Tabloid Fare

October 4, 2009

The headline read “4 simple tips to get a quiet guy to talk more”, purporting to deliver wisdom about how to make a relationship work.

My first thought was that I had somehow inadvertently stumbled into the Home Page of some supermarket tabloid site, but I hadn’t. It was MSN. Then I wondered if it might just be a “woman-thing”, akin to the nesting instinct, being driven to change everything and everyone in their environment, or anyone who happens to wander within the boundaries of the trees they’ve marked. Some are like that, but not all.

Tabloid fare, once pretty much confined to the grocery store check out lines, now clutters the internet with an endless stream of “How to” edicts authored by a parade of unknowns whose only apparent credentials are keyboard skills and the chutzpah to establish themselves as authorities on such basic life skills as breathing or putting one foot in front of the other. The must be kin to those with the entrepreneurial spirit to amass great wealth selling bottled water to people living in places where the abundance of the stuff bordered on annoying.

What amazes me is that humanity successfully mated and evolved from grunting nomadic bipeds into a species of rocket scientists without such instruction, yet now apparently sees the need to scramble to the media trough like ravenous livestock for their daily feeding of such horse shit.

Yet, unless the Internet Moguls simply run this pseudo-intellectual effluvium out of pity, there are a bunch of erstwhile gum-snappers and plastic doily makers out there earning fame and fortune by selling instructions to women on how to be women and to men on how to be men.

I tend to be a bit of a “quiet guy” myself, and I wonder why any female who didn’t like such a quality would want to be in a relationship with me in the first place any more than I would want to spend my life with someone who couldn’t shut up for more than 30 seconds without having an emotional crisis, and I don’t see the profit in putting so much effort into trying to make a Ferrari out of a Ford or visa versa.

Then again, I’m long past the age when I give more than a halfhearted poop about such things. Those who accept me as I am remain in my circle of social contacts. Those who disapprove of my various characteristics, or deem themselves both qualified and authorized to tweak my personality this way or that to suit their particular visions of perfection had the good sense to move on ages ago. The more insistent became invisible to me, were told long ago to kiss my ass, or both.

The one I share my life with had the audacity to tell me to kiss my OWN ass if it was all that important to me. I like that in a person, so when I stopped laughing I asked her to marry me.</p


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