A Message from the Patriarchy: Modesty, Allure, and Nudity

The Patriarchy hears your protest against the restriction of fashionable women’s garments. Your right to wear as much or as little of whatever textile or alternative cover you choose is hereby recognized. Be advised that certain responsibilities accrue.

[The following list is my own. It is not transcribed or compiled. Do not use without permission.]

1. A woman dressed such that her physical beauty cannot be assessed will not be admired for her beauty. Do not expect compliments regarding the unseen and unobserved.
2. We prefer all women be nude, especially the ugly ones. Cosmetics are not excepted. Your beauty, or lack thereof, makes surprisingly little difference to us with regard to long-term commitment. How else are there still so many of you who are ugly? If you look in the mirror and despair, have hope. Your mother can’t possibly be that pretty, and somehow she managed you.
3. Allure may be a tempting mode. Do not be fooled: we see this as an invitation to remove your clothing. Why else show us any skin?
4. Bright colors may attract us, but shiny things lose their appeal if substantial maintenance is required. If we need to baby something, we purchase classic machines. Be practical and inexpensive. We respond to bargains.
5. We know you evaluate us based on income, capital, and potential; be not surprised if we conceal these when evaluating your potential loyalty. The most disappointing deadbeat may be worth millions if you play smart.
6. Show us your tits. Really.
7. Shave. We see plenty of hair already in the mirror. We don’t care if it’s unnatural. So are cosmetics, and you use those when it suits you.
8. You aren’t full-figured, you’re fat. We do evaluate you according to whether you can jog alongside us. That’s more likely if you’re height-weight proportionate.
9. Leave the hat or scarf at home. We are not impressed.
10. If you wear a “fuck-me” dress, do not be surprised if we invite you to fuck.
11. You may dress to impress one another. As a result, we may ignore you. Do not complain that you are ignored by us. See #10.
12. It is possible to engage us regardless of your attire. Please don’t be stupid. We already have enough of such among ourselves. If you are stupid, or do not wish to talk, see #10.
13. Some of us are loyal. If you are intent on overcoming such loyalty, don’t “skirt” the issue: that’s dishonorable. Sort it out among yourselves. Most of us are available to all comers provided you don’t expect one of us to pay for the pleasure of another.
14. Unbutton one more button than is comfortable. Do this also with your blouse.
15. We want to touch you. Do not be so delicately clothed that touching is prohibited. You will be ignored.
16. Bare shoulders is easy to accomplish. Do that more.
17. Crotchless panties are wasteful. Go commando.
18. Modest dress is deceitful. We know you want us. Show it.
19. Only the envious among you enforce modest dress. We are not to blame. We barely comprehend the motivation behind bras. Padded bras confound us.
20.  Don’t bother dressing young. We’re looking for the limbal ring in your eyes to gauge your age. Dress your attitude. See #10.
21. To our mothers: don’t ask us to judge your clothing. You don’t want our honest opinion, whatever it is. Think about it.
22. We use that public speaking trick whenever you join us clothed. It works. We feel much less intimidated.
23. Yes, you look fat in that. What are we? Blind?
24. Yes, we look fat in this. We know. That’s why we never ask your opinion.
25. You don’t care how we “look” except when you need to impress yourselves.
26. We don’t care how we “look”except when we need to impress you. After you see our financial statements, you don’t care, either.
27. Don’t dictate our clothing choices after co-opting ours. It took centuries to develop slacks and pants from primitive garments without crotches. The zipper is a magnificent feat of engineering for pissing with pants up. Go find your own solution to squatting and let us enjoy ours in peace.
28. If you wish to walk about topless, please don’t stop on our account. Don’t complain if we stare at your tits when you do. Wouldn’t you find the alternative disheartening? See #19.
29. Heels are a mixed blessing. Heels make you taller, which intimidates the weak and small among us. The strong and tall among us commend this effort for reducing competition and favorably displaying your ass.
30. If it clings to you when wet, it is a good choice.

Young Dr. Sade and the Girl-Child

Lest you be concerned, the subject is over 18. I happen to draw the line at 21.

I was on a business trip in Orlando about ten years ago, so I would have been in my early thirties; from the vantage of 40+, that seems sufficiently young. The conference included a fair share of college-age pre-professionals, and some women among them, rare in my profession, but this was a regional conference, so the pros were in smaller than normal numbers since we don’t usually turn out except for training or networking with clients which were nowheres about. Unlike many similar trips, this one was fully Disneyfied and women were also represented among the grown-ups, so the strip clubs were off-limits and I didn’t invest in a rental car for the convenience an easy escape. But, as it happened, I did manage to make an acquaintance with a pair of young folks who let me feel a little less “old” than I would otherwise have felt -for a while.

Late the second evening, the “event” of the evening was a trip to the Universal Studios equivalent of Downtown Disney. We all went to dinner (I think; it’s been a while) then hit the “clubs.” That’s where things got interesting. She was under 21, so admission to the club was unlawful. So, I got asked to help with admission, as it were. How does a guy over 30 accomplish this? You get uncomfortably close to the woman under 21. That, BTW, is kinda fun, but only slightly better than a lap dance. From my present vantage, it reminds me of dancing with other men’s wives: temporary thrill with a hard-core letdown at the end of the tune.

And so it went with this apparent hook-up couple. There wasn’t anything to be had once I got her through the door, which was to be expected and for which I won’t fault her or him. Still, it stung a little all the same, and drove home to me that I was no longer a youth. The story of “Young Dr. Sade” had come to an abrupt and harsh end.

A Break from Reality Cures Some Depression

I came away from being in the audience of a discussion panel yesterday feeling like the only sane person in the room. At the end of the panel discussion, one of the audience members complimented a parent in the room for his support of his child, a panelist. The topic was adult (I would classify this as at least PG-13, probably R for adult themes), the child was clearly lacking full maturity, and while the audience was friendly, I could see how this might play very badly in the future to a less-polite crowd of well-educated opponents. I got up and left as she began her praise lest I hear enough that my anger got the better of me and the full force of my own opinion spewed forth. I managed a brief conversation with a kind soul in the room, followed by the another conversation down the hall, but after that, I just needed to get home and start drinking. A lot. This morning, I found myself so frustrated and angry that I stayed home and puttered about the house resolving minor nuisances like “what’s that smell in the refrigerator ,” and similar tasks. I finally made it to the office tonight. As it happens, I missed one phone call but not much else. My life invariably works that way.

Part of my escape from reality included indulging a missed season of The Glades: a crime procedural that ultimately focuses on the relationship between a homicide detective and a nurse cum doctor. The crime puzzles are mildly engaging, but I’m much more interested in the intricacies of the characters’ negotiation of their romance than anything else. Which brings me to the point of this post.

I’ve realized, after some introspection today, that what’s missing from this blog is a reason for you to read it. I read blogs for the interpersonal narratives: boy meets girl, boy gets girl, and all that falls between. That may seem a pansey-ass thing to admit, but I think even most men read stories for the characters and for the eventual closure of those characters’ stories. So, I’m going to switch tracks for a little while and provide a little back story while I work up the guts to be more forthcoming about my present circumstances.

Next post…

Is this the real me?

I’ve struggled these past weeks with some of what I’m concealing in my blog posts. How much am I concealing for the good of others versus my own good? How intertwined are these? Is this blog a selfish cry for attention? Stuff like that. Dunno where I am with all this. I’m attending an event where everybody will have it all “hanging out there” to a greater degree than my usual associates. While it’s not an equivalent set of circumstances, it’ll have me thinking.

How can a man claim freedom of speech yet be prohibited from calling Mohammed a liar?

I would like to hear Romney and Obama each state his opinion regarding the veracity of the “prophet” Muhammed’s claim that a deity spoke to him. We know, for example, that Romney believes that Joseph Smith was visited by the angel Moroni.

“In 1823, Smith said that while praying at night for forgiveness from his sins, he was visited by an angel named Moroni, who revealed the location of a buried book of golden plates as well as other artifacts, including a breastplate and a set of silver spectacles with lenses composed of seer stones, which had been hidden in a hill near his home. Smith said he attempted to remove the plates the next morning but was unsuccessful because the angel prevented him.” -Wikipedia.

Both claim that a man named Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee/ northen Palestine / Isreal was the “son” of a creator of the universe. I suspect neither may support Muhammed’s claim while simultaneously rejecting Islam. The fundamental “insult” to muslims is the assertion that Muhammed was a liar. If a man cannot use his freedom of speech to raise an alarm against liars, for what do we have a freedom of speech?

Exhaustion

I finally completed a major project today. Completed may be overstating it. Perhaps there will be few addenda, but I doubt it. I expect shit to hit fan in tomorrow’s meeting, then I’ll go from there. It’s nothing I haven’t accomplished before; I’m just more tired than I have been in the past, so it’s gonna be rough getting everything done in time for bidders.

The local AIA convention is running this week, so perhaps I’ll get a brief respite from phone calls.

I might also be tired from good sex early this morning. Good enough to change the sheets. More tonight? I’d provide details, but quite honestly, I don’t have porn sex. Athletic sometimes, but usually it’s all about sweating to a silent rhythm until exhaustion. Position changes are for convenience and better leverage. I wish there was more to it, as that would provide blog fodder. Perhaps a questions from the gallery?

As I said, tired. More tomorrow, perhaps. I’ve been having deep thoughts.

Will the Real Blogger Please Stand Up

I’m prepping this post on my phone; please bear with me. I can’t look at other blogs or reference anything else with this tool, so you’re getting my blogging without any technical assistance.

Another blogger I follow posted her thoughts about the difference between blogging and personal correspondence in terms of how personal the blogging gets. In her experience, she was more real and less circumspect(?) when corresponding than when blogging.

My blog, if it isn’t obvious, is nominally anonymous. This permits me certain freedom of expression even when this blog is public, which for now, it is. As a result, I say things here I won’t say in conversations and correspondence with people who know my name and my life beyond this blog. With those people, I filter most of my thoughts, partly to protect my social and financial position, and partly because the nuisance of explaining the motive of my opinions is often more effort than I wish to invest with any person.

Even in correspondence with people who are nearly strangers, it is difficult to say what merely comes into my head: my correspondence always has a motive, an audience, a subject, a theme. There’s always some, reason, we’re communicating, and that impetus, whatever that is, narrows what I’m writing to the core of what I’m trying to say, with precious little extraneous comment. Why say something without an (ulterior) purpose.

This blog is different, I think, in that I’m saying things here that I am generally afraid to say in other venues. The persona Ted Colt is more authentically me than the façade I employ with even my family.

Let’s examine an extreme example. My daughter and I are generally of the same mind on many thing and share many of the same emotional states. We aren’t in any sense the same person, but we are similar enough that we don’t need long conversations to convey complex ideas. However, there are many things I don’t share with her that I do share with all of you reading this. A lot of this may be filed under simple kindness to a child: too much information is still too much information. I don’t want to know about my parents sex life, so I assume (rightly, I assert) that my daughter would also like to be spared details. I expect her to spare me details also.

That filter doesn’t exist here. There are some biographical details missing, but ya’ll who read this know more about my inner life than my closest lover. And in a very selfish way, I prefer this medium of expression for that very freedom to be “me” without fear of rejection or reprisal. It’s more safe than my mother’s arms, literally. (She’s a very kind, if self-absorbed, woman, for what that’s worth.)

Of course, there’s nothing stopping anybody from saying nasty and mean things to me here. Anybody could hit reply to this message and tell me I’m a liar living a fantasy and that I ought to grow up and take responsibility for my true opinions under my public identity. Such admonition might even be just, but in this forum, which I have built solely to express how I feel, I needn’t resolve that challenge; I can let it be.

Were somebody to challenge,me similarly in my personal or public life, I would be obligated to address the challenge. Whether to victory or defeat, a conflict must ensue. Ignoring one’s contested opinion answers the contest just as surely as losing an argument. Here, every comment made is heard, and it is not ignored, even if unanswered. Even if it’s unpublished, or un-published.

If you who reads this posts a reply, an email message is sent to me with your reply and a link back to my blog post here at WordPress, technical difficulties aside. I read the comment precisely because I want to hear voices outside my own head that aren’t tied up in the outcome of my life. Perhaps its encouragement, or criticism, or praise, or character assassination. Maybe it’s an invitation to a party; certainly stranger things have happened in my life. Whatever it is, I’ve invited you to correspond with me simply by permitting comments at all.

That’s what this is in the end: a public forum where I give my opinion and others, who have chosen to read my opinion respond with comments, or not. And since this forum isn’t tied to my income, my personal life, my family, or any other self-identifying portion of my life, I try to give you as much of myself as humanly possible with words alone. I suspect it’s still far too little to be satisfying, but that’s my fault as a writer, and perhaps as a very private man who wants to keep his life uncomplicated, and not because I’m holding back.

Thus ends the meta-blog post. Back to regular ranting on another day.