According to this guy, Mark, I am a meandering, monosyllabic moron (a new, more clever way, I presume, of labeling one’s rightwing opposition as stupid). In addition, I am to be ridiculed for my inability to understand the brilliant musings of the extraordinary man who currently occupies the Oval Office, as well as my support of so-called “real men.” My correspondent went on to say that those “real men,” thanks to their own obviously monosyllabic natures, would naturally find the ramblings on my insipid website appealing.
In response, this meandering, monosyllabic GrizzlyMom says thank you, Mark, for noticing.
Indeed no one is likely ever to reverse my take on the man currently occupying the White House (actually at the moment traveling Asia in a style, says the British press, unseen since the days of the Pharaohs and the Roman Emperors), nor will I ever apologize for my affinity for the so-called real men certain individuals apparently find so threatening. These latter charges did not faze me when leveled against me by feminist college professors way back when, and they pack even less of a punch today.
But how lovely of this guy Mark to notice that affinity – and to assume that, for whatever reason, the men in question might in turn find something of value within my meandering, monosyllabic ramblings. I take it as high praise, as do, I am sure, my readers, men and women alike – regardless of the number of syllables that happen to pepper their speech patterns.






The Secret Longings of Useful Liberal Men
June 9, 2011 | Comments (1)As someone constantly recognizing connections in the events that shape this world, I couldn’t help but find some rather illuminating links between news stories from the last few weeks.
The first involved Michelle Obama as she and her husband enjoyed their regal sojourn across the British Isles. The press followed the wannabe royals with slobbering idolatry, chronicling with mad, obsessive detail everything their beloveds ate, wore and said, all the while heralding them as legendary scions of style and intellect.
What captured my attention, however, was not the fabric that may or may not have adorned the first lady’s much-lauded arms and waistline, but rather comments she made to the young students at a girls’ school somewhere in Britain. In a nutshell, she confided to these impressionable young ladies that when she met her husband – to whom she said she was ordered to “mentor” – she got the feeling that he might be “useful” someday.
And that, in a related nutshell, sums up my personal perception of the liberal female view of men. Men are, after all, the root of all evil and, no doubt, the source of every awful event liberal women have ever experienced in their own personal liberal lives. But should a man pledge his allegiance to the most extreme liberal tenets and prove himself willing to sacrifice any hint of testosterone in favor of a progressive and feminized/metrosexual agenda, then that guy may just earn his way into the graces of liberal women, “useful” to their cause. Michelle here reminds us most brazenly of her own allegiance to the likes of Hillary, Janet, the Supreme Court’s Sonia, and the politically paralyzed/blinded National Organization of Women.
Think a moment about our nation’s current political climate. As entrenched and trembling republican men struggle to find their way through an angry American right, staunchly conservative women, such as Sarah Palin, Jan Brewer, Michele Bachmann, Dana Perino, Laura Ingraham, Liz Cheney and Ann Coulter are out there roaring from the rooftops, reminding Americans what this nation was and is meant to be.
What perplexes the left, particularly the men of the left, is that these women roar with a smile and a fearlessly feminine sparkle, extolling the virtues of joyful patriotism, love of country, and, yes, even a love of men. Such messages simply cannot be lost on those useful left-wing male reporters sent out to vilify and destroy them. Following obediently the directive, do these men wonder beneath the vitriol slung by their side, what it might be like to enjoy the good graces of women who might actually value and respect the masculine for its own sake? Women who see men as more than simply “useful” servants? In their quiet moments, do they think back to a moment when, ignored or rebuffed by smart, confident, patriotic and right-minded girls in high school and college, they pledged instead to become “useful” to those other women? Do they ever regret the sacrifice? I don’t know, of course. Just a thought.…
As I have pondered these connections and the possible secret longings of liberal men, Doug Giles, conservative author of the book Raising Righteous and Rowdy Girls has posted another of his brilliant articles on the need for young women to learn to defend themselves to the death (an assailant’s death, of course). This time his inspiration is the alleged attack by the avowed socialist and “useful” French International-Monetary-Fund president on a hotel maid in New York City, resulting in Mr. Giles’ article, “Preferred Headline: IMF CEO Killed by Rape Victim.”
Whenever Mr. Giles writes about his passionate belief that young women should be trained as both expert martial artists and expert marksmen, I am inevitably drawn to the commentary that follows. The vast majority of his readers sing his praises, but far too many ignore the message in favor simply of blasting Mr. Giles for even suggesting that young women learn to fight off attempted rapists and murderers.
That women in general — or parents of either girls or boys — would oppose Mr. Giles’ belief in self-protection….well, I don’t know what to make of that and I won’t even venture a guess. But that liberal men would find female self-protection repulsive and unacceptable….perhaps that reveals a deeply rooted psychological phenomenon deserving of study. I’m no psychiatrist, but perhaps liberal men who have allowed themselves to be subjugated as “useful” to liberal women relish secretly, subconsciously, the notion of such women rendered weak and helpless. Perhaps it is simply that hobbled testosterone making one last gasp of protest. I’m no psychiatrist, but you never know.