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January 31, 2011



A casual conversation with a friend on the phone

“I heard your wife is a hairdresser?” He asks.

“That’s right.” I reply, “We have the salon attached the premises.”

“You should think about working in her salon to help her out. It would make good business sense of you were both hairdressers.”

“Nup, no way. I would rather eat bees than do hairdressing. Not this little black duck.”

The conversation is over.


Why do I hate the notion of hair dressing? It isn’t the work because it seems to be interesting enough for my wife. Isn’t the fact that so many of her clients are female? The real problem I have with being anywhere near the salon is that I cannot stand high doses of female conversation. It is not that I hate women or can’t talk to my female friends. It is just that there are certain subjects that put me to sleep.


Take me past a shoe shop and I’ll keep going. Well, I don’t see the point of looking at shoe styles; to me they are too far away from what I want to look at. I have a similar problem at a dress shop or even a children’s clothing store. I am actually bored out of my mind and I am trying to escape it like some yoke of oppression. (I must admit I have no such aversion to women underwear shop.) One of the things I hate about salon talk, it is the subject matter that drives me insane. It just isn’t blokey enough. Women do talk about some of the same things that men talk about but they also have a range of subjects that are like mental kryptonite. Mention anything about ‘Sleepless in Seattle,’ and I need to find an exit fast. Tell me about ‘Shall we Dance’ and I am almost suicidal. I don’t care about these super Sensitive Newage Guys winning the heart of some girl I don’t find remotely interesting. I don’t care if the male lead has been hurt before, unless it is with some kind of weapon. I want hear about the body count and the explosions. I want the action and the plot twists; not the heart breaks and tears. If the main character is slowly dying if cancer, I’m very quickly changing the channel.


I, like most men, do not have ‘Feelings’ with a capital ‘F’ and I have no way of exploring them. I do have basic emotions like happiness, joy, anger etc, but that is about it. Talking about a problem to me means that you want help fixing it. Listening to the problem without trying to solve it is just insane. Better still don’t talk about the problem and go kick a ball around. A few drinks and television blots out even the most terrible mental torment. There is nothing better than seeing Clint Eastwood plug holes in a few banditos to make up for getting a parking fine. Even going to computer swap meet can make up for an argument at work. Repressions and denial work wonders at keeping a bloke going and has been the male dogma from the dawn of time.


As blokes we only have one fatal weakness, we bore easily. I fall asleep watching ‘Love Story’ and wake up to celebrate ‘her’ snuffing it in the end. Musicals? What the hell is the point? Shoes? They all look the same to me. Clothes? It had better be skin tight or low cut. Feelings? You might as well say that some religious guys are at the front door. Women’s Problems? Kill me now.


I really cannot understand how there are men who can enjoy such subjects and still have time to give platonic backrubs. Platonic Backrubs? What fool invented them? Nor can I understand the man who sits through more than one chick flick and can stay awake. The ‘Sensitive Newage Guy’ can because he is trying to give women what they want in the hope that he’ll get an extra helping of what he wants. Of course as he brainwashes himself into being more in touch with his so called feminine side he looses site of what he actually did want in the first place. Suddenly he wakes and finds that his life is harder than the other blokes. He can’t enjoy the subtle rumblings of a midnight beer in his stomach. He won’t be able to stay up and see that epic war film. He can no longer feel the pleasure of mindless destruction. Instead he sits poised and perfect waiting for the next opportunity to be caring.


God, he must be bored out of his mind.

4 Comments leave one →
  1. similimodo permalink
    February 7, 2011 6:40 pm

    Dear Damo,

    You write:

    “I, like most men, do not have ‘Feelings’ with a capital ‘F’ and I have no way of exploring them. I do have basic emotions like happiness, joy, anger etc, but that is about it. Talking about a problem to me means that you want help fixing it. Listening to the problem without trying to solve it is just insane.”

    As a man, I’m going to disagree in part. I have feelings with a captial F, and I have explored them, but I reserve them for real emotional issues, like death. And only share those sort of emotions with people I can trust not to see letting my defences down as a sign of weakness.

    But I do get your point. ‘Men?’ today think that the way to please a woman is to be effeminate and ‘share’ a woman’s emotional instability. Stuff that shit. The only way you can please a woman infected with modernism is to have a Gold Amex.

    So, I’m with you. Even though I disagree that real men don’t have capital E emotions. Christ cried when Lazarus died. He cried over Jerusalem. They’re both capital E emotions. But over a 33 year period He only let those capital emotions out twice.

    Basically, I’m with you in most respects: I’m so sick of effeminate blokes. They’re all arsehole sniffers.


    • February 9, 2011 4:35 pm


      Disagreeing with me is hardly a criminal offence. I poop these posts out in a blur of irrational thoughts.

      I do have the normal bandwidth of human emotions. Like every other regular bloke.

      I just find that when people try to adhere to a positive stereotype they end up becoming a negative stereotype. In the end we become nothing more than cartoon versions of who we want to be.


  2. similimodo permalink
    February 9, 2011 8:59 pm


    Hearing you.

    I love spontaneous blogs and comments.

    It reminds me of a time when we used to communicate face-to-face, in person, and just speak our minds without any fear of recrimination from the PC anal-retentive net police and Orble wankers.

    Haven’t got a lot of time for the net atm. Too busy clearing my backlog of 20,00o flyers due to the Brisbane floods. But glad I had time to read a few of your latest posts. Enjoyed them. Just don’t have time to respond to all of them. But love reading what you write. You make perfect sense. Your’e a man of logic and reason.

    I’m doing about 14,000 houses a week atm, over-and-above my postie round (300 points/houses per day), so I’m pretty busy. But not so busy I can’t stop and chat to people. Best part of the job – social contact. Makes me feel like a real human.

    I was out in one of the worst hit areas today – College’s Crossing. Stuff me. Talk about a war zone.

    Sent an email to my sister in Richmond yesterday. Think I titled it – Melbourne Floods – 2 inches of water inundates houses – the whole city in panic mode.

    Come up here and see what a real flood is.

    Not sure what’s happening at Easter this year yet. Was planning to go to Melbourne to see my sister and her partner’s new house in Richmond. Three-storey, $2M, with rooftop deck and bar on RIchmond Hill overlooking all of Melbourne. If I do go, I’ll let you know and catch up. Either Young & Jackson’s again, or maybe my sister will hold a party.

    Keep on writing Damo. You make sense, mate.

    David …


    • February 9, 2011 10:31 pm


      I did enjoy writing as if you are shooting from the hip. But like all things. It cannot last forever.

      I do not even think about Orble anymore. I don’t need it and I certainly do not miss it.

      I hope Queensland recovers soon.
      Let me know when you come to Melbourne and we will catch up.
      I prefer talking to people face to face than in writing.


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