This blog has now passed 8,300 readers (about 11% are regular return readers).
Placing it in the top 1% of all personal blogs on the planet!
Won't someone discover me?
The Theory of Blog Evolution is active today. Using the scooter, I sped around doing something I’ve neglected for months—check out the competition. My bingo show, which I basically created from thin air, is outselling all, not just some, of the local Karaoke shows along Dixie. Three times the crowd and revenues are mine. I have a solid booking for the 18th at Jimbos. I told ya, there is no show like my show. Here’s an unrelated photo of power lines under streaming sunlight.
I’ve finished Dr. Z’s book (on facial injuries) and he’s worth much more than they paid him. I learned about the various telltale symptoms and considerations I would have missed had I been the examiner. It chokes me that the technology to fix my injuries was available, but my parents chose to lie. While doctoring intrigues me, I got pretty queasy at the point they started to drill pins into jaw fractures.The next book is “Getting To Commitment” by Steve Carter. It offers nothing new and is the same old rehashment of half-baked theories. The biggest is called fallacy of composition, which is the switching back and for the between big issues and small issues. The author readily cashes in on that playground. But I can tell you why not to read this book.
First, the author begins with false assumptions, then makes the cardinal sin of using himself as an example. He goes on about his loving wife which makes you wonder how long they lasted. His two worst assumptions are that people, particularly men-people, are “afraid” of commitment and that relationships must be “worked” at. Both viewpoints blatantly favor women and are probably leading causes of divorce. He advocates what amounts to a one-way flow of commitment toward women, who in return give only intangibles.
He then takes the tack that “failure” is due to men seeking the perfect partner. This isn’t true and never has been. Men quickly learn as teenagers (and guess who taught them) that if the degree of suffering is going to be the same, you should at least pick the pretty one. (I’ve never seen a place with so few good looking women as Florida.) Furthermore, he can’t satisfactorily explain why a group of men who agree on very little else can take a single glance at a woman and agree what is wrong with her every time.
I personally found parts of the book repugnant. Carter does not seem to understand that relationships and commitment are not the same thing and by chapter two is using the terms interchangeably. Wrong. Probably 99% of daily relationships are done without commitment. I buy food, talk with people, and write a blog for thousands, none of whom I am committed to in any way. Nobody anointed Carter with power to dictate the outcome of all relationships is commitment.
Carter also starts sliding in a third word, “intimacy”. If he can quote himself, so can I. When I was in college, I was intimate with dozens of women with no need for commitment from either side. That negates any crazy notion that all three words mean the same if only because my experience alone shows they are not. I’d give anything to be back in college again, where relationships, commitment and intimacy were individually enjoyable. Women there had not yet failed and merged the definitions.
Inane as he is, Carter got me thinking, since according to his definition, I land squarely in the afraid of commitment patch. That is where I call the bullsh. He’d like to pick and choose to support his argument, but I’ve got something he can’t explain. I’ve had a lifelong relationship and commitment to music. It isn’t perfect, I work at it every day, it has caused more agony and grief than it will ever be worth, and has absorbed my youth, soul, time and energy. Yet I keep at it with no intention of quitting.
Ah, Carter might say, that’s because music is an inanimate object, not a real breathing, changing woman with demands and opinions. Music doesn’t get sick and cranky and ornery and throw fits. Music doesn’t spend the grocery money on new shoes. It’s not five hours a day blabbing with its own friends and then expect total attention when you walk in the door. It doesn’t change every few years into something else and then run home to mommy. Or expect you to know what it wants all the time.
Shows you how little he knows.
58.2/30.16/95.4
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