By Yancy Jack Berns
Men and women became lovers too fast. They should have been friends first. That way, they could have realized that, despite the good times, they just weren’t right for each other. We two sexes inhabit this world like an unhappy couple jammed in an apartment, stuck with each other for the children’s sake. If square sex wasn’t fun, we’d probably live on separate continents by now.
It seems beyond any doubt that women are the champs of the human race, the prize winners, the evolutionary pinnacle. And yet my graceless brethren and I have the women of the world in a glass box, from which they can only watch in horror as we clumsily tear the world down around us.
How exactly did this happen? How did the insane sex get to be in charge? And make no mistake, we are insane, fundamentally. In fact, we men are lucky there’s not a third sex. That’s basically how men can get away with being such a boring lot – because (straight) women have no real other choice. We are the bearers of the seed.
The notion that men are encouraged to ignore the softness within is an old one. Men still most comfortably show “affection” by punching and humiliating each other. This is all clearly insane, a twisted perversion of some long-forgotten ideal.
It is, in fact, an unchanged truth that most of us “guys” are raised by the media to fear open emotion and sadness, and to ignore any bruising of the soul. So, consequently, unguarded humanness becomes the province of women, the sex that isn’t in charge, and you can see how we might have a problem. (But seriously: Women are smarter than us, more intuitive, live longer, and have more skill in dealing with emotion. How did we brutes get the wheel?)
Hard as it is for me to do so, I can’t help but feel sympathy for the barking slobs that represent my sex. Men have been driven insane, I think, by this stifling of their essential humanity, by this inorganic desire to be always riding off to war.
I stick with women. Makes sense to me. If I like having a woman sitting next to me, why not also enjoy having the ghost of the woman I almost was within me? Again, makes sense to me. I try to surround myself with as many women as possible, beyond just any significant other or mate, and that’s my advice to any like-minded men out there. Carpet your life, end-to-end, with the fairer sex. And I’m not talking conquests. I’m talking about lighting incense, seeing to their comfort, and being an all-around acolyte.
So I’ll return to my opening metaphor: The two sexes, forced together in a shotgun wedding of epic proportions, charged with the continuance of the species and the ruling of the earth, and yet all the while not really being right for each other. Sure, women have learned to force themselves to like football; and sure, men, somewhere within that collapsing brow, realize that we’re missing a big part of this picture. So if the Mayans were correct about 2012, and the big divorce is coming, then at least it can be said that we each grew during our time together, which I suppose is runner-up to happily ever after.
Yancy Jack Berns is a screenwriter and freelance television producer living in Los Angeles.