It was a few weeks ago when I left my desolate hellhole of an apartment and ventured out into the real world to see one of my teenage favorites, Screeching Weasel, live in concert.
So as I’m standing there waiting to rock-out to songs like“Veronica Hates Me,”and “Cindy’s on Methadone,” I overheard two adult-children chatting about Ben Weasel, the band’s singer. Before either of these dorks said a word, I knew exactly where the conversation was going: “Did you know he hit a woman?”
In my last postI examined eighteenth century pedestal smashing in the form of Jonathan Swift’s poem “The Ladies Dressing Room” where a naive young gent discovers that his cherished girlfriend is an illusion made up of glue, clay, and colored wax. His inexperience with women was evident in his clumsy discovery that women also take nasty, steamy dumps just as men do.
In his writing “The Ladies Dressing Room,” Swift probably felt the same feelings a lot of modern men have with women- that their willingness to so readily deceive through both aesthetics and behavior is not only immoral, dishonorable, and crude but also greatly skews the sexual marketplace in their favor where the majority of men already have women on a pedestal; to a greater or lesser extent depending on the depth of their own experience with women.