Or Mother's Day, your anniversary, or a significant others' birthday, etc. Because anything you do on a day that is not mandated to be special by the Hallmark calendar is a wasted effort. Naturally, I'm addressing a solely male audience here. (Is there any expectation of a woman to do anything for a man on Valentine's? The answer is no, if you are unsure. Is that lack due to male feelings of indifference or society telling us, 'Valentine's is a woman's holiday.")
I'm speaking from personal experience and to further drive home my feelings on the matter neither of the aggrieved women I have in mind are shallow people. They just wanted what they felt was due to them on their 'special days.' The random acts of kindness in the world seem to be dying out with good reason. Strangers in our lives seem to appreciate such acts more so than people we know and live with. Don't plan a big romantic night out or call to say, 'I love you' unless it is one of those days you are supposed to do so. If there is nothing special about Tuesday night, don't make anything special out of it. That would be cursory.
However, if you do make a big to do on a special day, well then, it means something. To any of my fellow 'good guys' out there who have been slighted for not doing the right thing on the right day, or to any who have nothing but apathy for perceived sentimental offenses, do not despair. I have the remedy.
One jigger or rum ( look here, and here for suggestions ) one jigger of pineapple juice, half a jigger of strawberry schnapps. Ice a tumble and a healthy does of lime juice. It cures all pains and ails... for a little while.
To any offended, make yourself the above libation and in all possible ways, relax.
Showing posts with label Women. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Women. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Oddities in female writing
I've been reading a lot of fiction, both short stories and novel length material, by women authors the second half of the year. Perhaps it's the sample of material I've read, but I've noticed some peculiarities about women authors.
Excluding the 'classics' and period works, the contemporary ones I've read come across as very forward. This is not necessarily a bad thing. It struck me as strange that very rarely do women want to make love, rather they hurry up to the four-letter word variations. They tolerate the men in their world, but truly have no use for them. To my surprise, the vast majority of the substantial men in the sample of books I read seem to have very strong homosexual tendencies if they aren't outright gay. And there is nothing wrong with that, but it has been cliched unto my sample of reading to see a story with a strong, independent female lead and an average Joe, best friend male who happens to gay.
I've never claimed to understand the female mind, but apparently I have even less of a clue than I originally supposed.
Oh, yeah, and the antagonist is always male. Always. Because men are bad. I'm looking forward to broadening my reading by female authors to see how long these queer quarks hold true. Octavia Butler, Margaret Atwood, Ursula K. LeGuin, A.S. Byatt, and Cathrynne Valente are in the immediate future.
Excluding the 'classics' and period works, the contemporary ones I've read come across as very forward. This is not necessarily a bad thing. It struck me as strange that very rarely do women want to make love, rather they hurry up to the four-letter word variations. They tolerate the men in their world, but truly have no use for them. To my surprise, the vast majority of the substantial men in the sample of books I read seem to have very strong homosexual tendencies if they aren't outright gay. And there is nothing wrong with that, but it has been cliched unto my sample of reading to see a story with a strong, independent female lead and an average Joe, best friend male who happens to gay.
I've never claimed to understand the female mind, but apparently I have even less of a clue than I originally supposed.
Oh, yeah, and the antagonist is always male. Always. Because men are bad. I'm looking forward to broadening my reading by female authors to see how long these queer quarks hold true. Octavia Butler, Margaret Atwood, Ursula K. LeGuin, A.S. Byatt, and Cathrynne Valente are in the immediate future.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
A Mercy by Toni Morrison
Whenever my interest is piqued by a book or author that is new to me, regardless of what caught my initial attention, I always pick up the most recent work by the author. I particularly don't like to start my induction to a writer that is new to me with the work that established the writer's fame. In some cases in is unavoidable, but not so with Toni Morrison.
I mention this here, at the start of my commentary, because so often the work of renown--in Ms Morrison's case Beloved--is so frequently referenced that it can become difficult to tell which book a reviewer is commenting on. As if having written a classic helps substantiate the quality of all the other works written by that author. Having not yet read Beloved (it is in my to-be-read stack) I offer here free commentary to A mercy, without any dependancy to Beloved.
I found this to be a very difficult read with a payoff that was obscured by a consistently awkward presentation. The multiple points of view force you to stay alert as a reader which is fine by me. The broken English which some characters use is also okay, even if it did get old. (I found it to be a tiresome device to use in the first place.) Yes, it yielded some personality and told much about the particular character, but it did so at the expense of my personal ease-of-reading, which I, of course, value more than any story telling device. I found it hard to make out a central story that all the characters could relate to. Each was doing their own thing, any unifying thread among the characters was thin. I felt Lina, Florens, and Mrs. Vaark--the all female leading cast--all had their own stories to tell and their was not moment of recocilliation for all their stories. This lack of cohesion also detracted from what I felt was the book's strongest point of interest: the 'mercy' itself.
The story was highly enjoyable but getting through it was rough. I can't help but feel that if it were told in a more standard, third person or even a single character's first person point of view that it would have had a stronger affect on me as a reader. All the characters seemed detached from each other, and certainly from me as a reader. Some events were shared by all and some were their own that made them who they were. Once you read far enough into A Mercy there is no confusion as who is who. All the characters are distinct, but for such a short book, there is a steep learning curve.
It sounds silly to say there were 'glimpses of brilliance' considering the author, but …(see above disclaimer) in some of the rare third person narrative I could easily see why the author is so highly regarded. There was beautiful prose, and writing that truly connected me to the situation, and the characters involved. But they were few and always seemed out of place among the garbled poor grammar of one character and the inadequate story telling of another.
At one point in reading, I set to musing if anyone else could have written this book. Or rather if anyone else could have gotten it published. Having already been awarded quite literally ever literary award there is to give, no agent or editor is going to send back a work of Toni Morrison and say, "Let's work on a few things."
I appreciate something different. Furthermore I think it's great when such an established author is willing to try something out of the ordinary such as the presentation elements of A mercy, but I can't help but wonder if a first time writer or anyone not of the stature of Toni Morrison had written this book if it would have gotten through the powers that control publication.
I do not want my feelings of this work to come across as bad, or that I feel the writing was poor. Only it felt like an experiment that was forced upon an existing great story that may have better been told in a more conventional manner.
I mention this here, at the start of my commentary, because so often the work of renown--in Ms Morrison's case Beloved--is so frequently referenced that it can become difficult to tell which book a reviewer is commenting on. As if having written a classic helps substantiate the quality of all the other works written by that author. Having not yet read Beloved (it is in my to-be-read stack) I offer here free commentary to A mercy, without any dependancy to Beloved.
I found this to be a very difficult read with a payoff that was obscured by a consistently awkward presentation. The multiple points of view force you to stay alert as a reader which is fine by me. The broken English which some characters use is also okay, even if it did get old. (I found it to be a tiresome device to use in the first place.) Yes, it yielded some personality and told much about the particular character, but it did so at the expense of my personal ease-of-reading, which I, of course, value more than any story telling device. I found it hard to make out a central story that all the characters could relate to. Each was doing their own thing, any unifying thread among the characters was thin. I felt Lina, Florens, and Mrs. Vaark--the all female leading cast--all had their own stories to tell and their was not moment of recocilliation for all their stories. This lack of cohesion also detracted from what I felt was the book's strongest point of interest: the 'mercy' itself.
The story was highly enjoyable but getting through it was rough. I can't help but feel that if it were told in a more standard, third person or even a single character's first person point of view that it would have had a stronger affect on me as a reader. All the characters seemed detached from each other, and certainly from me as a reader. Some events were shared by all and some were their own that made them who they were. Once you read far enough into A Mercy there is no confusion as who is who. All the characters are distinct, but for such a short book, there is a steep learning curve.
It sounds silly to say there were 'glimpses of brilliance' considering the author, but …(see above disclaimer) in some of the rare third person narrative I could easily see why the author is so highly regarded. There was beautiful prose, and writing that truly connected me to the situation, and the characters involved. But they were few and always seemed out of place among the garbled poor grammar of one character and the inadequate story telling of another.
At one point in reading, I set to musing if anyone else could have written this book. Or rather if anyone else could have gotten it published. Having already been awarded quite literally ever literary award there is to give, no agent or editor is going to send back a work of Toni Morrison and say, "Let's work on a few things."
I appreciate something different. Furthermore I think it's great when such an established author is willing to try something out of the ordinary such as the presentation elements of A mercy, but I can't help but wonder if a first time writer or anyone not of the stature of Toni Morrison had written this book if it would have gotten through the powers that control publication.
I do not want my feelings of this work to come across as bad, or that I feel the writing was poor. Only it felt like an experiment that was forced upon an existing great story that may have better been told in a more conventional manner.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Women's Fiction
In these sometimes tense times of gender equality I feel I can be pretty direct. What is women's fiction; is it solely for women? Is the name strictly a ‘buyers beware’ to any man’s hand that may have strayed so far as to pick up the book and turn it over? I still stand on my feeling that good writing is good writing and a change of genre or perceived audience will not affect the quality of the words on the page. However, the previous statement being true, why would anyone trying to sell books limit the potential readership with such an explicit genre appellation?
This issue of women's fiction has been bothering me for quite some time. It is the only fiction genre designation that I know of that is not only branded by the publisher but done so in general accordance with the author. Many a non general ‘fiction’ author would love their books to be sold with the mass market epithet “A Novel” coming after the title as opposed to being put on the fantasy or mystery shelf. I know a few authors (none of whom I”ll call out) who recently lead a panel discussion at a writers club meeting that covered many things. When the topic of women's fiction came about I found myself growing irritable with the pregnancy of woeful ignorance; either in myself or the panel.
Is there such a thing as men’s fiction? I’ll wage a legitimate answer that there is, and I can’t over stress the seriousness of my attempt. After you’ve read it with with earnest consideration (and a more open-minded than it’s worth) then, tell me how absurd it is.
* * * * *
Men’s literature (or Men! Books! Read! as the marketing branch of the publishing world would have us call it) is always an energetic story with excess testosterone and alpha males doing terribly interesting things in most Michael-Bay-type of manner. Female leads are absurd given the genre and any female characters are bound to be helpless idiots and at all times displaying generous amounts of cleavage. Rarely amusing or light hearted these stories resemble the steaks me like to eat: bloody, gritty with little seasoning and no time for side items like vegetables. Men’s fiction is about men’s issues for a male readership; women would have a very hard time identifying with the subject matter of family, relationships and blowing stuff up. While the subject matter often crosses genres it always has commercial appeal and the characters are often attempting to overcome both a personal and external adversity.
Although men’s fiction often incorporates grave situations such as poverty, divorce, abuse, and host of other social struggles, it can also explore positive aspects within a mans life: such as guns, swords, sports, sex, gluttony and video games. Sanguine soaked fantasy and sci-fi are an integral part of Men’s fiction although the content is mature enough and well-developed that it sets itself apart from other genre classifications. Generally speaking, Men’s fiction often delves into deeper, more serious conflicts and utilizes a more poetic literary writing style than standard fiction that would be deemed appropriate of both genders.
Chad Hull the prolific author of numerous bestsellers of Men’s fiction including: The Man Book, Why Elves and Fairies are Gay, Go F*** yourself, and Tit Hooker is the ideal author of Men’s Fiction. His forthcoming novel detailing the heartbreak of a car--lovingly restored for five tender years before being totaled in a horrific accident involving no insurance and a culprit that couldn’t speak English--Steel Dump is due out this winter.
* * * * *
So… seriously. What is women’s fiction? Are those the books Nicolas Sparks writes? Is Anna Karenina the archetype of the genre? Is there such a thing as Men’s fiction? If so, what is it? If not, why?
This issue of women's fiction has been bothering me for quite some time. It is the only fiction genre designation that I know of that is not only branded by the publisher but done so in general accordance with the author. Many a non general ‘fiction’ author would love their books to be sold with the mass market epithet “A Novel” coming after the title as opposed to being put on the fantasy or mystery shelf. I know a few authors (none of whom I”ll call out) who recently lead a panel discussion at a writers club meeting that covered many things. When the topic of women's fiction came about I found myself growing irritable with the pregnancy of woeful ignorance; either in myself or the panel.
Is there such a thing as men’s fiction? I’ll wage a legitimate answer that there is, and I can’t over stress the seriousness of my attempt. After you’ve read it with with earnest consideration (and a more open-minded than it’s worth) then, tell me how absurd it is.
* * * * *
Men’s literature (or Men! Books! Read! as the marketing branch of the publishing world would have us call it) is always an energetic story with excess testosterone and alpha males doing terribly interesting things in most Michael-Bay-type of manner. Female leads are absurd given the genre and any female characters are bound to be helpless idiots and at all times displaying generous amounts of cleavage. Rarely amusing or light hearted these stories resemble the steaks me like to eat: bloody, gritty with little seasoning and no time for side items like vegetables. Men’s fiction is about men’s issues for a male readership; women would have a very hard time identifying with the subject matter of family, relationships and blowing stuff up. While the subject matter often crosses genres it always has commercial appeal and the characters are often attempting to overcome both a personal and external adversity.
Although men’s fiction often incorporates grave situations such as poverty, divorce, abuse, and host of other social struggles, it can also explore positive aspects within a mans life: such as guns, swords, sports, sex, gluttony and video games. Sanguine soaked fantasy and sci-fi are an integral part of Men’s fiction although the content is mature enough and well-developed that it sets itself apart from other genre classifications. Generally speaking, Men’s fiction often delves into deeper, more serious conflicts and utilizes a more poetic literary writing style than standard fiction that would be deemed appropriate of both genders.
Chad Hull the prolific author of numerous bestsellers of Men’s fiction including: The Man Book, Why Elves and Fairies are Gay, Go F*** yourself, and Tit Hooker is the ideal author of Men’s Fiction. His forthcoming novel detailing the heartbreak of a car--lovingly restored for five tender years before being totaled in a horrific accident involving no insurance and a culprit that couldn’t speak English--Steel Dump is due out this winter.
* * * * *
So… seriously. What is women’s fiction? Are those the books Nicolas Sparks writes? Is Anna Karenina the archetype of the genre? Is there such a thing as Men’s fiction? If so, what is it? If not, why?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Girls who work out are hot
I'm not only referring to the sure-to-be models in gym advertisements (and sadly none of them go to my gym) nor am I talking about your gym's resident Amazon, bodybuilder, or eighty year old grandmother. Specifically, I'm referencing the women around my age--regardless of whether or not they are physically attractive--that spend time on physical conditioning for no greater reason than selfish desire.
Allow me to explain...
I work out, Monday thru Friday at seven in the morning. I am not a morning person. I love to sleep; it is one of the greatest human past times and the single area of life in which I excel. No one has to go the gym and anyone who goes early in the morning isn't necessarily vain but I would argue that they are making a commitment to satisfy their ego: there is no other reason to be awake and putting yourself through such physical stress at that hour.
I know many women who say they are going to start or, "start back" working out. Most of them never get around to it and the few who do are so irregular that they shouldn't even bother. I saw a new girl at the gym last week. When you work out this early faces tend to become familiar and newcomers are treated with silent skepticism.
Only she wasn't new. She usually worked out in the evenings but her schedule at work had changed and her grad school classes demanded she work out in the morning. She wasn't happy about it, but there she was, and even more striking , there she has been everyday since.
The gift of my generation seems to grow weaker with time. We were the kids that set our parents VCR's to tape their shows at the appropriate hour and straightened out the Rubix's Cube because if left unfinished our failure would present us with a headache. We didn't innately know how to do either of these tasks (and in the case of the VCR we couldn't always read and/or understand the instructions), but our generation is blessed with a stick-to-it-till-it's-done gift that wouldn't let us walk away. Perhaps the obstacles were smaller and less significant as children but today overcoming greater challenges only makes the success more satisfying.
Today, I feel we give in too easily and acquiesce to the psychological excuses that our parent's generation make for our short comings. Instead of persevering through the pain and achieving what we really want, we revel in mediocrity and consolse ourselves with society's lowered expectations. It would be a terrible crime to waste our unique gifts on the preceding, and quiete literally dying, generation that came before us. Surely we owe them a debt of gratitude but this is too much.
As to the girls at the gym who wake up at six-thirty to be there by seven...they're sexy. Most of them unknowingly exercise the same devotion and zeal to a given project that all of us utilized as children. Their determination refuses to allow them to give up on an established routine, even if it's only maintenance of their body's status quo; just like a younger sister I have that wouldn't get off the couch until she was certain our mother wouldn't miss any of her soaps for the week we were on vacation.
Pride and ego aren't always bad things.
The obstacles that keep an adult from what we really want to do get even more complex than work, and school as we grow older, but if it is something important, we manage to find time. It's the people who tell you what they did, or are presently doing--not those who speak in future tense--that we, as a people, admire most. Those who sit around musing upon doing, "this and that" we generally have no patience with because we can muse in much the same light. It's hard to tell an interesting story about something you haven't done.
As for me and my character, say what you will, but in a way the attributes of at least this particular girl in the gym, are more attractive than today's supermodels and infinetly more enduring.
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