Hell if I Know ...
Alpha Males, Toxic Masculinity, and the Modern Man of Action
I had a dream last night, woke up and thought “That would make a great Not-A-Blog. I have to remember that.”
I didn’t.
No idea at all, just remembering the triumphant feeling of a potential completion of … something. Instead you get this, whatever it turns out to be.
What the hell is going on with men these days? The incessant drone of whining and crying about how tough they are because they’ve gotten in touch with their inner assclowns. They pound their chests and proclaim their place the food chain, oblivious that what they’ve done is achieved mediocrity, called it the top, and started tweeting about it.
I read a post on Reddit from a guy who, having become overwhelmed by a series of increasingly unlucky events, took a moment to have a weep, and did it in front of his wife.
She then humiliated him. She said she didn’t expect a “traditional Christian man to show such weakness.” She told him that she found him unattractive now, after seeing him cry. She was disgusted.
I spent more than 45 years compressing my emotions, stuffing those little fuckers into little compartments; an internal BLIVET* with compounded interest. I still do it now, mostly out of habit. I keep bad news secret, I don’t ask for help when I need it, and when I do, it’s shy and quiet.
I used to let anger out to play a lot, as I think most guys do, especially when we can’t express anything else. It’s expected, male anger. I was very good at anger.
Unlike some less cultured men, I have a set of rules that I’ve lived by since I was a teenager. They’re a bit antediluvian, but lets remember that I am also as old as the glaciers at this point.
Don’t hit women.
Don’t hit men that are smaller than you except for #3.
Self defence, not self offence.
Never hit first.
Always hit last.
This list is a mix of advice from my father and the movie Roadhouse. I’m not kidding. Let me explain.
I’ve been fascinated by violence my whole life. It’s my favorite part of most movies and tv shows. I’m the guy who mutters “good fight” when I see a good fight in a show. Violence defines about half of my 20’s. I worked as a bouncer, and a bodyguard for several years (among other jobs) and on nights where things would blow up and get physical letting me leak out a little of my pent up aggression … I loved it.
I made a game of it. I would allow a certain amount of bullshit and sass before I blew my top. There were certain circumstances that would set me off without warning. Touching a woman without her consent? BOOM! Hitting someone who worked where I was working? BOOM! Aside from that, I was a very nice guy.
Things got spicy after I broke my neck. After months in a series of medical braces, I was finally free to get back to my life, such as it was, and I did so by getting a job as a bouncer at Denver’s meanest saloon. I had to prove to myself that I “was still a man” and could still handle any violence thrown my way. It was a heady and irresponsible time in my life, and the myriad stories I get to tell with survivor’s glee don’t ever really touch on how stupid and reckless I was. Before the accident, my neck measured in at 22 inches. After a year of braces and physical therapy to get walking again, my neck measured only 15 inches. I’d gone from a pretty fit 250 to an all time adult low of 195.
The weight came back (and kept coming) and the neck eventually made it back to 20 inches around. When I found out a bunch of years later that I was going to be a father, I made a vow to leave violence behind me, and went into politics full time.**
Now? Now I cry all the time. ALL THE TIME.
Just today I was moved to tears by yet another rescued dog story on TikTok. Umbrella Academy’s season 3 handling of the switch from Vanya to Viktor gutted me (in a good way). 2023 was a wet year for my face. One colossal emotional gut punch stacked on another where my kids were involved really fucked me up month after month after month last year. I’m not ashamed of it, though I did apologize several hundred times to Tiffany for being weak and emotional ,,, because that’s how I’m wired.
My father wasn’t a toxic guy. He is an open, curious, caring Boomer who spent a lot of time drilling me on How To Be A Man in a way that was a lot more healthy than most guys raised by Boomers got in the 80’s.
Don’t be racist.
Treat others with respect until they show they don’t deserve it.
No always means no.
Don’t hit women or smaller men.
Only brawl in self defence or in the defence of others.
Take responsibility. ***
Never hit first, always hit last.
Travel. ****
… and then Roadhouse. That sneaky fucking movie.
From time to time in a fit of nostalgia, I’ll make Tiffany watch shitty movies from the the 80’s. In 2020, when COVID was new and the theaters were still trying to stay open, I took her to a few 80’s movies. One of them was The Lost Boys. We get past the end: “"One Thing About Living In Santa Carla I Never Could Stomach...All The Damn Vampires,” and the credits roll. She turned to me, and with a smile on her face asked:
“What the fuck did I just watch?”
ME: 80’s vampire movie.
“Are you sure?”
ME: I was until now …
Her favorite line? “You're a vampire, Michael! My own brother, a damn, blood-sucking vampire. You wait 'till mom finds out, buddy!”
So Roadhouse is streaming as I write this. I got the giggles just seeing it on the menu queue and Tiffany asked if we should watch it. I hit play by way of an answer.
It was a revelation.
I had, it seemed, stolen a chunk of my life philosophy from a shitty tough guy movie from the 80’s then promptly forgot where I’d found it. When Dalton gets to his Three Simple Rules, my jaw was on the floor.
“All you have to do is follow three simple rules. One, never underestimate your opponent. Expect the unexpected. Two, take it outside. Never start anything inside the bar unless it's absolutely necessary. And three, be nice.”
Be nice. Until it’s time to not be nice.
Well, shit.
Male emotions are weird. I’m not a fan of most men’s movements. I find them to mostly be rooted in misogyny, narcissism, and dipshit. On the other hand, I am in full agreement that people, men in this case, be allowed to fucking emote without being punished for it.
I don’t like that my life is presenting me with FAR too many opportunities to cry. It sucks, sure, but honestly, after having lived a life where I denied myself the availability to FEEL genuine, honest emotions, having a good weep is freeing and, in essence, the beginning of healing.
I think a lot of these toxic shitweasels could do with a little emotional honesty. We are, generally, pretty damned awful; men. We don’t have to be, and I’m not making excuses for how bad we so often are, but I know I’m a better person and far closer to being a “real man” by letting my non-angry emotions pop in for a visit from time to time.
It’s not easy. I’m both wired and trained to keep it all inside. To avoid personal evolution in favor of poisoning myself with toxic behaviors and beliefs. I hate that I’m moved to tears, and so relieved to let that shit out.
I almost always apologize to Tiffany when I leak emotions. She thinks that I’m a bonehead for saying I’m Sorry for what is, basically, working on being a better, more balanced human person. It’s silly that I apologize, but realistically speaking, I’m lucky in my life partner. She’s not the Church Lady who emasculates a fella because life can just be a dick some days, weeks, months, years …
The problem is that change is hard. Evolution takes time. Change always meets resentment and fear, and resentment and fear breed violence and hate. Everytime there is a massive societal shift, the “other guys” knee jerk and make everything worse for awhile until the tide washes them out with the rest of history’s flotsam and jetsam.
Men are slow and bull headed, but, given time, room to grow, and a little leeway I think we’re headed to a better reality. I think we are. It all comes down to one damned thing:
It'll get worse before it gets better.
It'll get worse before it gets better.
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* BLIVET: (noun) - two pounds of shit in a one pound bag.
** I’ve never claimed to be able to make good decisions. I’m rather bad at looking after myself.
*** I’ve fucked this one up a lot, mostly by being too thick to see that I did something wrong in the first place. We’re all a work in ProgMess.
**** I used to do this a lot. Now I can’t ever afford the time off work.
I have never been violent, channeling my father. My mother on the other hand was physically and emotionally abusive, so what I learned from her was not to get close. No child should witness violence, especially from a parent. As an adult I was told I was suffering from PTSD. It fit.
I learned long ago that most men learn a lot of dysfunctional emotional BS and this was expected. Except it made no senses and it denied our humanity. Crying is very therapeutic. Don't feel ashamed.
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