“One-Punch Mickey” (Brad Pitt) in Snatch
“Bender” (Judd Nelson) in The Breakfast Club
“John” (Mickey Rourke) in 9 ½ Weeks
“Stanley Kowalski” (played by Marlon Brando) in A Streetcar Named Desire
“John Preston” (Christian Bale) in Equilibrium—Christian Bale in just about any movie since Empire of the Sun
Jeopardy answer for $500?
“Who are brooding men with short fuses?”
As in the movies, in life they presume to be “misunderstood.” They may be brilliant or they may be rough around the edges. They will flat-out tell you they have anger management issues. The worst part—the part that can twist women’s sensibilities inside out—is they are always passionate.
These men must exist in a virtual pheromone cloud or something. You never see them coming, but men and women both sure know when this guy enters the room. These are the kinds of men that can kink even the most reserved woman and bind her better judgment. The song “Bad Romance” seems to sum it up. Deep down in even the tenderest Christian woman there hides a peculiar degree of curiosity that, under the right conditions, will make her throw her Rule Book off the nightstand to entertain her alter ego.
Yes, that’s how it happens: curiosity. Anxious curiosity. After all, ladies, what’s your real attraction to the
supernatural storylines of today’s movies and bestsellers? Dark, suspenseful curiosity. The underlying theme: Some mysterious, untamed man with unfathomable reaction time and pent up rage sweeps our heroine off her feet and draws her into his tumultuous world. Breathless yet? She turns the page...I’m not talking about the “emo” guys today that wear makeup and disassociate themselves with their masculinity to “make a statement.” I prefer to wear the black nail polish and eyeliner in the relationship.
You know who I’m talking about: Men whose testosterone levels make Fight Club a backstreet reality. These men can spend their days in $3,000 suits behind mahogany desks. Mr. T can work with animals or code software in a windowless cubicle. He may never be mistaken for a model in Muscle & Fitness magazine. He’s not even necessarily the best-looking man you’ve ever dated.
I’ve known beautiful, sweet women that underwent a range of degrees of metamorphoses in hapless efforts to avoid baiting Mr. T to attack. They wouldn’t dare wear a shirt that emphasized their assets. The short skirts—rewards for months at the gym—resigned to the back of the closet. These women were wilting, their confidence and identity slowly handed over to Mr. T. And he didn’t simply take what she had to offer: He demanded it.
How? Why? What are intelligent, accomplished women’s fascinations with these men all about? They aren’t just artists or musicians, but they are always like a great Picasso: better viewed from a distance and often at a legally enforced minimum of 100 feet away.
Every woman has met one. Some have married them. Some are just drawn to the drama—hey, some women knowingly throw a lit match on a man’s arsenal of testosterone. And there you have it: An explosion that will most definitely burn anyone within a variable radius of Mr. T. What sets him off is anyone’s guess. It could be his best friend showing you a picture of his four-year-old daughter. It could be the guy at the gym that politely helped you adjust the incline. Perhaps you laughed a little too heartily at his unmarried brother’s joke. Regardless, the fault falls on you.
Mr. T thinks he’s a badass. He’s usually tense. He’s quiet. He’s pensive, or so he seems. No, honey, he’s not internally dialoging about existentialism. Please. Even Ludwig van Beethoven—a genius known for his outbursts—can’t be given that much credit.
Here’s the secret that Mr. T would never admit to: He’s bloody insecure.
As sexist as it sounds, it’s our responsibility as women to feed the male ego. Oh, and we do it so well! We are nurturing and giving to a fault—that’s as nature intended lest our offspring perish. However, men—the “Masters of the Universe”—not so much.
Now before anyone charges toward my house with torches, yes, there are numerous nurturing, sensitive men. I am friends with many of them! However, don’t doubt for a second that most of these men, if given the opportunity and the promise of no repercussion, would go full-on, Tyler Durden-style into fist-to-cuffs. How soon we forget Mark Darcy versus Daniel Cleaver in Bridget Jones’s Diary?
- The football-playing bully that pushed him into the lockers day after day in high school.
- The jerk that cut him off in traffic only to immediately make a turn.
- His wife’s first love, who took her virginity in a Pinto.
Without much trouble we can fetter every aforementioned man (or his character, as it were) and easily trace his emotional outbursts down to the weakest link in the chain that binds him to his temper. But let’s leave that to the Psych 101 students.
Whether it rises from the “muscle-building,” papier-mâché-paste-looking crap he drinks after lifting or simply another tired rendition of a bad childhood, some guys can turn even a trip through the grocery store into a venture into The Twilight Zone.
This leads me to the story of yet another dramatic "character" of sorts and my glorious misadventure with Mr. T...
End Part One
