A Changing World

The world is changing. And sometimes, it changes in leaps and bounds rather than incremental ticks and tocks.

A prime example is that of our mutual friend "Ichabod." Well, let's call him Ichabod anyway.

There are certain thresholds that many of the male gender promise to themselves never to cross. But then either curiosity or a woman beguiles them to eschew their otherwise rock-hard principles.

Such was the case with Ichabod the other night. His first foray into this unknown world was when he was reassured and even beguiled by attractive women to buy "skinny" jeans. Sure, they were labeled "slim" jeans, but he knew what this was all about. He entered the fitting room a curious man, and left a redefined beast of modernity. Some might just call him a metro.

The skinny jeans fit by the way and didn't even look skinny. Or maybe he was just equivocating to make himself feel better about his dwindling masculinity. But the jeans were just the beginning.

Later that evening while flipping through the channels he saw a title he had sworn to never read, watch, or even do anything to except ridicule as often as possible: Twilight. He flipped to Twilight and then quickly back to some show called "The World's Most Haunted Places," so that he could click the 'recall' button, promising himself an avenue of escape if the movie turned out to suck as much as he had been led to believe.

He watched the whole thing. And while it was at times mind-numbing, and terribly absurd, the stinging rebuke that stayed with him was that he didn't hate it. What had happened to this man Ichabod? Was he still a man? Or had he morphed into a self-loathing, shiny vampire promoting, ball of sexual ambiguity?

Who knows?

But what thing we can be certain of is that he purchased skinny jeans, watched Twilight, and then didn't hate it.Step 1 - Ichabod wears questionable "skinny jeans."

Step 2 - Jeans become leggings. Jeaggings.

Step 547 - What happened to step 3?

Step 548 - You've gone and done it now.

Invites Around the World

Today I would like to leave you all with a list of places I have been invited to visit. I will put them in order first by number of invites, and then by desire to visit. What I ask of you, well, all I ask of you is where you think I would be best spending my time. Here they are:

1. Brazil (over 10 invites)

2. Hawaii (3 invites)

3. Australia (1 invite)

4. England (1 invite)


Desire to go:

1. Brazil

2. Australia

3. Hawaii

4. England

So I'd like to go to Brazil because I've been promising some friends down there I'd visit soon. That's an understatement. Every year I tell them I'll visit, but something comes up, and I don't have the money. With Australia, I've always wanted to go and I've loved Koalas, Crocodile Dundee, the aborigines and the outback since I was a little kid.


That, and it would be a prime surf venue. However, the invite was for Perth, and I don't know if the surfing is quite as good as the gold coast, but it has to be better than most of California. Oh, and Brazil is a good surf destination too. Hawaii of course then goes without saying. It has the best big waves in the world, and great surfing. My invites have come from missionary buddies, friends and family.

But it all comes down to cost. Right now I'm saving up for a car (because my last one was destroyed by a metrosexual. I let him and another friend borrow it while I surfed it up in San Diego. Long story.) I don't know if I'll have the necessary funds after the car purchase to go anywhere that isn't stateside, but I hold out hope. If I go on a trip with the company I work for now it could be a tax write off. That's a thought. And I didn't address England, but I'm more interested in the other three. And, don't worry I'm not really putting the decision on you, the reader's proverbial laps, but a nice comment or two of advice would be nice.

Forgive me Ohio

Turns out I have estranged my Ohio friends. Not a shock to me. I apologize. That post was written in anger, frustration and bitterness. Ohio has good things. The Wright brothers, Neil Armstrong, The Drew Carey Show. I do not have anything against Ohio sports, I am just consistently frustrated with them losing. As I am frustrated with any of my teams losing. My alma mater, BYU, is a consistent choke artist and joke. It drives me crazy. I apologize to Ross, Man's Man, Bryant, Sayaka, and any others who claim Ohio as home. I love Ohio. But more when they aren't playing my teams in the playoffs. I am a masshole.

Living the Emo life

I am trying to limit my posting to 3-4 times a week, but sometimes I just really need to do it out of schedule. And, it helps when I think I have a good topic. Some of you might like it anyway. I'd like to delve into women's fashion for a moment. Wait, it's not what you think. I'm talking about women's fashion for men. That's right. I'm sure you've seen them, strutting their stuff down the street in women's country club shoes (keds and other canvas loafers) and sporting women's pants. So as not to appear straight up transvestite, the term to describe the pants is "skinny pants." That sounds so much better. I mean isn't that what all real men are really concerned with? Their skinniness?

To be honest and frank, as is my custom, I must attest to the fact that I have not yet experienced the supposed feminine joy of wearing skinny pants. They just look way to comfortable. And for me, with my svelt girlish figure it would just make me another piece of eye candy for those who prescribe to the emaciated Ethiopian refugee Abercrombie and J Crew models' look. And, I'm sure the pants would make my butt look big.

But as for the black nail polish, eye shadow and whiney music; I'm all for it. I look sexy in dark hues and tears. And, so does anyone with a lot of emotional baggage, or feigned baggage. In fact, you can feign baggage so much easier when you look like a cross between scarecrow, Edwards Scissorhands and Marilyn Manson.

I prefer Charles. But that is neither here nor there. And then you can scream your heart out to Fall Out Boy and lurk behind graffiti plastered back alley walls waiting for your friends to come hang out so you can talk about how horrible your day was. It's a dream life really. Ah, to live the Emo dream.

The 'Ubersexual' in all of us

Can a man truly consider himself manly if he engages in certain activities? Are there certain things that are just taboo? Where does one draw the line? Let me give an example.

Let's say I know a guy named Fred. He had a floral design class this semester at college. Not only this, but he enjoyed it, and likes arranging flowers. Now, if that were all I'm sure we could easily look over his flower arranging fetish, but he also writes poetry, and even has a poetry blog. And, he likes to cook. Hmmm.....is he borderline metro? Let's look at the wikipedia definition:

"The typical metrosexual is a young man with money to spend, living in or within easy reach of a metropolis – because that's where all the best shops, clubs, gyms and hairdressers are. He might be officially gay, straight or bisexual, but this is utterly immaterial because he has clearly taken himself as his own love object and pleasure as his sexual preference. Particular professions, such as modeling, waiting tables, media, pop music and, nowadays, sport, seem to attract them but, truth be told, like male vanity products and herpes, they're pretty much everywhere.

For some time now, old-fashioned (re)productive, repressed, unmoisturized heterosexuality has been given the pink slip by consumer capitalism. The stoic, self-denying, modest straight male didn't shop enough (his role was to earn money for his wife to spend), and so he had to be replaced by a new kind of man, one less certain of his identity and much more interested in his image – that's to say, one who was much more interested in being looked at (because that's the only way you can be certain you actually exist). A man, in other words, who is an advertiser's walking wet dream."

Well I'm pretty sure Fred goes to the gym and uses moisturizer creams, but does this make us question his sexuality? Perhaps not. Perhaps he took the floral design class because he knew the ratio of girls to guys would be 20:1 and he wanted to look more caring, affectionate and get a few more dates. Perhaps he writes poetry to emulate one of the most notorious lady's men of all time, Lord Byron, and perhaps he cooks because he enjoys a good meal every now and then. Hmmm. Even if these justifications were true, it leads one to wonder. Maybe he's just ubersexual. Never heard of it before? Here's the definition:

The word "'übersexual" (from German über = above, superior and Latin sexus = gender) was claimed to be coined by the authors of the book Future of Men (O'Reilly, Matathia, Salzman, 2005). It is a variant of metrosexual. The word seems to have been inspired by the phrase "uber-metrosexual", used by the creator of the metrosexual Mark Simpson to describe David Beckham. Salzman appropriated Simpson's work on the metrosexual in 2002 to sell another book.

Simpson has pointed out that the book contains several deliberate misrepresentations of him, his work, and the history of the metrosexual.

Many of the "top ubersexuals" named by Salzman, such as Bono, Bill Clinton and George Clooney were on her list of "top metrosexuals" in 2003.

The authors of Future of Men argue that the übersexual is not derivative of the metrosexual man.

The future of men, proclaim the authors, is "not to be found in the primped and waxed boy who wowed the world with his nuanced knowledge of tweezers and exfoliating creams. Men, at the end of the day, will have to rely on their intellect and their passion, their erudition and professional success, to be acknowledged and idealised in contemporary society. Called the 'übersexual'—-a degree of greatness and perfection, an acknowledgment that this is an evolved species of man—he is so perfect as to leave little margin for error and fallacy."

Some, including Simpson and Armistead Maupin, have suggested that behind this confused/confusing marketing-speak there was something rather simpler going on: a homophobic attempt to stop the metrosexual being so "gay". Or, as Salzman herself put it proudly, the ubersexual (unlike the metrosexual) "doesn't invite questions about his sexuality".

Simpson has argued that from the beginning the appropriation of the metrosexual concept by American marketers such as Salzman in 2003 was always about trying to straighten him out. His original definition of the metrosexual was sexually ambiguous, or at least went beyond the straight/gay binary; marketers, in contrast, insisted that the metrosexual was always "straight" – they even tried to pretend that he wasn't vain.

However, they failed to convince the public - hence the uber-straight ubersexual.

Despite a large global PR push for their 'new', completely 'non-gay' metrosexual, and a slavishly uncritical press which failed to notice that the list of top ten ubersexuals was largely the same as the one's they'd been printed two years previously for top ten metrosexuals, the 'ubersexual' failed to catch on with the public and was stillborn, as Salzman has admitted herself.

That's it, he's ubersexual. Let's cut to the chase. The author of this blog post is Fred. And on a the occasion of a friend's graduation party from college he dressed up in a very well tailored pin stripe suit, hand-woven silk tie and polished black shoes with Armani cologne. This is when his friend's mother declared him an ubersexual along with her son who had just graduated. Intrigued I of course had to do some research before accepting the title. Then along came wikipedia. I suppose now I must agree.