Now For Another Rant....

What is it about old men. Not only do they grow long ears and bushy eyebrows, they also get stuck in their ways and cannot stand it if a woman might know a tiny bit more about a subject than they. Or even if she has a different opinion about something than they do. Are we to have no thoughts of our own? Are we to be considered ‘communists’ or ‘fascists’ if we take another ‘side’ than that of a man? The one I am most amused by is the guy who said that I was a ‘fascist’ because I had said I was a Socialist and after all, Hitler’s party was called a “Socialist’ party. GOD! Cannot a woman disagree with a man? And if she has plausible proof that what she said is true, is she still to be called a ‘liar,’ simply because she has disagreed with the ‘more intelligent’ man... well, more intelligent simply because he is a man, i guess. Surprise, guys... I read several news magazines (two present ‘both sides; of U.S. politics -- two or three don’t), have gone to school my whole life, listen to radio and TV and assiduously avoid ‘commentators’ from either ‘side.’ I love the BBC for its lack of ‘side.’ So I think I know whereof I speak. I do have an opinion... everyone does.

I think of ‘the men’s table’ in the cafeteria of a college in SF where I took classes. Bunch of scowling old men muttering to each other about their money (their ONLY lives so often). I saw a friend sitting at the table one day, with an empty seat opposite him... so, for a laugh I went over, said hello, put down my tray and pulled out the chair and sat down. An alarming growl went up and the men on either side of me slid their chairs away from mine. I sat down to silence and even worse scowls than usual. My friend, who was as amused as I, and I talked brightly about classes and world politics (more growls... we were the WRONG party). When I was finished, I arose, said, “Goodbye boys, nice seeing all of you!” and left to final growls.

Makes me remember both my younger sister’s and my grandmother’s admonitions: Georgie (after I told an engineer friend of her husband’s he was wrong about some territory, and finally went and got the encyclopedia to show him: “Come help me in the kitchen...you NEVER tell a man he is wrong! How COULD YOU! Now he’ll NEVER ask you out!” (Like I’d have gone... the guy was a jerk.) Grandmother: “Now Peggy dear, tha shouldn’t hae told your cousin he was wrong, e’en tho he were, no mon likes to be told when he is wrong.”

Well, I know, but I forget. After all, I had a wonderful GROWN man friend who could argue with me and admit when he was wrong and I was right, and I could admit when I was wrong and he was right. We were actually equals and I loved that. Unfortunately he went back to the wife who didn’t want to be touched, and a very dysfunctional family... I guess they needed him more than I did. (He always said he admired the way I could take care of myself... if he only knew how tough it was, particularly with men other than those like him.)

Well, there is one thing I have learned even though I am still told I am wrong. It is getting easier to make men disappear. There is no longer “As god is my witness,” today it is “As Google is my witness.” If it ain’t in Google, well, it jes’ AIN’T! And yet another man runs for the door. They are all cowards toward the ends of their lives. Strange, as when I was young and working in advertising, because I had ‘a man’s job’ it was OK for me to sit in the living room and argue with the guys and not be told I didn’t know because I was a woman. If I had a cogent argument, I was allowed to express it and it was accepted. Of course, the crowd I belonged to was young and we pretty much agreed with each other. However, I really must adopt a new rule: Never talk (or, particularly, argue) politics with an older man.

“I looked it up in Google”... great folk song material, “Oh, I looked it up in Google and what did I see/ big drum roll and a fol de rol, rol/ a band of republicans comin’ after me/ big drum roll and a fol de rol, rol.... Fol de rol rol, fol de rol rol/ republicans, republicans acomin' after me!! (obviously they were going to waterboard me until I told them what it was I couldn’t find in Google.) I love Google, but it is the biggest time waster in the Universe.

My poor old cat is winding down at the ripe old age of eight. She wasn’t interested in playing with any of her old toys (kept in a paper bag she was more interested in than the toys), so I went to the ancient Christmas stocking she got from a friend one year and got out a new tiny green mousie and tied it to a piece of red yarn. Then I flew him around a few times and she almost went mad. She’s been dancing after that mouse for half an hour, and just lay down to rest, but I now have the damned thing hooked onto the file drawer so she can play without me and she’s up and after him again, as now I am worn out from throwing him in the air.