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April 2002
Give Me Your Tired, Your Weary
The battle of the sexes has been waged long before any of us were even
a single molecule of DNA. There have been major victories for both sides.
And, alas, there have been tragic losses, including The Great Lesbian
Defection of 1997, which took a major toll on both armies. A handful
of men have been granted access to their camp and have reported stunning
training facilities and a true sense of purpose, yet no heavy artillery.
However, I hear their operation videos are something to behold.
But I digress.
So, it's Saturday night and a few friends and I decide to hit a lounge
downtown. This is no halter-top, Elvira makeup club. This is an upscale
place with eye candy which is of the Godiva variety. This is candles,
velvet and trendy jazz. This is martinis, Cosmos and imported darks.
This is duking the sharp dressed steroid-head at the door a Jackson
(and I don't mean Janet) for the best table in the joint. We head into
battle in a new state-of-the-art tank by Mercedes, armed with the latest
weapons by Armani, Boss and Tag Hauer, but not before spraying on some
attraction gas by that great strategist and conqueror, Calvin Klein.
Once on the battlefield, recognizance is priority one. Mental notes
are made as to the most viable access to the bar - the frontline. More
importantly, in case of an emergency abort of any mission, the bunker
must be located. This is the only place on the battlefield where the
male army can regroup without the preying eyes of the females. Only
once all landmarks have been identified may surveillance begin. As a
high ranking member of the force, with many years of experience and
enough scars to blur the memories of them, I set my scope on a lithe
brown haired, brown eyed combatant dressed in the most classical of
fatigues, the little black cocktail dress.
The problem with the male army lies with the lower classed, more unpolished
soldiers. Their antics in the field have made even the most minor of
operations more difficult. By firing opening salvos along the lines
of, "Those pants look great on you, but would look even better
crumpled in the corner of my bedroom," they have weakened the strength
of the upper echelon. Where once we enjoyed tremendous success waging
battle on the gym and supermarket fields, we are now met with indifference
or arrogance even in the most non-hostile situations, when our guard
is down and we are most accessible. The female soldier has a hard time
discerning between the class of the male soldier and the longer she
has been in the trenches, the less patience she has. She shoots first,
asks questions maybe never.
So despite my enhanced expertise in the field, I approach this exercise
with much trepidation. But my fears are quickly alleviated when my initial
fire returns the name of my counterpart, Private Mary. Mary, it seems,
is a new and unwilling participant in the war. She was forced into battle
after finding that the male soldier she had formed a treaty with decided
to break it with her best friend. She is armed with scorn, a powerful
and common weapon. One the male army has yet to find an answer to.
As she blows a cloud of fumes into my face from her carcinogen stick,
I can feel the fight getting away from me. Shortly thereafter, reinforcements
arrive, surrounding her and forming an impenetrable barrier. I retreat
to the bunker, where some soldiers are applying dressings to their wounds
while others prepare to head back to the front. After a quick pause,
I pull myself together and press on.
As I pull the tank into base camp and go about camouflaging it, I am
battle weary, I am worn. The remnants of my attraction gas mixing with
the toxic fragrance of Mary's nicotine repellant. I strip down, lie
on my cot and re-live the events. Tomorrow, at 2100 hours, I'll do it
all again.
Sleep doesn't come easy as I think of what Mary might have been like
before she was pressed into service. I think of others who carry the
weight of the fight, who carry on with nothing but hope.
Someday, this war is going to end.
Enjoy the Issue,
Richard Botto,
Editor in Chief / CEO of RAZOR Magazine - The Definitive Men's Lifestyle Magazine
www.razormagazine.com
