Category Archives: questionable masculinity

Talking About Money Will Make You Dumb

Talking about money makes you dirty. Yep, I just said it. And please note, it doesn’t just make you feel dirty. It actually makes you dirty.

Now for all the qualifications.

If it’s your business, talk about it. Are you a department head talking to a comptroller? Talk about it. Are you a husband talking to a wife? Go ahead. Are you trying to convince an acquaintance to invest in your company? Do it.

If it’s not your business, stay away.  And don’t try any of that “Those who won’t talk about money won’t make any money” schtuff I ran across as I googled away in preparation for this post. I’ve had frank conversations about money with friends…when we were talking about going into business together. It might even be a very casual conversation, money talk doesn’t have to be stressful, but it does have to be…

*cue drumroll*

…one of my favorite concepts ever! Money talk has to be modest!

I don’t care if you think my wife is hot. In fact, I’ll probably be pleased. It might even have become obvious over the course of our friendship that you thought so. And everything would have been cool. If only you hadn’t said “Your wife is so hot” out loud. It got weird then.

I don’t care if you’ve figured out how much money I make. I have a certain kind of job, I have a particular house, I wear these clothes. Just don’t ever get explicit; don’t get immodest.

The other day I got caught up in a conversation about home buying. An acquaintance mentioned that he’d looked in our neighborhood, at a house, in fact, that is just one over from ours. I expressed interest. He then told me that he didn’t think much of the price of this home. Fine so far, although I was beginning to get uncomfortable. Then he dropped the bombshell. “I looked up how much they paid for that house. I even looked up what you paid for yours.”

I was absolutely flabbergasted.

I didn’t mind that he had the information. I would have told a friend if the friend was just trying to get a grasp on prices in my neighborhood and was just being clumsy. I probably wouldn’t have told this person if he’d asked me directly (saying something generic like “We got a pretty good deal” and moving on), but I wouldn’t have cared if he’d gotten the information from somewhere else. In fact, as soon as he’d said “I looked up how much they paid for that house” I knew he’d looked up the price of ours.

It was his telling me he’d looked that blew me away.

Modesty, people. Circumspection. The lack of it when talking about money makes you dirty. It’s the way you do it. You make it creepy, dude.

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I have family in Palm Beach County.

I hate going to Palm Beach County. Do you know why? It’s not because of Palm Beach. That’s where all the outrageously rich people live, both the sophisticated and the gauche, the nouveau and the vieux riche. The rich are like the poor: some are polite and some are rude, depending on what their mamas taught them. I hate going down there because of West Palm Beach. West Palm is where all the middle class South Floridians live their money-grubbing lives.

All these people want the same thing.

These people don’t even have the decency to drive gaudy convertibles and build houses with outrageous columns out front. No, these people commit a worse sin than that. They talk about money all the time.

__________________________________________________________

I now become the sort of man who accuses others of being bourgeois.

Obsession with money is what makes these people “middle class”. They are the perfect example of what bourgeois is. The problem is not lack of money, or lack of business success. The problem is concupiscence.

1bour·geois

1: of, relating to, or characteristic of the social middle class
2: marked by a concern for material interests and respectability and a tendency toward mediocrity
3: dominated by commercial and industrial interests :capitalistic

“Middle class…” “…a tendency toward mediocrity…”

There it is. Mediocrity. The word I’ve been looking for. The idea that will convince you to shut up and not talk about your money or mine.

Go make money. Lots of it. Save money. Lots of it. Tip less, coupon more, I don’t care. But don’t get caught up in talking and thinking about money all the time. It will crush the spark of genius in you that might have done great things…like write beautiful sonnets or explore new worlds or make lots of money. Talking about ideas (including business ideas) will make you smart; talking about money will make you dumb.

Men who think about and talk about women every waking hour cannot write love poetry or find true love. Those who think about and talk about money all the time only ever see that they don’t have enough, and they never will have enough.

Men who are openly lustful make the women around them uncomfortable; the women feel judged and violated. Those whose minds and mouths are always on their money make their friends feel judged and violated.

That is why it’s rude to talk about money. And if you insist on being asininely Randian about this, then I will advise you that your own self-interest will be best served if you close your mouth, pour yourself a lemonade, and open a nice book of sonnets. You might not get richer, but you’ll feel richer. And maybe, just maybe, the new sonnet-reading you will be able to vault himself out of mediocrity with a soulful bounding leap.

“This Is How A Human Male Looks”

Morgan Spurlock of Supersize Me fame is creating what might be his most enduring contribution to human civilization: a study of what it takes to be manly and handsome, or “mansome”.

This past weekend I listened to a Greenville Country sheriff’s deputy talk about his trips to a local place to wax his chest. I was dismayed to hear this; I’d had no warning, it wasn’t like this guy was a body-builder. And did you know that there’s perfume specifically designed for the male groin area?

How much grooming does “mansome” allow for? Does this count as mansome?

Weep You For The Manhood of America

“It’s a problem as old as gaming itself. Stay at home and keep playing, or get to work on time so your coffee-breath boss doesn’t ride you like a rented scooter.”

There’s so much I want to say about this, but everything I think of seems self-evident. Suffice then to say that this device is called a Vita, or “Life”, presumably because you can allow it to rule your life.

The Rugby Macaws

Elsewhere I have spoken of the tendency in the rugby world to take plants as mascots, a habit which I thoroughly approve of. It’s part of the ethos that makes rugby a “hooligans’ game played by gentlemen”. And I always approve of tempered masculinity, or that is to say, I approve of true masculinity.

Brazil Rugby is choosing its mascot. They’ve put the question up to a vote, although I don’t know whether the vote is simply a marketing gimmick or if they’re actually going to simply select the most popular one. You can, if you are willing to go by image alone (since the page is in Portuguese), vote here.

(Readers may not know that I am Brazilian.)

Brazilian rugby clearly stands at a crossroads. A mascot can be a defining thing. There are no plants as options to vote for, perhaps because the giant of South American rugby are Argentina’s Pumas. So I can see how it’s tempting to select something bad-ass. All the choices have some sense of dignity, but I’m a huge fan of the least “dignified” of the choices, for the same reasons I love rugby teams represented by flowers.

The choices are 1. an anaconda, 2. a Tupi Indian warrior, 3. a macaw.

The snake option could definitely be worse. I’m not a fan of overly aggressive mascots, and poisonous snakes are a little over the top, in my opinion. It’s very arena football of one to name one’s team the “rattlesnakes” or “cobras”, I think. There’s a “Roll Tide” inexorability to the Anaconda choice that I kind of like, but the logo’s very aggressive.

The Tupi choice is also okay. I’m a fan of naming your team after a specific warrior people, it does honor to the folk and makes you part of a story. The NFL’s Redskins, for example, are horribly named. That just says “hey, we’re savage warriors, b*****s.” But being a Trojan or a Seminole is awesome. The real Seminoles always jump to Florida State University’s defense whenever some overly liberal white person suggests their mascot is racist. FSU is proud to be associated with the Seminoles, and they are proud to be associated with the school.

All that being said, I do think the choice, and particularly the execution of the logo, is a little hackneyed.

People, vote for the Parrot. Actually, it’s a Macaw, which sounds better in English anyway. The Macaws of Brazil. Os Araras. Love the idea. Here’s the logo.

The text says “A bird that carries our colors in its plumage and is a symbol of Brazil! They’re light, but strong. Small, but agile. As in Rugby, they live in a group and their song can be heard well beyond our borders!”

Snake? Warrior? No thank you.

Loud, flamboyant bird? Yes please. Well suited to one day competing against Palm Trees, Ferns, Oaks, Wallabies, and Springboks.

And since we’re on the topic of Brazilian mascots, expect a post soon on one of the potential logos for the upcoming Olympics in Rio. A one-legged black man with a red cap who’s always smoking a pipe.

Family: The Engine That Drives Small Business

So now you know how I’m spending my tax refund: I’m supporting local business. I bought an Easter Keg for Mardi Gras. But I’m picking it up on Ash Wednesday. A couple of friends are doing a beer fast. I lasted for five days last year. Can I get further this year?

And if you live in Greenville and environs, make sure you stop by The Community Tap and grab a couple of growlers of fine beer.

Fantasy Sports Is Corrupting Your Tiny Little Mind!

Actually, I don’t know if you play fantasy sports. Or even if you have a tiny little mind. But really, dude, don’t worry about it. You know what they say, it’s the motion in the ocean. And anyway, with the whole perspective thing it probably looks smaller to you than it actually is.

I’ve always opposed the playing of fantasy sports because it would rob me of most of the joy of watching sports. Sure, I’d be invested in a lot more games, but do I really want to keep attentive track of the game between the Jacksonville Jaguars and the Seattle Seahawks just because I picked up Maurice Jones-Drew? And then there’s the nightmare scenario of pulling for a player on the other side of the field from your team, just because I really need a win in my fantasy league this week. It was bad enough for me when Tebow (I’m a Gator, and I just straight-up love Tebow) went up against the Patriots (my NFL team). Now that’s coming up again next week and I’m conflicted. I feel like fantasy would put me into that frame of mind regularly; I don’t like it.

But I’m sure your corrupt minds have found a way around these issues. You’re the fantasy vets, not me.

Well, what about this?!?! Huh? What do you say to this?! A fantasy basketball player coming to terms with the fact that he forgave NBA player Kyle Lowry for what was really only a light case of assault in Las Vegas. The writer’s description of his relief that Lowry hadn’t beat down some prostitutes is hilarious; and sums up perfectly the problem with fantasy sports.

"I've been hit in the face by a ball before. I say, shake it off, girl!"

This definitely takes you a step deeper than the charity and sympathy you extend to a player for your favorite real team (a la Rothlisberger in Pittsburgh, say). They may be your favorite team, and you may really want him on the field, but you manage to keep perspective because it’s not you, it’s your team.

Well, with fantasy, it’s you.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe fantasy sports is a great way to build understanding and forgiveness for those most heinous of sinners, sports general managers and team owners.

Young Men & Pipes

Young men have always loved their pipes. A. A. Milne spoke of the obligatory ritual of buying two pipes upon arriving at school in Cambridge. I learned to smoke a pipe with a bunch of freshmen at a humanities college. And here several young soldiers trot out their pipes for their studiedly casual photo shoot.

Virginia, 1862 - Staff of Fitz John Porter, General of the Union Army during the Civil War. General Custer is reclining next to the dog. Via Retronaut.

I do think it important to point out that one of the men without a pipe is George Armstrong Custer. Just saying. Vainglorious dandies take themselves too seriously to smoke a pipe. They’re more likely to be cigar men, don’t you think? Or worst of all, non-smoking teetotalers.

…Custer was more dependent than most men, on the kind approval of his fellows. He was even vain; he loved display in dress and in action. He would pay forty dollars for a pair of trooper boots to wear on parade and have everything else in keeping.
On the Yellowstone expedition he wore a bright red shirt which made him the best mark for a rifle of any man in the regiment. On the next campaign he ap-
peared in a buckskin suit. He formerly wore his hair very long, letting it fall in a heavy mass upon his shoulders, but cut it off before going out to the Black
Hills, producing quite a change in his appearance. But if vain and ambitious, Custer had none of those great vices which are common and so distressing in the army.
He never touched liquor in any form; he did not smoke, or chew, or gamble.

Frightening. Therefore, young men, for the sake of your sanity and integrity, take out your pipes and puff on ‘em.

Mean Tweets Are Like Farts: How To Criticize On The Twitters

On the one hand, ladies and gentlemen, we have real life. In real life we hug, sweat, laugh, and considerately leave the room before farting.

On the other hand we have life online. You might be a nice guy, and I a mean guy, and that will, of course, affect how we behave, but at the end of the day we’re not talking about real life. So we don’t have to leave the room before farting if we don’t want to. I mean, what are you going to do about it?

Observe, if you please, the following exchange.

Here Sweet Jeremy the douchebag music blogger has a note for a famous musician. Now, he’s not her friend. If he were, he would send her a private message, and she would say, “Oh, hey, thanks, Sweet Jeremy.” And it’s not enough for him to simply tell his very respectable group of 5,000 followers what he thinks of Neko Case’s set. No, he must make sure it pops up in her feed, and, most likely, on her phone.

If you shouted at a bartender from across the room that they hadn’t made your drink quite right, you’d be thought a dick by those around you. If you said it to a bartender all the regulars thought was an absolute master of his trade, you’d be thought a silly dick. He tends bar, you are a journalist, leave it at that.

Which is pretty much what the artist in question says. Here the customer at the bar realizes he looks stupid, and performs a face-saving maneuver (laughs it off, tips well, whatever), or limps off in silence. No such luck with our man Sweet Jeremy.

And this wasn’t even Sweet Jeremy’s last tweet. He fired off a nastier one  half an hour later. After the artist showed a willingness to let silence bring peace. And this is where Sweet Jeremy brings us full circle back to farts.

Critical tweets are like farts. Apply the same rules to critical tweeting that you would to letting one rip.

1. If you’re hanging out with your bestest buds, let it out. Be loud about it, too. It’s probably not something they haven’t heard before, and it serves to keep them on their toes. Besides, you’re just getting them back for last time.

2. If you’re dealing with your peer group, certainly have a go, but don’t be outrageous. We’re trying to get some work done here.

3. If you’re dealing with someone who is not a friend or well-known acquaintance, be discreet about it.

4. Only the truly wicked deserve an aggressive delivery to the face. If you thought that Dick Cheney or Fidel Castro deserved one to the face, I’d allow that your were enemies, and not think less of you for it.

Readers know I’m willing to dole out a little criticism now and again. But my handy rule of thumb helps: if you don’t know them, don’t tag people you’re going to criticize. They’ll find it if they want to, because like the rest of us, they search their own name all the time.

We have reached the part of the show where we get preachy up in here.

Boys and girls, the internetz are real. Real people, real lives. You ought to be polite. Your grandmama didn’t want you to be polite because she wanted you to avoid the real-life repercussions of being rude. That’s just your natural born asshole thinking for itself. Your grandmama wanted you to be polite as a consideration of others; as a way of bestowing dignity on yourself and the other by bestowing dignity on your interaction.

Don’t allow the lack of physical interaction keep you from maintaining a sense of proportion. If you get too violent about these sorts of things, you’ll end up sharting all over your twitters. And now I’m off to tweet this link directly to @remycharest. Yes, I’m breaking my own rule, and it feels so good.