Category: Male

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Wow, I’m torn about this…

Recently a Judge dismissed a case from a sorority that was seeking to prevent a “Trans” a.k.a. a cross dressing man from joining.

On the one hand, I think this is wrong on its face and we shouldn’t be having a discussion about a transvestite being allowed into a sorority in the first place. I know I don’t want a transvestite bunking in my niece’s dorm.

The judge should have heard the case. But as is all too common these days, common sense and the law don’t intersect. Worse, the law and those entrusted to uphold it, either don’t do their jobs dispassionately, are too cowardly to make a decision that might fly in the face of the vocal but small minority.

But and this is where it gets really muddy. I’m pleased that Women are having to deal with the infiltration of spaces that were “Theirs”. Now they know how Men felt when we were told we couldn’t have exclusively men’s clubs, or salons, or VIP locker rooms for men, (if the women didn’t have one too,) even when 98% of the gym membership was male.

I doubt Women will get it, they’ll make everything about what it means to them, but never think about what they’ve done to men by demanding there can be NO MALE only places. Even our bathrooms aren’t ours anymore.

Ultimately, because I’m like most decent men. I’ll forego having satisfaction that women are getting what they deserve and stand with the sorority against the so called “Trans” agenda.

These girls are supposed to be going to college where they can learn something, they shouldn’t have to live in fear of some messed up freak.

If I was the father of one of these young ladies, I’d tell her she didn’t need the sorority experience. I’d tell her that the distraction of the sorority isn’t going to help her grades. I’d probably offer to arrange for her to attend a conservative private college.

I admire the sorority trying to seek legal remedy for the problem but that’s not likely to happen in our society these days.

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Mitch it’s time for you to head to the pasture.

I say that to you the same as I’d say it to anyone in my family.

The men in my family would pour our Elder two fingers of Evan Williams, and respectfully ask him to give us his guns. (Provided he hadn’t already.) It’s symbolic; A way of telling our Elder, “We’ve got your back. We’ll keep you safe, and shed tears when you leave us.”

While I disagree with a lot of your politics Senator McConnell, I’m sorry about whatever is happening to you. Maybe you should take these freezing events as your body telling you time is short. (That’s what the men in my family would interpret them as. We’d take you hunting, fishing, or riding, as often as you wanted, so the last of your days are filled with happiness, love, and respect.)

Since you’re not a member of my family may I suggest, it’s time to retire and spend the waning days of your life on the porch with your family?

Go home to Kentucky and appreciate the smell of hay being mowed, the rain on the earth, and the fall foliage. Enjoy the change of seasons and Thanksgiving watching the kids and grandkids playing touch football in the yard.

You’ve lived a long life, battled in politics for years, and have certainly earned a little peace & quiet.

Walk away from the political theater. You’ve done all that can be done. Killing yourself by staying in office isn’t going to change a thing. The cards have been dealt, they’ll be played whether you’re in the Senate or not.

Go home to our beloved bluegrass covered hills, horse farms, and orderly split rail fences.

Enjoy watching horses running across the fields. When you close your eyes for the last time, you’ll be doing it at home, contentedly in a quiet place without a gaggle of reporters shouting at you.

Respectfully, It’s time for you to rest sir.

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A Good Day

I did the usual chores, played a video game or two, watched Foundation on Apple TV. Then I made dinner, went out to the deck to eat and watched the sunset.

The moon rose gently over the mountain then hung behind the trees at the top of the ridge for a few minutes.

It was one of the perfect photographic shots that you miss because your phone is inside and probably won’t catch the image. You think for a minute and realize that by the time you grab the SLR, the moon will have moved on and the shot will be gone.

So you do the only rational thing.

You sit still, take another drink of your adult cocktail and enjoy the the moon moving up behind the treeline ascending to its proper place in the heavens. You store the image in your head, just like your ancestors did for the preceding million years.

That was my evening.

When I came in and was cleaning up the kitchen the pup came in and had some swelling above one eye. I think he took a wasp hit or was bitten by something while we were out walking. He sticks his head in bushes sometimes so it’s possible he ticked off a wasp or bee.

He came to show me. I’ve washed his face with a cool damp rag, I cuddled him next to me on the couch for a while. As expected, the area is a bit sensitive but the cool rag seemed to sooth it.

I’ll have to keep an eye on it. If the swelling is gone or reduced by morning it’ll be fine otherwise I may have to take him to see the vet.

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I was going to start this with the old…

… This is your brain on drugs photo. If you’re old enough, you’d remember the eggs in the frying pan.

As I was looking for an easy image to pull, (because I don’t feel like fried eggs for breakfast,) I ran across a lot of images of brains, and brain related memes.

Ironically more than a few of those “informative” images, were suspect or had typos.

This one for example, has both concerns. I think the average human brain is perhaps 1/3 larger than the image asserts and there’s the old To, Too, Two, bugaboo. I’m going to ignore capitalization and sentence structure.

According to a quick internet search, (we all know how accurate that’s likely to be,) The average human brain weighs in, at about 3 lbs. It has a volume of 1260 cm3. Another interesting thing to note is that the human brain contains approximately 40% fat.

I suppose that means I shouldn’t have been offended when someone called me a fathead.

All of this about brains started because as I’ve moved through the grieving process, I’ve noticed things that disturb the hell out of me. I can’t remember SHIT! I write stuff down, or I put it into my phone and then forget to check my list.

I didn’t used to have this problem. I remembered everything, and found the act of writing things down to be a waste of time because I remembered everything I needed to do.

Now, I can’t stay focused, or on task. Everything is monumentally difficult, even the things I like doing. I’ve also noticed that I feel like I’ve lost myself, and am lost. I don’t “Feel” like myself right now. I’m easily bored and far too easily annoyed by the simplest of things.

People have said that this will pass. I can feel the truth of that statement. Simultaneously, I sense another truth as well. The hurt will diminish, (and has,) but I will never be the same person I was. I will be irrevocably changed. Things that I used to enjoy, I may leave behind because those things remind me of who I was with my other half, and it is too painful.

It’s in your other half’s absence that you are confronted with constant reminders of how much you were loved. You also have to confront how much you took that love and care for granted. There’s an element of guilt in that last bit. I don’t think guilt is the right emotion because if the roles were reversed, the feelings would be the same.

Moving on is hard. I haven’t done as good a job at it as I thought I would. I feel ashamed about that. I’ve been told not to beat myself up over it. I try not to, but I still feel ashamed.

I thought I was prepared. I thought it would be a quick searing pain and then it would be done. I was wrong. The pain lingers on. I think that’s a lyric from Pink Floyd’s The Wall. I don’t remember the exact track.

I understand now why many societies have a minimum period for the grieving process. None of these societies have the process written in stone but many have social constructs that determine appropriateness of various behavior during this time.

As an intelligent species with millennia of lived experience behind us, various social fabrics have been woven to accommodate and protect those of us wounded by loss. Make no mistake, it’s a gaping festering emotional wound. It may be a wound that scars over but is always felt. My thinking along these lines allowed me to feel a connectedness that is very human, and was strangely comforting.

July and August have been very hard months for me. I’ve burned a lot of energy trying to process why. His birthday, my Birthday, my Father’s Birthday, the anniversary of my Father’s death, this was typically the time that my other half and I would do things together because he was off work. Which meant he wasn’t running from thing to thing 7 days a week.

In years past we’d take short trips, go to museums, wine tasting, or if it was really hot, we’d content ourselves to walk the dog or dogs here in the mountains where it was cool and beautiful.

In really good years, I’d have sucked enough cock and kissed enough ass at my employer that I could actually take my paltry week of vacation. Most of the time though, “Business Needs” prevented me having anything but weekends off. (Business needs usually meant that the boss was taking 3 weeks off in Cancun with his family or mistress and fuck everyone else!)

School would have started by now and my other half would be getting into the swing of the school year plus preparing for the holiday services at the church and temple.

This hit me like a ton of bricks yesterday while I was making a meatloaf. Laugh if you wish, it is funny. I think it’s the mundane nature of what I was doing.

For a few minutes I forgot he was gone. I looked at the clock on the stove and thought, “I’ll get this cooked and walk the dog before he gets home then make a nice summer salad and sweet corn for dinner, the weather is nice enough that we could perhaps eat on the deck tonight,”

Then I saw his car in the driveway where I’d parked it, and it all crashed in on me again, he’s gone and he’s not coming back.

I think the dog is getting tired of comforting me…

Perhaps not, he doesn’t seem to care as long I cuddle him back. Then he does the only thing he knows as a “Fixes Everything,” he’ll keep bringing me balls until I pick one to throw for him. Apparently fetching a ball is the puppy cure-all that ails you.

It actually works. I think it’s his tenacity, he’ll bring each ball in, drop it at my feet or in my lap and wait for a response. The response he’s looking for is a smile, or for me to grab the ball. At that point his tail starts wagging and he heads for the door. All is well again…

The point of this rambling train of thought is;
Life is Change
Change is sometimes painful
Love is beautiful, terrible, painful, and joyous. Above all, those we love and who love us back are never forgotten, because they’ve literally gotten into our head.
The pain we feel when grieving is real, and I think caused by suddenly finding familiar pathways in our heads non-functional.

Hell, it could even be endorphin withdrawal. When we see a loved one we get a hit and when we don’t see them anymore we have to go cold turkey.

There are probably thousands of too tightly wrapped Phds, MDs, and whatever else the educational system has turned out that will vehemently disagree with my assessment. Go ahead! I never claimed I was an expert, I’d bet however that I’m a damn sight closer to being an expert than any of those so called “Experts” because I’m living through this time, it’s my lived experience. (See what I mean? I’m almost as edgy and easily pissed off as Biden, or my Mom these days.)

I need an endorphin hit. Maybe I’ll go buy myself a birthday present or two. I think I’ll try the built-in method of getting that endorphin hit before I go out and spend money. I suspect however that I’m going to be shopping in the next day or two.

Maybe it’s time for a haircut, a massage, and some time spent caring for myself and saying the hell with responsible behavior (within limits…)

Yeah, I’m working through a lot of shit that I am ill equipped to handle.

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Really? My God I wish people would separate their feelings from facts.

I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to do so very well but I’m going to give it a shot.

I ran across an (AP) Article titled US suicides hit an all-time high last year I thought, “That’s concerning but not really surprising.”

I can’t speak to the rise in suicide among young black men, but I wouldn’t be surprised if its a factor of hopelessness much like what I feel being in the 45 to 65 age group.

Realistically, what would it be like to be told literally everywhere all the time that the boogy man of systemic racism, will never allow you to succeed. (Personally I believe that racism is worse today than it was at the beginning of the Obama Administration, and that it’s fed in large part by politicians and people who make money from misery. BLM, Al Sharpton, etc,)

Imagine being told you’re a victim and always will be, or you’re not smart enough, or good enough and no matter how hard you work at it, you’re always going to fail, because of something that you have no control over. Add to that, how many of these young men may be losing friends to violence, or drugs. Maybe they can be included in the white 45 to 65 age group for the purposes of studying why suicides are increasing because of similarity in the root causes?

Just off hand I can think of reasons that might be causing an uptick in the white male 45 to 65 age group.

A lot of folks in that age group happen to be veterans. Veterans have not been served well by the VA especially in the area of Mental Health. This is also the time in life when you start losing old friends, spouses, parents, and a lot of men find themselves asking existential questions like, “Is this all there is? Work for fuckers I hate, making them rich, while they threaten and bully me with losing my job every fucking day?” Don’t even think that companies wouldn’t allow that kind of bullying, or it’s a rarity. Some supervisors think it’s funny to threaten subordinates with their jobs. Others use it as a way to “Whip their crew into shape,” and no HR department ever takes action. Their response is, “I’m sure the supervisor was joking.”

The job angle assumes a man has managed to keep working in the first place. If they’ve been laid off for the 20th time in their life after buying into yet another corporate pack of lies, ( We believe in family first, time off, vacations, and bonuses for good work…) that sure sounded like promises or agreements, they might just feel like, what’s the fucking point…

Contrary to popular belief, just because you’re older doesn’t mean that there are enough management or owner slots for everyone. The majority of folks aren’t going to get that single promotion slot… Often being older just means you’re at the top of an HR layoff list. Oh that shit is illegal, but the employee can’t prove they were the victim of ageism so older workers are totally screwed.

Having explored that existential question myself, I can say that the feeling of hopelessness and despair can be overwhelming.

I can also say with some certainty of belief, that our government, in collusion with Corporate America is directly responsible for any suicides over job losses. My belief is that the worker visa program is horribly flawed and government inaction bringing that system to heel, is killing Americans. It’s been obvious on its face for decades. When American workers have to train foreign Hn-nnn workers to replace them, we have a serious fucking problem.

The Hn-nnn system is destroying or has destroyed more than it has helped. President Bush be damned with his “These are jobs Americans won’t do,” bullshit!

Then there’s the terror most people feel about the IRS if they’ve worked long enough to have made, much less saved, any kind of money at all. The IRS has become a ravenous beast flinging audits and locking bank accounts at the drop of a hat. This is usually explained as crime prevention but almost always involves some small business owner who takes a lot of cash payments like a laundromat or coffee shop.

But that’s not all. Society is a mess. I’d like to see statistics on how many of the 49,500 had recently lost their jobs, have been involved in, or accused of, sexual harassment, have been accused of /counseled for racism or misgendering, were under IRS audit, might have been conservatives, may have been christian, possibly had a dim view of drag shows in front of children, might have voted for Trump, perhaps preferred common sense & old values to reading bullshit thrown at a wall to chart today’s course of action, or any of the million other razor blade hot button issues one could possibly run afoul of these days. Some members of families see no difficulty “Cancelling” each other over the new set of rules. Does that lead to more isolation and therefore higher suicide?

I often feel like I’m living in a social mine field and I’m unemployed! I can’t imagine what it would be like to have to deal with chaotic societal rules every day with no choice. If I’m not up for the silliness I simply don’t participate. It isn’t that I want to avoid other people or completely divorce myself from society.

I simply don’t always have the energy or desire to keep up with social rules that change as fast as vibrating atoms. In social settings today, failure to comply has immediate and sometimes lasting, even violent consequences. As a rule, there is no mercy or forgiveness for someone being unaware of an arbitrary rule created 12 seconds ago, or making a social mistake.

I don’t want to live constantly in fear. I’m very content waving at y’all as you whiz by on what is in my humble opinion, the highway to hell. “Have a nice oblivion morons,” is what I find myself thinking more often than not.

Admittedly, it makes me lonely. Especially since losing my spouse. But I was sort of lonely before losing my spouse. In a social sense we didn’t have a large circle. We relied on each other for support and there was comfort in knowing that no matter how shitty the rest of the world was, when we got home we had each other.

I get why people in my particular situation would flirt with the idea of suicide, or even decide it was preferable to living in this ever increasing insanity / stupidity.

What caught my attention was that the article turned toward Guns being the problem. I found that offensive as hell. (Yeah, I know my feelings & beliefs are intruding…) People choosing to kill themselves with a gun is just logical. By all accounts a bullet scrambling your brain is quick and probably relatively painless. That’s why slaughter houses use a boltgun on cattle. Brain is gone, cow dies, NEXT!

The gun isn’t the problem, nor are guns the source of suicidal ideation. (I picked that term up from a Psychologist. See I can learn things, as long as you’re not reversing every two seconds…) I’m too cheap to go buy a gun for the purpose of suicide. Strangely I’d be worried about the mess and who would have to clean it up. Is that a point in favor of the slightly OCD crowd???

If someone wants to kill themselves they will, just as if someone wants to kill someone else they don’t need a gun, a gun might be convenient, but it’s damn easy to kill a human.

The venerable club makes a fine weapon. Smack someone with a baseball bat in the head a few times and that’s pretty much the end.

As an aside, that is why I personally was appalled at how the media and police addressed the “Knock Out” game. Smacking someone at the base of the skull with a lot of force, such as running up behind them, is attempted murder in my book. It’s not a game at all.

If someone wants to kill themselves there are a lot of ways to do it. All you have to do is look around. There are literally thousands of sources of poison. Under your kitchen sink for example. Chlorine Bleach and Ammonia mixed in a confined space can do ya really quick.

If I was looking to go the poison route I’d just score some Fentanyl. Thank you China, Joe Biden, and open borders… It’s cheap, easy, and quick. The beauty of this method is that if you don’t leave a note, it will probably be ruled an accidental overdose and your life insurance if you have any, will pay off to your family. Get high as fuck and die. Now there’s a plan.

If you believe that killing yourself is a mortal sin, you could leave it in Gods hands. You could go to a black neighborhood and scream racist shit at the top of your lungs. Or you could walk into your local mosque and light a Quran on fire, perhaps while screaming Muhammad was a pedophile, who took it in the ass, and false prophet. If you lived through either of these events you could perhaps go on living knowing God had a plan for you.

You could use death cap mushrooms, you could go old school with other ancient poisons. Hemlock for example. A quick search of toxic plants is very enlightening. Oleander for can be deadly, even the common Daffodil bulb can kill, I’d say chop finely and brew as a tea.

My point is, Death is easy to find if you’re looking for it. Gun or no gun if someone is going to kill themselves they will.

I am repeatedly offended by politicians and other organizations using anyone’s death to push forward their fevered dreams of gun control. I don’t care if you’re talking about a mass shooting, or a single suicide. The dead are not for politicians to use for self aggrandizement or political gain.

Let’s agree that the real problem is that the person felt they had no hope, no future, and nothing to live for. (Perhaps we should eliminate politicians and their divisive rhetoric. It might be interesting to see where that leads us. Just a thought…)

I was glad to note near the bottom of the article there were some constructive things. The CDC working to expand suicide prevention services and the national 988 hotline number are encouraging steps.

Sometimes all that’s needed to part the clouds of depression is someone indicating that they give a shit about you and aren’t interested in using you. So if you know someone who’s depressed, give ‘em a call or a text just let them know you thought about them. I smile several times a day from a text message as simple as “I heard or saw X and thought of you.”

That goes both ways, if you’re depressed or feeling a little suicidal, (dear God don’t do what I’ve done here in this blog post and think too long about it, ) give someone, anyone, a call. Or you can go to a public place, help a stranger. Pick up an errant bit of trash some child dropped so their mother doesn’t have to. I’m always surprised that my doing simple things, and receiving just a smile for my trouble is remarkably uplifting.

FYI for me personally, If I was to get totally suicidal, I think I’d go with a fabric belt around a stout closet rod, naked with a dildo up my ass, jerking off, and wearing a pair of roller skates. Autoerotic asphyxiation is just soooo unseemly and dirty. It’s kind of the ultimate FUCK YOU! To the world. It says, “I blew my load and arrived to judgement still dripping!”

So friends, don’t worry about me buying a gun, worry if I buy roller skates!

To those of you who might be scared that I’d given this too much thought… Nope! Not really. Back in the early days of AIDS, a lot of my friends who nearing their end and not wishing to die gasping in agony in a hospital would ask me what I thought about suicide and how to go about it.

They asked me, because I had the ability to respect their choice without making judgement about it. In other words I’d give them a straight answer and was open to discussing the options pragmatically.

I miss those guys. I’m glad they’re in a better place and hope to someday meet up with them again.

A LONG number of somedays in the future! Until then guys, keep the bar tab open and the servers hotter than hell, cause when I get back with you guys, I plan to party!

Dang I was looking for a really offensive photo of autoerotic asphyxiation to finish this piece off with there was nothing truly interesting. Although what came up were a lot of photos of men having choke sex with women. But that isn’t autoerotic, is it?

Here’s the best I could do…

Enjoy!