“Dear Dr. Kim”

Dear Dr. Kim:
I’m having trouble figuring out what it is to be a man in today’s world, what with all the talk about “oppressive patriarchy”, “toxic masculinity” and so on.  I’ve tried reading a few self-help books, but none of them seemed to help much — in fact, the suggestions they make seem to be designed to make me… well, less of a man and more like a woman.  Do you have any ideas? — Browbeaten, London

Dear Beaten:
Let’s just start by addressing a few core principles.

First:  men don’t buy books to improve themselves;  they buy books to improve their stuff.  So manuals about fixing  small-block Chevy engines, cleaning a Colt 1911 pistol, photography techniques or improving one’s golf swing — all these are about the only acceptable “self-help” books one should find in a man’s bookcase (right next to the novels of Ernest Hemingway, Wilbur Smith and John Masters, as well as to history books written by John Keegan, Paul Johnson and Victor Davis Hanson).

Second:  most “self-help” books of the kind you speak are written by women bent on “improving” men or else by their camp followers, girlymen psychologists and so on, all with the same objective (as you seem to have discovered):  making you behave more like a woman.  They (and their writers) are to be avoided at all costs.  The only modern-day exception to the above is the brilliant Jordan Peterson, whose “12 Rules For Life” are probably all you’ll ever need on the topic of yourself.

Third:  most self-help books you’ll read will dispense bullshit nostrums like, “Don’t get angry” or “Maintain a pleasant attitude.”  Let me tell you right now:  there’s nothing at all wrong with rage, provided that you don’t take that rage out on anyone who didn’t cause it.  Many great inventions came about because a man said, “Oh, for fuck’s  sake!” and after destroying his laboratory, felt better and then kept on trying.  Omaha Beach was not taken by GIs who maintained a “pleasant attitude”, but by a bunch of pissed-off men who were sick of being used for target practice by Nazis.  (And if you think that today’s feminized society is not using you and other men for target practice, you’re fooling yourself.)

Finally, let’s look at the heart of the problem.  Unless you are a serial killer or -rapist, or someone who works in HR, or someone who votes Democrat (some overlap), there probably isn’t much wrong with you.  I suspect from the whining tone of your voice that you’re one of the Millennial generation, and therefore probably didn’t have a full-time father when you were growing up.

That’s not your fault, of course, but it means that you’ll have to rely on the support of other men — what we used to call “good friends” in my day, and not “my crew” or “bros” — and it’s an old adage that much wisdom can be found in the counsel of friends.  (Also a lot of bullshit, but at least their advice will be based upon knowing something about you, as opposed to self-help writers who don’t.)  Just be aware that the advice you receive from this source will likely be short at best, or even monosyllabic.  “Dude, you need to quit after six shots of tequila”, or “That chick is fucking up your life”, or “Have another beer.”  I know, that all sounds like crap advice, but it’s no worse than the bullshit you’ll read after dropping twelve bucks on something called “How To Be A Better Man In Today’s World”.

All that said, you can take heart in this proven fact:  you are not alone.  After venting my own rage in an invective-drenched rant called The Pussification Of The Western Male, I was astonished by the number (literally thousands) of men who wrote to me and said, “I thought I was the only guy who thought like that.”  (Hundreds of others, whom I can only suspect were academics and similar such girlymen, were not  pleased by what I’d written, but even they were outnumbered by the women who wrote to me and, figuratively speaking, wanted to bear my children.)  Millions of men feel the same way that you do:  puzzled, bewildered, irritated, enraged and so on.  Seek them out, and find comfort in their company.

I know that by dispensing any advice on this topic I run the risk of sounding like someone who’s written a self-help book — I haven’t — but of course you may feel free to ignore anything I’ve said above.  Unless it enraged you, in which case… you’re welcome.

Quite Right

Brit TV presenter Kirstie Allsopp has been making waves:

Kirstie Allsopp has been vocal about her desire to ban homework in the past, and today the presenter hit out again, branding it a ‘waste of time’.

…and I agree with that, completely.

However, it’s what else she says that’s the best advice anyone can give:

The Location, Location, Location host, 47, who has two sons Bay, 12, and Oscar, 10 with husband Ben Andersen, took to Twitter to respond to new figures released today, which revealed a ‘decline in reading for pleasure.’
According to the research, just over half (52.5 per cent) of eight to 18-year-olds read for pleasure in 2019, down from 58.8 per cent in 2016.

She wrote: ‘No evidence that under 10s gain from homework AND kids hate it, parents hate it and teachers hate it.’
‘Homework is an absurd hangover from another time. Much, much better to focus on reading, reading, reading and more reading.’

Yup.  Back when we homeschooled our three kids, the only mandatory exercise we imposed was three hours’ reading per day, no excuses, no “I’ll catch up tomorrow” or any of that jive.  Three hours straight, and the kids had to read outside their rooms (no distractions), whether in the library (where there was no TV) or, if the weather was suitable, outdoors.  For reading choice, there was my humble book collection (e.g. Bookcase #1 in the library):

…but the kids could also get their own, and the monthly trip to Barnes & Noble was a delight.  There was no spending limit other than self-imposed, but the books had to be text-only, i.e. no coffee-table picture books, comics or manga etc.

The kids could study other subjects, and did, but the reading was non-negotiable.  Kirstie has the truth of it:  all three of our kids are scarily literate.

Absentee Parents

Many years ago, my boss came into my office and said:

“Ever hear of a band called Whitesnake?”
“Sure;  plays hard rock, the lead singer is ex-Deep Purple’s David Coverdale, and so on.  Why?”
“My daughter won two tickets to a Whitesnake concert in some competition, but I can’t face going with her because it’ll be too loud.  Would you mind taking her?”
“Nope.  Gimme the tickets.”

So I took his 14-year-old daughter to the concert, which was okay as concerts go, and then discovered that — surprise, surprise! — the tickets included backstage passes and a chance to meet the band.  (I guess she’d forgotten to tell her dad about that little bonus.)

Anyway, all went well:  Coverdale and I chatted awhile about Deep Purple and such, she got all the autographs, and that was that.

I was reminded of that occasion when I was reading a series of articles about how David Bowie is supposed to have bonked a couple of underage groupies (among many others) back in his early years, and more recently too.

…and in similar vein, how Led Zeppelin did same with some “baby groupies”, also back in the 1970s:

No shit.

Listen to me tell it:  I played in a (vastly-less successful) rock band back in the 1970s, and even though we were never groupie-bait to the extent that the big guys were, there were plenty of opportunities to get up to (or more correctly, into ) mischief.

Which leads to my my main question:

WHERE WERE THESE GIRLS’ PARENTS?

How could they be so ignorant as to think that unaccompanied young girls were not going to get into trouble in the heady, loud and licentious atmosphere that was a rock concert?  How could they allow their adolescent daughters to go by themselves or (worse still) only accompanied by their giggly friends?  (For those still unclear on this aspect of parenting, let me explain:  without the presence of parents, one kid can get up to mischief;  two kids can get up to mischief-squared;  and multiple kids will — not can —  get into Hiroshima-scale trouble.)  As Jimmy Page memorably said: “Everyone knows what they come for.”   Groupies gonna groupie, as the modern idiom goes.

I’m not excusing the musicians for doing this stuff, but remember, most of these bands were (and still are) themselves only a few years older than the baby-groupies.  Asking young musicians to behave with decorum in such circumstances is an exercise doomed to failure — as is expecting young girls to behave with restraint when coming face-to-face with their sweaty heroes in the excitement after the concert.

Let me get even more explicit.  When a fresh-faced young girl presents herself to a whacked-out musician, don’t expect him to ask her for ID before he fucks her.  And he is going to fuck her.

It’s just stupid for people to clutch their pearls and accuse these now-septuagenarians of statutory rape committed half a century ago.  Leave them alone.

Young people are going to fuck up.  What’s needed is responsible adult supervision — just as I provided to my boss’s daughter on that occasion.  So if any of you are faced with a similar situation, either with yer kids or yer grandkids, act accordingly.  Somebody has to be the grownup, and it might as well be you.

Time For A Little Assistance

…or, as some might call it, benign colonialism.  Looks like somebody’s about to get rich, real quickly:

On the coast of South America, just north of Brazil, lies the obscure and impoverished former British colony of Guyana, distantly remembered for a bizarre mass suicide four decades ago that begot the term “drinking the Kool-Aid.”
But today, the discovery of a massive trove of oil off its shores, including two finds just this week, put Guyana on the cusp of becoming one of the world’s wealthiest nations, in the league of petro-states like Qatar.

How big a trove?

Since 2016, Exxon has made a dozen discoveries in Guyana that now total more than 5 billion barrels of recoverable reserves. This is enormous — for perspective, the industry calls a 1-billion-barrel field a “supergiant.”

Needless to say, the Guyanese are totally unprepared for this:

Guyana has barely gotten organized for what, in other countries, has triggered a free-for-all of chaos, corruption and war.
The country has been in political turmoil since last year. In December, the Parliament ousted the government of President David Granger in a vote of no confidence. That set in motion new elections within 90 days, but the government is challenging the move in court.
No plan has been devised for how to begin to build and upgrade the country’s roads, communications and institutions. Neither is there a plan for building up the capital of Georgetown.
No one has determined how to both husband the wealth, and to share it.
Insanally said the reaction in Guyana runs the gamut: “There are people who are excited, people who are apprehensive, and people who think oil should be avoided as a curse altogether.”

Ordinarily, I’d suggest that as Exxon/Mobil is an American company, that they (or the U.S. or even British governments) should step in and lend a helping hand in the organization.  But that would lead to loud cries of “Colonialissssssss!” from the Usual Suspects.

My modest proposal, therefore, is a little different:  let Norway  step up to the plate and show Guyana what they did with, I should point out, a relatively much smaller income stream than the one under discussion.  After all, nobody associates Norway with eeeevil colonialism, and indeed, the “Scandinavian model” is applauded by all the neo- and actual socialists out there.  And let’s be honest, if nobody on the West gets involved, then the Venezuelans will.

It may fail, of course, because nobody can fuck up a Good Thing better than the socialists — except of course for the Third World, who could fuck up Paradise in an afternoon without any effort at all.

But it’s worth a try.  Come on, Norway:  uff da, or whatever.

Alternative Path

I have often ruminated that young men need to evaluate their career choices very carefully before picking the one they think will work best for them.

Increasingly, it’s become apparent that going to college is not a worthwhile option for them — unless they want to be hounded, harassed and vilified just for the “crime” of being a man, that is.  (10,000 instances of false accusations, man-hating professors and the courses they teach have been omitted on grounds of brevity.)

Now, we’ve seen in other spheres what men do when they feel that the game rules are loaded against them, or that participation leads not only to inevitable failure, but even to a compromised future.  The dating game is one such activity, where men have either deliberately turned the rules of the game against women and used them to their own benefit — or have simply eschewed all participation in the face of assured failure (going their own way — MGTOW) and simply created a parallel life outside the game.

I’m suggesting an alternative to the career game.

Don’t go to college, at least until the rotten system has collapsed under the weight of its own prejudice and misogyny misandry, and been replaced with a better deal.  Ignore the vested interests of people and institutions who preach the lie that you can only be successful with a college degree.

If you’re super-smart and driven like Michael Dell or Bill Gates, of course, you don’t need to be told this.  But only a very few men, in any  activity, are in that rare 0.00001% of super-achievers.

But for the vast remainder, there is an option:  work in industries where the vast majority of women can’t or won’t participate.  I’m talking about the heavy, dirty and sometimes thankless jobs (Mike Rowe-type Dirty Jobs) which not only don’t require a college degree, but where a college degree might even be a hindrance and not a qualifier.

Just last week I came across a guy who was an oil field worker.  He’d fled from Venezuela right after that thug Hugo Chávez came to power, and in the eighteen years since had worked his way up the ladder, in oilfields all over the world.  Now, at age 45, he’d finally reached the point where he didn’t have to work  the oil rigs, just visit them and see how things were going.  Along the way he’d acquired a wife, two preteen kids, and a $750k house in Plano where I picked him up to take him to the airport.  He’d completely lost his Hispanic accent (when he left Venezuela he couldn’t speak a word of English) and was also fluent in Arabic and (ahem) German.  When I asked him if he had a university degree he just laughed and said, “What for?”

What for, indeed.

Here’s the point.  I know it’s going to be difficult for Millennials and their successors to handle this, but working dirty jobs is hard.  It requires dedication, stubbornness and of course a willingness to get one’s hands dirty, and sadly, because of the education industry’s indoctrination of kids, this choice is often dismissed or demeaned.

It shouldn’t be.  If you weigh the eventual benefits of dirty work — where, by the way, your exposure to militant feminism is going to be minimal to nonexistent — against a useless degree coupled with crippling debt, this should not be a difficult decision.

Is this risky?  Not as much as you’d think.  Just the other day, our local community college broke ground on a campus which apparently is going to be dedicated almost exclusively to the “hard” careers — automotive service and repair, construction, welding, plumbing, electrical work, manufacturing and so on — but I’m not going to suggest you look to such an institution for your education / training;  what’s important is simply to realize that for such an event to have taken place, there must be a crippling shortage of young men willing to get into those fields, and this is the Establishment’s attempt to address it.  (It’s complete bollocks, of course — you’d do better by getting an apprenticeship at a real place of work.)

So, in the paraphrased words of Ayn Rand, go “Galt” and make your own way in the world.  You may not succeed, of course, but remember that failure is equally (or, in these times, more) likely with a freshly-printed college diploma clutched in your hand.

Become a watchmaker, if you’re mechanically inclined.  Work in construction, if you’re strong in body.  Get an apprenticeship in a trade, preferably an ugly, dirty and tough one where just by virtue of being a man you face no competition from women.  I guarantee you, there’s a tough job out there for any man if he’s prepared to go for it.  And if your first one (or several) choices don’t work out, find another one that does.

Let women take over non-jobs like human resources, clerical jobs at the DMV, cubicle management, bank tellers or benefits administration at Global MegaCorp Inc., and laugh as the life force is drained from them.

Here’s the challenge:  be a man.  Not today’s version of “male” figures who argue over craft beers and fashion accessories.  I’m talking about real  men, who do things for themselves, push aside barriers with confidence and, eventually, end up with women (like my friend Raul, above) who appreciate them for their qualities and for the security and families they can provide.

When I asked Raul if his wife worked, he looked at me in puzzlement and said, “What for?”

If this guy taught a class, he’d create a generation of achievers.  He would never do such a thing, of course, although he would (and does) train other men to succeed as he has.

Now get out there and make something of your life that does not include words like “curriculum”, “term paper” and “Diversity Studies”.  You’ll be a world better for it.


Postscript:  there was a time when enlisting in our nation’s Armed Forces would have been a viable career choice for a young man.  Not today, unless you try out for Special Forces, SEALs or similar.