accusations, and the increasingly odd behavior. His legacy may never be what it should have been because he has spent the better part of 20 years taking a sledgehammer to it. Legends die young. That's just how it is. Marlon Brando was arguably as brilliant an actor as James Dean. But Dean died at the height of his fame and at the pinnacle of his talent. Marlon Brando had an additional 40 years in which he became obese and made films like Don Juan Demarco. Mr. Jackson’s father-in-law Elvis Presley died just as his legacy was beginning to take a hit. He had gone from a bluesy rock sex-symbol, possibly the first one, to a bloated spectacle on the Vegas stage. Can you imagine if he'd lived another 20 years? Michael Jackson made some pretty catchy music in the 90's but the third millennium was not kind to the King of Pop, just as he was not kind to the people who loved him and wanted to believe in him. I was in elementary school when he released Thriller. And my brother and I zombie danced in our living rooms as I'm sure you did too. But in high school I learned about the molestation accusations. I believed them wholeheartedly. I still do. And it was a disappointment on par with the day I realized that my seemingly indomitable parents sometimes got scared and often cried. It felt like the moment when I realized that few of us grow up to be the person we thought we'd be. A comedian once remarked that if it was true that we can all grow up to be whatever we want, its curious that he's never been in a room full of ballerinas and space cowboys. Michael Jackson's childlike refusal to admit that we all grow up and go to work, and adulthood is scary and fraught with responsibilities we find overwhelming, felt like a betrayal. Real art comes from the truth and Michael Jackson refused to live with the truth. Thriller is brilliant because it was not only a pop record but one that moved our bodies and excited us. Even Bad and Dangerous had songs about the way he saw the world and what it was at the time. Black or White? Man in the Mirror? Those are songs that are honest. But when Jackson's appearance became a lie and his behavior became like a endless performance art piece, he managed to make his brilliant past less relevant and venerable. We like our legends captured in amber or sealed in a Time Capsule.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Men on their periods...
The first lines of Bonnie Tyler’s 80’s classic tune Holding out for a Hero asks the question best, “Where have all the good men gone?/And where are all the Gods?”
I'm going to take a potentially controversial stance and declare the sensitive male a failed experiment. I have been told by women twenty to sixty years older than me that once upon a time men were encouraged to be emotionally closed off and distant. That if you saw one cry you were somehow injuring his testicles, and if one hugged you, you were either a small child or on fire and they were patting out the flames on your back. I have no doubt that must have been terrible. To spend all your time ball and chained to someone with marginal interest in talking to you, who couldn't empathize. But in the 90's as if to prove there is a downside to everything, there began a movement in reaction to second and third wave feminism to make men more sensitive. We told them that it was okay to cry when they were sad and scared, and to not be afraid to show vulnerability. On the surface it seemed like a good idea. Once men could admit they were weak too, they wouldn't need to prevent women from feeling strong. But it's gone too far.
I don't want to hold a grown man while he cries. I don't want Emo music to exist. I refer to it as the music of the whiny middle-class white boy who's Daddy didn't hug him enough. I want to return to an age when men like George Clooney roamed the earth freely just like the noble buffalo. Men who admit they aren't the marriage and kids type and don't feel compelled to change it so they don't look self-involved and infantile. And should a man breed I don't want to hear him say, "We're having a baby". No you're not. Your wife/girlfriend/surrogate mother/teen babysitter is having a baby. You're going to a "father." Unless you are at all physically involved beyond crawling on top of her to deposit your DNA of dubious merit, you're not doing anything until the baby arrives. No uterus, no cheesy discussions of the miracle of life. That is my rule, break it at your own peril. I forgive the mother-to-be her flowery meanderings because she's hormonal,large, and vulnerable to predators. But dudes, Man up! If she wanted to have a baby with another chick, all it takes is $400 in sperm. Earn the right to hitch yourself to her woman wagon. Do something she can't or doesn't particularly want to do. But I'm sure she has the emotional sentimentality thing locked down.
Although I loved the Notebook it shouldn't have been as successful as it was. Men told other men to go see it. The first time I saw it in the theater there were as many men crying as women. I’m not talking a manly sniffle like at the end of Brian’s Song when it becomes obvious that Brian Piccolo isn’t going to make it, or the misting of the eyes when Captain Kirk eulogizes Spock at the end of Wrath of Khan. I’m talking full on dabbing the eyes with a napkin crying. The only way I could accept it was to assume that the audience was full of guys that really love their grandparents and the Alzheimer storyline was the culprit.
A few weeks ago I needed some hand lotion. And every guy in my department at work had some on his desk. I can't live in a world were the men have softer hands than I do. If men are going to be soft to the touch what will we as women have to bargain with. Study after study comes out saying we're smarter and more of us are college educated so they don't get to have pretty pets on their arms. We make our own money so they can't take care of us like houseplants. And many a bisexual man has said the best naughty spank-spank time he ever had was with other dudes. Heck a few straight men will say that the one time they tippy-toed over the fence to try a Mojito and an episode of Grey's Anatomy that it was pretty great, so we can't even represent ourselves as wanton sex toys. If it continues like this the world is going to start to resemble a seventh grade dance. Boys on one side and girls on the other, except when it’s time to make babies.
My concern was only deepened by a talk with one of my two unattached female friends. We both just ended relationships that we were actually still enjoying, because the guys became clingy. In my case it started out pretty good. We were mutually physically attracted, had an amazing time talking to each other, and liked to do the same things. And right up front we were clear no one was falling in love. That we were missing that special something that makes the difference between love and being in love. So we weren't going to try to make it something it wasn't. Flash forward six months and he feels used. And he cried. And he doesn't understand why I don't love him. A generation ago he may have felt that way but he would have kept it to himself. And that's all I'm asking. I'm not asking for some kind of uber-butch Marlboro man. I think we can for the most part agree that Brokeback Mountain blew that iconography out of the water. I'm just looking for a little yin and yang. Contrasting but complimentary perspectives. And I know this is a tough line to walk. Because we could end up back in the days of Gender Jim Crow. Separate but equal. He gets to go out and cure cancer, you get to wipe baby butt and make the perfect mac and cheese. That's no good either. I guess all I'm saying is that the next time I'm crying at the movies I want to look over at my date with tears in my eyes and have him put his arm around me. I don't want him to collapse in sobs and put his head in my lap.
In the interest of clarifying my point allow me to offer a quiz that should clear up what I think is too sensitive. If you answer yes to two or more of these questions you're too sensitive to exist in my world.
1. Have you ever said to another person, "I feel like you're emotionally absent. Why are you withholding?"
2. Have you ever cried after sex because you were "so happy?"
3. Can you say, "Here comes the hug doctor to give you you're daily dose" and not feel like kicking your own ass?
4. Have you ever asked a naked woman, "Can we just cuddle?"
5. Do you think your wife or girlfriend would love you more if you had a better body and have made her reassure you that she finds you attractive?
6. Do you listen to Emo music?
7. Do you only play acoustic guitar?
8. Do you have a problem that you've traced back to it's childhood roots and feel comfortable talking about it while getting a blow job?
9. Are you currently stroking a cat or holding a baby that doesn't belong to you?
10. Do women who you are sleeping with think you're gay?
I'm going to take a potentially controversial stance and declare the sensitive male a failed experiment. I have been told by women twenty to sixty years older than me that once upon a time men were encouraged to be emotionally closed off and distant. That if you saw one cry you were somehow injuring his testicles, and if one hugged you, you were either a small child or on fire and they were patting out the flames on your back. I have no doubt that must have been terrible. To spend all your time ball and chained to someone with marginal interest in talking to you, who couldn't empathize. But in the 90's as if to prove there is a downside to everything, there began a movement in reaction to second and third wave feminism to make men more sensitive. We told them that it was okay to cry when they were sad and scared, and to not be afraid to show vulnerability. On the surface it seemed like a good idea. Once men could admit they were weak too, they wouldn't need to prevent women from feeling strong. But it's gone too far.
I don't want to hold a grown man while he cries. I don't want Emo music to exist. I refer to it as the music of the whiny middle-class white boy who's Daddy didn't hug him enough. I want to return to an age when men like George Clooney roamed the earth freely just like the noble buffalo. Men who admit they aren't the marriage and kids type and don't feel compelled to change it so they don't look self-involved and infantile. And should a man breed I don't want to hear him say, "We're having a baby". No you're not. Your wife/girlfriend/surrogate mother/teen babysitter is having a baby. You're going to a "father." Unless you are at all physically involved beyond crawling on top of her to deposit your DNA of dubious merit, you're not doing anything until the baby arrives. No uterus, no cheesy discussions of the miracle of life. That is my rule, break it at your own peril. I forgive the mother-to-be her flowery meanderings because she's hormonal,large, and vulnerable to predators. But dudes, Man up! If she wanted to have a baby with another chick, all it takes is $400 in sperm. Earn the right to hitch yourself to her woman wagon. Do something she can't or doesn't particularly want to do. But I'm sure she has the emotional sentimentality thing locked down.
Although I loved the Notebook it shouldn't have been as successful as it was. Men told other men to go see it. The first time I saw it in the theater there were as many men crying as women. I’m not talking a manly sniffle like at the end of Brian’s Song when it becomes obvious that Brian Piccolo isn’t going to make it, or the misting of the eyes when Captain Kirk eulogizes Spock at the end of Wrath of Khan. I’m talking full on dabbing the eyes with a napkin crying. The only way I could accept it was to assume that the audience was full of guys that really love their grandparents and the Alzheimer storyline was the culprit.
A few weeks ago I needed some hand lotion. And every guy in my department at work had some on his desk. I can't live in a world were the men have softer hands than I do. If men are going to be soft to the touch what will we as women have to bargain with. Study after study comes out saying we're smarter and more of us are college educated so they don't get to have pretty pets on their arms. We make our own money so they can't take care of us like houseplants. And many a bisexual man has said the best naughty spank-spank time he ever had was with other dudes. Heck a few straight men will say that the one time they tippy-toed over the fence to try a Mojito and an episode of Grey's Anatomy that it was pretty great, so we can't even represent ourselves as wanton sex toys. If it continues like this the world is going to start to resemble a seventh grade dance. Boys on one side and girls on the other, except when it’s time to make babies.
My concern was only deepened by a talk with one of my two unattached female friends. We both just ended relationships that we were actually still enjoying, because the guys became clingy. In my case it started out pretty good. We were mutually physically attracted, had an amazing time talking to each other, and liked to do the same things. And right up front we were clear no one was falling in love. That we were missing that special something that makes the difference between love and being in love. So we weren't going to try to make it something it wasn't. Flash forward six months and he feels used. And he cried. And he doesn't understand why I don't love him. A generation ago he may have felt that way but he would have kept it to himself. And that's all I'm asking. I'm not asking for some kind of uber-butch Marlboro man. I think we can for the most part agree that Brokeback Mountain blew that iconography out of the water. I'm just looking for a little yin and yang. Contrasting but complimentary perspectives. And I know this is a tough line to walk. Because we could end up back in the days of Gender Jim Crow. Separate but equal. He gets to go out and cure cancer, you get to wipe baby butt and make the perfect mac and cheese. That's no good either. I guess all I'm saying is that the next time I'm crying at the movies I want to look over at my date with tears in my eyes and have him put his arm around me. I don't want him to collapse in sobs and put his head in my lap.
In the interest of clarifying my point allow me to offer a quiz that should clear up what I think is too sensitive. If you answer yes to two or more of these questions you're too sensitive to exist in my world.
1. Have you ever said to another person, "I feel like you're emotionally absent. Why are you withholding?"
2. Have you ever cried after sex because you were "so happy?"
3. Can you say, "Here comes the hug doctor to give you you're daily dose" and not feel like kicking your own ass?
4. Have you ever asked a naked woman, "Can we just cuddle?"
5. Do you think your wife or girlfriend would love you more if you had a better body and have made her reassure you that she finds you attractive?
6. Do you listen to Emo music?
7. Do you only play acoustic guitar?
8. Do you have a problem that you've traced back to it's childhood roots and feel comfortable talking about it while getting a blow job?
9. Are you currently stroking a cat or holding a baby that doesn't belong to you?
10. Do women who you are sleeping with think you're gay?
Where’s Your God Now Moses?
There are two romantic comedy icons for women of my generation. Lloyd Dobbler from Say Anything and Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles. Although I do hate to put us gals in piles I have to. Just like there are points of contention that formed different Islamic factions, I think you can know where a woman stands and her attitude about love based on which of these two lads she preferred. Lloyd Dobbler acolytes were often too smart for the room, and wore flannel shirts between 1991 and 1993. They dated guys in bands. Or even guys who openly wrote poetry in high school. And they’re convinced that somewhere in the world there is a guy who won’t care that they’re complicated and damaged. And despite protestations to the contrary they want to be rescued and worshipped like a pagan goddess, and be considered too precious to walk around broken glass.
On the surface Lloyd was a good guy. He was cute, earnest, and very caring. But he was also extremely co-dependent. All he wanted was to be with his girlfriend, essentially all the time. He left his family and friends to go with her to London with no clear plans as to what he was going to do once he got there.Now I like to be appreciated as much as the next girl, but I also like my boyfriends to have something more going on in their lives than me. You know hobbies and interests, and maybe even an education and a job.
A smart woman would also be troubled by the fact that Lloyd had no close male relationships. His three best friends were girls. And none of them seemed even remotely interested in him. His social life consisted of being an eunuch and baby-sitter for a suicidal Alanis Morrisette wannabe and her entourage. His only male friends were troglodytic drinking buddies that not even he respected. Lloyd lived with his single working mother older sister. And it’s established early in the film that Lloyd’s father is some kind of alpha male Army officer that wants him to follow in his footsteps. His father had been dragging him around the world from base to base, and only let him come back to the states so that he could finish high school. And Daddy Dobbler didn’t make the trip for his son’s graduation. So Lloyd has some Daddy issues and consequently some male intimacy issues. Can a man know how to be a man with a woman, if he doesn’t know how to be a man with other men? I don’t think so.
Now bear with me I only have two more criticisms of Mr. Dobbler. First thing the stalking. There is a fine line between romance and menace. And I think standing outside my window playing the song that was on the radio when we lost our virginities to each other is on the crazy side. That kind of thing would make me feel like he couldn’t live without me and had no intention of letting me live without him. Like maybe he pleasures himself to the memory while he’s dressed in my clothes and carves my name into his chest with the pen I gave him when I broke up with him. Anybody else imagining him repeating over and over to himself, “I gave her my heart. And she gave me a pen” as he slowly carves each bloody letter? Okay that might just be me. But it’s dawn in the scene so either he’s been at it several hours, or he’s been up all night and he’s sleep deprived and consequently a little difficult to reason with,. I like my men to have a bowl of Capn’ Crunch and workout in the mornings, not come over to my house with a freaky bold gesture.
Lastly I feel like the lack of ambition and strong sense of self really need to be stressed. He tries to mend the relationship between Diane and her father and writes letters foisting complicated emotions onto a teenage girl essentially making her responsible for his entire happiness. Diane comes back to him in a moment of weakness because she needs someone to support her because her father is going to prison. And Lloyd asks her if she came back because she needs him, or because she needs someone. Before she can answer he says he doesn’t care. He just wants her so much he doesn’t care if he’s being used. Lloyd is sad. Lloyd is pathetic. Lloyd if he was a real person would be twice divorced by 40 and a constant source of embarrassment to his children. Lloyd should be no one’s ideal man.
But Jake Ryan shouldn’t be anyone’s ideal man either. I will concede that Michael Shoeffling who played him in Sixteen Candles was a well constructed, attractive man. But he wore fair isle sweater vests and rolled his jeans. For those of you over 35 or under 25, rolling the cuffs of your jeans if you were a guy was an early sign of what eventually became metrosexuality. It was fussy and not at all butch to be seen doing it. It was fey on par with a man today who brags about using moisturizer on his face. Lots of straight guys who were in many ways traditionally masculine did it, but none will admit it unless you have photographic proof. I have a friend who was a drug addict and thief for 20 years. He contracted HIV while frequenting prostitutes all over the world. And he has openly stated that not having ever rolled his jeans is an argument in favor of him being a solid citizen. So hopefully I have illustrated the prejudice leveled against men who rolled their jeans.
Putting fashion aside Jake Ryan also had very bad associations. His best friends were cheerleaders and jocks. Lots of wonderful and worthwhile people were cheerleaders or athletic growing up, but I find it unlikely that 1980’s film stereotype jocks and their succubus were quality people. Raise your hand if a jock or cheerleader made fun of you in high school. That’s all I’m saying.
Jake drove a shiny red Porsche. His dad had a gold Rolls Royce and he lived in a large stately home. So how is it possible that Jake isn’t so superficial that it’s unbelievable that he’d dump the most beautiful girl in school for some quirky sophomore with a flat chest? But that is part of the mythos of Jake. Now I’m hesitant to let you infer that I’m saying that a rich popular teenage boy would never have chosen a not particularly cute girl with a good personality. Because maybe it could happen. Maybe. I’m sure this is a failure of imagination on my part. But come on. Really? The basic implausibility of the premise of the movie isn’t the fault of fictional person Jake. Jake has his own flaws. Like the fact that he punched an inebriated Chinese foreign exchange student in a moment of homosexual panic. Earlier in the same evening he spoke candidly about taking advantage of his girlfriend who was passed out drunk in his bedroom. He actually used the word “violate." Since when is non-consensual sex okay even in the confines of a committed relationship? But obviously Jake didn’t really give a crap about his girlfriend Caroline because he trades her for a pair of another girl's underwear. In exchange for the underwear Farmer Ted the geek, got to drive her home. Jake gave him no explicit instructions to act like a gentleman. He left someone he presumably was dating in the care of a freshman without a driver’s license who had been drinking. But the capper is that he had a girlfriend and was shopping around to trade her in for a younger model. I feel like Charlton Heston in the Ten Commandments when Edward G. Robinson as pharaoh is taunting him, “Where’s your God now Moses?”. Where are my Gods now? I often look at myself and the women of my generation who surround me and I wonder “How did we get so fucked up”. It can’t have just been the single parent homes and the spiritually bankrupt culture of the 80’s and 90’s where religion was a dirty word. Something turned us into the fragmented, ineffectual, emotionally retarded people that we have to struggle not to be. I’m going to steal a page from the pundits and blame TV and movies. It’s all I’ve got.
On the surface Lloyd was a good guy. He was cute, earnest, and very caring. But he was also extremely co-dependent. All he wanted was to be with his girlfriend, essentially all the time. He left his family and friends to go with her to London with no clear plans as to what he was going to do once he got there.Now I like to be appreciated as much as the next girl, but I also like my boyfriends to have something more going on in their lives than me. You know hobbies and interests, and maybe even an education and a job.
A smart woman would also be troubled by the fact that Lloyd had no close male relationships. His three best friends were girls. And none of them seemed even remotely interested in him. His social life consisted of being an eunuch and baby-sitter for a suicidal Alanis Morrisette wannabe and her entourage. His only male friends were troglodytic drinking buddies that not even he respected. Lloyd lived with his single working mother older sister. And it’s established early in the film that Lloyd’s father is some kind of alpha male Army officer that wants him to follow in his footsteps. His father had been dragging him around the world from base to base, and only let him come back to the states so that he could finish high school. And Daddy Dobbler didn’t make the trip for his son’s graduation. So Lloyd has some Daddy issues and consequently some male intimacy issues. Can a man know how to be a man with a woman, if he doesn’t know how to be a man with other men? I don’t think so.
Now bear with me I only have two more criticisms of Mr. Dobbler. First thing the stalking. There is a fine line between romance and menace. And I think standing outside my window playing the song that was on the radio when we lost our virginities to each other is on the crazy side. That kind of thing would make me feel like he couldn’t live without me and had no intention of letting me live without him. Like maybe he pleasures himself to the memory while he’s dressed in my clothes and carves my name into his chest with the pen I gave him when I broke up with him. Anybody else imagining him repeating over and over to himself, “I gave her my heart. And she gave me a pen” as he slowly carves each bloody letter? Okay that might just be me. But it’s dawn in the scene so either he’s been at it several hours, or he’s been up all night and he’s sleep deprived and consequently a little difficult to reason with,. I like my men to have a bowl of Capn’ Crunch and workout in the mornings, not come over to my house with a freaky bold gesture.
Lastly I feel like the lack of ambition and strong sense of self really need to be stressed. He tries to mend the relationship between Diane and her father and writes letters foisting complicated emotions onto a teenage girl essentially making her responsible for his entire happiness. Diane comes back to him in a moment of weakness because she needs someone to support her because her father is going to prison. And Lloyd asks her if she came back because she needs him, or because she needs someone. Before she can answer he says he doesn’t care. He just wants her so much he doesn’t care if he’s being used. Lloyd is sad. Lloyd is pathetic. Lloyd if he was a real person would be twice divorced by 40 and a constant source of embarrassment to his children. Lloyd should be no one’s ideal man.
But Jake Ryan shouldn’t be anyone’s ideal man either. I will concede that Michael Shoeffling who played him in Sixteen Candles was a well constructed, attractive man. But he wore fair isle sweater vests and rolled his jeans. For those of you over 35 or under 25, rolling the cuffs of your jeans if you were a guy was an early sign of what eventually became metrosexuality. It was fussy and not at all butch to be seen doing it. It was fey on par with a man today who brags about using moisturizer on his face. Lots of straight guys who were in many ways traditionally masculine did it, but none will admit it unless you have photographic proof. I have a friend who was a drug addict and thief for 20 years. He contracted HIV while frequenting prostitutes all over the world. And he has openly stated that not having ever rolled his jeans is an argument in favor of him being a solid citizen. So hopefully I have illustrated the prejudice leveled against men who rolled their jeans.
Putting fashion aside Jake Ryan also had very bad associations. His best friends were cheerleaders and jocks. Lots of wonderful and worthwhile people were cheerleaders or athletic growing up, but I find it unlikely that 1980’s film stereotype jocks and their succubus were quality people. Raise your hand if a jock or cheerleader made fun of you in high school. That’s all I’m saying.
Jake drove a shiny red Porsche. His dad had a gold Rolls Royce and he lived in a large stately home. So how is it possible that Jake isn’t so superficial that it’s unbelievable that he’d dump the most beautiful girl in school for some quirky sophomore with a flat chest? But that is part of the mythos of Jake. Now I’m hesitant to let you infer that I’m saying that a rich popular teenage boy would never have chosen a not particularly cute girl with a good personality. Because maybe it could happen. Maybe. I’m sure this is a failure of imagination on my part. But come on. Really? The basic implausibility of the premise of the movie isn’t the fault of fictional person Jake. Jake has his own flaws. Like the fact that he punched an inebriated Chinese foreign exchange student in a moment of homosexual panic. Earlier in the same evening he spoke candidly about taking advantage of his girlfriend who was passed out drunk in his bedroom. He actually used the word “violate." Since when is non-consensual sex okay even in the confines of a committed relationship? But obviously Jake didn’t really give a crap about his girlfriend Caroline because he trades her for a pair of another girl's underwear. In exchange for the underwear Farmer Ted the geek, got to drive her home. Jake gave him no explicit instructions to act like a gentleman. He left someone he presumably was dating in the care of a freshman without a driver’s license who had been drinking. But the capper is that he had a girlfriend and was shopping around to trade her in for a younger model. I feel like Charlton Heston in the Ten Commandments when Edward G. Robinson as pharaoh is taunting him, “Where’s your God now Moses?”. Where are my Gods now? I often look at myself and the women of my generation who surround me and I wonder “How did we get so fucked up”. It can’t have just been the single parent homes and the spiritually bankrupt culture of the 80’s and 90’s where religion was a dirty word. Something turned us into the fragmented, ineffectual, emotionally retarded people that we have to struggle not to be. I’m going to steal a page from the pundits and blame TV and movies. It’s all I’ve got.
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