I often sit here at my keyboard, sometimes for hours on end, wondering…
Wondering what. Where time goes when it leaves the moment I just occupied? Hells no! Well, honestly, what, pray-tell do I wonder and wander about.
World peace? Naw, too politically charged. World hunger? Nope, just makes me want to raid the fridge.
Honestly, I have no reply, no answer, no explanation. But, in saying this, I must also admit, to you, friends, that I do have fragments of the strangest swill enter my thoughts, then cast out into the abyss, alone, and without a second glance. And yes, that sentence is so badly structured, I will find myself beaten with a mallet. But I digress. Well, back to stranger than fiction, Tazzy style.
I do, as some (most) men do. I visit “questionable” websites, looking for something fun, something new, something exciting and different. Where I inevitably end up is not fit for print. I’m a male, shoot me. We’d be running around in garbage bags and living on pizza and hamburgers if it wasn’t for civilization frowning upon such joyful abandon. Even the “refined’ of the species has this set of lowered reasoning going on, someplace deep and unfathomable within. Well, with that little nugget of nonsense out-of-the-way, I found myself perusing the joys of XTube, and one of those little fragments suddenly entered my mind. But, for a change, I seized the little mother and gave it some airtime.
What I wonder is….why do we men feel this need to “announce” when “that particular moment of joy” has arrived. I’m being very careful with my words here, as ladies sometimes stop by to read, and I don’t want any feathers ruffled, or sensibilities offended.
I sat there, and clip after clip played, and outside of the clips that either did not “complete” or were silent, there was not a single one seen that didn’t tell the world what he was about to do. And, as if that wasn’t odd enough, each one of them did it with such passion, such conviction, such pride and certainty that you honestly thought he had come up with the cure for world hunger-peace…take your pick.
It was then I started laughing…hysterically.
OK, boys develop into good little boy scouts in most homes. We all pretty much get to rub two sticks together. Well, as it turns out, it’s a primer for our later years, because we inevitably end up practising the art-form on just one stick. It is as if it almost becomes the centre of our universe. Without being able to check where it is, how it is, why it is or isn’t almost consumes a part of our lives, almost daily, for years, it would seem.
I somehow don’t think Emily Post would approve.
And the media seems to understand this. That, I think, is why there are so many coming of age “classics” being released, year after bloody year. It’s a conspiracy, I swear.
From the album cover “Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass ‘s “Whip Cream and Other Delights”, to Porky’s, American Pie, Transformers, Baywatch, 20 Minute Workout, I could go on and on, there is a constant stream of “stick flix” to tantalize and titillate what’s left of the male mind, the part that isn’t absolutely consumed with “Johnson’s will.” If a guy isn’t thinking about it, these offerings certainly switch that about.
Of course, there are the asexual and type A personalities. These types tend to focus on anything but…um, yeah. They funnelled all that energy into other pursuits. Good for you. Now, be sure to tip the hooker on the way out.
In short, for a period of our lives, whether we act upon it, or admit it, we guys are completely obsessed with it, and what it can do.
But…there is light at the end of the tunnel. It’s called “middle age”.
You see guys, we all hit this roadblock. No one escapes it. Some get hyper-paranoid about its lack of attention, and go AWOL. Suddenly, wives find themselves shed, right along with common sense. That twenty year old with a boil on her neck loves you for you. She’s just ga-ga about your “just for men” youth formula, comb-over and hip, happening clothes. Some of us might buy a convertible, and treat it as our “playground extension”. Like young boys ricing up a Honda Civic, middle-aged coots think their rides are the greatest chick magnet. What they fail to realize is that any girl who would be impressed enough to jump on board your “love machine” will usually leave you with more of an itch to scratch than you bargained for. That, or you may find yourself in need of a bottle of penicillin or two. Then, there are the guys that take a good, long, in-depth look at themselves, and decide that self-improvement is the key to happiness. I’m one of these guys. We go and strive to pull our boot straps up, search new frontiers that previously hadn’t occurred to us, what have you. And suddenly that obsession that took hold all those years ago doesn’t have the pull it once did.
Well…that’s debatable. If I’m so bloody evolved, why do I find myself staring at the cast of “Caligula” online. I have no answer, no rebuttal, no defence. I can only go on record as stating that I’m male. So roll your eyes and shake your heads. We defy description at times.
So…in closing, I’m born with one. I live with one, and I’ll die with one, God willing. And with that in mind, if I’m fortunate enough, I’ll be staring at my keyboard, wondering about what I’m wondering about, while perusing things in the wonderful land of Aaahs, not noticing I’m taking my last breath, as my evolved mind is otherwise occupied, someplace south of the Equator.