” You are free; you are free to go to your temples, you are free to go to your mosques or to any other place or worship in this State of Pakistan. You may belong to any religion or caste or creed that has nothing to do with the business of the State “

- Quaid e Azam M. A. Jinnah on 11th August, 1947

“The adoption of Western economic theory and practice will not help us in achieving our goal of creating a happy and contended people. We must work our destiny in our own way and present to the world an economic system based on true Islamic concept of equality of manhood and social justice”

-Quaid e Azam M. A. JinnahOn the occasion of the Opening Ceremony of The State Bank of Pakistan on 1st July, 1948

(Copyright © 2009)

I give you two women from two different cultures. One raised to expect a great deal of praise and attention for being pretty, the other to expect to make her way by doing her share of the work. Each making herself happen within her respective culture according to survival values shaped in childhood to reflect the needs and yearnings of her family, particularly of her mother. Two women, two childhoods, two cultures, two ways of being in the world—two different lives, one in Afghanistan, one in California, a nation unto itself.

Actually, I don’t give you two women at all but rather two photographs of women, one I’ve had on my wall since (I think) the fall of 2001, scanned from the pages of (I believe) The Christian Science Monitor; the other scanned from a 1959 photo reproduced on page 13 of the current issue of AARP The Magazine, November/December 2009. I regret I don’t know the names of either photographer because I’d like to give credit to those who created these stunning portraits.

I present these photos side-by-side as symbols of what it might mean to be raised in two different cultures opening onto two different styles of consciousness expressed in two contrasting ways of being women in the world. Compare and contrast; feast your eyes:

Imagine local men (and women for that matter) meeting these women. Put yourself in their place. Feel what they might feel. Imagine the parents and siblings with whom these women grew up. Imagine their playmates, special friends, neighbors, mentors, teachers, spiritual advisers. Imagine these women trading places, the one switching from herding goats in Afghanistan to herding goats on the outskirts of Los Angeles; the other drying off, taking a stroll through the outskirts of Kandahar in her bathing suit. Run through the routine once again—same women, same dress, different cultural settings. What sorts of response do they get? How are they regarded? How are they judged? How are they treated?

I smile when I look from one photo to the other; I can imagine others frowning, getting upset, wanting to take some kind of action. Someone mutters, “Such things shouldn’t be allowed.” “Obscene, I’d say.”  This is not just a matter of aesthetic dissonance. It’s a question of what’s considered proper for how a young woman conducts herself in public. What is attractive to one might be an outrage to another. (In the interest of full disclosure,) I find both women exceptionally attractive to an equal degree. But in doing so, I take their respective cultures into account. These images depict alternative ways of being women in the world, and the range of such possibilities appeals to me. But the world is divided into regions where one possibility might be appropriate and the other less so.

The local culture we grow up in provides a range of options for expressing our biological values. Moving from one culture to another, we remain the same men or women, but might be expected to conduct ourselves according to the prevailing norms of the places we visit. We’re the same people, but are looked at differently, so come across differently. How we present ourselves as sexual beings is a sensitive issue in every culture. Largely because the relation between the sexes is the fundamental reason we have cultures in the first place. This is such common knowledge, I am almost embarrassed to bring it up. Which I do precisely to make the point that this is the sort of thing that led to nineteen men from a foreign culture to board four airplanes on September 11, 2001 with deliberate intentions of inflicting as much harm as they could on a people with a history of (inadvertently) offending the manhood and religious beliefs of people like themselves.

This was an incident in which males from one culture took a stand against a different culture for, as they viewed it, flaunting its ways and beliefs in an insensitive, arrogant, and offensive manner. When manhood is threatened, watch out!—a punch in the face is sure to follow. Few in America saw the blow struck on 9-11 from a sociological or cultural (rather than criminal or military) perspective. But the outrage felt in response to how Americans conduct themselves abroad as if to elicit some kind of reaction is, indeed, more an inter-cultural than a military matter. If 3,000 innocents had not died, two landmark buildings been leveled, and the HQ of the U.S. military not been attacked, in such a case we might not have lashed out by bombing Afghanistan and subsequently invading Iraq. But all that havoc did occur; the die was cast.

After eight years of war, we can reconsider whether or not that was the most appropriate response we could have made. Certainly the families of those who died are unlikely ever to change their minds. But the families of soldiers and civilians wounded or killed in the aftermath might pause to consider why their sons and daughters bore the burden of revenging the first wave of deaths. Once begun, where does the carnage end? Which prompts me to recall the following rhyme:

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

Not that 9-11 is comparable to loss of a horseshoe nail, but once loins are girded and weapons primed, how do we ungird and unprime them? Once offense is taken, can it ever be forgiven? More likely by the seasoned and wise than the ardent and young.

Which is a tremendous burden to place on the two women from two different cultures I introduce at the head of this post. A burden somewhat similar to the one thrust on Helen of Troy, Boadicea, or even Mrs. O’Leary’s fictional cow credited with starting the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. My point is that cultural differences have consequences, sometimes profound ones when accustomed ways of expressing biological values are made an international issue because so passionately adhered to as if they were innately human. The values are certainly human, but the particular ways they find expression in different cultures are regional at best. The fault lies in taking local customs and attitudes to be universal or God-given virtues, with the result that only deviant infidel sinners would dare present themselves differently.

When it comes to the culturally accepted ways through which we give form to individual consciousness, values, and person-hood, extreme absolutism and fundamentalism are no virtues. Acceptance of cultural relativism gives leeway to those whose practices differ from our own. On 9-11, no such allowances were made. As if only one of the women pictured above were right to conduct herself as she does, making the other categorically wrong.

The Catholic Church, with considerable help from its rich out-of-state friends, recently spent millions of dollars to squelch legal acceptance of same-sex marriages in Maine. Right-to-lifers are equally fervent in their intent to outlaw abortions, distribution of condoms, and anything else that smacks of family planning. There it is again, that heavy-handed approach to how human sexuality is expressed. Heavy-handed because not just thumbs but whole palms and many hands are pressed hard on the scales of justice. These are just a few further examples of how our upbringing and life experiences impact the shaping of our biological values. When I see a photo of Rush Limbaugh mouthing off, I see a child three or four years old. I regard many members of Congress with the same X-ray vision. There’s a lot of it around these days, variations on the basic attitudes we acquire in childhood. Hardened and polished, like fake diamonds, they gleam with the brilliance of universal truth.

I think everyone should have photos such as the two I offer in this post on their refrigerator door as an example of how differently we export our internal selves and attitudes to the external world. Each one of us does it for him- or herself because, for genetic, epigenetic (not predetermined), and experiential reasons, we are all personally unique. In the words of Gerald M. Edelman:

From the very beginning of neuroanatomy, there are rich statistical variations in both cell movement and cell death. As a result, no two individuals, not even identical twins, possess the same anatomical patterns (Wider than the Sky, 29).

Given our diversity, it is remarkable we are able to sort almost seven billion people into only eight thousand different cultural groups. To ask or expect that all cultures conform to a standard imposed by any one of them, or by any group or individual within a culture, would be,—and if attempted, is—absurd. Rather than decry our variability, we would do well to celebrate it every day of our lives. Think how dull life would be if we all held to the same beliefs, thought the same thoughts, and conformed to identical standards! What could we talk about that we didn’t already know? I say, vivre la difference, not just between the sexes, but within them as well—as my two examples so beautifully illustrate.

Kid’s bangs blending with tall grass, we watched
Them cross the lot, some stumbling already, brush
Aside the door, entering a place that wanted
No part of us. What went on in there?
We wondered and wished we could know and better
Than know. The red slab swung wide then slammed,
And like the little match girl’s lit up reverie
We glimpsed them, wide backs inert as stone, each bent
Like Rodin’s Thinker, mesmerized by a glass.
We giggled like girls with our Vienna voices,
Like bells at an even greater distance
And Sibby shifted on his groaning high chair
And shouted wide mouthed and generous as a man
Could afford to be with adversaries that small.
What went on in there? The fact was we had
The facts, and they made no sense like the sounds
From a piano when you bang on it
Because you’ve heard the music pour and hate
That you can’t make it. Once in the lull before
The factories emptied he played baseball cards
By our rules, matching color or team,
Winner take all, Sibby like a human
Cerberus, one thick-necked dog face enough.
The only time he let us in the place
Hadn’t opened, a barren marvel, the mopped
Still spotted floor light flung itself across,
The damp bar filling the room like that table
In the butcher shop where they divvied up
What we would never have recognized
In the soft white paper our mothers brought home.
That was the summer he flew to Saigon,
The summer at a clam bake in Maine
I sipped my father’s beer, because he let me
And because I wanted to more than anything,
Took the bitter plunge, just so I could say I did.

                                                          —David Moolten

It’s the day before Christmas and you had forgotten to take out the garbage which left me rushing out, every body part bouncing to the beat of my barefeet on the cobbled pathway, as I begged the garbage collectors to stop their truck so that our ginormous pre-Xmas-post-wrapping amount of domestic waste could be removed to wherever our carbon footprints pile up.

The only saving grace was, in fact, that it IS Chistmas time. This meant that the illegal, but traditional, black with red binding Croxley Christmas Collection notebook that Cape Town municipal workers produce every year WAS going to be produced and that they would wait for my collection as long as I could continue to hold the mildly malodorous book in my hand while they, for once, eagerly scooped up every bit of garbage (including the hedge clippings)! Making sure that I had seen the highest donation, the garbage collector’s eyes challenged me to equal or better this. But hey, “It’s Christmas” was my response to equal your response of “It’s Christmas” and the garbage collector left, displaying his front gap grin.

Sometimes I can run for you and save your butt, but relying on it may be a mistake that could cost you.

You know what to do with the link:

http://www.klixxi.com/puma-vs-oso/

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run—
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son! 

— Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

To link: http://wp.me/pJ2K1-8z

I am a Hellenic polytheist actively working out my spiritually while keeping a balance between reconstructing the ancient ways and moving forward boldly in living faith.

I believe that the gods are alive, that they take interest in the affairs of mortals, that they are approachable, personal–they hear our prayers and are capable of responding with infinite might and ultimate softness. I believe that by entering into relationships with them we can let their divine passion into our lives and be changed forever. I believe that we live in a world full of gods, and that when we wake up and see it for what it is, then only can we begin to fully understand and experience its beauty and terror.

I believe that virtue is eternal. I believe in honesty, loyalty, courage, and temperance. I believe in the the significance of fatherhood, motherhood, sisterhood, and brotherhood. I believe in friendship that transcends affinity. I believe that what we do, what we accomplish, our reputation, our deeds–these things matter; these things can live forever.

I believe in meeting my fate boldly and unafraid, in walking the path that the Kosmos has laid out for me without reservation or trepidation. I am not afraid to love, to fear, to feel joy and sadness, and I am not afraid to hate. I am unafraid to live life to the fullest, and to meet death when it comes.

I am a father, a husband, a son, a friend, and a brother. I am a soldier. I am a mystic. I am a man.

One of my favorite resources for finding timely research on youth culture and understanding teenagers is the Fuller Youth Institute. A recent article explores the “secret underworld” of what Michael Kimmel calls “Guyland.”  I highly recommend reading the FULL ARTICLE HERE.

So, what’s going on in the hearts and minds of today’s teenage boys?  What questions and doubts do they have?  What pressures do they face and what do they fear?  The article begins,

Recent research warns of the chronic underachieving, emotionally drifting, and irresponsible “Guyland” of male adolescence.  But most of us in youth ministry don’t need research to tell us that there are new challenges inherent in working with boys.

Youth pastor and blogger Jeremy Zach recently voiced an ache many of us feel when it comes to the guys under our care: “Talking to a high school male about spiritual stuff is like basically talking to a wall… And trying to motivate a high school guy to pursue righteousness is a tough, tough task.”

Clearly something isn’t connecting for guys in many of our ministries.  How can we as youth workers better equip ourselves and parents to face the current realities of boys and help them engage God and others?  Given that we’re also each raising a son, this is a question we wrestle with every day.

Excuses and Fears

Much of our culture’s collective anxiety about adolescent guys is caught up in various excuses and fears.  Excuses like “boys will be boys” or “it’s a guy thing” have become cultural blankets to cover all sorts of irresponsible and destructive behaviors from young boyhood through adulthood.

Meanwhile we’re overwhelmed by the fears that arise from the behaviors that prompt these excuses in the first place: boys are emotionally closed off, spend too much time playing video games and hanging out online, are too sex-obsessed, lack motivation, and often drift into adulthood with little direction.

More than a few of these fears are valid, but we struggle to find reliable lenses through which to interpret what’s going on with guys.  We should say up front that not every boy is the same (thank goodness!) and not every boy lives by the excuses and fears we describe below.  But these research trends are worth taking time to understand and respond to, for the sake of the guys—and the girls—in our ministries.

The article goes on to describe the closed off world of teenage boys, or “Guyland” as

both a stage of life, a liminal undefined time span between adolescence and adulthood that can often stretch for a decade or more, and a place, or rather, a bunch of places where guys gather to be guys with each other, unhassled by the demands of parents, girlfriends, jobs, kids, and the other nuisances of adult life.

Now, there are certain unspoken rules or “Guy Codes” that govern behavior in Guyland. The first rule is “boys don’t cry”:

High school has become the boot camp for Guyland, raising the stakes for the “boys don’t cry” code they have already learned and making the consequences for breaking it more severe. “How do I measure up?” is the daily question boys ask in the face of the guy code, and most guys we know feel like they fall short every day.  Breaking the dependence on that code starts with working on rule number one.  Boys are taught that they’re acting like girls—in overtly cruel as well as implicit ways—any time they express emotions, but also even when they feelthem.  As a culture, we leave boys isolated and detached, essentially numb to any kind of emotion.  “Be tough.  Shut up and take it.  Don’t be a sissy.”

The article goes on to offer some possible ways to help teenagers escape the grip of Guyland in order to live and relate to one another in more healthy and fulfilling ways.  The author suggests 3 courses of action.

I. “Fostering Emotional Resilience” – Helping young men gain emotional stability in the face of pressure, criticism and self-doubt. Michael Kimmel’s research found that strong, emotionally resilient guys typically shared 4 characteristics:

1. At least one adult who made a difference, who believed in them and invested in them.

2. Parents—mothers and fathers both—are critically important, even to late adolescent males, to stay connected and help usher them into manhood.

3. A passion or interest area in which he can develop a competence.  This is even better if it broadens his set of social connections beyond high school.

4. Real, enduring friends.  Guys need at least one other guy to balance the opinion of the crowd and reduce the isolation inherent in the guy experience.  Further, nurturing female friendships cuts down on the objectification of women because guys learn to relate to realgirls.  Either way, one genuine friendship can be enough to make a real difference for guys who are really struggling through adolescence.

II. “Redefining Manhood” – What is the purpose of manhood?  There doesn’t seem to be an obvious answer to that question for most young men.  They are stuck in a holding pattern of immaturity and go-with-the-flow mentality because they often don’t have a greater purpose or sense of ethical responsibility. They need older mentor figures (parents, teachers, coaches, pastors) helping them discover such things. As Kimmel concludes, ““Guys who are ‘just guys’ can become just guys—guys who are capable of acting ethically, of doing the right thing, of standing up against the centripetal pull of Guyland…They can actually become men.”

III. “Leading Forward: Alternative Paths” – Here are some more ideas they offer for helping teenage boys escape Guyland and move into a life of godly manhood:

• If you’re a guy yourself, model a countercultural reality for guys.  If you’re still in the under-30 crowd, find ways to live out a Guyland alternative.  If you’re over 30, and especially if you’re a dad of an adolescent guy, consider your own actions, words, and choices and the ways they feed into or react against the “Guy Code” script.  What are your true passions, and do the young men in your life know about them and see them lived out?

• Both male and female youth workers can give guys outlets for expressing emotion and then talk about it together.  Sports are one place—and currently just about the only acceptable place—for guys to express emotions.  Guys come alive emotionally in sports, and feel more free to feel and show joy, sorrow, pain, even tears.  Tap into that reality by going to games together or playing sports together, and let these become teaching moments as you debrief the experiences, talking about the emotions elicited by sports.

• Help guys build a moral compass that will actually lead them somewhere beyond Guyland. Foster a vision for integrity that values the image of God in others—both girls and guys.

• Stop the gay jokes and comments in your youth ministry.  Seriously.  Any time we participate, laugh, or fail to speak or act in response, we approve of the code that cripples guys from showing any genuine emotion or sensitivity.  Your theological position on homosexuality itself is actually irrelevant here, because as Kimmel observes, the term “gay” refers to anything “not guy” enough.¹² Talk with groups of guys about phrases like “That’s so gay” or “You’re such a fag” and ask them questions about what they’re really thinking—or fearing—when they make those statements. Chances are good you’ll have to start with your adult ministry team first on this one.

• Help parents understand that guys desperately need them—moms AND dads—to stay connected and involved throughout the “guy” phase, and give parents tools to keep communication channels open.

• Advocate for and with parents in local school systems for anti-bullying and anti-hazing policies that help diffuse some of the more violent behaviors that guys carry out against one another in Guyland.

• Encourage parents to engage boys in finding a way to care for someone or something else every day—a grandparent, a pet, a neighbor—to help build compassion and a sense of purposefulness as boys learn to channel their power for the good of others.

• Help boys discover something beyond themselves to live for, to fight for, to serve.  Channel these purposeful desires into seeking justice for the oppressed and poverty-stricken.  Raise their awareness of world concerns like AIDS orphans or child slavery, and give them tangible ways to engage in both global and local care for others.  Help them experience the joy and sense of purpose that comes from being “just guys”.

There is a huge opportunity for the church here.  Churches have long been known to cater towards a more feminine crowd leaving “manly men” feeling bored, out of place and watching their watch waiting for the Benediction so they can get home to watch the Sunday football game .  This must change.  It must begin with us — dads and men who volunteer with high school ministry. I get emotional when I think about the solid men who are investing in our high school ministry. They “get it” and know that God needs them to serve in this role and that it is worth all the time and effort.

Thanks Jay, Loren, Brad, Ron, John, Karl, Al, Norm and Caleb. You are great models of Jesus Christ — a real man in the fullest sense.

Words
Strong arms fragile egos
Strong wills weakly we go
In search of forever, hoping my ever
Will design my legacy
Parental past behind eating the future ahead of me
Can’t sleep or eat for fear of not achieving their feats is an unyielding beast
All I got is beef but they call me chicken
Slave to their wrong decision
A victim of their howls of derision
Poetry is the only arena I free think in
Where opinions and philosophies got honed
Where I lay my heart I call home
Dog with a bone I’m not
I am classical hip hop
Expressive, driven message, with purpose
They say money had game but now he played and worthless
Not like I worked less or more
Counting my blessings to try and settle scores
Knocking my head against walls trying to open doors
Kick down flaws
Stay grounded, ground pounding
Stay rounded get my head around the corner
I‘m universal, they’re Time Warner
Everything’s a warning
Virtual worlds I’ve stayed warm in, my reality is so cold
Be bold, be you
They say they people see persona but they’ll see you
Everybody knows me
Say I’m food for thought but I’m so plated everybody owns me
Slated as plated gold see, these memoirs unfold like Dead Sea scrolls
I’ve learnt to float and roll with punches in bunches
Munch my hunches, swallow the bullets
Gotta stop trying and just live life to the fullest
Grow a mullet and be the lion king
Weaknesses I’m ironing
Even Iron Man had weaknesses
Do I need to a beat a leviathan?

Men all around the world want to know more about their manhood and reproductive organs. There are several facts and myths about male reproductive organs that are still uncovered from most of the men. In this article we will discuss some important facts and information on male reproductive organs and manhood.

The testicles are an important part of the male reproductive system that produce and store sperms. Most of the men assume that the size of testicles influences lovemaking power and performance. Normal testicles do not depend upon and size or shape. Most men have two testicles but some men have one non-descended testicle and they are able to function patterns and not by the anatomical shape of any organ. Both testicles are never the same. Generally one hangs lower than the other.

Usually most people have doubts about themselves in one way or another. If you think you are not normal, your body will not function normally. In most of the cases, when people believe that something is wrong with them, it is a fact that their problem is psychological rather than physical.

According to recent researches and statistics 80% of men have erection problems periodical and it is normal. 20% of men are bothered about early ejaculation due to lack of control and 10% of men have difficulty reaching orgasm and ejaculating semen. Remember if a man is capable to satisfy a woman in any way that they mutually decide, he can consider himself normal.

Now we will talk about semen. First let know what exactly semen is and what it is made of? Semen is a milky, sticky fluid. It is made of seminal fluid, released from the prostate gland, and seminal vesicles. It contains millions of sperms. About a teaspoonful of semen contains about 400 million sperms. As semen contains sperms, so a woman can pregnant if she has unprotected intercourse with a man.

During teenage years some boys wake up at night to find semen coming out of their organ. Sometimes boys wake up the morning and find semen on their underclothes. This means that they have had a nocturnal emission (wet dream).

Throughout the world many superstitions and fictitious beliefs are prevailing concerning semen. In some religions, the semen is the basis of health, strength and life therefore it should be preserved and conserved through abstinence. Masturbation and wet dreams are considered very harmful hence these should be avoided. On the other hand, some religions believe that the ejaculation diminished the male element and therefore reduced the man’s strength and may even shorten his life. Therefore different methods were used to retain as much semen as possible even during intercourse.

Such beliefs are not in accordance with the scientific facts. A healthy sex is the essence of a healthy life. It has a number of benefits and keeps both men and women away from all kind of stress. It helps in making their bonds stronger and more fulfilling.

Copyright © Anna Patrick, All Rights Reserved. If you want to use this article on your website or in your ezine, make all the urls (links) active.

Find powerful Male Semen Volume Enhancer to improve quality and quantity of sperms. Read information on Herbal Male Enhancement Pills and how they boost male performance.

Tenga will be introducing 2 awesome product for the Christmas shoppers this year. This means you have no excuse for not making yourself happy.

Or you can be a really caring Santa and get the man you love something that we are very certain he will appreciate very much.

TENGA EGG LOTION

Things just got better. When the tiny pack of the lotion that came with the EGG is completely used up, it is either you use your spit or other lubricant. Now with the Egg Lotion, the answer is here.

The clear liquid in an eggshell container is perhaps the best solution (pardon the pun). Made to flow like an egg white, the lotion is easy to spread yet has a consisteny that makes it smooth and silky at the same time. The best part is that the lotion is quite thin – enough for you to slide or glide your manhood in the Egg masturbator.

Want it cold and minty? Keep it in the fridge. If your mum or wife asks, tell them it is your protein egg white and to leave it alone. No more embrassment. Isnt the guys at tenga thoughtful now in this aspect. They products are cool and so clever. Have to hand it to them.

Just wondering, if only they can make it edible… that would be ultimate!
Buy it here

Tenga Egg Lotion

TENGA HOLE WARMER

First they made the ‘hole’ feel so good. Men will notice how the tenga cups fit their manhood and are amazed at how well the cup actually copy sex. In fact, the cup IS like a vagina… only better in fact. Now they even have something for you to warm it up a little so it feels like a vagina. What are they going to come up next? Sound Effects?

The warmer stick is easy to use… like your regular heat pad or glow stick: just click the metal disc in the liquid suspension and let the chemical reaction take place. When the stick is heated up just insert into the hole of your favourite tenga cup and let it heat it up to your desired temperature. Then take it out and insert your erection into in and do your thing. Simple! What’s more it is re-useable. Just remember not to stick it into something else… however tempting it may be.
Buy it here

Available for sale at tengatango.com

The year was 2005; I was headed up to the U.P. (upper peninsula for those of you who do not have the good fortune of living in Michigan) for my first Men’s Retreat. The destination, a quaint little Christian camp about a 45 minute drive from “the bridge”. The purpose, to get some quiet time alone with God.

The scheduled events for the long weekend were skeet shooting, golf, paint ball, and fishing. The latter is my personal passion. The campground is set on a wide spot on a river, and if you didn’t know it was a river you would think it was a small lake for the heavy population of beavers have dammed up both ends of the faux lake. Crossing the lake was a nice mini version of the Mackinaw Bridge. Hiking trails were in abundance, but the camp personnel warned to go with a buddy or not to go to far for there had been evidence of a bear recently.

Although I should have been hitting the trails to find a nice secluded spot to sit, read my bible and pray, I choose to go fishing. Now the story was that there were walleye in the “lake” and the rules of the fishing contest were: the biggest fish wins, catch and release, and no fishing after dark. I don’t know much about walleye, but they told me that they are nocturnal feeders. I had never been walleye fishing before because I had always preferred the mortal combat of pulling a large mouth bass out of the water, sticking my thumb in it’s mouth to lift it up, and then putting it back in it’s domain so that I can catch it again another day. So, I didn’t have any tackle in which to catch a walleye with in my tackle box. I jumped in my jeep-wannabe and headed for the nearest civilization in search for a tackle shop or a hardware store. After prodding the locals for tips on how to land a walleye and making my purchases I headed back for my spot on the water.

Three days I was on that water. Baking in the sun. Beavers attempting to scare me away from their young by slapping their tails on the water. It sounded like someone dropping a boulder in the water. Three days of sitting in a canoe, bobbing a night crawler up and down. Up and down. Nothing. Not a nibble.

In-between fishing sessions we would have mini church services and meals. They fed us like kings.Up and down. Back breaking from sitting on a hard canoe seat. Skin on fire from the cloudless sun above.

Last day of the retreat. Last day of the contest. Nobody had caught anything. Biggest fish wins right?

Still nothing. Are there any fish in this lake? Somebody had caught a crayfish with a cup, but they hadn’t entered the contest.

30 minutes to go. Got to do something to catch a fish. ANY FISH!

What’s that swimming next to the dock? Minnows. I pulled a black fly from my tackle box and tied it on. Very gently, I bobbed it on the surface of the water. Slam! After three long days of baking in a canoe, this monstrous fish actually brought a smile to my face. I snapped a picture with my service starved cell phone and released my “White Whale” back to the depths which had spawned it.

I rushed up to the main hall where they were about to award the prizes. Whipping out my phone I sported my entry to the ministry leader. While waiting for the award ceremony, I heard that, before I showed my fish, they were going to give the fishing trophy to a 7 year old boy who had come with his dad. I felt about 3 inches tall.

Well, I received my prize and then heard that the boy who would be the recipient of the trophy had already left. That made me feel better about leaving with it. Hey, I paid ten dollars to enter this contest.

So I gained a trophy for my wall, I lost three days of time with the creator of the universe. Next time, I leave the fishing gear at home.

Courage and God Speed!

This week has been one of the most craziest weeks i’ve had in my entire life.  I’ve never had so much huge things planned in one week.  Amongst the usual family responsibilities, I had key deadlines to meet.  On friday, I had the privilege of painting a custom skate deck for an art show that would raise money to help a man with cancer.  On saturday, I served at our church’s event called Overdrive, where the proceeds will go to missions.  I had to complete and paint a custom Munny and do a live painting for auction, and had to plan and coordinate the live art setup, and lastly I helped coordinate/assist/setup a 25 person art show displays in a new venue.  And to top it all off, amongst ministry responsibilities throughout the week, on Sunday, I had to have completed a designed/painted second banner illustration for our church series, then coordinate dedicated volunteers to help bring the vision to life.

My plate was full.  I tried to take things in stride and ordered my time as best as I could.

As my week unfolded, things got accomplished, but in the end of a few tasks, I failed.  Then I adjust as best as I can.  After the cycle of accomplishment and failure, I can’t help but to look down on myself.

You see, this entire week I was blessed tremendously by Jeni, Robby, Stan, Micah, Greg, Royr, Phil, Anastacio, and Karen, Koak, Dodge, Eukarezt, Ohana, amongst a slew of MPD partners.  They’ve lent they’re talents, abilities, and their willingness to serve beyond themselves.  So much so that they’ve given of themselves and sacrificed sleep and rest in order to help finish tasks along with me.

On my drive home tonight, I was so thankful to God for these fine individuals, whom supported me greatly this past week, that I wanted to bless them with something, anything, but I lacked the resources to do so; but I tried to give as much as I could, which really didn’t amount to anything at all.  I couldn’t help but to be emotionally overwhelmed with grief that I couldn’t bless them back as much they’ve blessed me.  The only thing that I could’ve done was pray to my God Almighty to bless them someway somehow, even more-so than I could ever do myself.

As I continued to drive home, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed about my life situation as well, and to top it off I was really exhausted, hungry and wondering if I had anything to eat tonight.

I got home heavyhearted, and prayed to my God about my life circumstance. I unloaded my thoughts and desires to Him, then proceeded to unload my car.  I went to my kitchen.  Hugged my mom who was asleep by herself at the dinner table.   Opened the fridge, then my mom wakes up and says that we had chinese food from last night.  I couldn’t help but smile.  I micro-waved the food, sat at the table, looked at my mom whom went back to sleep peacefully at the dinner table.   While eating leftover chinese food, in silence and enjoying my dinner.   Tears began to flow from my eyes.  I felt as if I had Jesus himself embracing me with His love and saying, “You were worried with so much, including what you would eat, and see… I’ve provided for you.  Everything will be okay, I’ll take care of you.  I’ll take care of your friends.  I love you.”

My God is faithful.

If you are struggling in your life circumstance, I encourage you to cast all your anxiety on God because He surely cares for you.  Jesus loves you so much.  He will carry you thru.  He will provide for you, and give you peace, and rest in the craziness of the storms.

Enjoy your Christmas season.

With love.

SC

I’ve come to a big realization that I can be a feelings sharer and not be a sissy.  Not one ounce of manhood has to be shed for someone to open up with there feelings.  Instead, I think a person is more of a godly man if they share their feelings.

TRAINED BY DAD AND CULTURE
Our dads model for us that we need to be tough.  We need to be strong.  Being “feely touchy” is for sissies.  Real men don’t cry.  Real men don’t share their emotions.  If our dads caught us crying, they say, “quit crying and suck it up”. 

This is a message that many of us have been taught, but it is not a godly message.  All over the bible there are examples of men who were solid, godly men who shared their feelings.

Moses, David,  Jonah, Jeremiah, Peter, Paul & Jesus all shared their feelings.  No one would call them a wimp.  They were strong in the Lord and yet cried out to God and had a wide range of emotions.

FEELINGS AND SEXUAL ADDICTION
So much of our recovery from sexual addiction is underneath the surface.  What’s going on inside that is causing you to act out.  Healing from sexual addiction means that you have to start exploring that stuff and talking about it.  Your wounds and hurts have to be talked about.  Your anger and unmet needs have to be talked about.  Somehow you have to start learning how to talk about your feelings with others. 

A misconception about sexual addiction support groups is that they are wimpy, touch feeling collectives.  There are a few that are extremely emotive and sensitive, but the groups I have been a part of are made up of tough men, influential men, leaders that got caught in their sexual behaviors, and now have learned to talk about it. 

WE FEEL WHETHER WE KNOW IT OR NOT
Inside of us, we all feel.  But we don’t all express our feelings. 

You feel anger, happiness, frustration, lonliness, hurt, joy and sadness.  These feelings get expressed outwardly or internalized.  For many of us, our feelings eventually come out in our actions.  Anger is a famous example.  Our anger will eventually come out, no matter how hard we try to push it away. 

Sexual addicts have started acting out because of their feelings and needs.  We have unmet needs, so we act out.  We are angry with our current sexual situation, so we act out.  Sexual addicts have learned to express themselves in very unhealthy ways. 

PART OF GOD’S DESIGN
God has designed us with an emotional side.  We are physical, emotional and spiritual.  If our emotional side is neglected, it affects the other parts of our being.  God wants us to  be healthy for the first time with our emotions. 

Bold Jeff Statement:  If you are not growing in your emotions, you are broken.  You are not functioning the way God has designed you. 

BENEFITS OF SHARING MY FEELINGS

1.  You can finally talk about the things underneath the surface

2.  Feelings are critical to growing a relationship

3.  Feelings are critical to real intimacy

4.  Others will identify with the things you are going through better, and be able to come along side you. 

5.  It is part of God’s design.  We will start being who he made us to be. 

I have learned that I can be a feelings sharer and still be a strong man of God.  My relationships and sexual health have drastically improved as a result. 

My cat is getting neutered today. I feel bad taking his manhood away. However, I wish I could keep his tiny balls in a jar and bring them out every time a man came over. Just as a heads up.

I’ve had a damn cold for the past week or so. It’s pretty annoying being sick and lacking energy. Delusional sleep is not quality sleep. It’s really no fun spending your days off trying to get your energy back so that you can work again.

What is everyone doing for New Years? I need to get crazy. It has been awhile, and I need some drama in my life. ( That little snippet with the drunk aggressive dude and the kissing and (awkward)  hand holding which would have led to more if I wasn’t in the right frame of mind ,wasn’t enough to excite or interest  me. Actually, it was quite unattractive.) I’m not a hand holder, never have been, never will be. I find it uncomfortable. I’d like to walk on my own thanks. I guess some people like it. Like drunk people and people who lack balance.

Warning: This is a long one. It’s about my cat. It’s all mushy, touchy-feely stuff. It’s not really funny, like at all. In fact, there’s a really good chance that it’s just long and rambling. Okay, you’ve been warned. Proceed with caution.
————————

I’ve said it here a time or two before and I’m sure I’ll say it again someday: emotions aren’t really my thing.

Sure, sure I have emotions, everyone does. I’m just not real adept at expressing them.

Happy, I’ve got down. I’m a pro at being happy.

Angry, I can do. I don’t do it nearly often enough, but I’m pretty good at it when the situation calls for it.

Sad, is a whole different story.

When I get sad, I’m not someone who necessarily likes to talk things out, that doesn’t really work for me. Lately, I’ve been sad and since I can’t really bring myself to talk about it, I figured I’d go with a different kind of therapy and write about it.

I figure I’m no good at sad, but I’m not-too-shabby at this whole writing thing, so it seems like the way to go.

With that said, let’s get right down to the sadness-laden nitty-gritty:

My cat, Tom S. Katt, died last week.

Tommy was a pretty old cat, fifteen to be exact, and we all knew that his timing was rapidly running out, but it still sucks nonetheless.

To keep from going on some long-winded, blubbery tangent about how much I miss my cat, I’ll try to keep it short(ish) today.

I’ve been working on a longer story of sorts about him for awhile now. So if and/or when that ever sees the light of day, y’all can find out what a nerdy old cat-lady I really am.

Admittedly, the long version has become more of a feline version of “Marley and Me” than I’d hoped, but on the bright side it’s got no Owen Wilson and, well, roughly the same amount of Jennifer Aniston.

Anyway, today you get the short(ish) version.

We got Tom in 1994, back when I was ten, and he’s been a big part of our family ever since. He was quite the plump fuzz-ball for most of his life, but when I went home this past October he’d dropped roughly 10 pounds since May and was moving very, very slow.

His usual pissy, fighting spirit seemed to have been replaced by a desire to just lounge on people’s laps. He couldn’t go up the stairs anymore. He couldn’t jump up onto anyone’s bed anymore. He couldn’t even make the jump into a chair without assistance.

We all knew his time was running out.

I tried to take as many pictures with him as I could and spend as much time as I could with him, out of (now completely justified) fear that he wouldn’t make it until I came back for Christmas.

A week or so ago, on my weekly phone call home to the family—I’m a GREAT son—my Pappy told me that Tom was in pretty rough shape. He hadn’t been eating and had spent an entire day just lying on the floor, hiding in a corner.

He tried to sound the way Pappys are supposed to sound and went through the generic “old dirty animal” rhetoric that’s become his standard way of showing affection, but his voice sorta cracked which let me know it was serious.

My Pappy is a pretty stoic dude.

I can probably count the times I’ve seen him cry on one hand and I could hear him getting choked up on the other end of the phone.

I spent the better part of the next few days doing my best not to think about it, why start mourning a cat that isn’t dead. I tried to rationalize. I went even farther by thinking why should I mourn a cat at all…it’s just a cat.

That logic didn’t stick at all.

After fifteen years, a cat is no more “just a cat” than my brothers are “just dudes.”

He is family.

For years he’d sleep in my bed with me and hang out with me when I was pecking away on an old typewriter, writing baseball stories and mini-novels that, to this day, have only been seen by his yellow eyes and mine.

He’s heard more of my dreams, secrets, and fears than anyone else. If for no better reason than because I knew he’d never tell a soul and even if he’d try, they’d just assume he was begging for food.

I rang in the year 2000 sitting in my bedroom eating day old pizza and ice cream with Dick Clark on the television and Tom licking away at my quart of cookies-n-cream beside me.

There was a brief period of time where I tried my hand at writing a series of stories starring Tom S. Katt as the protagonist.

Even when I’d been away from home for long periods of time, he’d still come right up to me when I got in the door and would barely leave my side.

The last time I was home he curled up in my suitcase so that I couldn’t pack to leave.

Sure, sure it very easily could have been that he was just comfy, but as a mourning former cat owner, I can believe whatever the hell I want.

Last Wednesday morning, I was at the laundromat before work and I called my Mama to check on him and she told me things weren’t looking good. She didn’t want to take him into the vet—most likely to avoid hearing the obvious—and she clung to the hope that he’d suddenly get better.

Unlike my Pappy, she didn’t mess around with trying to pretend she wasn’t sad.

For as long as I can remember, Mama has worked overnight shifts. When we were young it was so that at least one parent would be around the house at all times in case something happened to one of us.

After we’d all flown the coop, it was out of habit more than necessity.

During all those years, her only companion in the house during the day had been Tom, for fifteen years those two had the house to themselves every day from 8am to 4pm or longer.

She knew she was losing her best friend. She cried.

I nearly joined her when she—and don’t judge us, this is just what cat people do—put him on the phone. I heard him meowing and he sounded so weak and scared, I don’t even know if a cat can sound scared, but he did.

I spent most of the day trying to get it out of my head, but I just couldn’t.

She told me that she’d send me an email if/when he passed, because she assumed a phone call would just consist of us blubbering at one another for fifteen minutes or so and no one wants that.

Every day I avoided checking my email out of fear that there’d be an email telling me what I didn’t want to know.

Then, last Friday night, as Grace and I were leaving the house to go get some refreshments for my birthday party, my phone started to ring. As soon as I heard the tune, I knew it was Mama, and I knew Tom was gone.

We talked for half an hour and she cried and I, somehow, pulled a page from Pappy’s book and managed to be stoic. If nothing else, I think it’s because that’s what she needed more than anything else.

She told me that she’d finally given in and taken him to the vet on Thursday morning.

She told me that she came home and found him waiting at the door, meowing at her in a way that she interpreted to be asking for help. (Again, don’t judge the crazy cat people in mourning.)

She took him into the vet and, for the first time in his entire life, he got into a car without a struggle.

He sat in the seat like he’d been riding in cars his whole life. He’d meow at my mom and look out the window, then turn back and meow at her some more. It was just like a car ride with anyone else.

He didn’t struggle when they brought him into the vet, an event that used to result in a full-scale war of epic proportions. Back in the day, a trip to the vet usually resulted in piles of flying fur and flesh and pints of blood.

This time he was calm. He was ready.

They ran some tests and determined he had kidney failure. They could flush the kidneys and try to keep him going, but it would only gain a little more time and most likely, more pain.

Mama made the decision that no one should ever have to make and she told them to put him down.

After fifteen years, I can only imagine how awful that was for her. To have to actually say the words and tell someone you were ready for them to die.

She didn’t send me an email. She let a day pass.

In retrospect, I’m happy she didn’t send an email.

How do you encompass any sort of feeling and emotion in a few quick words?

Would you just say “Tom’s dead” or would you got into a long-winded, rambling tome like I’ve done here today?!

After I got off the phone, Grace and I went and got our refreshments. I spent the night blogging and then went to bed.

At about two in the morning, after thrashing around for nearly three hours, I finally got out of bed.

I did what anyone would do, I went to my computer and brought up pictures of Tom and I cried and blubbered like a small-child for nearly two hours.

I cried until my throat hurt and I was out of tears.

I cried until I’d run out of snot and Kleenex, thankfully these two ran empty at the same time.

I cried because I needed to cry.

I’m not a crier. Just like my Pappy, I can probably count the number of times I’ve legitimately cried on one-hand, but I needed to cry. I needed to be sad. I needed to feel bad for myself, Tommy, my Pappy, my brothers, and, mostly, my Mama.

So, for anyone who has seen me since then and asked me questions, about it, I want to thank you. I want to thank you for caring and thank you for your sympathy and thank you for simply being really great people.

I also want you to know that I’m not being brash and curt with my responses because I’m an uncaring douchebag.

It’s just that losing someone I’ve known longer than many of my friends, my girlfriend, my co-workers, and just about everyone reading this blog, well, that makes me sad.

…and I’m just not any good at sad.

I just wanted to take a little space here to give a shout-out to my good friends—and former roommates—Mike and Alicia Kunkel.

I’ve known Mike since I was in middle school and Alicia since she moved to the Hartley in high school.

They’re two of the finest people that you’ll ever meet. In fact, they received an unofficial shout-out from me earlier this year.

As such, I’m proud to give them a legit shout-out and announce that they’ve just had their first baby!!

That’s right folks, I’m a quasi-uncle, yet again.

Samuel Michael Kunkel was born Monday morning at 8:40am (that’s Central time, y’all),

The future Major League Baseball Hall of Famer weighed in at 7 lbs 13.2 ozs and 19 3/4 inches long.

Major props to Mike and Alicia who have both been ready to be parents for years, I have no doubt that they’ll be absolutely awesome playing the roles of Mom and Dad from here on out.

Plus, the kid’s going to need a publicist at some point and everyone knows I like 15% off the top as much as the next guy!!

Welcome to a Monday edition of the Surf Report.

.: God :

What does it mean to be a man?

Mark Driscoll believes that the transition from boyhood to manhood is marked by the following 5 events:

1. Leave your parents home.

2. Finish education/ vocational degree.

3. Start a career-track job vs. a dead-end job.

4. Meet/ marry a woman.

5. Have children.

My thoughts:

• Not everyone is “called” to marry.
• I agree that no transitional event marks when one becomes a man.
• There is nothing wrong with marrying later in life.
• Being single does not equal being irresponsible.
• Playing videogames/ interest in videogames is not a sign of immaturity. Videogames are as valid as a hobby as sports. (I agree when Mark speaks of how dumb it is when people throw their lives away playing videogames.)

Your thoughts?

.: Life :

“Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.” – President Franklin D. Roosevelt

.: Gaming :

Recently Syp over @ Bio Break had a great post that outlined a year of free-to-play MMO’s. This got me thinking, why not play an MMO a week? Sounds like the ultimate MMO tourist challenge to me! As you might have guessed from the header above, I have decided to play Maple Story this week. Time for some quirky Korean fun! Thoughts and comments will be shared in next week’s Surf Report (12/14/09). Stay tuned.

That is it for this weeks Surf Report. Make sure to comment below and have a good week!

Top-billing actress Nicole Kidman, in her role as UN Goodwill Ambassador, recently made this assessment before the House Foreign Affairs Subcommittee:

The Academy award-winning actor[sic]  Nicole Kidman used an appearance before the US Congress to accuse Hollywood of contributing to violence against women by portraying them as sex objects.

When asked by Republican representative Dana Rohrabacher whether the film industry “played a bad role” in the way it portrayed women, Kidman replied “Probably”, before going on to say that she refused to take roles that portrayed women as weak sex objects. “I can’t be responsible for all of Hollywood, but I can certainly be responsible for my own career.”

I agree with Ms. Kidman that Hollywood (and the rest of the entertainment industry) is very much to blame for much of the violence against women in the United States.

But after this brief moment of agreement,  Ms. Kidman and I part ways.  This is because Ms. Kidman believes that Hollywood is encouraging violence against women by portraying women as “weak sex objects” (something of a forté of Ms. Kidman’s, I gather).

I believe, however, that the entertainment industry invites, inspires, and encourages  violence against women by portraying them as combatants.  Have a look at the following images:

Don't mess with Lara!

Here’s Angeline Jolie shooting ‘em up in Tomb Raider.  She may be buxom and sultry, but she can mix it up with the baddest of the bad boys any day!

Ms. Jolie has several other tough-guy roles to her credit as well.

Maybe you didn’t see Sky High.  No surprise.  Not many did.  I watched this “squeaky clean” movie with my family (including high-school aged daughters) and was, shall we say, a trifle uncomfortable with the climactic fight scene.

Sky High

Here we see “good guy” Will Stronghold duking it out in a very punishing way with his nemesis, Royal Pain.  Will has super strength, and Royal Pain is endowed with a hyper-technologized super suit.  Quite a fight!

Only one problem:  Inside the suit is a very pretty teenaged girl.  The Will Stronghold character is aware of this before the fight begins, but this doesn’t stop him from pounding Royal Pain repeatedly into the concrete.

In fact, earlier in the movie Will “made out with” this young lady.  Here, he is doing his level best to beat her to a pulp.

(It bears remembering that every plot point in the script is an intentional decision on the part of the writers and director.  They don’t have to put anything into the movie that they don’t want in there.)

This is Jennifer Garner “fighting” Will Yun Lee in the movie Elektra.  Same theme, different movie:  The few movies I have shown here represent only the tip of the iceberg.  There may well be hundreds or even thousands of movies out there which feature beautiful women thrashing tough bad guys.  (I’m not even going to mention the despicable Kill Bill!)

Here’s a movie that I own.  I am not comfortable with this, either:

Susan in Prince Caspian

Prince Caspian - low-quality still. Susan (middle left) brings down a swordsman with her bow.

This is the Susan character from The Chronicles of Narnia:  Prince Caspian.  According to the actress who plays Lucy, Susan has the highest body count of all of the characters in the movie.    Anna Popplewell, the actress who played Susan, proudly recounts that she had a “death count” of “14 halfway through the shooting”.   (One must wonder, though, what the public reaction would have been if, instead of Susan piercing, slashing, and puncturing a number of anonymous men, there had been a male “hero” doing such things to a succession of women?  Sauce for the goose…)

And movies are not the only culprits, either:

Heroes of Gaia

This is a typical ad for a typical online MMRPG, featuring your typical, scantily-clad, armed and armored sword-wielding death babe.  Here we see another common aspect of our culture’s “liberation” of women:  The sex-violence-death conjunction, which is anymore pretty much too common to provoke a reaction from anyone.

The involvement of women in combat has been a continuing theme of American media for about 50 years now (see the information about Maid Marian here or about Purdey here).  It began as a minor theme – sort of a joke, or a piquance or foil, which added a sort of irony to the show.  However, it has been so much pressed into our faces that we now expect the women to jump in the fray, take out a few bad guys, and walk away without a scratch or a hair out of place.  (I once walked into a family room where a bunch of teenagers were watching a Disney television show that portrayed a young female martial arts warrior in a combat sequence with a mature male enemy.  I publicly mused, “Oh, so it is okay to hit a girl!”  No-one was very happy with me.)

Here’s a nice still from a TV segment:

ABC Fight

Here, the male correspondent (out of frame) was “too chicken” to fight, so the female correspondent took on Prince Caspian instead.

This idea of women as warriors has become so commonplace that we are now sending women into harm’s way in combat zones (though not directly as combat troops – a technical nicety, since dozens or even scores of women have died in hostile attacks).  So much for the “people can tell the difference between fantasy and reality” defense!

By now I hope that I’ve made my point:  Our culture is saturated with the idea that women are fit combatants:  Pretty, feminine, stylish, and dangerous.  This is the ideal of womanhood which is being foisted on us by a media message which is both uniform and unvarying.  (Should it not trouble us that there is no public debate about this?  Is everyone really in agreement with this?)  This is our culture’s presumed direction of progress.  The director of Prince Caspian puts it this way:

As a father of two daughters ages 4½ and 2, Adamson made sure that the girls weren’t off to the side during the fighting but directly involved. “Susan really kicks [...] in this film, and Lucy gets to use her dagger,” he says. “Georgie would have complained loudly if she hadn’t.”

Won’t papa be proud when his girls come home with their Purple Hearts (along with the missing limbs that earned them)?

So, then, why shouldn’t a man engage his wife or his girlfriend in a fistfight?  If women are proper soldiers, then why shouldn’t men be able to “sort out” their differences with women as they might with another man?  If women are as tough as men, then let us not regard it as shockingly wrong when a man beats up some mouthy lady down at the bar.

This cultural trend of militarizing women does more to put women in harm’s way – not only on the battlefield, but in the living room – than all of the demeaning sexual stereotypes that were ever made.

So, what is to be done?

First, don’t buy the lie that women are as combat-ready as men.  No, a woman should not be in combat.  A woman should not be a member of the military of any civilized country.

Second:  No, it is not okay for a man to hit a woman.  Every man who dares to call himself a man should commit himself to the protection of every woman in his acquaintance.  Physical violence is wrong in itself, but it is a crime against nature for a man ever to exercise any kind of violence whatsoever against a woman.  Commit yourself to this principle.

Third, don’t give your money to the movies and the television shows that are trying to sell us the idea of women combatants.  Not even Narnia.  And make sure to say something, protest, every time you see this being portrayed.

It’s an evil age and a corrupt civilization that presses its women into combat.  Make it your business to stand against this evil!