Fine, obviously no one wants to talk about what it means to be a man and I neglected to give you my grand list of what I’m looking for in a mate** so let’s just call this morning’s post a bust.

But look at this instead:

I find it so easy, always, always, to fall in love with the utter impossible romanticism of the whole Beat experience, and found myself looking longingly at the photos of North Beach in the fifties, thinking, I was born too late.

Isn’t that nice?

And here’s where the hopscotching comes in. I read Sarcastro (in case you haven’t noticed), who reads this dude, who linked to the chick who wrote those words.

It must be like the thrill some folks get out of shopping–flipping through rack after rack of not quite right things only to finally find something that makes you gasp–the feeling I have when I’m following blog trails and stumble across something written by someone I don’t know and won’t ever know that makes me go “Ah, yes, that’s just right.”

*Yes, it is a Cortazar reference! Suck my butt, you experimental fiction haters. I’ll read what I want, or in this case, intend to someday read it and never get around to it but still reference it anyway.
**I was thinking about this at lunch and I think my requirements are–1. funny 2. smart 3. self-assured and cantankerous without being too obnoxious 4. adores me 5. makes me feel safe 6. sweet 7. calls me on my bullshit 8. loves my dog 9. loyal 10. will accompany me to boring-ass crap so that I have someone to snark with 11. tolerates my family.

8 thoughts on “Hopscotch*

  1. That list seems to be better and more thought out than you want us to believe. I agree wholeheartedly. If I hadn’t been so commitment phobic, I would have made a list like that. As it is, I did pretty good with the Other Half, he hits it all except #3. But then again we are going through a snarky and obnoxious phase right now anyway.
    I wonder how many Man’s Man (Men’s Men? I can’t get the tense right) will own up to the qualities on your list?

  2. What are you getting at, David? You think I’m not particular enough?

    Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you, Boy Scout? But I will not be distracted from my subtle but valid point–which is that there’s nothing inherently “manly” about the standards for manliness we have now and we should check in and make sure they work for us and change them, if necessary, if they’re hurting us.

    I suspect that basing “manliness” on some outside factors, like “responsible” or whatever can be a trap.

    Therefore, I also think that basing “womanliness” on outside factors and judging individual women against it is also a trap.

    There is no way a woman can be unwomanly. For a female person to be called unwomanly it’s not the same insult as calling a male person unmanly.

    Womanliness is not something that can be lost (though, I suppose, one could argue that “ladylike-ness” can be, but who cares?) the way that manliness can be.

    That’s what makes figuring out what it means to be a man so interesting to me. Y’all have not yet called “bullshit” on the validity of critiquing someone’s gender performance the way we have.

    Saraclark, if my real life is any indication, none. I kid. Someday when I’m not feeling so down about it, I’ll share with y’all my great ability to send men on to their wives or home to their wives. It’s almost like they kiss me and the very next woman they kiss is the woman they’ll spend their lives with.

    Maybe I can find a way to market that.

  3. Just who would be your market for that ability B? I hate to give in to gender stereotypes, but that isnt’ something I imagine a lot of guys paying for. At least not until they’re a goodly way past 30.

  4. The last time I talked gender on this blog, I wound up in a blog-hopping, name-calling, ass-showing, rank-pulling, wide-ranging, mouth-shooting hoopteydoo. And even as fun as that all was…I really don’t want to do it again tonight.

  5. W., I’d totally market it to other women. They just arrange it so that I can smooch the man they want to be with and then they smooch him next. Or to parents who are worried about their bachelor sons never settling down.

    Bridgett, you make the fights here sound like so much fun.

  6. It’s a little bit freaky, the hopscotching thing. I’m the “this dude” referenced above. I “met” “the chick” also referenced through something I posted on a user-group (back before there were blogs). She liked what I wrote, emailed me to say so, and we struck up a “we’ll never meet but let’s write” kind of friendship. Eventually we did meet, and we liked each other in person at least as well as the three-year buildup of email personae had predicted. Friends for life now.

    The internet thingy rocks.

    Keep writing like this and you’ll outrun the smoochy curse you speak of.

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