RRJ
11-02-2004, 11:40 AM
T-Man Defined
by TC
I’ve begun to notice a disturbing trend among women I know.
On one hand, the unmarried ones I know tolerate me, even like me. The pervert-turned-athlete-turned-scholar thing that I’ve got going doesn’t bother them. They’ve come to expect and even appreciate my lusty nature, and they don’t mind that I’ve read a bit here and there and can also unscrew the lid from the toughest peanut butter jar in the known universe.
A few of them also think that I’m not entirely repugnant; that I’m easy on the eyes, if the eyes happen to be a little myopic.
But to the married ones? I’m the flu. I’m a piece of spoiled fruit. The spider in the shower. Kobe Bryant at their daughter’s graduation party. Twelve miles of bad road. An unpleasant odor. A boil on the butt. When the pest control guy drives by, they see my face on the side of the truck instead of a cockroach.
In other words, they’re not particularly fond of me.
Why do they, by and large, have a different opinion of me than the single women? Simple. The married women perceive me as a threat. My very presence in their house somehow destabilizes their marriage. And it’s not that I’ve got some delusion that they’d rather bed me than the chipmunk they’re married to; rather, I’m seen as being a bad influence on their husband.
I’m a man who hasn’t been psychically neutered by women or our culture. I say exactly what I’m thinking. I tell bawdy stories. I make appreciative remarks about women’s cleavage or tight buns. When I leave the room, I don’t hug everybody and ask for the recipe and exclaim how the experience has changed my freakin’ life. In short, I speak what I think is the truth.
When a lot of married men get around me, they’re reminded of what life used to be like: bedroom romps with wanton girls who prance around wearing nothing but high heels; vacationing in Tahiti instead of with the kids at Disney World; and watching football all day long because that’s what he feels like doing. I remind them of what it felt like when their tongues weren’t scarred and mangled from continually biting it. Yep, I somehow remind them of freedom.
I’m the stray dog humping a poodle in their front yard while they watch from their comfortable homes with their nose pressed against the window. The women sense it and want to shield their hubby from me like a mother shields a child from the carnage of a traffic accident. Too much of me and hubby might stray; worse yet, he might start acting like a man (shudder).
But the women shouldn’t regard me as a threat. If anything, I should be perceived as a revitalizing tonic because I think I could help some hubbies reconnect with their manhood, the end result being a stronger, better relationship that has a fighting chance of making both parties happy and avoiding situations like the one in the following bit of dialog from the movie, "American Beauty":
Carolyn (Annette Bening): Janie, your father and I were just discussing his day at work. Why don't you tell our daughter about it, honey?
Lester (Kevin Spacey): Janie, today I quit my job. I also told my boss to fuck himself, and then blackmailed him for almost sixty thousand dollars. Pass the asparagus.
Carolyn: Your father seems to think this kind of behavior is something to be proud of.
Lester: And your mother seems to prefer I go through life like a fucking prisoner while she keeps my dick in a mason jar under the sink.
I think the problem lies in that some of these married women don’t understand the type of unbridled manhood we extol here in Testosterone-Nation. These women equate manhood and its essence, Testosterone, as being evil. That’s too bad because it’s anything but evil.
This all points to a major contradiction in men’s lives: women, when they let their loins do the talking, prefer "manly" men, but when their hormones are so disrupted and their emotions are so swizzle-sticked–often by the institution of marriage itself–they want "safe" men, men who’ll take them shopping every Sunday for eternity and dutifully drag dusty pieces of antique furniture into the back seat of the Volvo.
No wonder American men are so fucked up.
So maybe it’s time to revisit the philosophy we created in the early months of T-Nation, time to redefine a little thing we describe as "being a T-man."
Contrary to what the uninitiated might think, being a T-Man doesn’t have that much to do with being physically powerful or imposing. Sure, T-Man is deeply interested in improving his body, but the alleys, halfway houses and prisons are filled with powerful men. Instead, being a T-Man is a sublime blend of intellect, integrity and the burning desire to improve himself physically and mentally.
He doesn’t buy into the notion that all men are created equal, but he believes those that fall short should stop whining about it and get off their ass and do something about it. In fact, he’s usually contemptuous towards failure or excuses of any kind. This sentiment is perhaps best captured by Sean Connery’s character in "The Rock":
"Your best? Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen."
And let’s get specific about building his mind. Formal schooling and a degree are fine things, but learning occurs everywhere, not just in the classroom. Some of the brightest people I know didn’t even finish high school, let alone college. And don’t think I’m talking about the cliché known as "street smarts." Yeah, yeah, street smarts are fine, but I’m talking about rigorous self-education through books and the successes and failures of applied knowledge.
T-Man honors the aged and the disadvantaged, treating those that can do him no good equally to those that can. He’s not petty, vindictive and he struggles to keep his ego in check.
He doesn’t bow to authority and occasionally even breaks inane laws that were implemented because of some governing body’s puritanical views or lack of scientific understanding.
T-Man probably couldn’t be President. He wouldn’t want to bad-mouth his opponent or opponents incessantly. Instead, he’d advertise his strengths. And he’d lack the necessarily ability to kiss a lot of ass. He might even be labeled as being too smart. As such, the voters would deem him to be "out of touch." He probably leans more to a libertarian ideal, believing that government should help where it can but otherwise stay the hell out of his business.
T-Man acknowledges that which he believes about women, and that is that they are indeed sex objects, but sex objects that are treated respectfully, almost reverentially. In other words, T-Man doesn’t lie about the fact that he’d like to bone everything female that moves but he doesn’t manipulate, bully, or worse yet, force women to acquiesce to his desires. If being courteous and masculine doesn’t get us what we want, we say "thanks" and go shopping elsewhere.
In no way does this way of thinking interfere with his belief that women are equal and that they be treated as such in pay, employment, status and any other social construct. Of course, just because a woman is our boss doesn’t mean we’re not picturing her naked.
Men are what we are and denying that our urges exist is disingenuous.
Along the same lines, we treat beautiful women well, and ugly ones even better because...well, because it’s the right thing to do.
T-man battles injustice and fights when necessary. Women shouldn’t want to squelch this masculine impulse because when the bad guys come, they don’t want a pants-pissing "soul mate" or "spiritual partner" to protect them; instead they want someone with a tank full of high-octane Testosterone around, one who embraces the following HL Mencken line:
"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats."
Once in awhile, T-man finds himself in an office, a social situation, or relationship, wondering how he got himself into this soul-sucking quagmire and all he can think about is tearing off his tie and marching triumphantly out of the office; throwing his drink into the face of the asshole who’s droning on about his stock portfolio; or telling the harpy he’s dating or living with that he’d like his balls back right now, thank you, and please pass the asparagus.
While all T-men experience one or all of those aforementioned scenarios or desires, his decision on whether to actually follow through with the desire is based on reason and not emotion. Of course, if reason agrees with emotion, then it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge.
Most of all, we revel in our manhood. It’s the best thing we’ve got going. You know those stupid Yoplait commercials where the two women compare the taste of their yogurt to something pleasant in life? Well, Testosterone and its partner-in-arms, manhood, is like standing on a bluff overlooking the ocean on a sunny day and diving in, emerging from the spray of the surf into the cool breeze like King Neptune, only to be greeted by something beautiful lying in the sand.
Now why would any woman want to take that feeling away from you? Worse yet, why wouldn’t any woman want a man like that at her side?
by TC
I’ve begun to notice a disturbing trend among women I know.
On one hand, the unmarried ones I know tolerate me, even like me. The pervert-turned-athlete-turned-scholar thing that I’ve got going doesn’t bother them. They’ve come to expect and even appreciate my lusty nature, and they don’t mind that I’ve read a bit here and there and can also unscrew the lid from the toughest peanut butter jar in the known universe.
A few of them also think that I’m not entirely repugnant; that I’m easy on the eyes, if the eyes happen to be a little myopic.
But to the married ones? I’m the flu. I’m a piece of spoiled fruit. The spider in the shower. Kobe Bryant at their daughter’s graduation party. Twelve miles of bad road. An unpleasant odor. A boil on the butt. When the pest control guy drives by, they see my face on the side of the truck instead of a cockroach.
In other words, they’re not particularly fond of me.
Why do they, by and large, have a different opinion of me than the single women? Simple. The married women perceive me as a threat. My very presence in their house somehow destabilizes their marriage. And it’s not that I’ve got some delusion that they’d rather bed me than the chipmunk they’re married to; rather, I’m seen as being a bad influence on their husband.
I’m a man who hasn’t been psychically neutered by women or our culture. I say exactly what I’m thinking. I tell bawdy stories. I make appreciative remarks about women’s cleavage or tight buns. When I leave the room, I don’t hug everybody and ask for the recipe and exclaim how the experience has changed my freakin’ life. In short, I speak what I think is the truth.
When a lot of married men get around me, they’re reminded of what life used to be like: bedroom romps with wanton girls who prance around wearing nothing but high heels; vacationing in Tahiti instead of with the kids at Disney World; and watching football all day long because that’s what he feels like doing. I remind them of what it felt like when their tongues weren’t scarred and mangled from continually biting it. Yep, I somehow remind them of freedom.
I’m the stray dog humping a poodle in their front yard while they watch from their comfortable homes with their nose pressed against the window. The women sense it and want to shield their hubby from me like a mother shields a child from the carnage of a traffic accident. Too much of me and hubby might stray; worse yet, he might start acting like a man (shudder).
But the women shouldn’t regard me as a threat. If anything, I should be perceived as a revitalizing tonic because I think I could help some hubbies reconnect with their manhood, the end result being a stronger, better relationship that has a fighting chance of making both parties happy and avoiding situations like the one in the following bit of dialog from the movie, "American Beauty":
Carolyn (Annette Bening): Janie, your father and I were just discussing his day at work. Why don't you tell our daughter about it, honey?
Lester (Kevin Spacey): Janie, today I quit my job. I also told my boss to fuck himself, and then blackmailed him for almost sixty thousand dollars. Pass the asparagus.
Carolyn: Your father seems to think this kind of behavior is something to be proud of.
Lester: And your mother seems to prefer I go through life like a fucking prisoner while she keeps my dick in a mason jar under the sink.
I think the problem lies in that some of these married women don’t understand the type of unbridled manhood we extol here in Testosterone-Nation. These women equate manhood and its essence, Testosterone, as being evil. That’s too bad because it’s anything but evil.
This all points to a major contradiction in men’s lives: women, when they let their loins do the talking, prefer "manly" men, but when their hormones are so disrupted and their emotions are so swizzle-sticked–often by the institution of marriage itself–they want "safe" men, men who’ll take them shopping every Sunday for eternity and dutifully drag dusty pieces of antique furniture into the back seat of the Volvo.
No wonder American men are so fucked up.
So maybe it’s time to revisit the philosophy we created in the early months of T-Nation, time to redefine a little thing we describe as "being a T-man."
Contrary to what the uninitiated might think, being a T-Man doesn’t have that much to do with being physically powerful or imposing. Sure, T-Man is deeply interested in improving his body, but the alleys, halfway houses and prisons are filled with powerful men. Instead, being a T-Man is a sublime blend of intellect, integrity and the burning desire to improve himself physically and mentally.
He doesn’t buy into the notion that all men are created equal, but he believes those that fall short should stop whining about it and get off their ass and do something about it. In fact, he’s usually contemptuous towards failure or excuses of any kind. This sentiment is perhaps best captured by Sean Connery’s character in "The Rock":
"Your best? Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen."
And let’s get specific about building his mind. Formal schooling and a degree are fine things, but learning occurs everywhere, not just in the classroom. Some of the brightest people I know didn’t even finish high school, let alone college. And don’t think I’m talking about the cliché known as "street smarts." Yeah, yeah, street smarts are fine, but I’m talking about rigorous self-education through books and the successes and failures of applied knowledge.
T-Man honors the aged and the disadvantaged, treating those that can do him no good equally to those that can. He’s not petty, vindictive and he struggles to keep his ego in check.
He doesn’t bow to authority and occasionally even breaks inane laws that were implemented because of some governing body’s puritanical views or lack of scientific understanding.
T-Man probably couldn’t be President. He wouldn’t want to bad-mouth his opponent or opponents incessantly. Instead, he’d advertise his strengths. And he’d lack the necessarily ability to kiss a lot of ass. He might even be labeled as being too smart. As such, the voters would deem him to be "out of touch." He probably leans more to a libertarian ideal, believing that government should help where it can but otherwise stay the hell out of his business.
T-Man acknowledges that which he believes about women, and that is that they are indeed sex objects, but sex objects that are treated respectfully, almost reverentially. In other words, T-Man doesn’t lie about the fact that he’d like to bone everything female that moves but he doesn’t manipulate, bully, or worse yet, force women to acquiesce to his desires. If being courteous and masculine doesn’t get us what we want, we say "thanks" and go shopping elsewhere.
In no way does this way of thinking interfere with his belief that women are equal and that they be treated as such in pay, employment, status and any other social construct. Of course, just because a woman is our boss doesn’t mean we’re not picturing her naked.
Men are what we are and denying that our urges exist is disingenuous.
Along the same lines, we treat beautiful women well, and ugly ones even better because...well, because it’s the right thing to do.
T-man battles injustice and fights when necessary. Women shouldn’t want to squelch this masculine impulse because when the bad guys come, they don’t want a pants-pissing "soul mate" or "spiritual partner" to protect them; instead they want someone with a tank full of high-octane Testosterone around, one who embraces the following HL Mencken line:
"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats."
Once in awhile, T-man finds himself in an office, a social situation, or relationship, wondering how he got himself into this soul-sucking quagmire and all he can think about is tearing off his tie and marching triumphantly out of the office; throwing his drink into the face of the asshole who’s droning on about his stock portfolio; or telling the harpy he’s dating or living with that he’d like his balls back right now, thank you, and please pass the asparagus.
While all T-men experience one or all of those aforementioned scenarios or desires, his decision on whether to actually follow through with the desire is based on reason and not emotion. Of course, if reason agrees with emotion, then it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge.
Most of all, we revel in our manhood. It’s the best thing we’ve got going. You know those stupid Yoplait commercials where the two women compare the taste of their yogurt to something pleasant in life? Well, Testosterone and its partner-in-arms, manhood, is like standing on a bluff overlooking the ocean on a sunny day and diving in, emerging from the spray of the surf into the cool breeze like King Neptune, only to be greeted by something beautiful lying in the sand.
Now why would any woman want to take that feeling away from you? Worse yet, why wouldn’t any woman want a man like that at her side?