See the man dance!

I spent a little time over the weekend watching some old videos over on YouTube.  I caught a bunch of (Bon Scott) AC/DC, chuckled at some Red Skelton, and re-lived some childhood memories with the Partridge Family and The Monkees.  It kind of got me to thinking about one of WIGSF’s posts on music and the albums that changed his life.

I have vague memories of The Monkees when they were on prime time – yes, believe it or not they were once prime time TV, as were the Partridge Family and the Brady Bunch – and I had a huge crush on Davy from about the age of 3.  I had older siblings, and when I was around 6, one of their friends gave me all her old Monkees albums.  Having older siblings – and I mean older like teens and twenties when I was in 1st grade – meant that I was introduced to things musically much earlier than most of my friends were.  Sure, I had my own little record player and nursery rhyme records, but I also listened to music by Jimmi Hendrix, The Doors, 3 Dog Night, Smokey Robinson, Marvin Gaye, The Lemon Pipers, Steppenwolf, The Beatles, Credence Clearwater Revival, The Stones … you get the idea.  The radio was king and whatever was on top of the charts back then was what I listened to.  Musically, my tastes are more along the lines of people about 10 years older than me.  I can’t say that “changed” my life in any way, but I do feel I sort of got the benefit of several generations of music growing up.  Not just mine and my sibling’s generations, but my mother also loved music from the WWII era, things like the Andrews Sisters and Glenn Miller, as well as gospel.  I remember she used to listen to country music sometimes in the car on the way to school in the mornings, too.  That may be one reason why I’m only just now starting to appreciate that genre.  I swear, for years I thought that line from Kenny Rogers’ song “Lucille” said “.. with four hundred children and a crop in the field.”  *rolling my eyes*

But Davy was my true love and one of the things I loved about him – apart from the smile and the British accent naturally – was how he danced.  Now, most men have this label of being “unable to dance.”  And for some reason, it seems to be just assumed in our culture that men can’t dance.  I don’t get it.  To me, music almost requires dancing.  If you were to catch me listening to iTunes on my computer, you’d also catch me chair dancing.  They just go together.  I still love to watch Davy dance, although my favorite song that features him dancing from the TV show isn’t on YouTube.  And I still think he was a sexy dancer.   

And what about that scene from White Nights with Baryshnikov and Hines?  You know which one I’m talking about – the one in the dance studio.  How awesome is that scene? 

My point is that I believe a lot of men dance just fine, and that most of them would dance even better if they’d just let themselves believe that they dance just fine.  Set aside the silly notion that “men can’t dance” because it just isn’t true.  When the music’s in your heart it just comes out through your feet and your hands and your hips and it’s all good.  It doesn’t matter what kind of music it it as long as you like it.  So guys, have a private little dance party with your beloved, just the 2 of you.  Trust me, you’ll have way more fun than you realize. 

~~Ness~~ 

Men

I came across this blog post “Men are a woman’s issue” in my reading the other day, and as always, the topic struck a nerve with me.  Keep in mind that I grew up in the ‘70’s, in California, during the “height” of the women’s movement.  The “Battle of the Sexes” was a familiar theme of the day when I was a kid, and as a young girl about to enter adolescence, I was probably a little sensitive to it.  I distinctly remember the tennis match between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs and how I was “rooting for the girl.”  That’s what we all did, my friends and I.  I do recall a vague sense of puzzlement while I watched the game, because Riggs was “an old man” and King, was not.  Something about it didn’t ring quite fair to me, but I was too young and inexperienced to put my finger on it.  Now I realize that the whole thing was a sham – what chance did a man have of beating a woman half his age and in her prime?  Gender had nothing to do with it – age did.

In the years since then, I’ve watched TV dads go from competent, loving, involved fathers who took care of their families to idiotic belching bums with Lay-Z® boys and beer cans surgically attached to their bodies.  Now dads are morons and the only reason a show seems to have one anymore is because someone has to be the butt of all the jokes and God knows it can’t be a female.  Men used to be heroes, providers, problem-solvers, wage-earners, intelligent, strong, the head of the home.  Now they’re just buffoons.  When they’re not a threat, that is.  Men are either bad or stupid and there doesn’t seem to be anything in between. 

And it breaks my heart.

Women have done this to men, and to be fair, men have sort of allowed them to – probably because one thing men like to do is make women happy, and if being an idiot makes a woman happy, then by God men will be the best idiots they can be.  In the end though, they’ll start to hate that, and hate us for wanting them to be that, when they can – and want to be – so much more. 

I believe with all my heart that men really just want to be men; and loved for it, not in spite of it.  I believe men have a lot to give, and want to give it, and be appreciated for it.  But no one likes to give to an ungrateful recipient, men no less than women. 

Men neither need nor want to be changed, yet women seem to think that’s what a guy needs most.  “Oh, he’s not perfect, but I can change him.”  Ya think?  Honey I got news for you – he can’t be changed any more than you can.  And if you think he’s broken, you shouldn’t be investing your time or your life with him.  Love him for who and what he is and he’ll do everything in his power to lay the world at your feet.  Try to “fix” him or change him, and you’re in for some very unhappy – and lonely – times. 

Men are just different.  Not broken, or inferior.  Just different.  Celebrate that.  Celebrate them.

~~Ness~~ 

 

Men or Man?

I’m a little torn here.  I have a couple of ideas for things to talk about, but I can’t choose.  First, I thought I’d do a post about men.  I read something about Obama starting something for girls and women and one of the blogs I read commented on how sexist that was and I liked that idea and thought I’d run with it.  But then my husband was a real PILL over the weekend and I thought maybe I’d blog about that.  I’m a little conflicted and surely you can see my dilemma.  How can I do a post on how great men are and how they get treated so terribly in the media and such, when my own husband decides to make it his life’s goal to be as … irritating as possible?  He’s nicer today but man, I wore out my back scratcher smacking him with it over the weekend. 

So … thoughts?  Which would you prefer to read about?  The glories of men, or the way my own man got on my nerves?

Also, I’ve been flirting with the idea of making a duplicate blog over on Blogger.  I ask you, why do I want to do this?  Seriously, I have no idea!  Is it the backgrounds?  The widgets?  What?  *sigh*

 

~~Ness~~ 

Hair, There, and Everywhere

Yesterday, my friend WIGSF did a post about wanting to be a hairy guy.  Having a pretty strong opinion about the subject, I popped over to leave a comment, and saw that my husband had been there before me, telling the world about my love of hairy guys.  (But ear and nose hair Babe?  That’s just ewww!) 

Yes, I love hairy men.  I think they’re sexy.  I think they’re manly and virile.  Even wimpy Wesley Crusher from Star Trek TNG looks much better as a hairy guy! 

Now, I’m not talking ZZ Top here, or Santa either.  And contrary to my husband’s belief, I don’t like guys with hair down to their bums.  But to the shoulder?  Oh yes!  Beard?  Mm-hmm.  Hairy chest?  Oh my!  Men were made to have hair on their faces and other weird places. 

I really hate the analogy of a guy being so smoothly shaved that you can’t tell the difference between his face and a baby’s tush.  Who wants to make out with baby tushie?  That’s just nasty!!  I’ve got 2 sets of baby tush running around here, and believe me, I’ll squish them, pat them, occasionally spank them, but never ever kiss them!  So to hear the commercials claim that their razor shaves a man as close as a baby’s bottom is kind of sick and twisted to me.  And now you’ll never think of it the same way either, heheheheheh! 

So yeah, I’m all for WIGSF growing out his hair and his beard!  I think most men should give it a shot.  Eliminate that extra time in the morning, guys!  You know you want to.    And you just might find the ladies like it better too. 

Check out these pictures and tell me you don’t think the guy on the right looks much better than the same beardless version on the left! 

©DarcsFalcon

 

 

 

 

 

It’s HIS time of the month every WEEK!

In people, hormonal changes have been observed after changes in behavior. A 1998 study found that loyal male fans of sports teams experienced a 20 percent rise in testosterone when their teams won.

I was reading this article about birds and hormones – kinda interesting.  But towards the end of the article, I saw the above line mentioned almost in passing.  I re-read it several times, just to make sure I got it right.  A 20% rise in hormones when a fan’s team won?  Then I started thinking all kinds of things.  Did this apply to females too?  (And would it involve testosterone or estrogen?)  Did it apply to the players on the winning teams?  Was there a drop in hormones – in either players or fans – when the teams lost?  Did that apply to women?  Are hormones really that susceptible to a game?  Then I thought, well, you know, that explains a lot, like riots that take place after a team wins a really big championship.  You should have seen Chicago when the Bulls won!  And you combine all that testosterone with alcohol and you have a natural, totally organic Molotov cocktail brewing.  All you need is a match. 

So, men’s testosterone gets all out of whack – over a game … a GAME! – and they call US hormonal.  Sheesh!