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Fruity Frozen Drinks And The End of Masculinity, Though Not Necessarily in That Order January 6, 2007

Posted by doctorolove in Music, Pop Culture Rants.
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There is a single “blink” moment for the current emasculation, degradation and general “turning us into bitches” that is running rampant through the male community. It is not the premiere of the late “Queer Eye.” (Respect to them, but they have a new job designing the warning system for Homeland Security…Threat Level Chartreuse means Girl, you better RUN!) It is not the male wide realization that pretty looking metrosexuals are landing the cream of the female crop left and right (It’s not right that David Beckham is prettier than his wife, is it?) It is not the introduction of the Brossiere on Seinfeld. It is not the point when a woman’s purse became so crippling heavy that we were forced to carry it for her out of chivalry. It all goes back to the close of the seventies and the first week of 1980.

The country was so blinded by hostages coming home and old senile actors taking the oath of office they didn’t hear it. Their eyes were so transfixed on Pong that they didn’t see it. But it entered our collective unconscious the way your super probably goes through your apartment when you’re not there. He doesn’t touch anything but just being in there is enough to throw off your sense of self. And it has grown ever so slowly, until today. I am here to hold a mirror up to this cancer that is slowly making men across the country know that moisturizer was meant for use above the waist and that the word “throw” in front of pillow is an adjective, not a physical suggestion. We are becoming a nation of bitches and wusses and it’s all thanks to one event.

The release of Rupert Holmes’ Pina Colada song, or it’s alternate title, Escape! (The Pina Colada Song)…because the exclamation point made it edgy and groundbreaking.

Now, you may say, surely one simple song about personal ads, loveless marriage and frothy rum based beverages could turn us all into pussies. Then you have been blinded by the lyrics and the evil precedents Holmes set. And what’s even worse, the song will not die. In any bar, any beach resort, any drunken frat party with a half working blender, whenever somebody orders a Pina colada, they sing the song. Or if they don’t, they hum it. Or if they do neither of those, they think about it. But it’s out there every day.  Don’t believe me, huh? Chew on these nuggets.

First, the personal ad placed by our lame, whipped protagonist. Oh, the damage that did for men in general. He admits he doesn’t like health food. (Sure, looking at our collective guts is a far more obvious way to gauge that, but you never actually say you’re unhealthy…A truth left out is not a lie…Live by that) He admits he likes making love at midnight, in the dunes by the cape. Have you tried that? God, the sand is your ass crack alone makes every BM for the next three months akin to smoothing the spackled walls in the garage. And he admits he likes champagne. Might as well just hand over the credit card over at that point. You could have saved beer and saved some cash, but no. And worst of all, he admits he likes Pina Coladas. I’m sad to say most men do, but you don’t say that. The drink is usually ordered on the sly, for the girl you point at in the corner, saying, “It’s for her,” while you slurp it don’t like a thirsty dehydrated rat. We never admit it’s crack-like call to us. But, Rupert, you did. The cats out of the bag. And just think of all the other things we were then forced to admit we enjoyed. Pedicures. The View. Films starring Julia Roberts. The floodgates were open and out came pineapple, coconutty rivers of admittance.

(One exception: Getting caught in the rain is great for all males…one less shower and load of laundry we have to do that day)

Next, examine the song itself. When our man gets to the bar to meet his mystery lady, it turns out to be his wife all along. And what does he do? Flip out on her for writing personal ads behind his back? Does he storm out of the place and head to his divorce lawyer? No, he laughs. He giggles. Psychologists call this a dysfunctional relationship. You have just caught your woman cheating on you and you laugh. By doing that, he pretty much gave every woman the right to walk over the heart of every male in creation. Go out, test the waters. We’ll be at O’Malleys, planning an ‘Escape” while you bang Hector the Pool Boy. And make sure you do some “yoga,” if that’s what you call it. Don’t mind us though, we’ll be laughing. You gonna finish that Pina Colada, hon?

Men, for years, had secrets. Inner thoughts that we shared with no one. And it was this delicate balance between inner wimpiness and outer toughness that made us men. Yet when Rupert went on his “admitting” spree, it planted the seed inside the female brain. And now here we are, 26 years later, and the song has created our current reality. Men are no longer viewed as the rugged, tough hunter/gatherers we were meant to be. Instead, we primp and preen. We eat sushi. We hug people. The lines of gender are blurred. Mr. Holmes, the transformation you unwittingly started is complete.

It angers me to think about it anymore. No, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the corner with this Strawberry Daiquiri. Oh, what? No, it’s not for me; it’s for that other blog I’m with.

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Comments»

1. chrisfiore5 - January 7, 2007

hey earwacs, just dropped by and read your entry. You’re a funny guy. Hope you have a great new year. peace.


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