Kids these days are missing out on some good old-fashioned playground rhyming fun, all because of the overly-politically-correct politically correct movement. Heck, kids these days are missing out on some good old-fashioned PLAYGROUNDS. What good is a playground if you can’t run and jump and climb with wild abandon and go home (or go back to class) with skinned knees and sand in your underwear and god only knows what in your hair? Where are the monkey bars? Where are the tire swings? AND WHERE THE HELL ARE THE SEE-SAWS?
But, yeah. Boys really are stupider.
(Stupider than *what*, now that’s the genius of the comment.)
Here’s something strange: Guys love dogs. Most guys are apathetic toward, if not totally against, cats, but dogs rank pretty high in the Very Cool Stuff Book For Guys, somewhere above beef jerky but still below beer. They were trying to keep the list alphabetical (Angelina Jolie being first), but right as the writer guys were about to put down "Dumb and Dumber," someone said, "Hey, I’m hungry, let’s get some beef jerky," and everyone was quiet for a second and then they all slapped their foreheads and said, "BEEF JERKY!" and they frantically scribbled it down and were about to move on when a woman walked by and casually noted that now their list was no longer alphabetical, and all the guys put on their Blank and Stupefied look, not to be confused with their Constipated look, and, as would any male in the face of Challenge Requiring Immediate Attention, abandoned the project.
Getting back to the point. Guys love dogs, which is strange to me and should be strange to you when you consider: dogs are awfully needy creatures, and from the general overview of human history, guys don’t like needy creatures (read: women). Dogs, ESPECIALLY compared to cats, need to be taken care of every single day. They beg for attention. They beg for anything. They whine for food, for treats, for toys, for water, for pats on the head and scratches behind the ears. They whine to be let out, they whine to be let in. They whine to sleep in the bed. Oh, sure, with a lot of work, they can be trained not to whine, but they still need food, treats, toys, water, someone to oepn the door to let them in and out (unless you’re lucky enough to have access to a doggy door). And have you noticed how much ATTENTION dogs need? Attention all the time! All day! Every day! They need walks, they need someone to play with, they need happy smiles and laughter and praise and love and WHAT AN OVERLOAD OF ATTENTION! Dogs hardly *ever* leave their owner’s side. Needy and overattached animals is what they are.
Now I’m not saying dogs and women are the same; dogs don’t nag or leave jewelry catalogs lying on the kitchen table, open to the pages with diamond rings. I just find it strange that guys have such an affinity for dogs and such a distaste for cats– cats, which are as independent as free-range domestic pets come. You would never have to tell a cat, "Look, I just need a little space, okay?" Cats will give you ALL THE SPACE you want. Probably more.
Strange paradoxical nitwits, the male species be.
For whatever reason, I spent a few hours last night reading articles on– ::cue fanfare:: –AskMen.com. I don’t remember the exact cirumstances which led to my initial arrival upon the site, other than it involved a Yahoo! search… but once there, I saw a link to an article called something like "17 Things About Women We Love To Hate." And the first on the list was "Bathroom Crap," which I found to be hilarious, because I had just been thinking about how much of my girly bathroom stuff (body wash, body pouf, fancy shampoo and conditioner, hairbrush, hair clips, leave-in conditioner, shaving razor, etc.) has already accumulated at The Guy’s place, and the rest of the article hooked me because the writer’s style was just that good (I’ve found that I either like a writer’s style or I don’t, right from the start– moreover, I’ve found that I don’t like much, and whether my taste is a good judge of quality, I don’t know yet, but just for the record, I DON’T LIKE MUCH, so if I’ve TOLD YOU I LIKED SOMETHING YOU WROTE, HINT HINT, take the damn compliment to heart, you paranoid psychopath).
I thought maybe he had written some other things, and some of the other headlines intrigued me, so I just started reading a whole crapload of articles. A few were worth the investigation, most (see above) weren’t, but yeah, I spent at least two hours, just reading stuff. And I’m a fast reader, and those articles weren’t that long.
And then today I went to Borders to celebrate the Fixing of My Car And It Barely Cost Anything!*, and also because I needed to buy a book for a gift, and also because I just like books even though I’ve still got an enormous stack of books waiting to be read, books I bought a year ago, some which I bought two years ago, and have never touched since bringing them home and taking them out of the bag. One of the books I ended up buying today is titled, "How to Remodel a Man: Tips and Techniques on Accomplishing Something You Know Is Impossible but Want to Try Anyway," by W. Bruce Cameron, apparently the author of "8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter," which I never read and of which I never saw the ABC television adaption. And it’s not a bad book. It’s something on par with all of Dave Barry’s explanations of the male community, an observation which not only did I make up all on my own but is ALSO justified by a review on the back cover which states: "W. Bruce Cameron is the Dave Barry of modern family life" (John Temple, Rocky Mountain News).
The book is more or less an instruction manual (hey, I’ve seen some manuals that were 268 pages. Texas Instrument graphing calculators, anyone?) for women on how to Change Men. Topics include:
–"How to tell a man that no matter how much he yells at the television, he’s not a part of the team"
–"…changing the toilet paper roll– a twelve-step program"
–"Men Doing Housework– Not as Rare as a Solar Eclipse but About as Useful"
And I like it. In fact, I like it so much that I’m going to abandon this post right now, even though I never got to what was my intentional point which by now I’ve probably forgotten, what with all my tangents and what-have-you, and I’m going to go back to reading it. So, ‘bye.
*For repairs regarding manual transmissions ("stick-shift"), GO TO STICK SHIFT CITY because they are the nicest people EVER and they have two of the coolest dogs on the planet there, Seabiscuit and Rusty. For everything else, go to CATSKILL AUTO. Tom is the most wonderful car mechanic EVER, as wonderful as that super mega wonderful guy Bri found on a lark down in San Diego, only maybe Tom is a little bit more wonderful in my opinion because Tom is 5 miles away and Bri’s guy is, like, 328 miles away. But also, Tom is a genius and he’s honest and… eh… I’ll write more about this later, I have a book to read.