Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Manners

Everyone seems to agree that the fraction of masculine, "manly" men has declined over the past decades.

Movies are one way to study cultural change. In Hollywood movies, the swaggering, testosterone-soaked role models of the past have given way to feminized, boyish characters. Young men are now prone to identify with characters who embrace their angst-ridden "soft side". In movies like "Juno", "Slumdog Millionaire", "The Squid and the Whale" (and pretty much any other movie out there besides hardcore chick flicks) male protagonists are portrayed as "sensitive" and therefore smart.

If there is any room for more masculine counterparts, they get are stamped off as "dump" jocks and bullying nuisances who will eventually fail in life. The old stereotypes of the risk seeking adventurer is nowadays being laughed at as cliche.

Things have changed so radically that a TV series like "Mad Men" which provides us with a glimpse of times past are publicly followed with a feeling of estranged amusement. The show evokes the frivolous fascination of a freakshow. Mad Men's appeal is breaking the taboo.

We live in an age where the neutralization of gender roles is deemed politically correct. Any word to the contrary gets stamped as "sexist" (with a curious negative connotation). Accordingly, women are increasingly portrayed in classic male domains. Female roles have shifted from housewives to tough CEOs, scrupulous politicians, cold hearted murderers - even sexual predators.

But while everyone likes to complain about the lack of balls all around us, there is little mention of the flip side:

The loss of ladylike behavior in women of our age.

I am not talking about the classic notion of a "Lady" in terms of lavish dresses or up nosed attitude.
What I am talking about is basic manners.

Gracefulness is at the very core of femininity.

There is sexual appeal to a woman who acts with the polite, self controlled elegance of impeccable manners. Women like Jackie Kennedy, Grace Kelly and even Marylin Monroe knew to how use this to their advantage.

On the other side of the spectrum there is rudeness. Lack of respect for others and aggressive selfishness are rather masculine traits (which are not unappealing to women).

With the blur between gender lines, we lost Gentlemen and Ladies alike. Young boys get told that it is okay to cry even if you are not a girl. And young girls get raised to embrace their tomboyish side of playing in the mud, burping, cursing and farting - just like the boys.

An amazing phenomenon that directly stems from this loss of a feminine ideal is the confrontational behavior of (drunk) girls towards men. With good regularity I get to witness women picking fights at bars with innocent bystanders (this is a good example of what I am talking about).

What makes these aggressive interactions so much worse is that women have not been socialized like men when it comes to provocation. Men learn in kindergarten where to draw the line, and the physical consequences of stepping over it. Women do not just lack that experience. It often seems as if these females expect men to shy away from physical escalation or some white knights to step in and end the fight (in favor of the girl).

There is truth to the saying that sex starts outside the bedroom. Men have sex appeal by the way they speak and behave. And to some degree that is true for women as well. Sex lives by the tension between a masculine and a feminine pole. The further the poles are apart, the stronger the tension (and the better the sex).

When it comes to sex, the "buddy with tits" is the literal female equivalent to the feminized male.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

The Beta Machine

Because I'm working from the road right now, I've got my laptop in a coffee shop. There's nothing wrong with this from time to time. In fact, I'm quite enjoying the peace of sitting here, sipping a cup of quite good coffee, listening to my "Little People" Pandora station. Definitely something to keep to small doses though.

As I've been sitting here I've noticed my posture getting more and more hunched. It's very difficult to keep open, commanding body language when you are hunched over a laptop. Right now, for instance, I am sitting back in my chair, with my legs wide open. But my shoulders are still tight, for the simple reason that in order for both my hands to reach the little keyboard, I have to tuck my elbows in to my sides.

Why are coffee-shop laptop warriors such silly beta dweebs? I think it's a bit of a chicken-and-egg dilemma. Are they spindly little dweebs because they spend all day with earbuds in their ears, the only illumination on their faces coming from an Apple laptop? Or are do they choose lives that keep them in that position because they are betas at heart? My guess is, a little from column A, a little from column B.

Just a reminder to folks if you find yourself doing too much of that coffee shop laptop crap in your life. There are trees that need chopping out there, animals that need butchering, roads that need building, whiskey that needs drinking, and pussy that needs deep-dicking.

The alternative is letting your identity getting wrapped up inside a little flimsy piece of humming plastic. If you find yourself frustrated a lot, open your horizons. The endgame if you don't?

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

"Any asshole can chase a skirt."

"Tattoos and chivalry, delicious combination."
[June Stahl]

I admit that, although I consider myself a bibliophile, my library largely consists of nonfiction. And whenever I grab a novel, I find myself gravitating towards (semi-)autobiographical writing.

These days I enjoy reading Bukowski's "Women" - a refreshing insight into the mind and life of a natural lady's man pre Game and PUA. Or, as wikipedia puts it, a "novel that may expose some women to the way a man sees the world". The book is also said to serve as basis of Duchovny's character in "Californication" (I can't verify that since I don't watch any TV).

Two things are striking about Bukowski's attitude towards women:

1) He is always (brutally) honest with them
2) He is never satisfied with them

Both ingredients make a potent mix that women get drawn and addicted to with stunning predictability.

A man who never backs down always says and does what he wants. A man who never caters to her needs but instead measures her against ever higher standards. A man like that is as irresistible to women as sweet, fatty foods before menstruation.

Behold! Old Drunkard Game according to classic American literature (paraphrased into third person):

HER: I've heard about you.
HIM: Like what?
HER: About how you throw guys off your front porch. That you beat your women.
HIM: Beat my women?
HER: Yes, somebody told me.
He grabbed her and they went into the longest kiss ever. He held her against the edge of the sink and began rubbing his cock against her. She pushed him away but he caught her again in the center of the kitchen. Her hand reached for his and pushed it down the front of her jeans and into her panties.

There are three ways to pass a shit test:
1) Simply agree and let it sit. (hard to apply to the women beating accusation)
2) Exaggerate and thereby make it funny. (still not easy in this situation)
3) Don't react to it / Hide the fact that you ignore it by surprising her with something else.

So, Bukowski's instinct is dead on. He also seems to have a pretty good gut feeling about the aphrodisiastic nature of (even fictitious) male violence.
[It needs to be noted that nowhere in the book is any other mention of violence against women. The women on the other hand tend to get dangerously violent at times during fits of jealousy - or when rejected for sex.]

HER: That mattress turns me on. I want to break it in. I want to be the first woman to fuck you on that mattress.
HIM: I wonder who will be second?

As you might expect, sex ensues right after.

But not everything works out that great for the lead character. And the times he fails are equally instructive.

HER: You were going to fuck her, weren't you?
HIM: Now look, I told her I love you.
HER: You were going to fuck her, weren't you?
HIM: Now look, baby..."
Suddenly she shoved him... He fell backward over the coffee table and into the space between the table and the couch. He heard the door slam... Son-of-a-bitch, he thought, one minute I've got two women and the next I've got none.

He failed to disarm the shit test. She even gave him a second chance, but he cares too much about her to get the truth over his lips. He is weak. Instead of standing up for his alpha male desire, he makes some lame ass (beta male) excuse about his love for her. And beta males are not allowed to screw around. No surprise she gets upset.

The thing to realize is that her emotion is stirred much more by his lack of spine than the fact that he had secret plans to screw another woman.

Contrast to this classic situation (likely to be familiar to anyone who ever dated a girl):

HER: You're looking at her, aren't you?
HIM: I can't stop.
HER: She's a slut.
HIM: Sure.

The thing about Bukowski is that he is obsessed with telling the truth. He tries to be honest to himself, to the reader and to the women he is with. And in that light, all of the above makes sense.

Women are used to men lying their asses of to get a piece of theirs. And they hate it for many reasons. The biggest one of them being that sneaky attempts to score are a sign of low social status.

An alpha male does not need to lie to get some. Alphas communicate directly. Especially when it comes to sex.

Alphas states the truth because they do not fear any repercussions of what they say. Other men, opinions and women don't scare the guy on top.

If an alpha wants sex, he will state it openly (and for a socially savvy male that means signs which are still subtle sub-communication for most other men). If she is not down to it, so what. If she does, no big deal either.

Surprisingly the mere fact that a man is that honest and fearless will make her think this option over twice. This is why even the most direct approach works better than a "creepy" hidden agenda.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

The Kept Alpha

More on my hooker when I'm in the mood. In the mean time....

I'm in the process of relocating right now. I'll be travelling for most of the next five months. I travel a lot for work, but I almost never end up trapped up in the corporate hell of downtown convention centers and chain restaurants. (I have been through that ringer before, and vowed never to go back. I've never seen so many uninspiring chumps in my life... and the people one surrounds oneself with can influence even the mightiest oak of a man.) I'll be all over the goddamn place — on farms and in clubs and laboratories and cheap hotels — so look for posts about game from Africa, Europe, and Latin America in the coming months.

In the meantime, I've recently had an interesting refresher course in why I'm not already settled down with a girl of my own age and social background. Because, you see, for the last three weeks, I have been living the lifestyle of a settled man — though with one crucial difference, which I will explain below. It was in my financial interests to give up my apartment earlier than my work committments were done. In fact, I kept taking work offers well after I knew I wouldn't be living here anymore because the thought of making New York income without paying New York prices was very appealing.

At the time, I was having a fun little fling with a girl who was very into me. She had a nice big apartment with plenty of room to spare. When the moment came, I basically told her I would be gone by Calendar Date X, even though I wished I could stay until Calendar Date Y for work reasons and to "spend more time with the people I care about." That was all the prompting she needed to offer her place to me for the time between X and Y.

For the last couple of weeks I've been living at her apartment, basically in the style of a boyfriend, with both of us understanding it won't last. The crucial difference that I mentioned above is that I have this girl so well-trained it's almost a shame to leave and be on my merry way (almost). She loves to cook for me, she rubs my feet, she does all my laundry and she even basically packed all my boxes and arranged to have them shipped cross-country for me. And she hooks me up with all kinds of free computer gear from her work. And she pays for my drinks. So I can't say I feel exactly whipped.

Nevertheless, she's a very jealous girl, and from a certain perspective she has my nuts in a vice. A couple of times I've felt like telling her to go fuck herself and I've held off because she has all my stuff and I have nowhere else to stay on such short notice, and important work I need to be doing in the meantime. So I've basically been on my best behavior like the most whipped beta, foot massages and elaborate dinners or no. Sure I still flirt shamelessy when we go out, enough to make her mad and get jealous and wet and suck me that much more enthusiastically when we get home. But I'm not exactly picking up numbers left and right, and certainly not going out with girls and bringing them back home.

Sure, I've got regular access to quality pussy, plus someone running errands for me. But being in this situation for just a few weeks already makes me feel a little antsy. I see the flaws in this girl, how her sell-by date is approaching, how she tends to fuck like a dude with a pussy even though afterwards she clings like a ten-year-old girl.

In the long run, however, I am grateful. It's been a fine, fun couple of weeks. There's no harm done. She's had her alpha-charge and now maybe she can settle down to a nice beta and think of me while they "make love" and go shopping for organic bok choy and listen to "This American Life." I'm moving on to more interesting things. And this little harmless session of playing the part of the loyal boyfriend has reminded me of some of my core principles.

Personal freedom is only worth sacrificing in small doses, and only in very specific circumstances, and only for a very good reason, and only with some sort of pre-determined end in sight. In the small, limited sense that I "need" this particular for this short period of time, I've sold myself short. Even in a longer relationship, the kind I might really commit to, I normally wouldn't let myself feel trapped by circumstance. I'm not truly trapped now, and like I said, it's a pretty sweet deal (she came in and refilled my wine glass as I was writing that last sentence). But it's all a reminder of how important it is to make sure that every thing you do is a choice, and not something you felt forced into.

Any girl who feels like changing my mind about all that, who's absolutely stunning, who is 23 or younger, who can do and wants to do for me all of the things listed above, and can also paint or recite poetry or play Schubert on the piano, can feel free to drop me a line...

In the meantime, I'm planning back-to-back posts in October comparing the women of Ethiopia with the women of Hollad.

Monday, September 7, 2009

Dogen's Special Little Hooker: Part 1

So, I used to date a prostitute. The fact she was a hooker isn't actually the interesting thing to me today. It's the fact that I was unaware of it for so long, and the way I found out (complete with her utter denial of the facts until the last possible moment).

Some men claim to be "ass guys" or "leg guys" or "breast guys," and all of us know full well that we love all of the above and more about hot girls. It's just that some men gravitate to one feature or another of the lovely female form. Personally, I'm an ass man (paging Dr. Pennypacker). There's nothing in nature that quite mimicks the curve around the hips and buttocks of a well formed woman. Breasts can be faked; long legs can be found on skinny-ass YY model aliens, or on Dirk Nowitzki for that matter; but no creature on earth other than a really hot girl has a fantastic ass.

Young miss "Daisy" had the kind of body that makes your head swivel so fast your neck snaps. She was five foot nothing, with a tight body and small firm breasts and an ass that screamed out to be smacked. I had seen her around my neighborhood a few times. The first time I really talked to her, to my undying shame, I actually went full on beta.

Gather round, young ones, and let me tell you story of another time. Once Master Dogen was but Apprentice Dogen. His ways were strong, but he was ignorant and undisciplined, like Luke before he went to Dagoba. His success in the Great Way of Vag came by luck and natural ability. Often he fell deep into the Dark Ways of Beta.

I was, you see, raised to believe almost every beta SWPL lie that you can think of. Throughout my teens and early twenties, I was a very sensitive little monk. I managed to get laid on charm, bad poetry, starlit nights, alcohol, and just enough post-structuralist theory to spout off incoherently (but impressively to a 19 year old culture studies major cutie) about les deux Jacques, Derrida and Lacan. I racked up notches without having any idea what I was doing.

I guess that's what you would call being a "natural," but I just thought of it as me being me. Looking back, I can see that's why I had success. I just assumed that everything I said was interesting and original. I just assumed I belonged to be in whatever situation I found myself in. And I always assumed that any woman I talked to was a potential lover. Again: I didn't consciously say these things to myself. I assumed them, and would have been slightly baffled if you tried to explain to me that these were considered unusual assumptions by some men.

Well part of the problem with "natural" game is that it's highly context-dependent. I was just relying on my natural ability without any understanding of why it worked. I also never considered that it might stop working. But eventually it did... or if it didn't exactly stop working, it lost it's invincible power and became only semi-effective.

I'd been relying on youthful charm. A 22 year old man who's played sports all his life has a near infinite capacity to suck in whiskey and cigarettes while spouting off about Jack Kerouac or D. H. Lawrence, and can still wake up in the morning bright-eyed to head to the beach. As a man gets older, the youthful ingenu act can start to seem incongruous, especially to younger girls who are already surrounded by more authentically (read: chronologically) young men.

There were a dozen ways I could have kept my game tight, but because I never understood what I had been doing in the first place, I just kept acting the same way I always had. Some other things were changing about my life: social situation, work, residence, etc. The total effect of which was that I began to experience the first dry spells, however brief, since I was a brace-faced kid.

I was in this state when I finally managed to meet and nail Daisy right in her little Mexicana-Filipina-Americana tang. I'll have more to say about her, and about how I finally managed to figure out she was a prostitute, later. But for now, I just want to set the stage, and bring up the question of naturals versus students of Game. Today, I'm both. But for a while, I was just natural enough to get Daisy's perfect booty aligned in heart-shaped position beneath my turgid missile, and just dumb enough to lose her to forces that were to me at the time incomprehensible.

It's a sadly common story. Stay tuned for the full tale of my own personal little hooker.