Category: Editorials

Here it is. After all the misguided guesses of women’s magazines, after all the insecure, and often homo-erotic posturing of those guys-only websites and male-oriented TV programs like the “The Guy Show,” and especially after all the hot air of Oprah Winfrey puppet, Dr. Phil (how anyone can sincerely take the advice of a man who sounds just like Hank from “King of the Hill,” God only knows) here are the top five things that men want from woman. Take notes, because these five things were carefully selected from many others, by a group of 4 twenty- something men who, through a stringent process of deliberation, celebration and eventual inebriation, came to a consensus at Future?s Bakery, just before closing time.

5. An absence of drama.

This would have been the #1 want, but since it is something that is next to impossible to get, it was moved to last place. It was kept on the list because, despite the futility of wanting it, there will always be hope. To be able to sit in silence, in a room and watch TV or read, for an extended period of time without having “the talk,” or without her worrying if her man is angry, will always be one of men?s most distant dreams.

Men are simple creatures, with the ability to sit with their friends, hour after peaceful, un-analyzing hour, and not say or do a heck of a lot. With women it?s a different story. Anywhere and everywhere is a potential for a little drama. That men fail to see and exploit all this drama lying uselessly about, is often the cause of much frustration in women. It?s my belief that deep in the heart of every woman, no matter how progressive and liberal minded, is a secret desire to stand on the edge of a high cliff, overlooking a storm-swept ocean, wearing a flowing Victorian dress, her long hair flowing in the wind as she contemplates casting herself, in an ever so gothic fashion, onto the rocks below.

This desire for drama can leave men sleep-deprived from too many 3:00 am emergency conversations, and completely shell-shocked from too many loaded questions. The lack of it would probably raise our life expectancy to that of our female counterparts.

4. A cute butt.

Not their own butt. Their girlfriend?s/wife?s butt.
This is not to say that a woman should have what fashion magazines define as a cute bum, but what the individual man defines as cute. There are many different guys out there so there are many different tastes.

For fear of becoming too crass, I won’t dwell on this topic long, but I will say this:

With the advent of low-rise jeans and growing popularity of g-strings, women’s so-called fashion superiority to men is being called into question. When they are worn properly, they have sex appeal. But when worn incorrectly, which is often the case, they are definitely not sexy. They lose all subtlety, and low-rise jeans then become a $100 excuse to have plumber?s butt and g-strings, especially when they are worn with low-rise jeans, winched up high above the hips, they say only one thing: I?m into wedgies.

3. Back scratches

Again, men are simple creatures. We have very simple needs. Having our back scratched is a pastime for men. Some have moved on to more advanced techniques like the message, but back scratching is where it all began. It is a simple, convenient and energy-efficient way to give your man affection, requiring something as easy as a hand up the back of the shirt. It is good to do it on a regular basis, but woman can also save it for a reward.

2. Sex

With women, it?s all about attention, when a where they can get it. With men, it?s all about sex, when and where they can get it. As Billy Crystal said, women need a reason for sex, men need just a place.

I think men have been given a bad rap because of their obsession with it. Those who dwell on it are labeled as shallow and obnoxious. Suggesting it to a woman, let?s say in a bar, is almost always taken as an affront. However, once in a healthy relationship, this affront quickly becomes something therapeutic, almost medicinal for the very same women. This change in their perception of sex has always left me stumped. One minute sex is a cheap insult, the next it?s a saving grace.

Poor men. To assume women want it is to be sexist. To assume they don?t want it is to be oblivious and insensitive to their needs.

All in all, I can?t see what the problem is. Sex is good. Sex involves cooperation and teamwork. Sex, if done properly, is satisfying for all parties involved. Sex is something you can feel. In other words, it?s real.

What?s attention? Can you touch it? Can you see it? No. Does it satisfy all parties involved? No, it satisfies only the object. While sex is a two-way street, attention is always one. In fact attention never fully satisfies because women can never get enough of it. Attention isn?t real.

I think that a woman is shallower for chasing a self-serving illusion than a man is for chasing a mutually beneficial act. My advice to single women is not to be shallow and go for sex.

It?s the second most important thing to men. Sex with someone they are in love with is preferable. With a complete stranger? Well, that’s all right too.

1. Sense of humour

I used to have a friend who had a thing for Asian women. These relationships were, for the most part, were passionate but short-lived. The problem was not a cultural thing, but a language thing. He kept on having to explain his jokes, and she hers. One could say that only if they put a little more effort into it, the relationship would have worked. But then, what happens to a joke when it is over explained? Like the joke, I guess they both looked at each other and said: ah, forget it!

For guys, being able to make you laugh, and you being able to make them laugh, is the most important thing. A person’s sense of humour encompasses and pervades much about themselves: intellect, knowledge, wit, tastes. To have the same sense of humour with a person means that you can not only understand and care for a person, but most importantly you can “get” them. And when you get a person, you can love them. And love is what it?s all about, right?

I hope this puts the record straight.

don’t come round but if you do…

yeah sure, I’ll be in unless I’m out

don’t knock if the lights are out

or you hear voices or then

I might be reading Proust

if someone slips Proust under my door

or one of his bones for my stew,

This is not an apology for those I’ve been ignoring. This is only an attempt at an explanation. I’m not sure if it’s my age that causing my circle of friends to get smaller and smaller, but steadily, over the last number of years, the number of people who call me, and the number of people who I want to call has shrunk. It’s only at moments like these, moments when I am able to come up for air, or moments when I lose another friend, that I realize how isolated I’ve become. The problem is not that I am running out of friends, the problem is that I’m not really bothered by it. I am startled by my lack of feeling on the matter. Lately, with the exception of Lisa, my parents, and one or two others, I’ve had no need to call, or to receive calls from anyone.

and I can’t loan money or

the phone

or what’s left of my car

though you can have yesterday’s newspaper

an old shirt or a bologna sandwich

or sleep on the couch

if you don’t scream at night

and you can talk about yourself

that’s only normal;

hard times are upon us all

Maybe it is my age that I am not calling you anymore. Maybe it’s that I’m not the person you want me to be any longer. Every time you call I can feel you baiting me with the same old stories, the same old inside jokes. I’ve tried, believe me, to play the person you need under those knowing looks of yours. It’s just not me anymore.

only I am not trying to raise a family

to send through Harvard

or buy hunting land,

I am not aiming high

I am only trying to keep myself alive

just a little longer,

so if you sometimes knock

and I don’t answer

and there isn’t a woman in here

maybe I have broken my jaw

and am looking for wire

or I am chasing the butterflies in

my wallpaper,

It could be my work. I spend five hours a day talking to class of level three immigrants, trying to help them understand me. And when I get home, I have no more words left. I don’t want to speak. I don’t want to listen. I get your message, but all I want to do is sit and write or watch TV.

I mean if I don’t answer

I don’t answer, and the reason is

that I am not yet ready to kill you

or love you, or even accept you,

it means I don’t want to talk

I am busy, I am mad, I am glad

or maybe I’m stringing up a rope;

so even if the lights are on

and you hear sound

like breathing or praying or singing

a radio or the roll of dice

or typing –

Do you really need to talk to someone this badly? What do you get out of it? What’s wrong with simply being alone? Why do you always need to have someone around, another presence in the room with you, another voice on the phone to hear you breathe?

go away, it is not the day

the night, the hour;

it is not the ignorance of impoliteness,

I wish to hurt nothing, not even a bug

but sometimes I gather evidence of a kind

that takes some sorting,

and your blue eyes, be they blue

and your hair, if you have some

or your mind – they cannot enter

until the rope is cut or knotted

or until I have shaven into

new mirrors, until the world is

stopped or opened

forever.

I’m not sure what it is. It could be apathy or agoraphobia. You might think I am selfish, but I help the world in my own way. With my teaching, I help people get accustomed to a new life and a new country. With this website, I help artists around the country and world get acquainted.

Because I don’t wish to speak to you means nothing. What does talk beget but only more talk. You only want to hear your own voice to justify your own anguish. Clime a mountain, walk on the moon, sail the world, or watch Oprah.

But please, tonight, like every other night, there is something in the silence that can solve me. There is something in the emptiness that I find soothing. So please, for now, just let me be.

Rocco de Giacomo

The poem used in this article is “don’t come around but if you do…” by Charles Bukowski

Once upon a time, I saw some poetry that I really liked. So, I emailed the poet – lets call him MELVIN – and asked him if he would like to be a feature on Latchkey.net. MELVIN was more than happy to, as you can see from his reply.

Rocco,

“….honor!…”

“…….love to….”

MELVIN.

If you are wondering why I am only giving you fragments of his email, you’ll understand at the end of this article. Anyway, we at Latchkey went ahead and posted his work on our site. However, as an oversight on my part, we not only published some of the poems he sent us, but also pieces that he had on his website. It was an oversight – please understand. In the past we have been encouraged by other artists to copy works from their sites when we feature them. I didn’t think it was such a big deal, considering our site doesn’t make any money or profit from featuring whom we select. MELVIN, however, was bothered by it.

Rocco,

“….thankful…..”

“…..not too keen……”

“….lifting works……”

“…..other places….”

“…..permission….”

“…….laws against that…”

MELVIN.

Now, I could have simply removed the poems that MELVIN told us to remove, and been done with it, but I was annoyed with MELVIN’S response. Technically, I understand now, it was infringement. But along with these poems, we posted:

-a photo of him

-a link to his site

-a brief description of his art, written by him, for this particular feature

-a rather complementary write-up on his work written by yours truly

Considering this, what I did wasn’t exactly what you would call stealing, but that is what he was accusing me of. I was beginning to believe that MELVIN was a bit of a twit.

MELVIN,

Sorry it has taking me so long to get back to you, I have been very busy of late and have had little time to do any emailing. I would like to apologize for taking some of your other pieces without permission. Thank you for letting us at Latchkey.net know about the rules and laws of the Internet. I am very relieved that you informed us about our trespassing. Especially since we were just about to make some minor alterations to your featured pieces. Believe me, I loved all of your pieces, but as a collective we felt that we could enhance some or all of them by giving them more of a slant, or a dialect, so to speak.

We decided that your pieces would benefit being translated into “Jive” talk. Working hard, and researching a great deal of Ebonics, we have translated one of my favourite piece of yours,

[Actually, what I did here was run the poem through The Dialectizer, an online program that takes normal text and alters it to give the text a selected dialect. For example the previous sentence, run through The Dialectizer, would come out looking something like this:

“Acshully, whut ah did hyar was helter-skelter th’ poem through Th’ Dialeckizer, an online program thet takes no’mal text an’ alters it an’ gives th’ text a selecked dialeck.”

Pretty neat, huh? The link is http://rinkworks.com/dialect.

Back to my reply to MELVIN.]

Wow, huh?

I bet you see your poem in a whole new light. We’d love to feature all your poems like this, but of course, as you say, there are laws against doing such things without a person’s permission. So we’d like to ask for your permission to go a ahead and do this

Thanks kindly,

Rocco de Giacomo

My response was both to inform MELVIN that his pieces had been removed from the site, and to subtly suggest he loosen up a little.

MELVIN did not take my response kindly.

Rocco,

“…ripped from…”

“….pissed off…”

“….bait me….”

“…..remove…..”

…MELVIN.

He ordered me to remove his entire feature from Latchkey.net. This is where things got a little more involved. MELVIN was not used to being joked with, and I am not used to taking orders.

MELVIN,

The chances of us doing anything more together ended as soon as you sent that curt, rather unappreciative email. To imply that I am a thief after a month long exchange of emails and hours of preparation by Lisa and myself was insulting. But I will forgo you for your exceptional writing. In regards to removing your writing from my site, we’ll decide at the end of the month,

Thanks kindly

Rocco de Giacomo

I figured that since he had given us permission to post his remaining poems, he couldn’t take it back.

MELVIN figured differently.

Rocco,

“….blunt….”

“…….thief…..”

“….copyright……”

“…….without permission…..”

“….until midnight…..”

“…remove……”

“…….copyright violation……”

“….the RCMP…..”

MELVIN.

Yes, MELVIN, threatened to get the RCMP after me. Does the RCMP have a Poetry department? I wonder if instead of those broad hats, and snug red blazers, they wear little berets and long wind-blown scarves. Anyway, as much as MELVIN was angered by my refusal to remove his poetry, I was angered at his reiteration that I was a thief, and his threat to involve the Poetry Police.

You believe that the RCMP are going to come after me over some poems. Let alone poems that you gave me permission to publish.

Hello in there MELVIN, what colour is the sky in your little world?

You can sue me if you want. Fill out this form:

MELVIN hereby sues Rocco de Giacomo for the following:

1. Emotional pain

2. Creative pain

3. Lower back pain

4. Singing in the rain

5. Johnny Coltraine

6. Rogaine.

7. Blaming it on the Rain.

Total pending: __

Or even better, you can write Latchkey.net on a paper cup, fill in with hot coffee, then pour it on your crotch.

Once you do this, contact me and I will send you a cheque. We have proof of your permission.

We will keep your photo, the poems you gave us, and my rather beautiful write up on you, until the end of the month. I will then make a decision whether to keep you on our site.

Thanks kindly,

Rocco de Giacomo

I was convinced I was right. In a regular magazine or newspaper, once a piece is published, the author can’t change his mind and have all magazines and newspapers recalled. The Internet should have the same kind of laws, right? I was determined to keep MELVIN’S work until the end of the month. He was a twit and he called me a thief. End of story.

Well, almost. While MELVIN and I were busy exchanging compliments, Lisa, resourceful, intelligent Lisa was researching the Internet for Copyright laws. While it is not clear on whether MELVIN did in fact have the right to recall his poems from my site, Lisa thought it would be safer to remove his work, even though he had originally given us permission to post them. So while I was in the midst of anticipating MELVIN’S next move, and relishing my own response, Lisa was removing his poems, photograph, bio, and write-up from Latchkey.

As much as I disapproved, she was right.

During the little ordeal, I was beginning to forget the real reasons for us making this website together. We made it for ourselves and for the world community of artists to enjoy.

We haven’t heard back from MELVIN yet, and for all we know, he’s already hiring a lawyer. I regret getting caught up in pettiness, and in the future I will need to show more patience if I want this to work.

I will say this:

MELVIN, if you are out there, you were right.

But you are still a twit.

It comes down to a matter of architecture.

I had not been to the States in about two or three years, and even then it was on the blind movement of a Greyhound bus, where I was unable to see much except for the taillights of passing cars and the

halogen halo’s of overhead street lights. It had be a long, long time since I had driven down in a car. It had been an even longer time since I can remember taking the side roads instead of the interstates.

My girlfriend and I were driving down to visit some of my relatives in Rhode Island and at the last minute we decided to get off the New York Thruway and take the minor roots. It was our second day of

driving. On our first day, we had been stalled up in Canada by a flat tire. So up until the morning of the second, our trip through the states had been at night. It was on that bright an clear morning, driving out of Schenectady, New York, that we had both begun to notice the difference in the architecture.

In Canada, especially in Southern Ontario, there is a general pattern of movement. People come here; they move to the cities and rent a house or an apartment. They save money, and when they have enough, they put a down payment on a house of their own. They live there for a while, usually in a neighbourhood of a similar ethnic background. They raise a family, and then, either they, or their children, sell the house and move further out of the city, usually into an area with a similar ethnic background. This time however, they don’t move into the house on the property they just bought. They instead tear down the house and build a new one.

This is where the major difference is. In the States, from my travels and experiences there, when someone moves out from a city and onto a property where they want to settle, they do not usually demolish the house that is already there. They renovate it, they add to it, they change the colour, and perhaps the trim, but they do not usually tear it down. When they want to start a business, they don’t turn their 4-story, 200 year old Georgian into a parking lot. They simply they make minor adjustments to the interior and hang a sign out front.

What does this difference have to with Canada’s survival as a country?

Everything. Americans keeping the old houses and buildings, and consciously or not, it gives them a sense of continuity, a connection to the past. You can feel it when you walk down the close streets of New York’s little Italy, or tour through the old bank buildings of Boston. Unlike us, Americans don’t like a clean slate, they prefer to simply add the old one. As a result, the wooden, brick and stone faces of history are everywhere to remind them of who they are and where they came from.

Canada is not a young country. One of, if not the oldest street in North America runs along the waterfront of Saint John’s Newfoundland. We are considered young because we look it. We do not wish to keep our historical landmarks. Instead we prefer to tear the drafty, dated, things down and put up something bigger and more expensive looking. As a result, the area where I live, just north of Toronto,

once an old quaint neighbourhood, has steadily become a neighbourhood of pocket-sized mansions, all with about as much character as your average big box shopping plaza. In Toronto, a small group of

preservationists had to fight tooth and nail to stop the powers that be from demolishing the old city hall when they were building the new one.

This desire to wipe the slate clean, to start again, results only with a general disregard for our own past. Ford might have said “history is bunk” but it is us Canadians who habitually practice what he preached.

This lack of respect for our old architecture is representative of a great national apathy that pervades Canada on many levels. How may of us vote? How many of us can remember being taught a decent

lesson in Canadian history when we were in school? How many have us have travelled much in Canada? How many of us care?

This apathy has spread to the younger generations as well. Children today have no real concept of what Canada is. I have personally witnessed this myself. A 10-year-old student of mine knew who George Washington was, but couldn’t tell me who John A. Macdonald was. Another student thought that Toronto was in New York. It’s hard to believe this, but to our very young, Canada is not a country.

I wish I could offer some easy solution for our predicament, but there is none, especially when most of us don’t really care one way or the other. Like an Alzheimer patient, we are perfectly happy in our own softly fading world, ourselves completely oblivious to what we are losing.

Even if I was to show you, how many would care that we are losing our country, our history? How can I convince you that you are suffering, when you sit on your plump leather couches in front of your wide screen TV’s? How I can make you realize the importance of what we are losing when you have more than you need?

Perhaps I can’t.

Maybe the only way that people will learn of the greatness of our country is when we lose the more obvious characteristics of our country, like gun control and health care. It frightens me to think that having a gun to our heads or having to use a credit card when we visit the family doctor are the only things that will wake us from our deep, peaceful slumbers.

But before that happens, I can offer you some preventative advice: if and when you do get a chance to move onto an older property, think twice about demolishing the history that is already there.