Monday, November 29, 2004

Equality my ass

This morning on the radio I heard an advert for 'First for Women Insurance'. As you would expect it made all sorts of claims about feminine superiority in an unveiled attempt to impress their target market.

I'm sure I'm not the only South African man to take offense at the fact that such a company even exists! Can you imagine the ruckus that would ensue if someone were to start a company with a specifically male clientele? Even strip joints, although catering to a largely male market, never (to my knowledge) close their doors to any women who may want to frequent them.

Apparently their business rests on the fact that women are "better drivers". This statistic is laughable. They state that women are involved in up to 20% less incidents than men. But now think about this for a sec... (in South Africa) there are a lot more male drivers than there are female ones. Also, many women's cars are insured under their husbands' names, so when a claim is made, it will be under the name of the husband, and not the wife. Don't you think that might throw off their stats a little?

But while I'm on the subject, I'm going to rant a bit about this whole gender equality thing.

There is no doubt that women have, for many centuries, been marginalised and treated as second class citizens. I'm not defending that at all. It's despicable and regrettable. But that time is over. Ladies, you have the vote, you can drive, you can do ANYTHING we can do.

I was raised in a home with 3 older sisters... feminists all of them. From the day I arrived on planet Earth I was subjected to a constant barrage of comments about how women are better than men... anything I could do, they could do better. As a 5-year-old, I believed them. I didn't know otherwise.

This resulted in an inferiority complex that has plagued me my entire life. Upon reaching adulthood, and entering the dating scene, my self-esteem issues continued to pervade my experiences with the opposite sex. Even now, in my mid twenties, I reckon I'm a fairly attractive, relatively successful and unbelievably intelligent man... a real catch! Yet, despite that knowledge, I find it extremely difficult to muster up the courage to so much as ask a girl out.

Why? Because equality is a joke.

Although my feminazi sisters flew the nest long before I did, I continued to be bombarded with their anti-male sentiments from all directions. The media, "joke" emails, my female friends, even the women I've dated.

I'm all for equality, but it's not about that anymore. It's not even about revenge, it's about power. Women have it now, and they're using it to make us do whatever they want.

So I'm a man... what does that mean? What is a man in the 21st century? Are the genetecists right? Is the Y-chromosome headed for extinction? Does anyone even care?

Thursday, November 25, 2004

Do I really want to do this?

As a youngster I read the Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, and was inspired to begin documenting my own life. I was very dedicated about it for the first few years and managed to fill a few volumes with my childish ramblings.

Years passed, priorities changed and I forgot about the diary I had so dutifully updated.

Not long ago, my first serious girlfriend moved in with me. And, as live-in girlfriends are wont to do, she undertook to reorganise my living space, removing clutter and replacing it with candles and pretty little boxes too small to put anything in.

In her efforts, she uncovered a pile of books I instantly recognised and snatched away from her, lest she should be exposed to the many hidden truths contained therein. I stowed them for later, solitary perusal.

Once alone, I cracked open the first volume of the books I had spent many hours scribbling in. Immediately I was bombarded with memories of my childhood. The small things that brought me much joy, as well as moments that I had been more keen not to remember.

After some time reading, I came to realise the tone of the writings was not that of the relatively happy childhood I had remembered, but spoutings of a deeply sad and unhappy young person. That disturbed me. Once struck with that realisation, I was unable to continue. I once again hid the books, and forced myself to forget the location. To this day I don't know where they are.

The experience of awakening repressed memories and emotions was traumatic. In itself a memory worth repressing. It was the fear of repeating such an event that has prevented me from climbing onto the blog bandwagon... until now.

Hopefully this will be a more pleasant life-record than the last one.

May the Force be with me!