Facebook thinks I am a parent with children under the age of ten. I am amused by this...
Dementia points out that, since John Constantine will be a regular on "Legends of Tomorrow" this fall, there is a definite possibility of some kind of crossover with "Supernatural", if only as an un-named demonologist if DC gets tetchy.
On a related note, I REALLY need to get a "Mucous Membrane" tee shirt made up. ("Reunion Tour"? "FINAL Reunion Tour"?) That would be a seriously "more geek than thou" shirt for conventions...
Last July, a friend posted a link to an article on "Toxic Masculinity", and asked for comments. I spent a couple of days thinking about it, and ultimately responded that I was still sorting out my reactions. I have attempted to formulate that response occasionally since, and continue to get lost in the fog. It has recently occurred to me that the problem is the definition of the topic. I can not really think clearly about toxic masculinity because it is not the core problem; DUALISM is.
When you x-ray Machismo (which is often, if not usually, toxic) for its serial numbers, you find Courage and Stoicism (which are usually quite positive). But ANYTHING becomes toxic if pushed to extremes, even Kindness and Loyalty. EVERYTHING becomes toxic when the only colors that you will consider are pure black and pure white.
For my money, pure black and pure white are both impossible and undesirable, and the quest for either or both can only do the world harm.
Truth is a chimera.
Surf the grayscale.
My thesis is that toxic masculinity grows out of a dualistic approach to more subtle positives. Courage and stoicism are traditional masculine values, and legitimate positives; pushed to extremes, they become a need to dominate, and manic self-reliance. Every behavior in the suite that is labelled "Toxic Masculinity" can be traced back to something positive that has been pushed, in execution, to a dualistic extreme.
We were talking about books and book marketing while driving this afternoon, and I found that I had written a back cover blurb:
Five hundred miles from nowhere, under 2000 fathoms of ocean, a dagger is buried in the mud.
Rose is a reluctant sorceress; Fiddler is a dead unicorn. Someday, they will admit that they are in love with each other.
But first, Rose needs to get her hands on that dagger...
"I say I'm like a bird in a cage. Lock the door and I'll bash my brains against the bars. Leave it open, I'll look around then come sit on ,my perch and sing for you." -- Carl (Zel Hamster) Johnson
Life in my household:
Hyena was running a high fever, and should not have been out of the house, but errands needed to be run.
Hyena: The Chinese place was busy, so I went to "Rat on a Stick". They had a special on deep fried marmoset.
Dementia: Did they.
Hyena: Deep fried marmoset is a great delicasy in the Jainist ghettoes of Tajikistan.
Dementia: It looks like chicken subgum.
Hyena: Deep fried marmoset!
Dementia: Shut up and eat your egg rolls.
(Edited to add: Hyena wishes to point out that Dementia has never, in 33 years of marriage, actually told him to shut up. Which may qualify her for sainthood, somewhere.)
Living in a cluttered environment is stressful, but actually dealing with the clutter is suicide-inducing. (Of course, your milage may vary.)
My current full-time writer gig is a lot like an episode of MacGyver. I jumped out of an airplane with a trash bag full of junk, and I have to manufacture a working parachute before the splat. No pressure.
I finished a chapter last night, so I woke up this morning looking at a new chapter about which I knew a location, an in-story time frame, and a word count. Within those parameters I needed to advance the story as much as possible without physically moving the characters, and BE ENTERTAINING. No pressure at all.
I went about my usual morning routine with the Ghost of Words Unwritten hovering over my shoulder, and things started to coalesce. Eventually I heard Rose say, "It's like sexual afterglow made into furniture," and I thought, Yeah, today is probably going to be OK.
Just used a 50 year old Rainbow vacuum cleaner to drain the water out of a semi-accessible bucket under the eaves in the attic. Apparently quality endures...