Category: Editorials

Of late, there have been several newspaper articles (here’s the latest) about men who have received emotional, psychological and vindictive drubbings from their former wives. (See also here and here) Now before I get off on the wrong foot, (and by the title of this article, I may have already done so) I am not saying that all disgruntled, separated and divorced women do this kind of thing. We all know that in matters of the loin and heart, there is plenty of crazy to go around for both sexes, especially when children are involved. This article simply acknowledges the fact that a small fraction (teeny! tiny!!) of women has a vindictive streak when it comes to exes, and so proposes to help men identify and avoid these women altogether.

Let’s be fair, there is justifiably a small library of books written in the same vein, advising women on which ‘psycho cues’ to beware of when selecting a mate. When in Doubt, Check Him Out: A Woman’s Survival Guide by Joseph Culligan, immediately springs to mind. So, the following is simply one humble, male-oriented article in a sea of female-oriented books advising men on how to steer clear of the slightly insane. Men, take heed of these behavioural cues, if you ever want to avoid hearing the words “Daddy, what’s a douche-bag?”

1. Likes to throw things. To be a little more specific, likes to through things at you. Hard. And we’re not talking Teddy Ruxbin or her favourite tea-cozy, we’re talking small appliances and ceramics. A lot of men dream about fiery-tempered dish throwers, but trust me guys, when she’s in mid swing, the last thing she’s thinking about is sexy-time. And if she is willing to cave your skull in with a toaster over tracking mud into the apartment, imagine what she’s going to be like after a few huddles with a divorce lawyer.

2. Dresses hot for you, the waiter, the mailman, and everyone on the Yonge 97. It’s one thing to dress attractively your partner, but when the girl you’re dating is sporting gargantuan coin slot to match her gargantuan cleavage, and you are on a Sunday visit to see gramma, your potential future wife may be suffering from unaddressed attention issues. This might be a cute quirk right now, but there’s a good chance your girl might be heading down the path to Cougarville, where there are smirking pool boys and spanish-tongued gardeners a plenty.

3. Want…HUSBAND NOW!!! Marriage is the be-all and end-all to someone like this. To her, you are Prince Charming, ready to carry her away happily ever after on your white stallion. Now, as flattering as this may be, it also puts you in the awkward position of bearing all her hopes and dreams. If the marriage works out, wonderful. If, however, things start to fall apart, you will quickly learn what it’s like to be the village shaman a week or so after the crops fail.

4. Give us this day our daily break-up. Every couple has their rough patches, their little breakups and make-ups, but if the breakup is becoming part of your daily routine, just after morning coffee, and the result of God-knows-what-you-did today, watch out. Some people just can’t live without a daily dose of hysteria, and this is a preview to what your married life will be like – except when you married, the breakup will involve you paying $50,000 for the novelty of having your butt handed to you by an attorney.

5. Detests animals. I’ve always been wary of those fortysomething people who smoke like chimneys and drive around on those little scooters. I’ve always been wary of men who tuck in their sweaters. And I’ve always been wary of women who hate animals. I can’t put my finger on it, but when I engage in conversation with any of these people, I treat them as if they are little crazy. You know, the way you do whenever that guy at the corner with the tinfoil on his head tells you about the microchip in his brain. For the women who hate animals, I always get the sense that they see the natural world as full of filthy, useless, chaos-bringing life forms who should be all be very appreciative they are allowed even to exist. This frightens me. Just how long would it take for a slightly disgruntled, soon-to-be ex-wife to associate her middle-aged and slightly balding husband with a faeces-throwing Chimp? My guess is, if she is looking across at him in divorce court, not very long at all.

Hope this helps.

As soon as I saw the headline, I knew there was no turning away. The truth is, Canada, America isn’t into you, by Washington-based author Eric Weiner. I know, I know, I should have stayed away, but as a Canadian, the masochist in me forced me to the read the tongue-in-cheek editorial.

As it turns out, the article is nothing new. Every once in a while Canadian newspapers deliberately run such articles because their editors are cruelly aware it will turn a Canadian’s head quicker than a school girl hearing her name in a cafeteria.

Eric Weiner pushes all the right buttons. On the eve of Obama’s visit, just as Canadians are getting ourselves all ready and excited, America gives Canada the brush-off. “We’re just not that into you,” he writes. He then goes on to address the reasons for the ‘break-up,’ which turns out to be a list of stereotypes: Canadians are too nice, too self-effacing, too agreeable and simply too boring to hold any interest for a long-term relationship. “What can I say, Canada?” he states. “Our amusement threshold is very high.” The last line of the article has probably sent thousands of readers scrambling for emotional validation “Hey, let’s do coffee sometime. We’ll call you.” Oh, the exquisite agony!

I want to break here by saying that Weiner, in this satirical article, also chastises himself (America) for being selfish, self-absorbed and quite blundering with parts of the world that does hold its interest. “We were very much into Iraq (still are) and look how that turned out.” As a whole, the article is balanced. While it pokes fun at Canadian stereotypes, it addresses many of America’s harsh realities.

But still, why aren’t they interested in us? Why not!?

Even before I finish reading the article, I do what I always do in such situations: make a mental list of all the major Canadian contributions to the world – the telephone, penicillin, the zipper, and so on. This list inevitably winds its way to our gifts to Hollywood: Mike Myers, and John Candy, which it shouldn’t. I think of Stuart Smalley’s mantra: I’m good enough, I’m smart enough…and feel only slightly better about myself afterwards. Then I think, “just try and accept myself as I am.” One of the commentators on the article feels the same way: “I am happy to live in a boring country. It’s relatively safe clean and prosperous. Isn’t that what most humans desire?”

But is that really it? Simply admitting that we are the duller, more bookish and responsible sister of the US? I’ve travelled and seen much of the US, and I know for a fact that it’s not the daily circus people like to think it is. Anyone who has been to middle America should know that. Americans have their boring day jobs as well. We all laugh at Borat when he falls under Pamela Andersons spell, but are we all victims of the same witchcraft? Despite our proximity and knowledge of our neighbours to the south, are we, like Borat, mesmerized by their media?

I may be onto something because even now, despite the fact that I have little respect for her, I feel compelled to remind everyone that Pamela Anderson is Canadian. For crying out loud, I read literature, keep up on world events, listen to classical music and write poetry, and although Pamela Anderson has contributed nothing to what I hold dear, I feel pride in the fact that a fellow Canadian has “made it” in the eyes of millions of Americans who adore her breasts.

The fact of the matter is that the whole thing is so high school, which makes me feel even worse about this insecurity. Americans, even during the Bush years, have always been the most popular kids in school, and although we know that he is a shallow jock, and she is a brainless bimbo, we can’t help but be all a-twitter when they give us the slightest bit of attention. We harbour hateful feelings towards them, but if they ask us for help with their calculus, we’ll clear our schedule; if they invite us to a party, we’re there early, helping to set up the kegs.

It’s been years, we’ve come to know Americans better than anyone else, and we should be over this by now. As another commentator put it: “Any nation that worries about what another nation thinks of it doesn’t have enough to worry about.” We can take two things from that comment. Firstly, it’s true: we need to get a life; but, secondly, if that’s the largest of our problems, then worrying about what other people think isn’t such a bad thing.

“Bromance” is a combination of the words “brother” and “romance”. It’s a close, personal but platonic relationship between two males. And according to Wikipedia, bromance is a relatively recent occurrence:

Research into friendship and masculinity has found that recent generations of men, raised by feminist mothers in the 1970s, are more emotionally open and more expressive. There is also less concern among men at the notion of being identified as gay and so men are more comfortable exploring deeper friendships with other men.

Preposterous. Men have been playing pool, poker, pick-up soccer, and shinny together for generations. Not to mention ice fishing, and other age-old, male-oriented social settings like the sweat-lodge and town saloon. We’ve been busy socializing with each other for much longer than women have (when we’re not at war). And today’s men are no more emotionally expressive with each other then they were 50 or 100 or 1000 years ago. While our modes of socializing have become less violent, on the whole, we haven’t change much.

Why not? Because in the relationship between two average straight guys, sex isn’t an issue. Sex, and the availability of it, is the only thing that changes men’s behaviour. It is true that in the West, men’s attitudes towards women have changed, but that is simply because what women find attractive in a man has changed.

I challenge you. Go eavesdrop on your average male gathering this weekend, come back and tell me if the men there were being “emotionally expressive” around the poker table or football game. What you’ll find there, is what has always been: a lot of chest-beating, back-slapping and bravado.

And what of the one-on-one relationship between two close straight males? Well, take myself for instance. I read and write poetry and often think of myself as sensitive. But when I’m around a close male friend, 99.99% percent of the conversation is on topics other than feelings or emotions. Only in extreme circumstances, like a personal crisis do these topics arise and are dealt with directly. Most of the time, our feelings and emotions are conveyed through other topics such as work, jokes or objects such as a pool table or table saw. Why do straight men need a third object, such as a nice car or a new power tool through which to communicate? Because sex isn’t an option. Sex has, is, and always will be the most important object, or objective (pardon the pun).

So, if men really haven’t changed much, why has the concept of the “bromance” arisen? Well, while it’s true that men are settling down and/or getting married later, women are doing the same, and therefore having children later. In the interim, the affection that would normally go towards a cute little child, is being directed at the male. And now, every time a husband or boyfriend laughs with one of his friends: “Oh, that’s so cute!” (This also may explain why Youtube is awash with puppy videos).

If you’re having trouble believing this, ask yourself: Do you really think the women out there with two or three kids are concerned – or even have time to care about – the emotional levels in their boyfriends’ or husbands’ friendships? I can guarantee that the idea of “bromance” wasn’t thought up by a mother of two.

I guess what I find annoying about this faux-phenomenon, this result of misdirected affection, is its invasiveness. I feel as though I’m being observed in my natural habitat. And the worst thing about it is it’s a fascination which is temporary as it is shallow. Despite what they claim, women don’t really want men to be all that sensitive. I once asked my wife if she’d be attracted to me if I cried in front of her a lot, to which she replied “definitely not”. When I asked how many times would be an acceptable amount of crying (I haven’t yet), she said two.

The term “bromance” was first coined in 1990 by editor, freelance writer and skater Dave Carnie. At the time, it was meant to describe the bond between that can develop between skaters. Now, I’m no skater, but if Dave Carnie’s lifestyle was anything like mine the early nineties, it’s very likely whatever feelings he had for his “bro’s” got a little boost from odd joint and shot of Jagermeister. In essence, the age-old common occurrence of drunk and stoned males hugging, slapping each other on the backs and yelling “I love you man!” has been put through the pop-culture meat grinder. Now you’re “out of the loop” if you don’t know the term. And we have TV shows like Bromance, and a global fascination with pairs of public male figures who spend any amount of time together (Affleck and Damon, Provincial Premiers Dalton McGuinty and Jean Charest). Worst of all, I can’t even meet up with a guy for a drink without it being called a man-date.

But I digress. Perhaps “bromance” is simply a sign that it’s man’s turn at being under the microscope. Women have been at the whim of men’s curiosity for thousands of years. They’ve been the subject of our gaze since time began. So it’s probably about time that the lenses were turned upon our hairy little forms.

This is not one of those bitter, sour grapes, woe-is-the single-me, anti-Valentine rants that peppers the blogosphere this time of year. I am a happily married man who just simply doesn’t understand all the fuss. My attitude towards Valentine’s Day is ambivalent at best. And YES, my wife really feels the same way. I checked. Today for instance, there will be no night at the opera, no candlelight dinner at Luigi’s, no stroll through the park where I will buy a rose from a rose-seller and offer it to her between my teeth. At the very most, we will walk down to The Nutty Chocolatier where I will watch patiently as Lisa nibbles at pieces of Lindt. And then we’ll cap the night off by cooking dinner and watching an episode of Battlestar Galactica (something she had no interest in at all, until the Sylon got pregnant). With the exception of the chocolate, this is pretty much what we do on a daily and weekly basis: dinner and TV and long walks together. (Sunday brunches too, Lisa wanted me to add this).

The seven years I have been with her, our relationship to me has been similar to the mindset we have when we travel together: lost in our own little world, and forced, when necessity demands, to search the local newspaper stands for the date. We’ve never been good at setting our relationship to any particular calendar.

Ok. The singles right now are thinking I am just being plain smug, and the married folks with kids are probably thinking I am being naive. Just wait until you have children! I can hear them say. But it’s really not that complicated or time consuming. Kallen Kitty sang about it more than fifty years ago:

Blow me a kiss from across the room
Say I look nice when I’m not
Touch my hair as you pass my chair
Little things mean a lot.

Not that I want my wife to touch my hair or blow me a kiss, but you get the idea. As cheesy as the lyrics sound, a little something every day is simpler than haggling with a babysitter and waiting in long line-ups for roses and pasta on one night a year.

The problem is we’ve been trained. Christmas is a time we set aside to be generous with our wealth and goodwill, and Valentine’s is a day designated for us to be generous with our love and affection. The first outcome to this is that most of us use these holidays as ways of making up for the all the chances we missed to treat each other well. The second outcome is, as a result, we will spend the rest of the year catching up with our visa bills.

Christian holidays are a blend of ancient ones. Elements of Valentine ’s Day had their origins in a Greco-Roman February holiday called Lupercalia. During this festival young men would run around the city (naked, some believe) whipping people with strips of goat skin. The act was said to perform two functions: to ward off evil and to increase the fertility of those struck. I don’t think you can get any less subtle.

These dutiful and pragmatic holidays seem to be the reverse of the celebratory and romantic ones we have today. And perhaps this is where the problem lies. We’ve condensed all the fun into selected days of the year. What we need instead is a return to more perfunctory holiday festivities. Never mind the lovey-dub and good cheer, on Christmas we’d simply burn a tree or something to ensure that the days start getting longer, and on Valentines, well, we’d give each other a slap on the back and try and make babies.

Perhaps by setting aside days in the calendar to be dutiful and pragmatic, the fun and good feelings would spread through the rest of the days of the year. I might be wrong, but as usual, I highly doubt it.