Groove Is In The Heart

I can't think of any physical skill more attractive to women than the ability to dance. Being a surgeon, perhaps, or a tradesman, like a plumber.

Nah, dancing wins hands-down. How often will you need a surgeon or a plumber in a lifetime, versus how often can you dance in a lifetime? Dancing's something you can do every day, and probably should.

Whenever I think of a male dancing role-model, Fred Astaire comes to mind. That's archaic, and more than a little weird considering he was born in 1899 and made movies with Ginger Rogers more than eighty years ago. Surely there are more recent male dancers?

John Travolta circa Saturday Night Fever? (Disco, Yeah!)

Sammy Davis Junior?

Ummmmmm....Gregory Hines?

You see I think this is a huge opportunity for average males like me. Attracting women necessarily has a marketing angle - separating yourself from the competition is part of the game. But the overwhelming majority of guys have a mental block about dancing. Partly that's because there's an effeminate feel to it - incorrectly, BTW - and partly because to be even mildly accomplished takes a lot of mental and physical effort.  

Which brings us to dancing schools. Dancing schools are a kind of anti-matter organization for guys like me. As much as we'd like to try, we don't want to exhibit our complete unco-ordination to a group of strangers. Likewise, we don't want the instructor hectoring us while we are demonstrating just how slow/stupid/clumsy/cloven-hoofed we are.

...no, no NO, like this...two-three...and this two-three...can't you feel the music?...

You understand the mental picture we have - that of a smallish, well dressed man in front of the class speaking contemptuously to the clod with donkey-feet. Me.

The answer is probably one-on-one instruction until I'm good enough for group classes. Given enough patient coaching, time, and practice, there's no reason even I couldn't get half-decent at tango. It's not like I have no rhythm - it just needs a little coaxing.

The reward of being masterful with a woman right up close in public speaks for itself. Olé.



Bottoms Up, Tangoistas.

The Mermaid Conundrum

Long sea-borne men of yore yearned for the sight of women so much that their imaginations went nuts. The power of desire for anything feminine - together with the isolation - sent their minds on weird pathways, including morphing fish into females. Such is the power you have over us. No wonder that when explorers found themselves in places like Tahiti, with its ripely available beauties, they had to trick their crews into leaving.

The attraction of the half-fish, half woman is two-fold:

1. She cannot run away when caught.

2. She is, for the most part, bare-breasted (or close enough).

The sub-text is that the mermaid is both attainable and detainable, fitting right into the fantasy template - after all, what use is there dreaming of something uncatchable?

 (We need to think like a horny sailor stuck on a stinky sailboat during a years-long voyage here to capture the zeitgeist.)

All-in-all, mermaids are women, perfected. They're available mid-ocean if one uses the right bait, they won't escape if lured shipboard and they're sexually out there. Regarding the matter of below-the-waist details, I shall refrain from making tasteless banter about whether they de-scale. Some waters are best left uncharted.

It occurs to me that land-only ladies share at least one mermaid attraction, the high-heeled shoe. Heels hinder you running away just as a lower-half flipper slows the mermaid down. We like a little chase, but want the odds stacked on our side.



Bottoms Up, Stilletos.

Women are from Two-Stroke

 Ferrari F430

I read Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus when it was published a few light years ago. It was enlightening in an obvious way, by which I mean that the metaphor overwhelmed the information. Does anyone not understand that men and women are different? Did we need an entire book to make that point? Were the stereotypes thusly created valuable?

Still, it created positive controversy. The chattering class had something vaguely titillating with which to pretend-shock friends, and Dr Oprah's millionaire factory created another alumnus. Chalk it up to nothing succeeding like success.

But something about the premise bugged me, and still does. I can't quite put my finger on it, but the idea that men and women are from different planets - abstract as the whole deal is - strikes me as more divisive than creative. We're the same species divided into two sexes, not two civilizations.

Anyhoo, as they say in the classics, I found a metaphor that I like that helps explain one Martian/Venusian characteristic, and it's this:

Men's sexual motor is always on, idling when not in gear, revving hard when in motion.

Women's sexual motor is off much of the time, needing to be started before moving  from the curb.

Neat eh?

Because I always take stuff too far, I'd say that:

Men are diesels. Diesels happily run all the time, but also thrive on hard revving.

Women are two-stroke engines NPI. Two strokes are lively and have high power-to-weight, but are best suited to be on when needed, and off when not.

Men, this was a teachable moment for me (another modern linguistic triumph.) Remember, before attempting anything, first start her up, and, better still, warm her up.




Bottoms Up, Internal Combustors.