Wild River Review
Wild River Review
Connecting People, Places, and Ideas: Story by Story
May 2010
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June 7, 2011

SEXISM IS ALIVE AND WELL, THANK YOU VERY MUCH

sexism1Generally speaking, the present generation of males is supposedly open, generous of spirit, sensitive and gender-blind. Right? Maybe not.

I suspect there is enough awareness to spout the correct verbiage in public that is very PC but there is a definite harboring of old, traditional concepts about women. I would have to say that there are cave men hiding deep inside the sophisticated male brain that frequently sees the world instantaneously through electronics, understands every hi-tech gadget, accepts challenges, and is non-racist. Why are so many men, liberal and conservative so unwilling to look at women as humans with needs as strong as theirs and brains that function on a par with the male population?

Maybe they are reluctant to give up the good, old-fashioned self-serving mores of women doing the dirty work since time began. If one feigns ignorance at where the cereal is kept, someone will jump up and get it – usually a woman. Even a bit of chiding might be welcomed for not remembering where the food pantry is hiding. After all, it’s a female secret.

It’s odd that a bachelor can be very self-sufficient in his own digs until he moves in with a woman and develops partial paralysis. But if he takes the big step of marriage he may very well become a domestic quadriplegic.

In a sea of subtle and not so subtle sexist undercurrents, let me point out just a few:

I was talking to a man who is in his early 40s. He’s single, heterosexual, handsome, intelligent, financially successful and has been around the dating scene a good deal. He is charming and funny. He brought up porno in a casual way because it fit into the conversation. I told him how dreadful I thought it was because it was abusive and brutal to women with undertones rape and sometimes the undertones have clearly moved to be in your face. Porno gives the impression that women loved having violent sex which is not true for most women. He gave me a shocked expression.

“Really?” he asked, mockingly. “What other kind of sex is there?”

A bit tongue in cheek to match his reaction but with sincerity, I proceeded to tell him there is erotica where there is a genuine good feeling between a couple, tenderness, gentle touching, and words of endearment. I said that most sex appeal comes through the mind. That is the most sensual part of the body. When there is open communication, caring, fun-loving teasing and trust – eroticism blossoms naturally.

The man put his chin on his chest and faked snoring. Yes, I know he was kidding, and maybe even defensive, but it says so much. For one thing, there is a great deal of truth in his gesture of humorous, feigned boredom that suggests how he really feels about love and the needs of women. He might very well agree with me, but for the sake of appearing masculine he had to take the macho stance. This is certainly ingrained in our society. If he echoed my words in the locker room the guys would have been all over him about what a sissy he was.

This kind of sexism exists in all generations of men, especially older ones. I see a lot of creative writing and rarely does a man write well about women. They are often either non-existent in a story, one-dimensional, saints or sluts, and when given a significant occupation, those very same female characters are asked to get coffee and donuts.

Recently, I was in a situation where I had a difference of opinion with an older gentleman. His response, rather than challenging me with his slant on the topic, he simply said, “Your opinion is based on being a woman.”

I interpret this as an insult that means a woman’s opinion is more frothy and inconsequential than one coming from a man. Now I know this might sound like an isolated situation where a clueless man didn’t realize how demeaning his statement was, but I have run into this kind of female deprecation often.

For instance, I attended a gathering where we were discussing the danger of the massive deficit. I remarked that before we cut services to medical programs, the poor, and the elderly that perhaps we can reduce the horrific government waste that was estimated at approximately 350 billion dollars some years ago (probably much more now since little has been done to contain that figure nor do we know the full story of the deficit as some parts of the budget are secret). That huge figure takes in money that is misallocated, stolen or falls through the cracks and the cracks can be huge.

A man who is a professional turned to me with a sarcastic smile and said, “Dear, you don’t mean billions. You mean millions.”

No sir, I MEANT BILLIONS. His misguided sexism figured a woman doesn’t know the difference between millions and billions.

Would he have said the same thing in the same way to a man? Hardly. I imagine he would have said… “Hmmm. Interesting.”

In an online video that deals with Disney characters and how they influence children, entitled, Sexism, Strength and Dominance: Masculinity in Disney Films, by sanjaynewton, the Disney male heroes tend to project images of men who are

physically strong with good looks and a willingness to engage in violence. Women appear to be feminine in the traditional sense of conceding to a man’s strength.

Dominance is a theme and violence prevalent in the stories that most of us are familiar with from early childhood. Even when there are female heroes they usually defer to men or wind up as the object of a man. There is little in the way to say a woman who is unattached romantically is worthy. Women, for the most part, appear to be treated as sex objects who are there “… for pleasure or to please men. And heroes are usually handsome, buff males.” – as stated in the same analysis of Disney characters.

There is no question that these images are harmful to girls and difficult for boys who might be made to feel defective because they don’t measure up to how males are depicted. This may cause a large emotional breach from women. From my perspective I see this as a huge division that impacts later in life with adult relationships. What are we doing to the young generation of boys and girls? This perpetuation of artificial and antiquated male/female images has to stop – and soon.

SexyG

December 15, 2010

What If You Met Santa at a Singles’ Bar?

bar

By The Sexy G

The holiday season put me into a contemplative mood. I imagined driving alone through the deserted, hushed streets the day after Christmas. Everyone inside, all warm and cozy with their gifts while I wander around the city.

I began to think about one of the blogs I wrote – do women really want sensitive men, those special men in touch with their feminine side? Or, are women unconsciously repelled by the very same qualities they say they desperately need in a partner? Then I thought that the image of Santa Claus gives him the ambiance of a sensitive man. He’s a philanthropist of the highest order, making sure every child get a gift. He is applauded and adored around the world and never even took an income tax break for charity.

So, I thought, what if Santa walked into a bar where the older set hangs out and sat next to me? How would I react? Here’s the picture:

I’m sitting in an upscale bar in Center City Philadelphia.

The bar is carved oak with a black marble counter top. Behind the bar are brightly lit, glass shelves with top-drawer bottles of liquor. There are very few patrons. I’m drinking an icy vodka martini and chilling out. A man, two seats down, is staring at me. I give him a small smile. He moves over and sits next to me.

“Want to buy me a drink, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Not really.” I say. ”Just kidding.”

He looks up.

“Hey, barkeep, give this nice lady another, whatever she’s drinking.”

I look over at this brash man who didn’t even ask me if I wanted another drink and find his appearance pleasing. He’s wearing a navy, cable knit sweater and tan slacks. His salt and pepper hair is cut short, but several strands sweep over a high forehead. His nose is large but quite appropriate for his tall, thick size. He’s solidly built and in his early sixties.

“I’m Jimmy.”

He extends his hand, and I shake it. It is cool and smooth to the touch, not a hand that belongs to a manual worker. It’s how I picture Jimmy to be – plastic.

“Okay. Are you married or otherwise engaged?” I ask

“Nope. Been there, done that a couple of times and have given it up for Lent. Just want to have fun now.”

At least he’s honest. Do I dare sound corny and tell him that I’ve been there, too, but want to have a terrific committed relationship now? I decide to keep quiet.

“You’re a pleasant looking lass, he says peering down my v-neckline at my cleavage.

Well, can’t say that wearing this outfit was accidental. We’re smack in the era of displaying cleavage and the tops of backsides. The latter is definitely not for me, but a little cleavage works wonders for a little attention. Oh, sometimes men are simplistic.

“Do you know why your marriage or marriages didn’t last?” I ask him.

“I wasn’t home much because I’m a workaholic and when I was around I watched sports on TV. What man doesn’t do that? I just didn’t get the kind
of woman who tolerates it. Then she cheated on me. But I’m not changing.”

“When you and your wife were together, did you enjoy intimacy? Were you a good listener and did you give your wife some quality time?”

“Hey, that’s chick stuff. I’m sure I was a good husband. I’m not great with domestic stuff. As a provider I did the best I could and loved my kids. Isn’t that enough?” He shook his head. “Look, let’s not talk serious stuff. If you want to have fun, I’m your guy.” He looks at me sideways. “I’m good in the sack.”

So, I’m face to face with a man who has the bad boy syndrome, and, I must say, it has some appeal. Why not be carefree and enjoy every second? No strings attached. Hey, next year arthritis might get me or some other damned illness.

Thudding footsteps sound behind me. I turn. Santa Claus is standing in the middle of the marble floor, removing his big, white mittens. I’m in shock. He walks over and sits next to me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks. His beard has tiny icicles hanging from it.

“Sure, Santa. What are you doing here?”

“No one is home. I haven’t publicized it because it will upset millions of children, but Mrs. Claus passed away last year. The elves have gone to their own families. I was lonely.”

“Santa, you’re a super star. Thousands of people would invite you to dinner.”

Jimmy, seemingly unaffected by Santa’s presence, moves away and sits next to an attractive woman.

“It’s one of those oddities. You see, because I was busy pleasing everyone, I never developed close relationships. Children love me, parents love me, but with limits. It’s sweet and pleasant, but I’m not really an integral part of their lives.”

The bartender delivers the drinks. Santa had ordered a mint martini. We click glasses.

“I realized since my wife died that I was remiss in our relationship. I used my enormous fame and generosity as a ploy to keep from being close to her. We only talked about my work and the stresses that go with it. If my wife complained, I didn’t listen to her.”

…This even made me angry.

“I insisted that making toys for the children superseded herdemands for attention. So many people depend on me.” His expression turns weary. ”It’s only since she’s gone that I see blaming work for my failings was dumb. I feared love because it would make me vulnerable. The woman of my life meant so much to me, gave me everything within her capacity. I cut her off emotionally so that I might devote myself to the world. Giving my all to others was easier than working on my marriage with the one person who mattered most in my life.”

I finish my drink, grab his unfinished cocktail and down that quickly. Was this real? Or was I having a psychotic episode? I admit to
being a bit strung out from guzzling bourbon eggnogs yesterday, but this was beyond hallucinating.

“I opened up to one woman since my dear wife’s passing,” Santa continues. “She had champagne waiting for me when I came down her chimney. She’d heard about Mrs. Claus’ demise and thought we’d get along. I poured my heart out, telling her that I’d reevaluated my life and knew I’d missed so much in the pursuit of success. I wanted to change now, discover who I really was under this hand-tailored, red suit. I wanted to discover poetry and learn to cook. I let myself cry in front of her, told her how upsetting it was to always act strong even when I don’t feel it. I had always lived in constant terror someone might not like me and I became the epitome of a crowd pleaser. Now I want my image off of all those greeting cards. I would willingly trade my celebrity for love, passion and obscurity.”

He sighs.

“Suddenly, this woman got a look of horror. She told me I’d be a nobody. What did she want with someone like that? I said I’m looking for a woman who wants to be friends first, before we’re intimate.”

He blinks at me.

“She thought the idea of being friends first was gay. She asked if I had sexual relationships with the elves? That did it. With a clatter, I zipped back up the chimney. As I sailed through the air in my sleigh, I decided that I wouldn’t let her attitude stop me from seeking answers within myself. Somewhere, a woman exists who truly wants a sensitive man. I’ll search even if I have to miss next Christmas.”

He sighs and his blue eyes get a mischievous twinkle.

“When I first saw you, I thought you might be that kind of
woman.”

I look over at Jimmy. He sits alone now and gives me a big smile and a small wave. I stare at Santa, little beads of water from melted icicles cling to his brilliant, white beard.

“I’d love for you to dance through life with me until the music stops,” he says.

Or my tits fall off
- whichever comes first.

I say a little prayer that Santa is a vegetarian. Then I remember his fondness for his pet reindeers. He’d never eat meat.

“Santa, want to come back to my place?” I ask.

SexyG

Wild River Review is funded entirely by reader support and donations.

To support our mission and passion for good storytelling, please help support my work and make a tax-deductible donation by clicking here:  Wild River Donation.


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December 17, 2008

WHAT IF YOU MET SANTA AT A SINGLES BAR?

bar

By The Sexy G

The holiday season put me into a contemplative mood. I imagined driving alone through the deserted, hushed streets the day after Christmas. Everyone inside, all warm and cozy with their gifts while I wander around the city.

I began to think about one of the blogs I wrote – do women
really want sensitive men, those
special men in touch with their feminine side? Or, are women unconsciously
repelled by the very same qualities they say they desperately need in a partner? Then I thought that the
image of Santa Claus gives him the ambiance of a sensitive man. He’s a
philanthropist of the highest order, making sure every child get a gift. He is
applauded and adored around the world and never even took an income tax break
for charity.

So, I thought, what if Santa walked into a bar where the older
set hangs out and sat next to me? How would I react? Here’s the picture:

I’m sitting in an upscale bar in Center City Philadelphia.
The bar is carved oak with a black marble counter top. Behind the bar are brightly
lit, glass shelves with top-drawer bottles of liquor. There are very few
patrons. I’m drinking an icy vodka martini and chilling out. A man, two seats
down, is staring at me. I give him a small smile. He moves over and sits next
to me.

“Want to buy me a drink, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Not really.” I say.

“Just kidding.” He looks up. “Hey, barkeep, give this nice
lady another, whatever she’s drinking.”

I look over at this brash man who didn’t even ask me if I
wanted another drink and find his appearance pleasing. He’s wearing a navy,
cable knit sweater and tan slacks. His salt and pepper hair is cut short, but
several strands sweep over a high forehead. His nose is large but quite
appropriate for his tall, thick size. He’s solidly built and in his early
sixties.

“I’m Jimmy.”

He extends his hand, and I shake it. It is cool and smooth
to the touch, not a hand that belongs to a manual worker. It’s how I picture
Jimmy to be – plastic. “Okay. Are you married or otherwise engaged?” I ask

“Nope. Been there, done that a couple of times and have
given it up for Lent. Just want to have fun now.”

At least he’s honest. Do I dare sound corny and tell him
that I’ve been there, too, but want to have a terrific committed relationship
now? I decide to keep quiet.

“You’re a pleasant looking lass, he says peering down my
v-neckline at my cleavage.

Well, can’t say that wearing this outfit was accidental. We’re
smack in the era of displaying cleavage and the tops of backsides. The latter is definitely not for me, but a little cleavage works wonders for a little attention. Oh,
sometimes men are simplistic.

“Do you know why your marriage or marriages didn’t last?” I
ask him.

“I wasn’t home much because I’m a workaholic and when I was
around I watched sports on TV. What man doesn’t do that? I just didn’t get the kind
of woman who tolerates it. Then she cheated on me. But I’m not changing.”

“When you and your wife were together, did you enjoy
intimacy? Were you a good listener and did you give your wife some quality
time?”

“Hey, that’s chick stuff. I’m sure I was a good husband. I’m
not great with domestic stuff. As a provider I did the best I could and loved my
kids. Isn’t that enough?” He shook his head. “Look, let’s not talk serious
stuff. If you want to have fun, I’m your guy.” He looks at me sideways. “I’m
good in the sack.”

So, I’m face to face with a man who has the bad boy syndrome, and, I must say, it
has some appeal. Why not be carefree and enjoy every second? No strings
attached. Hey, next year arthritis might get me or some other damned illness.

Thudding footsteps sound behind me. I turn. Santa Claus is
standing in the middle of the marble floor, removing his big, white mittens. I’m
in shock. He walks over and sits next to me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks. His beard has tiny icicles
hanging from it.

“Sure, Santa. What are you doing here?”

“No one is home. I haven’t publicized it because it will
upset millions of children, but Mrs. Claus passed away last year. The elves
have gone to their own families. I was lonely.”

“Santa, you’re a super star. Thousands of people would
invite you to dinner.” Jimmy, seemingly unaffected by Santa’s presence, moves
away and sits next to an attractive woman.

“It’s one of those oddities. You see, because I was busy
pleasing everyone, I never developed close relationships. Children love me,
parents love me, but with limits. It’s sweet and pleasant, but I’m not really
an integral part of their lives.”

The bartender delivers the drinks. Santa had ordered a mint
martini. We click glasses.

“I realize since my wife died I was remiss in our
relationship. I used my enormous fame and generosity as a ploy to keep from
being close to her. We only talked about my work and the stresses that go with
it. If my wife complained, I didn’t listen to her. It even made me angry.

“I insisted that making toys for the children superseded her
demands for attention. So many people depend on me.” His expression turns weary.
“It’s only since she’s gone that I see blaming work for my failings was dumb. I
feared love because it would make me vulnerable. The woman of my life meant so
much to me, gave me everything within her capacity. I cut her off emotionally
so that I might devote myself to the world. Giving my all to others was easier
than working on my marriage with the one person who mattered most in my life.”

I finish my drink, grab his unfinished cocktail and down
that quickly. Was this real? Or was I having a psychotic episode? I admit to
being a bit strung out from guzzling bourbon eggnogs yesterday, but this was
beyond hallucinating.

“I opened up to one woman since my dear wife’s passing,”
Santa continues. “She had champagne waiting for me when I came down her chimney.
She’d heard about Mrs. Claus’ demise and thought we’d get along. I poured my
heart out, telling her that I’d reevaluated my life and knew I’d missed so much
in the pursuit of success. I wanted to change now, discover who I really was
under this hand-tailored, red suit. I wanted to discover poetry and learn to
cook. I let myself cry in front of her, told her how upsetting it was to always
act strong even when I don’t feel it. I had always lived in constant terror
someone might not like me and I became the epitome of a crowd pleaser. Now I want
my image off of all those greeting cards. I would willingly trade my celebrity for
love, passion and obscurity.

“Suddenly, this woman got a look of horror. She told me I’d
be a nobody. What did she want with someone like that? I said I’m looking for a
woman who wants to be friends first, before we’re intimate.

“She thought the idea of being friends first was gay. She
asked if I had sexual relationships with the elves? That did it. With a
clatter, I zipped back up the chimney. As I sailed through the air in my
sleigh, I decided that I wouldn’t let her attitude stop me from seeking answers
within myself. Somewhere, a woman exists who truly wants a sensitive man. I’ll
search even if I have to miss next Christmas.” He sighs and his blue eyes get a
mischievous twinkle. “When I first saw you, I thought you might be that kind of
woman.”

I look over at Jimmy. He sits alone now and gives me a big
smile and a small wave.

I stare at Santa, little beads of water from melted icicles
cling to his brilliant, white beard.

“I’d love for you to dance through life with me until the
music stops,” he says

Or my tits fall off
- whichever comes first.
I say a
little prayer that Santa is a vegetarian. Then I remember his fondness for his
pet reindeers. He’d never eat meat.

“Santa, want to come back to my place?” I ask.

SexyG

Wild River Review is funded entirely by reader support and donations.

To support our mission and passion for good storytelling, please help support my work and make a tax-deductible donation by clicking here:  Wild River Donation.


Sign up with your email address below to join our mailing list and receiveWRR Monthly.

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