One of the many reasons I love to huddle in the darkness and watch movies is for that tiny revelatory moment when your/our humanity shines like a brilliant beacon from someplace on high illuminating even our most mundane moments and allowing us all to remember what we are, once were or might someday become.
And of course sometimes I just like to watch shit blow up real good but…..
I recently, for the 2nd time, re-viewed “The Bourne Identity” and was struck anew by that thrilling bolt of lightening from the blue. A small exchange at a very complicated moment in the story, a very simple conversation between Bourne and his-not-yet-GF Marie, reminded me very clearly of one of the more important reasons I love Women and the many things they do.
But first some personal background.
It would be more than fair to state that during my 3 Adult decades on the planet I’ve been accused, almost exclusively by wonderful, intelligent woman, of being either sexist or sex-obsessed.
In response I would like to plead Nolo contendere.
Sexist?
Of course I am! I am, after all is said and done and through no conscience decision and very little fault of my own, a man. This means that a major portion of my arsenal in this Jungle we live in is my ability to instantly identify and assess people based on their gender but, please understand, because there are only two (you know, strictly speaking) I can’t and won’t claim any great pride in this skill although it does come in awfully handy during Mating Season. I don’t, however, judge based on gender because that might get in the way of getting the job done.
If you can play, welcome to the team.
If you can’t, adios.
Sex-obsessed?
Seriously? Ladies, the filing of these types of charges is exactly what has us all chasing our collective, horny tails while adding to the garbage heap of frustration that is Adulthood instead of fulfilling our, at last, obtainable fantasies while simultaneously spreading love, joy and peaceful satisfaction on our one-way rocket ride to the end of this too short journey.
Sex is spiritual food, a cosmic life affirmation, a physical recharge of the old batteries and a cleansing flush of our muddy oil if you’re doing it right and, if you’re doing it wrong, it’s just wild damn fun and a nice workout before you hit the sack, at least for Us.
And
That
Is
Why
All Men are obsessed with sex!
And the lack of sex? Probably behind every bad decision ever made in the History of Mankind and I do mean Mankind! Every High Crime, low misdemeanor, embarrassing indiscretion and case of just plain poor judgment can most likely be traced to the fact that He was bitterly flogging his dolphin last night (or for the last 60 nights) instead of tucking his starving body into the warm, inviting feast that is You.
The Male equation is simple-
More love= Sound Thinking, Good Intentions and Righteous Actions
Less Love= Bad Judgment, Poor Decisions and Malignant Results.
If women are sexual camels (a bare minimum can be stored and used for a long time with no ill effect to the owner) then men are certainly sexual sharks (we have to constantly keep swimming forward or we die)! I feel no need to belabor a point I think I’ve reviewed in the past and this is strictly Adult Relations 101 but Girls-
Accusing a man of being obsessed with sex is like accusing him of being tall or short or hungry. Our/My response?
“yea…..And?”
But today I’m working a level quite separate from S-E-X (I remain capable of these occasionally Superhuman feats of concentration) as I try to examine my other compulsions, my other than puerile admiration of the Fairer Sex being chief among these.
And so…
back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Bourne and Marie have barely survived a harrowing, violent car chase and very narrowly escaped the Lawdogs who are doubtless still in pursuit and more feverish than ever for their capture. Bourne has amnesia and has no idea who he is or why people are chasing him. The couple have spent only a short time together, perhaps 36 hrs, but Marie has been giving him the Look while he isn’t looking. They’re in an underground parking lot, momentarily safe, when Bourne calls the play. It’s time they split up.
He’s given her the money and firmly believes she will be safer alone.
Marie has other thoughts.
Bourne, adrenalin pumping, deeply confused, almost hysterical, back-to-the-wall and desperate for a way out yells at her,
“Marie, I don’t know who I am, I don’t know why they’re chasing me, I don’t know what to do………….I’VE GOT TO FIGURE THIS OUT!”
Marie, calm and quite suddenly very collected regards him. She coolly measures him and comes to her own decision as she softly tells him the only thing he needs to hear but is too afraid to even think.
“Then figure it out.”
Her implication is hard, fast and crystal clear. Figure it out you idiot because I’m dying to make love to you and be Your Woman and I’m not gonna have anything get in the way of that so don’t you dare turn into some kind of Candyass on me now!
Bourne, sensing her resolve and feeling her feeling, calms down, catches his breath, regroups his cool and immediately jumps back into Asskicking mode.
Later that night she makes good on her promise and throws the Love all over him so maybe he could’ve done it without her but why would you want to anyway?
And it’s exactly that feeling of Feminine Strength and calm in that Masculine storm of anger and confusion….
That taste of cold steel inside that sweet soft package…..
That faithful promise that everything, or maybe nothing, will be alright if you just ACT LIKE A MAN!
This is what makes me love them now and always.
In moments of stress I can easily, frighteningly easily, devolve into a violent, panicky, senseless, stupid animal futilely banging his head against his own cage unless or until……..
Those hard words come from that loving, generous gift of beauty and all things good.
“Come back with your shield…or on it.”
Recently around these parts we had our own mini-crisis. My bike (as in bicycle, YES, I'm a grown man and I ride a bcycle, OK? it ain't easy being Green) got jacked by the Kyoto City Parking Pirates, not a terribly uncommon occurrence among residents here unfortunately but, because I ride damn near everyday for Business not Pleasure and as my wheels were neither expensive nor of any great sentimental value, I had a somewhat sticky decision to make.
1.) Spend the day taking the train to another train to a long lonely walk to the pound where I would fork over my fine money, retrieve my beat wheels then start the looooooong trek back home. Or…..
2.) Fuck that shit and Kyoto City, let ‘em keep my low-rent junk and go buy a brand new set of shiny pedals.
Needless to say I opted for No. 2.
Then came the curveball.
Purchase shiny new pedals we did but for reasons inexplicable to me, the Wife decided to buy one of those Eco/Urban/Mountain/Assault Bikes that cost more than anything without a motor has any right to cost. I was unable to stop or, in lieu of that, talk good sense to her.
The SuperBike was all mine.
I was immediately uncomfortable. I neither enjoyed riding this gleaming gold mine of unreasonable expense nor could I properly relax whenever and wherever I parked it. I deeply resented having to keep a weather eye on this ostentatious albatross yet couldn’t stop myself from neurotically doing so. I’d gotten used to parking my beat-up old scooter almost anywhere and walking away without a second thought but now it was like I was mentally chained to this gaudy symbol of materialism.
The situation rapidly became untenable.
Luckily, She had a solution.
We, meaning Me, could retrieve my Old bike from the pound then switch wheels, she taking the new set and selling her old, me going back to my safe, cheap, friendly and familiar mode of transport.
I could not argue, and did not even want to, the utter and unassailable logic of this plan.
Our deal was struck.
to be continued.....
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