Is That Milk In Your Pants?

Do you get embarrassed for people the way I do?

Like, a few weeks ago, my son (who is 22, for context) had a friend of his over to our house and the two of them wanted to take a walk in the woods behind us. Our back gate is in real disrepair, so I have it wrapped up pretty good with bungee cords, etc, so that the dogs don't get out. As a result, the young men had to jump the fence to avoid the inconvenience of undoing it all. 

I happened to look out there and saw my son, on the other side, with his fists on his hips, waiting for his friend who looked not unlike a drunken sea-mammal trying to escape the shallows... He was wobbling atop the fence and I could hear faint groans of pain through the closed window as, presumably, the pointy metal dug into his gut. My son sort of looked around and scratched the back of his ear, obviously reluctant to offer help, which might have embarrassed his friend for the less-than-Olympic performance. Finally, the young chap lolled sideways and thudded onto his back into the dessicating leaves and loam on the other side. 

It was then that my son offered a hand, pulling him up and swiping leaves off of his back. 

I was embarrassed for the kid. 

Currently, I am embarrassed for men for being so oafish. Or, rather, so enslaved by machismo. 

I keep getting ads for jeans on my social media. It's time for new clothes, so I have been looking around, so, no surprise. But, it seems the new trend is "stretchy jeans." I know these have been around for awhile, but I mean really stretchy jeans. 

In a frequently occurring ad, the opening is a guy producing a gallon of milk from within the front of his pants. Point made? It seems the whole premise of the ad is that there is ample room in these jeans for one's manly bits. This ad (and virtually every ad) emphasizes the copious room there is for "the boys" and how there is "no more getting your ____ crushed by your jeans." 

Well, of course that's a problem for you, Captain Virility! And of course you, you studly, Disney Gaston of a fellow -- of course you need jeans that can fit a whole gallon of milk in the front. 

Oy. 

What a bunch of insipient gorillas men are. Picture the casual conversation; a bunch of friends standing around at happy hour; one dude running a finger around the rim of his beer mug and leaning sideways against the bar: "Yeah, these jeans are just cut better. I need room in the front, if you know what I'm saying..." (Cartoon hearts pop like bubbles around the heads of the ladies. [In his mind.])

The only intelligent person in this whole ridiculous picture is the marketing genious who came up with the idea: Bring 'em on board with adolescent vanity. Make it a given that they are so well- endowed that room in their jeans is a big concern. I'm going to go out on a limb and say it was a woman. 

It just leaves me...embarrassed for my own sex. 

Trump's Dirty Tricks (An Apolitical Take)

I want to make it clear that I don't write about "politics." If you were to search the 14-year history of this blog, you would find, though, that I have written about the human condition surrounding politicians. Donald Trump has given me, let's say, much to consider in that regard. It's no secret: I have no respect for the man as a man, especially because I think he manipulates people on a level that I have not seen from a politician in my lifetime. That said: I think there are three types of people who support Trump.

1. Those who are racists and want to make America white again. (Because Trump's dog-whistles are pretty loud, like implying, recently, that Robert E. Lee is unfairly "no longer in favor," and then quoting him.) He's giving them his validation -- the way it was in the Stanley Milgram experiments: the authority is giving permission and encouragement -- "Stand back and stand by." Is he a racist? He may or may not be. I'm not sure. But maybe it is even more inhuman that, if he's not, he is simply reaching for the votes of racists. 

2. This group I feel compassion for: those who are fooled by his brilliant ploy of using the vague catch-phrase ("Make America Great Again") into thinking he is talking about that specific time in which they were happiest. When exactly was America great? "Oh," says the victim, "I remember..." (Yeah, I did call it "brilliant." If I say Hitler was a good orator, I am not saying he was a great guy.) Anyway, these poor people think Trump stands for all of the often laudable conservative values they espouse (some of which, to be clear, I also value); they just don't realize he's completely bamboozling them and that he, personally, holds none of the values they do. The paradox is that he is everything they, themselves, have taught their children not to be: misogynistic; a bald-faced liar; an whining complainer; an excuse-maker; an elitist. This is often the result of a lack of education. They don't know history and they have never read "The Emperor's New Clothes." Or, it could also be a willfully ignorant kind of hope. The conservatism I grew up with was about "truth, justice and the American way," not complaining, making excuses and bragging about where you can grab women. (Also, remember: the picture at the top of this post was made by Trump. It is not satire. This is the image he was literally selling.)

3. Those who really don't like him and know he is a dishonest creep, but who "like his policies."

It is the third group I would like to appeal to. The first two are probably beyond convincing. 

I remember having a long discussion with two very intelligent friends about Trump before the 2016 election. The topic was a philosophical one: How much does a president's character mean, in the grand scheme? After all, Clinton and even the sub-beatified Kennedy were not great guys. My friends (two of my best, to this day) felt that policy was most important. I remember saying that Trump, immoral worm that he is (I believed it then and I believe it now), was going to do great damage to the spirit of the country if not the body. I wish I had been wrong. (I know his supporters would argue that he was not the problem; I don't see it that way, and I am not hashing out that argument now -- that is about politics.) I think his example has shone the light on the hidden cock roaches everywhere. I think he has taught our young men that one can be president and treat women, including his own wife (he cheated on her -- there is no remorse), like garbage. (And, as I have said, he has also fooled otherwise well-meaning folks into his illusion.) 

In my 56 years alive, I have never seen such widespread, unabashed disregard for other humans and it comes in the wake of his influence. A MAGA lady at a rally, for instance, responding to a reporter's point that many children have died in Ukraine. The woman's response: "That's fine with me. Putin just wants back what is his." 

It is fine with her that children are dying. People like this never seemed to feel empowered to say these things out loud before in public interviews. Why now? It could be said I am using a false cause...but I don't think so. 

So, what is my message to group 3? If I am right about Trump's negative effect (you might disagree, but I can't see how) supporting him because you like his policies is a bit selfish: "I don't care if he is a disease to the national spirit, because I like his policies on the border." All I ask is that you consider that. 

I think it is nearly impossible to argue that Trump is a good person. He proves, out loud, every day, that he is narcissistic and unfeeling, and he is caught in lie after lie. He is clearly trying to win votes from racists. If you are okay with all that because you support some of his policies, then continue your Internet travels... 

 

The Tao of the 80s Girl

It's all about where we are in the pendulum's swing, when it comes to history. If we are lucky, we find ourselves in the middle of the swing -- the spot where we have gotten it right; but, then, things get away from us again. It's inevitable, I think. 

In the Victorian era, an overload of modesty took hold of Western culture. Women buttoned up to the neck and wore dresses down to the ground. To show an ankle was scandalous. In a few short decades, the flappers were going out in public quite scantily clad. The pendulum had swung. 

I have to say, I miss one thing about the 80s: the ladies. And I don't mean this is a Steve Martin kind of "wild and crazy guy" way. I was not a "playa." (I dated one young woman all through high school.) What I miss is the girls' style from the era. (And while we are clarifying, I don't mean leg warmers and teased out hair. I mean their overall style -- their approach to...girlishness?) 

It felt to me like there was a certain amount of modesty still left, but that ladies were also, on a personal level, comfortable with being sexual creatures. (The personal part is an important distinction. I mean in relation to those they liked, loved or were in relationships with, not simply as they walked through the world. And, let's face it, social media wasn't a thing, so superficial public personas were fewer and farther between.) Many girls and women had escaped the pressures of prudishness, but they also had self-respect. If they were interested in you, they had no qualms about letting you know, but abandon all hope ye who "crossed the line" without their permission. 

The pendulum was in a balanced place, then. I'm not just falling into golden-age thinking here. In fact, there is very little I miss about the 80s. Objectively, from the distance of years, it just seems that way to me. It is, of course, open for discussion...

And I am not trying to judge women as humans, by the way. That's not up to me. I'm just explaining the "vibe" I remember. I think we were at the best spot on the pendulum swing in terms of modesty vs. sexual liberation. I mean, Madonna, at the time, was really pushing the envelope. I remember her "Lucky Star" video making me blush a bit as a young teen. Madonna was one of the factors that started pushing the pendulum away from the center we had found...

Why am I only talking about the girls? Well...because they are the ones who have been unfairly pushed around when it comes to what is "proper" since the dawn of dawns. Or the dawn of Dawns, for that matter. (Maybe we guys should have had more of that pressure. If we had, over the centuries, fewer women might have suffered abuse and callous treatment.)

What I am ultimately saying is that the girls in the 80s (the actual ones, not the movie and MTV video ones; the ones in my high school and college; the ones in my neighborhood and at my part time jobs) seem to have had found a balance. I guess what I am trying to say they had dignity but they seemed comfortable expressing their sexuality. 

Why bring this up? Well, I recently saw a social media video in which a guy was light-heartedly interviewing twenty-something girls in a club. What he was asking them was how they rated themselves when it came to servicing men, orally. No, I am not kidding. He was walking up to strangers and asking them how good they were at fellacio. And the girls? They never missed a beat. Never even blinked. They went into great detail as to their techniques. 

I think one of my "80s girl" friends would have punched him in the mouth. They knew where they stood and they'd let you know about their intimate secrets, but only if you earned their attention. You definitely were not going to talk to them like that out of the blue and hold onto your incisors.

There comes a time when sexual liberation crosses the line into sterile obviousness; where the poetry of flirtation becomes a prosaic set of procedures; when a seductive wink gives way to a crotch-grab, if you will pardon my crassness. Again, I am not judging these girls as humans. What I am judging is the culture we have created -- the one in which they were raised that made them get to a place that makes them think they need to give everything about themselves away for a ten-second spot on some dweeb's Instagram. 

And the girls in the video were dressed way beyond provocatively. In fact, I am pretty sure that one of the girls, if she didn't wear a coat home, could possibly have been arrested for public indecency. Contrast that with the 80s girls. What did they reveal? Maybe the old cut sweatshirt falling provocatively off the shoulder and a jaunty flip of the poofy hair? Maybe that was enough for a start? 

Just one dude's take on things. As always, it's all open for discussion. 

Going Extinct: Jack Really is Dead

People tend to think that the worst thing about getting older is that one tends to lose one's understanding of the world. But what about when it goes opposite: when the world no longer understands them?

It is true that, often, older people don't (or can't) change with "the times" and they wind up disoriented or "out of touch." (Think: old Congressman asking Mark Zuckerberg ridiculous questions about the Internet.) 

I remember, for instance, my Grandmom, who would come over to stay with us on weekends and, when she wanted to watch "her show" (General Hospital) she'd call me to put it on because she didn't understand the remote control. 

I'd say, "Grandmom, just push this red button to turn on the TV and then hit the number '6' for channel six."

"That stuff confuses me, Chrissy. You just do it for me, ok?" 

The only thing is, this was a grandmother who grew up in the 1920s and 1930s. The confusing influx of new technology [remote controls; cable TV; personal computers...] that threw her into total confusion is what my generation grew up with -- grew up alongside. I would argue that we (Gen X) saw more change in the world than any generation, in terms of not only technology but of culture. 

In short, we "get" the brave new world we live in, even if we don't much like it. We understand it just fine and I understand it just fine. (In fact, when it comes to tech, I find I understand it better than many young people.) 

What I am starting to believe -- not without some sadness -- is that the world may have stopped understanding me. 

In the 1920s or 1950s, or, in my days of youth, the 1980s, everyone got my "type." The dreamer. The creative person who wanted to drink deeply of life; to live for more than a paycheck and TV time at night for decades on end. The kind of person who wanted words and music to be his life. When people saw me, a jean-jacketed, bushy-black-curly-haired twenty-something on the train heading into Rutgers with his nose in a volume of Wordsworth's collected poems, they recognized: "One of those guys. A scholar." Then, they'd probably smile condescendingly to themselves at how I'd grow up, realize there was "no money in it" and move on. (Fooled them on that one.) I mean, there is no money in it, but...

Now? English departments are all but shutting down or they are merging with the other academically terminal patient: philosophy. Or they are seeking relevance by glomming onto "communications."

My students? I still love them and always will, but, over the decades, I have seen a change. It used to be they would get misty-eyed (at least most of them) when I did my best Dead Poets Society schtick about the sublime in the Romantic ideal or when I'd do the old "living/being truly alive" bit. (A "bit" by the way that I still embrace with complete sincerity.) I often go home exhausted not because of eight hours on my feet, but because of the emotional drain of hurling metaphoric balls that just are not being caught -- or, rather, that no one is even raising a glove for. 

Don't worry. I'm not going to give up until retirement day, I promise you that. But...

A few decades ago, there was a framework of relatability, at the very least. The kids knew about, say, a character like Jack from Titanic, who lived to embrace adventure and feeling. Therefore, they "got" Wordsworth (as a type of person, anyway). And, they "got" me, too, if in less dramatic and less handsome form than Leonardo DiCaprio. They understood people driven to feel and see the world. People driven to really be alive before they die. 

What happened? I don't know. Years of reality TV vs. fiction? Years of pushing STEM and ignoring the humanities? Years of vapid online entertainment -- malnutrition from chewing gum for the brain? A decline in reading?

I'm not sure. But it sure is disheartening when you tell your students, to illustrate the Romantic connection with Nature, that you spent eight days in the Grand Canyon, camping and rafting, and the only burning question in their eyes seems to be: "Why?"

When I was their age, I would see an adventurer, a poet, musician or an artist and think: I want to be like that guy. I'm trying hard not to sound like a complaining old man -- I actually enjoy social media and the wonders of modern technology, especially when it comes to making music. But you can't tell me that replacing the role models I had with "influencers" hasn't doused the passion for living in our young people. And when you can see the Taj Mahal with the click of a mouse, why make the trip?

So I guess there is still wisdom to thinking it is better to have loved and to die in the frigid waters of the North Atlantic than to have carefully managed one's finances, worked in a cubicle to a ripe old retirment age and live till 100, polishing one's golf cart. 

But to not be understood? It's jarring, that's for sure. My students don't see me anymore as "one of those guys" because those guys have gone the way of the stegosaurus. 

Older Musicians: Keepers of a Lost Art

I was recently talking to a friend of mine, a musician, who lives in Buffalo, now. We used to be in an original band together, in the late 80s.

(The pic to the left is a cover band I was in in the 90s -- different one.) 

We were talking about the irony of how we work more now than we did as young musicians. (In fact, we are borderline working too much for comfort with our day jobs.) On one hand, this seems surprising. On the other, it's not, at all.

We're keepers of a lost art. Kids rarely form bands in high school, now. Why? There are no bands for kids to look up to -- not in the popular lens. (I know there are a ton of you who can point me to good and even great indy bands -- I believe you that they are out there. But kids don't always see them. Growing up, I couldn't throw a Wiffleball over my shoulder without hitting a great band on the head: Journey, Genesis, Rush, The Police, U2...even bands I wasn't particularly into were bands who could play their instruments and who wrote their own stuff: Zep, VH, Heart, etc, etc...)

Who's going to inspire a kid to play an instrument now? Taylor Swift? Lady Gaga? Ed Sheeran? Sure, they are good enough pop musicians, but...musical inspirations? I heard Neil Peart play on "Tom Sawyer" and asked my parents for a drum set that afternoon after school. My friends heard Eddie or Jimmy Page and had to pick up a guitar. My dad heard Harry James and started on a trumpet his parents couldn't really afford.

So, of course we're working. Where else is live music, outside of $300 (plus) seats in stadiums going to come from? Are you well-off enough to fly out to Vegas and pay $1,000 to see U2 at The Sphere? Cool. I'm not.

You can play the old records over and over, but we're out there delivering a living history show. We're recreating the magic of musicians playing together and moving air with our voices and our "axes." And maybe moving you to move, too.

So keep hiring us, because when we croak, you're out of luck.