Irtish Eyes : AKA The Twilight Zone

So living off the grid for the past 5 years has incapacitated my ability to regale you with some of my more asinine life stories.  I sometimes get to the point where my brain becomes a log jam of these tales and the only way for me to proceed with any sort of linear thought process is to take the time to sort them out on paper for you, my friends, to get a glimpse of the weirdness that happens to me on a regular basis. This particular story took place 14 years ago while living in Boston.

It was an oppressively-muggy Friday evening in June. The day had been that kind of city-hot where you feel as though you are hallucinating from both dehydration and the fact that everywhere you look is slightly distorted from the heat waves  rising off the blistering pavement. My day had been spent working with my friend/co-worker Dave.  We had the unfortunate task that fateful day of donning  full body suits, gloves, hoods, respirators and goggles to finish the demolition on a gut renovation of the third-floor in a house in north Boston.  Somerville to be exact.

The first half of the day was spent wielding sledge-hammers, sawzalls, and crowbars as we leveled walls, tore up floors, and tore down the 100 year old lathe and horse-hair plaster off of the remaining walls and ceilings,  The accumulation of several decades of dust in these walls and ceilings was sometimes an inch thick and created a black death-cloud when disturbed, that allowed for about 2 feet of visibility. By noon we had sweated through our clothes to the point that we were now carrying around pounds of extra weight from the dust and debris that now clung to our saturated clothing. The second part of the day was spent removing lumber and bags of plaster down three flights of stairs to the 40 yd dumpster occupying the 2 parking spaces out front. Needless to say by 5pm we had earned some relaxation time. It was pay-day, so after dragging our asses to the shop, then to the bank across the street we were making our way to the Sullivan sq. "T" stop, but decided that we needed some re-hydration before the 35 minute public commute to the more familiar watering holes of our neighborhood. Besides, having drank 4 gallons of water each that day we needed something with a little more of a beer flavor before we trudged our steel-toed boots one step further. We found ourselves, upon reaching this conclusion, in front of the "Irish Eyes" pub.

I opened the door with the exhausted attitude of someone not really paying attention to their surroundings just merely determined to reach their goal before falling down. It had been bright outside, so to get my bearings I took a moment after stepping in the doorway to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkly lit interior. My initial impression was that the bar was empty. There was not a sound to be heard and as my eyes adjusted, proportionately, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.  I realized that sitting at the bar were  2 dozen or so burly working-class guys all bearing the evidence of whatever their work day had entailed.  Their presence wasn't the issue. It was the fact that every single one of them were silently staring at us as though we had just scratched the needle across the record and they were all having a telekinetic debate amongst themselves as to whether or not to go for their guns. I felt as though I walked into a major drug deal on the verge of going bad. There was a tension in the air that even in my beat down state made me consider relocating to another establishment, but then I thought to myself  " if I'm going to have to fight my way out of here anyway then I might as well do it after I put a Newcastle and a shot of Jameson in me".  Besides, these guys, while a formidable looking group couldn't be any meaner than my desire to sit down, relax, and wash the horrid, dusty taste residing in my mouth.  I didn't care what their business was and  was determined to make it none of mine as long as it didn't stand in the way of my refreshment.

I walked toward the bar and in unison every head swiveled back and looked at their respective beers.  Suddenly no-one would make eye contact except for the bartender that I had made my way up to.  He wore an awkward grin as I placed the order for beers and shots. " 'ad a rough day 'ave ya boys" he said in an Irish brogue pouring our drinks all the while stealing quick glances toward the other patrons who were all silently staring forward. I nodded and there wasn't another sound to be heard except Dave pulling out his chair well across the room.   I collected the drinks and walked over to the table somewhat relieved to put some distance between me and the bar.

So as not to upset the atmosphere of things Dave and I took a couple of silent pulls off of our beers while having a non-verbal conversation with our eyes, shoulders, and facial expressions that went something like this:

ME: shoulders and eyebrows raised looking left to right "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN HERE!?!?!

DAVE: eyes widening, shrugs his shoulders while shaking his head back and forth, "I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA!!

ME: appreciatively smiling at the beer in my hand as I hold it up in front of me and mime "here's to the ass we kicked today and to the debaucherous upcoming weekend . CHEERS!"

Clink of our beer glasses

DAVE: with an eyebrows raised, mocking half-smile nods at the drinks and then over his shoulder towards the door  "YEAH, HEY KEV I GOT AN IDEA...WHY DON'T YOU PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS AND FINISH UP YOUR DRINKS SO THAT WE CAN GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE WE GET OUR HEADS KICKED IN. Reaches for his shot and polishes it off with a slight tilt of his head and pushes out his chair.

ME:Llooking quickly around the room while my smile quickly disappears, my  discomfort rapidly returning as I am brought back to the situation at hand from my momentary relaxation. There still hasn't been a peep in the whole place in the 5 minutes since we had stepped over the threshold from any of the other customers in the establishment. Nodding my head "YEAH YOU ARE PROBABLY RIGHT "

Finishing off my beer, I reached for my shot as I made another sweep of the room.  There were dozen backs to us, heads pointed straight ahead except the bartender who was leaning against the back-bar staring at Dave and I with his arms folded across his chest, seemingly fully following our brief body language conversation and grinning from ear to ear.  His face was contorted from straining to hold back laughter and it made him look slightly insane. Our eyes locked and there was a twinkle in his  as he nodded to me as if to say "NOW THINGS ARE REALLY GOING TO GET WEIRD"

 It was at that exact time that the room was suddenly filled (with dolby surround sound) with some of the only sounds of my evening in here so far.  It was music.  The first notes sounded vaguely familiar. Then the singing started and I knew exactly what it was but couldn't figure out where it was coming from.

OOOOOOOOOH MYYYYYYY LOOOOOOOOVE, MY DARLIIIIIIIIIING,  I HUNNNNGER FOOOOOR YOOOOOOUR TOUCH,

The sudden perplexed look on my face must have been the last straw for the bartender because he doubled over in peals of laughter while maintaining eye contact with me.  I glanced at Dave and he had the same baffled look on his face as he was looking around the room trying to find the origin of this sudden barrage of the "Righteous  Brothers, Unchained Melody".

It was then that I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye and turned toward a previously unnoticed television directly above where the bartender was now making animal-like noises in the throes of hysterical laughter. The image on the screen was that of a woman sitting at a pottery wheel throwing some bowl or vase or something...  HEY WAIT A FIRGGIN MINUTE THATS DEMI MOORE...OH MY GOD THATS PATRICK SWAYZE GLOWING AND SITTING BEHIND HER!!!!!

 My thought process quickly unfolded as the dawning realization hit me as to what I had walked into on this seemingly innocent day.  We had just walked into a bar full of large, hairy-knuckled, working-class, Boston  men who had been all intensely watching the movie "Ghost". It was at the last scene when Patrick Swayze is a ghost and he is sort of implying that he is going to haunt Demi Moore by making ghostly love to her every time she goes to whip out a coffee mug. I think that it was supposed to be romantic but what the hell do I know. It was the last scene of the movie I believe and I was still in shock at what I was witnessing. The newly morphed look on my face was enough to nearly send the bartender to the floor as howls of laughter erupted with new vigor and he grasped the bar in front of him for support. A barload of somber men looked down at their drinks as the credits rolled up the screen and the song continued to play.

One or two from the bar to excused themselves hastily to the bathroom while little grumbles of conversation could be heard erupting here and there. The bartender, who I retrospectively realize was the mastermind behind the whole situation, was desperately trying to gain control of his composure enough to seize the opportunity that he had created to bust the balls of everyone in the room. He had set the trap.  HE put the chic-flic in, exposed the raw nerves of his patrons and waited for some schlep like me to walk into his cleverly orchestrated twilight zone situation. We had walked in at the perfect time and his plan was unfolding even better than he had expected.

"YOU BUNCH OF FREAKIN PANSIES!!!" He managed to choke out, trying not to let the moment get away from him, before he looked at me again and lost his composure. At that moment I broke out of the trance I was in and realized that I was now standing in the middle of the room with a shocked expression on my face still pointing at the t.v. from when I had discovered it 2 minutes previously. I turned, dropping my arm and closing my mouth, to look at Dave who still had the frozen surprised "deer in headlights" look on his face that I had just unsuccessfully attempted to wipe from my own.

That's when the bartender recovered with the determination of someone not about to let this moment go to waste.  It was as though he had been waiting for this day for a long time.  "YOU BUNCH OF SNOT NOSED MOPEY-FACED SISSIES!  THERE ISN'T A DRY EYE IN THE LOT OF YA!  THESE TWO (motioning toward Dave and I) POP INTO HERE AFTER A HARD DAYS WORK TO A BUNCH OF TAFFIES WEEPING INTO THEIR BEER OVER A CHIC MOVIE"

There was chuckling and grumbling of almost equal volume but I couldn't tell which came from where.  Either way there were men not-so-discreetly wiping their faces off with their sleeves all over the place which only fueled the barkeeps relentless onslaught on everyone there.

"WHART  KINDA BAR 'AS THIS TURNED INTA?!?!?!?"

"DON SLIP AN FALL IN THE PUDDLE OF TEARS UNDER YER STOOL"he exclaimed to a patron who was just standing up.

"NO WONDA YOU BLOKES HAVE TO WATCH CHIC FLICS TOGETHA AT THE BAAAR! IF ANY OF YER LASSES COULD SEE YOU NOW THEYD BE OUT LOOKIN FER REAL MEN!" He was calling out everyone for everything he had seen throughout the course of the movie.

"AND THAT ONE SCENE I THOUGHT YOU TWO WERE GONNA START HOLDING HANDS! "He exclaimed to a couple patrons.

"YEAH, RIGHT ITS THE SMOKE MAKIN ALL YER EYES RED YOU BUNCH OF DELICATE FLOWERS!!"

 WHY DON YA GO HOME TO YER MUM AND GET SOME HUGS AND CUDDLES YA WEE FAIRY" He aimed at one guy who was clearly unseasoned in the art of Boston Bar-Room Ball-busting.  Now, ediquette dictates that the quickest way to diffuse a Ball-Busting, in a pants down, caught red handed situation,  is to agree with the ball-buster thus taking away his ammunition and throwing them off guard. Then a proper response would be to the effect of " I think I'll stop at your moms house on my way" or "my mom died last week" but you have to keep a straight face for that one.  The opposite of effectual behavior is the person who directly engages the ball-buster with passionate denial in an attempt to defend his tender machismo, which only gives the ball-buster the realization that there is a chink in the armor to be exploited. Which is precisely what proceeds to happen... with the precision of an alpha wolf culling off the weakest animal in the herd.

"IS THERE ANY BEER IN THAT GLASS OR IS IT ALL JUST SALT WATER", continued the barman. which was when the young man who was clearly outclassed in  the art of defending himself verbally, decided to attempt to protect his honor physically instead.  His mates next to him grabbed him before he got over the bar and put him back in his seat, but he was still struggling to get a piece of somebody. Tensions mounted quickly in the room and oddly enough they weren't all pointing toward the bartender who was clearly inciting this escalation.

I started having the same "OH SHIT" feeing rise up again that I had when I first walked through the door as I was watching what looked like was going to be a full-scale bar-brawl unfold before my eyes. A whole group of rough burly men were being called out on their sexuality all at once and it was getting ugly quick. It seemed like it was "GO" time in every sense of the term as I looked for alternate exits. There were chests puffed and mild shoving before the room took on a brief frozen pause that I can only liken to what it must have been like just before the director yelled "ACTION" in on of those old-time wild-west barroom brawl scenes.  You know, that second before three chairs are shattering simultaneously over peoples heads, someone gets thrown down the length of the bar, everyone just turns to their neighbor and starts kicking the shit out of them randomly, as bottles are broken and tables dissolve under people falling from the unseen fights in the balcony. You know... Instant mayhem.

It was in that pregnant pause, as I was thinking of what my exit strategy was going to be, when a man stood up in full Somerville policeman's uniform brushing stray popcorn kernels from his chest and put his hat under his arm.  Officer(?) rose to his full 6'8" height, puffed out his chest and proceeded to polish off the pint in front of him. "ALL RIGHT BOYS! I'M OFF TO FIGHT CRIME!" He bellowed as he pushed out the stool. "DON'T MAKE ME HAVE TO COME BACK HERE TO SORT YOU FELLAS OUT AGAIN!" He roared, then he threw back his head and let out a deep barratone belly laugh that commanded the rest of the room to laugh with him and completely release the tension from the room...again.

As I stood there marveling to myself at the range of emotions that I had felt inside of 5 minutes upon entering this establishment the cop strode to the door. Dave advised me again (this time verbally) that we should take the opportunity to indeed "GET  THE FUCK OUT OF HERE". Slipping the bartender a smile and a nod for the entertainment I threw back my whiskey and we briskly strolled out the door behind the cop into the stifling evening air.   "COME BACK ANYTIIIIIIIIIIME" the bartender yelled in a mock-falsetto voice to us as the door closed behind us. The cop climbed into his cruiser, grinned, and yelled to us right before he gunned it out into traffic "THE THINGS YOU GOTTA DO TA GET A FRIGGIN BEER AROUND HERE, HUH?"

Dave and I looked at each other and he said "I'm not sure that the rest of the weekend can get any weirder, but lets go find out."
"I think I need another drink" I replied as we began trudging along with dazed looks on our faces to the train, falling into the shuffle of nameless commuters who were completely unaware of our recent brief encounter with the twilight zone.

Camel-Toe...its not just for the desert anymore.

So...
I've been hearing a lot about the objectification of women lately in the media.  I have a take on it that few of you are going to be happy about but I feel as an avid observer of the society around me it is time to vocalize my thoughts into a hopefully coherent, tasty little morsel for your brain to chew on for a while.

The media has been spewing forth more and more stories about the objectification of women in society.  I don't tune into mainstream media, so for this to have reached me means that this issue must be raging across the world like Godzilla on meth.  Now having listened repeatedly to how men are treating women as mere sexual playthings and how this line of thinking has to stop, I need to finally stand up and call out "BULLSHIT!" Having said that, let me clarify that I'm not saying that I condone masoginistic attitudes or any sort of behavior that takes power away from women.  As I have repeatedly stated in other blogs (See "Why I Will Never Put The Toilet Seat Down Again"), I have a daughter and I want her to grow up confident and strong in a world where gender equality is a real thing and she isn't being discriminated against in any way... but I also realize that my role as her parent, is to educate her to help her bring that change, and not to scream at the top of my lungs in every store that markets mini-skirts to 10 year olds, "MY DAUGHTER IS NOT A WHORE!!!"

Once again, men as a gender, are being singled out for not being able to control their instincts.  Now i'm not going to be so brazen as to hop on some moral soap-box and start preaching some conservative diatribe here, but what ever happened to discretion ladies?  I know...I know... the media,   the advertisers, society dictating it... I know.  I've heard it all before.  I'm talking about your own internal choices.  Lets put all of your insecurities and years of brainwashing that insist that you need to look a certain way aside for a moment and look at this issue from a logical, completely emotionless  perspective for a couple minutes.  I know its difficult but I promise you won't break a nail.

Tangental point : Isaac Newton's third law of physics states that "any action has an equal and opposite reaction".  Now remember this because there will be a quiz later.

Now lets get back to the surface here and discuss fashion, particularly women and girls fashion in this here American society.  FASHION RULES...and here we all thought for the longest time that it was the oil companies, banks, insurance companies, lobbyists, government and other major corporations that were the ones that had us by the short hairs... we were wrong.  If there has been an industry that has twisted society mentally and financially into knots it is fashion.  I can say without hesitancy that fashion has touched upon the vanities of every individual that I know in some way or on some level, at some point of their lives.  The nagging need to fit in, that makes you change your appearance so that at a glance you will appear more socially acceptable...Yeah I remember it...I rocked a mullet in the 80's...I know of which I speak.  I could barely keep my hands off of myself I was so damned sexy... not that I was really trying to.

So lets take a look at fashion and what society today deems socially acceptable.  The amount of accessories, surgery, form altering apparel, make-up, and body care products that flood the market in this here "free-world" is astounding.  I would venture a guess that there is a several billion dollar industry that is thriving off of the (mostly female) insecurities involved in attracting a mate and by participating in aforementioned  industry you are perpetuating (1) the myth that we are all supposed to look a certain way and (2) You need to deceive a potential mate into noticing you...thus starting every future relationship based on a lie.  And lets be serious about this...its mostly the ladies who are guilty of this.

Now I'm not saying that at no period in time has there never been the occasional sock stuffed in the trousers for false visual effect by NO man ever... but for the most part we stopped that shit in the 70's. If the objective is that you are going to be seeing it later on in the evening anyway we figured it wasn't best to embellish thus creating an awkward moment at game time. We adapted into a new game plan.  In this year of 2015 men are still doing what we have been doing for decades to attract ladies.  We'll maybe get a gym membership, a haircut, a shave and a vehicle that proportionally emphasizes the size of the dick that we wish we had.  Yeah we know it...and we own it ladies, but thats about the extent of it unless you include our participation in the thriving pharmaceutical industry that levels out the libido playing field amongst men so that now I have to sword-fight every polyester-clad, antique, trouser-tent that has popped a little blue pill. To them I have to say...YOU WERE OUT OF THE GAME COMPLETELY LIKE 30 YEARS AGO!!!! NOW I HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU TRY AND OUT-CHARM MY GIRL-FRIENDS PANTS OFF?!?!?!?  YOU ARE LIKE 92 YEARS OLD!!!! THIS GIRL WOULD TEAR YOU IN HALF OLD MAN!!!  TURN THAT THING OVER TO THE ASTROGLIDE AND PACHOULI-SCENTED COUGAR SECTION IN THE CORNER THEN COME BACK HERE IN 4-6 HOURS SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS WITHOUT THINKING YOU ARE ENJOYING IT!!!!

Sorry...where was I?  Oh yeah...So men take up a fairly small percentage of the whole when it comes to fashion or the" industry that feeds off of our souls".  A truly fashionable man who grooms himself incessantly and is never donning anything less than spectacular is either dressed by his mate  (stay tuned for future blog: Men who are so pussy whipped that they dress in matching outfits an ride on tandem bikes and my justifications for running them of hey road.)  or most likely gay and is therefore out of your breeding pool anyway.  So my point is that hetero men don't occupy much space in the fashion industry and since the vast majority of us don't give don't give a flying-fuck about it, we don't need to have our egos stroked incessantly every time we leave the house by throngs of random strangers.  It is a pain in the ass to have to deal with people interrupting the flow of your day to try and win your attention.  The funny thing is ...that most men realize that the less we care about what women look like the more they want us to notice them.  We clearly don't create fashion so therefore are not responsible for the vast amount of fashion issues taking place today...only for its subsequent effects of how we sometimes respond to the jaw-droppingly overt attempts to gain our attention.

SO...lets break down a few of the issues with fashion today that pertain directly to men objectifying women:

PADDED OR FORM ALTERING UNDERGARMENTS

This is just ridiculous...we are going to find out eventually.  Thats the whole point.  Nothing says "I'm out for a one-night-stand" more than a padded push-up bra.  Yup..from 13-96 everyone can have tits like a 25 year old and guess what ladies???  When you put them in our face... WE NOTICE.  So does every other man in the room.  Thats why you are wearing it!!! But the whole principle here is to get people to notice you for a body feature that is basically a lie. You know it, but still use it to gain to attention you so desperately seek on a daily basis. That's kind of sad isn't it?

FORM ENHANCING YOGA PANTS

Clearly you don't all do yoga and aren't in the Tour de France so what the fuck???  I'm getting a little tired of admiring the ass crack of yoga pant clad, flourescent-thonged geriatrics walking ahead of me on the sidewalk or the horrifyingly-pedaphilic feeling of checking someone out and realizing "that girl is like 13 years old".  Either way I feel shame.  So at least half of the the females wearing these prosthetics (and yes I call wrapping yourself in elastic a prosthetic) are doing so to get honest heterosexual men to loathe themselves several times on a daily basis.  I have gotten to the point that I refuse to even look down at anybody wearing yoga pants or spandex for that matter.  I've been let down too many times. the worst by far is the woman who can't even fill them out and the elastic sags down like the jowls of a sad old hound dog.  I won't even go into the opposite end of that spectrum that makes me wonder if I can actually hear the fabric straining to contain what you shoehorned into it.  But for the most part it looks like you painted fabric on your body. If I can tell the length of your clitoris or what kind of pubic hairstyle you are sporting then guess what??  You need to put some more fucking clothes on not to be objectified.  There is clearly no discretion on your part but you are demanding discretion on a mans part when we see what looks like an endless burlesque show walk past us???  You are fucking with our instincts now!  Would you like us to sneeze with our eyes open too?

ACCESSORIES
From make-up to fake implants to plastic nipples that make you look like you have been standing in the frozen food section for the last half hour, its all a ruse to get men to act on their instincts and then shame them for doing so. Why has this deception become so accepted as commonplace in the beginning of a relationship?  Am I supposed to respect someone who has done their best to trick me into thinking that they are someone they aren't?

SO... in today's society where its just as commonplace to for me to see some geriatrics perky new tits standing up and thrust in my face (when a year ago they were being tucked into a belt) as waking up next to a seemingly perfect stranger who is laying on a pillow that looks as though it spent the night wrestling with three clowns, I'm now, not supposed to treat people in the manner that they portray themselves.

What you call objectification I call honesty.  There is a difference between being called out on something and being attacked.  One of those things is actually justified and just because you can't handle the reaction to your action, doesn't mean it isn't justified. Don't bitch at us for looking at you in the manner that you have gone out of your way to portray yourself as.. I've heard the argument... "a woman should be able to wear whatever she wants whenever she wants".  And to that I would say yes that is true...I agree.  But if you dress as though you are looking for sex then you are inviting people to look at you in that manner.  ALL OF THEM, NOT JUST THE CUTE ONE AT THE END OF THE BAR.  Some women feed off exposing themselves to everybody.  Thats fine, they own it. They are at least in touch with their need to be ogled by many.  More power to them (A) because they don't discriminate against those who look at them and (B) because they clearly have bigger issues to deal with.
There is a reason that hookers dress a certain way.  I'd like to see a study done over the past 20 years regarding fashion trends vs. prostitution unemployment rates. I would think that the confusion alone would have fucked up those numbers.
 I know also that any exotic dancers that I have befriended throughout my life have a distinctly different wardrobe in public than at work.  They don't want or need to draw that much attention to themselves when they aren't working, because they understand the art of seduction, the power they wield, and the ripple effect that their daily wardrobe has on the general populous. So if you want all of this respect that you claim to deserve, than act like it.  I wouldn't expect to be treated with respect if I walked into a business meeting with my dick hanging out.  So don't expect to gain respect or non-objectification  when your tits are bursting over your blouse or I can tell what color underwear you are wearing within 30 seconds of you walking into a room. Guess what?? There is a reason that you don't know the color of mine...because I haven't shown you... that I'm not wearing any.

Now let me sum this up by saying that to those of you who can consciously admit to yourself that you fall into the category of using your sexuality to navigate your way through life, don't get pissed that its working but you can't control who it works on.   Men are tired of being set up to take the fall for the issues of women who don't realize that its way sexier to make us notice your personality and leave a little to the imagination.  To You women I say quit your bitching about it or (and I never thought I would say this) put some fucking clothes on and maybe you won't have these issues.