Category: Men - THE CATASTROPHIZER
 
Many years ago, I watched an episode of Oprah that featured conjoined twin girls—I believe they were joined at the head. I insisted on sharing various responses to and insights about it with a friend (both the responses and insights went something like "I mean, imagine what it would be like. IMAGINE WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE."). The friend with whom I was speaking, after agreeing that imagining what it would be like was indeed a rich and worthwhile undertaking, then said, "And, I mean, let's be honest: when they grow up, every man's fantasy."

There was a rather awkward silence, and then I said to him, "I think you mean identical twins. Just regular identical twins. Not conjoined twins - those ones aren't the stereotypical male fantasy ones."

He would certainly have agreed that he didn't have his finger on the pulse of mainstream culture (he once explained quite seriously to classmates that his presentation on Blake might be somewhat convoluted because he had, after all, written it while listening to both Rachmaninoff and Beethoven [I'm pretty sure it was those two—I'm not really an authority, and it's all too possible I wrote my own presentation while listening to radio stations playing a combination of Sisqo and Shaggy]) at the same time.

But how had I learned that identical twins were something the average man was supposed to want to have the sex with? Had I ever actually heard a man discuss wanting to have the sex with identical twins? No. I realized then that everything I knew about the Male Libido I learned from Dan Fielding.

Dan Fielding was a character played by John Larroquette on the sitcom Night Court. He was a prosecutor and also a devoted, unashamed pervy perv. From Dan Fielding, I learned that it was not unheard of for men to want to sleep with twins; I learned that stewardesses were the prostitutes of the skies, and that Swedish ones were especially awesome; I learned  that successful prosecutors might well also visit with the prostitutes of the ground, known simply as prostitutes.

Dan Fielding was greedy, lecherous, thoughtless, craven, dishonest, and kind of vulnerably pathetic. In the opposite corner of Night Court manhood was Judge Harold T. Stone, a wistful, selfless child-man who would not think twice about leaving a plane full of Norwegian swimsuit models for the chance to eat an ice-cream cone with Mel Torme.

So it's because of Night Court that I developed a sense of there being two very clear types of men: those who get a woman alone in order to force unwanted sexual attentions upon her, and those who get a woman alone in order to force unwanted and unsuccessful magic tricks upon her.

I don't know why I didn't pay more attention to Mac. He was a pretty good husband to Quon Le. 

POLITE DISCLAIMER: This site is intended for entertainment purposes only. If you are not entertained, fair enough.
 
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May the viewing public have mercy on your soul.
It is, I am prepared to state confidently, one of the Rules of Comedy that it is funny and entertaining when someone important and rich is humiliated, but upsetting and not at all funny when someone inconsequential is embarrassed or brought low. No one wants to see an unemployed single parent's pants fall down (at least no one nice), but who wouldn't enjoy the spectacle of some magnate's trousers taking a tumble?

I relish good, old-fashioned public shamings as much as the next casual sadist. I don't know when I've last enjoyed anything quite so much as I've enjoyed watching Rupert Murdoch confusedly looking around for the walls of privilege that have hitherto sheltered him from indignant politicians and pie-throwing ne'er-do'wells. 

But I worry that I enjoy it too much. I could watch it all day. I could read this constantly-updated list of outraged comments in the New York Times for the next month. While it's reassuring that I don't feel giddily gleeful when I read about factory closures and food shortages, it's nevertheless disconcerting to realize how mean I am. I would like to be coolly disapproving, or restrainedly censorious. The fact that I am more like one of those people who used to bring a packed lunch to watch a public hanging than I am like one of those people who would have denigrated the public hanging and stayed home to read a morally-improving book is concerning. Of course, I don't actually want to kill Rupert Murdoch. I'm not blood-thirsty. I just want him to be subjected to a level of punishment commensurate with his evilness. And to watch while that happens.

Send the Catastrophizer your requests for advice and/or rationalizations using the form conveniently provided HERE. I will publish my responses on the THE CATASTROPHIZER page.


POLITE DISCLAIMER: This site is intended for entertainment purposes only. If you are not entertained, fair enough. Also, I'm not very good at copy-editing, so if something looks wrong, it was put there by accident.