"Men are good in one way, but bad in many" ~Aristotle

It's really fantastic being a man. I mean, I've always inherently known this fact, but until recently have not attempted to prove it. Because -- let's be honest -- is there any doubt? I know, I know, women are always trying to change us, which by implication alerts all other women to the fact that we have something that needs changing. But I think it's all just a big conspiracy to protect our heads from exploding from pure suave egocentricity. But that's neither here nor there. You can't keep us down. Men still rule.

Let's outline just a few of the many, many, MANY benefits of being a man:

- We can get grey hair and be distinguished instead of old.

- We can get moderately overweight and be portly instead of fat.

- We can (with very few exceptions) make bodily noises in public.

- We can walk in front of a mirror and almost always find ourselves attractive.

- We can think about sex for hours (or decades) without getting bored.

- We rarely have to be bothered with those pesky things called thoughts.

- We can go bald and it is considered cute instead of tragic.

- 15 minutes from wake-up to ready-for-work. Tops.

- 15 minutes from home-from-gym to sleeping. Tops.

- We can generally wear "casual" and still pull off "semi-formal."

- We can sleep around and not be viewed as contaminated.

- Our wrinkles are attractive.

- We can resolve conflicts with the same sex within minutes.

- We can resolve conflicts with the opposite sex with ... sex.

So, with all of these things (and many more) going for us, why is it that we would willingly change ANYTHING for the hope of a second glance from a beautiful woman? Like the threat of you breaking up with us (or -- gasp! -- "withholding" anything) is going to influence our decisions. Right?

Right...?

Hmmm... maybe Aristotle was onto something...

Check this out

"What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly" ~Thomas Paine

I believe in the value of work. I am not afraid to dig into a difficult project or situation and give it a go. But I draw the line at difficult things that are difficult for no other reason than just to be frustratingly difficult. Like gas pumps.

Not to give away my age, but I am old enough to remember pre-digital gas pumps. I was driving (and paying for my own gas) by the time credit-card-ready gas pumps hit the market. I remember sighing with relief the first time I paid for my gas and drove away without having to enter the convenience store and look like a moron when the pubescent behind the counter asked what number pump I was using -- and I not know. Those were beautiful, simple times -- a summer of enjoyment. We drove across town to use that gas station, just to save the three minutes it took to pay.

Fast forward to... today. I filled my gas tank this morning; it was not beautiful, nor simple. In fact, it made me extremely irritable -- not to mention late for work. Gone are the days of entering your credit card and pumping gas. Now, you have to work your way through the list of options:

- Enter your credit card

- Enter your rewards card, or press 'Cancel'

- Enter your 5-digit ZIP, and press 'Enter'

- Would you like a car wash? Press 'Yes' or 'No'

- Would you like a receipt? Press 'Yes' or 'No'

- Save the economy. Please do not top off your tank. Press 'OK'

15 years later, I honestly thought we'd have fully automated gas stations, where I wouldn't even have to get out of my car. But instead, I'm finding myself spending longer and longer out in the cold, trying to get through the menu of gas-options. So long, in fact, that I've seen gas stations that play the news on tiny 2-inch screens to keep you entertained while you slowly freeze to death.

"My chosen representatives in the field of shagging, or, rather, courtship" ~Bridget Jones

I believe that Mr. Darcy has been erroneously vilified -- as well as romanticized -- without reason. Every woman I have ever met has, at one time, hated Mr. Darcy with a kind of hatred approaching that reserved only for people who constantly have cuter shoes than they do. Generally this hatred is generated by, and felt during, the reading of Ms. Austen's famous book. And every woman I have ever met eventually ends up lauding Mr. Darcy as the most romantic person in the world -- and why can't more men be like him?

But I believe that Mr. Darcy is an innocent man caught in a web of romantic utopian dreamsters... when, quite likely, he has no idea what is going on. Let me explain.

When Nymph and I first met, we went out once and I didn't like her at all. I didn't ask her out again, and it was very obvious that I was not interested in her. We continued to hang out socially, and quickly became good friends, but there was nothing romantic in our relationship at all, and I was perilously close to the dreaded Friend Zone (which I formerly knew nothing about, but apparently is common enough to have its own wikipedia entry), when out of the blue, I confessed my love, and, after recovering from utter confusion about my change of attitude, she was swept completely off her feet.

Well... at least... that is Nymph's version. And the version that all of her friends know by heart. But is it the truth? Does any woman really know what motivates and inspires a man? Did any of her friends and confidantes step back and say "Wait! Are you SURE that's what he feels and why he's acting that way?" Of course they didn't. Because if there's one thing all women agree on, it's men. And if they all agree, then why ruin it by asking an outsider's unwanted opinion?

I contend that Mr. Darcy is destined to be eternally misunderstood, and the poor sap will never get a chance to stand up for himself and let his side of the story be heard. Was he being rude or cruel in his attempt to save Bingley from unhappiness? Does he truly struggle with feelings of superiority, or is that just what Miss Bennet (and her sisters) believe is the case? "Lizzy" is so proud of her own acuity in social judgments, how can she really be trusted? And his "saving" of Lydia could have been just that -- or could have been a gross miscommunication on the part of "Eliza the quick."

I feel for the man; I truly do. So misrepesented. So misunderstood. What did Ms. Austen know of men anyway? Is there any proof she actually spent time alone with one? I mean, cripes, she named him Fitzwilliam! And who will stand up for our lonely champion? No man I know is willing to argue with all of English-speaking womankind over such a sensitive topic. And so the poor man sits... criticized, reviled, and ultimately glorified and idolized beyond what he deserves. And all he did was be rich, help his friend out of a mistake, and then fall in love and become stupid -- all of his decisions from that point on can be summed up as "trying to please his woman."

Kind of like my decisions with Nymph.