Perhaps, dear reader, you've wondered where I wandered for the last week. I have not been lonely as a cloud. I've been busy as hell with my two businesses, and I lingered for a bit in "ballsy" uterinity. That is, I participated for 48 hours or so in a "free-thinking" unschoolers list (yet another one dominated by the fear-and-loathing dominatrix) that fashions itself a sort of crude 18th century Paris salon with the token simpering and paternally soothing eunuch (in this case appropriately named after one of the four alleged Gospel writers).
These women, as they seem to call themselves, are not the usual run-of-the-mill relativists with the modern cowardly distaste for absolutism -- especially male absolutism. I must admit one benefit from having taken the 2-day jaunt (outside of chuckling at forced humor, of course): It finally got me around to characterizing one particularly onerous segment of the modern female population -- the Misandronistas.
The, ahem, ladies act like bad men and hate confident men. They are fastidious about ensuring that they remain a "top" because they cannot trust themselves on bottom (where they belong) or trust men to be a good top. They are replete with the gutter-savvy riposte and the same over-the-top cliched innuendo that makes some male gatherings as distasteful as shit on your front porch. They have become the worst of the worst men. They seem utterly unconscious of the depredations of repeated sexual allusion. To be among them is to be in a middle-school boy's bathroom with the disheveled bullies and the posers and their lurid "witticisms." They are the alter ego of Sally Field: "I hate you, I really hate you."
Feminism has always been a whiny hatred of men (start your own business and shut the fuck up), but this special breed of feminism makes it an art form. Not that most men don't deserve revulsion and contempt; they are generally bricks with penises. But the Misandronistas adore their cynicism, acquire chutzpah in group-think and revel in reviling. They are the mob with stones that sobs and pleads when brought individually before justice. In individual confrontation they are the silent and obsequious judge who later lashes out "boldly" to conspirators. They agonize over the proper response to a request to attend the funeral of a family member they despise (for those liberals secretly reading this blog, the proper response is "I won't be going. End of subject." If you get pressured more, the proper response is, "Shut the fuck up and go away.") They pretend to be independent but then become delirious with distemper over what others will think of them if they act a certain way or do/don't do a certain thing.
The Misandronistas are not as boring as women of the 40s and 50s in America, but they lack the honest wit and love of men that the individualist women of the 20s and 30s had, such as Katherine Hepburn and Mae West and Greta Garbo. Those women knew how to "handle" men while enjoying being "handled." Those women knew themselves and, therefore, feared not servitude in bond.
Our modern relativistic age has castrated weak-willed men (that is to say, almost all men), turning them into brutes or cowards (the latter of which is a closet misogynist who is often attracted to the "ballsy" lists to confirm his feminine bona fides). In this masculine void has stepped in the "ballsy" unattractive woman, who doesn't understand that Parisian-salon equality does not translate to the bedroom and a few other places. The modern woman is hoist by her own ballsy petard. She seems to unconsciously hope for the "ballsy" man, but when he comes along, his candor is maligned as pedestrian, his strong judgment is portrayed as oppressive, his absolutism is ridiculed as "youthful." She has blinded herself to reality, her own inner desires, and real men. A real man would, after all, find her cynicism transparent and curmudgeonly -- and soon discard the kitty litter.
The only solution for these women (and the modern woebegone male) is to study Ayn Rand's works, integrate them, gain self-esteem from efficacy, and demand the best of themselves and the men they meet. But the gutter snipe won't have anything to do with Rand's absolute realism. The snipe preens about subjectivity and refuses to do the hard, necessary work to understand reality, the nature of the human rational mind, the nature of objective morality and the nature of liberty among rational beings. Hard work that. Much rather just veg, speculate, simper, moan, languish and harass.
But it's never too late to get real ...