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Wimpy men can use a jolt of ‘Dolt’

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    It seems like every couple I know is getting divorced. They were happy at the wedding, but now he’s a whack job with a restraining order and she’s a neurotic in a plus-size dress. That’s why I’ve been promoting the idea of a divorce ceremony, where all the gifts are given back.
    Why do so many relationships fail? I have a theory. Women really are from Venus. As near as I can figure, back around 1967, a race of superwomen appeared. They brought women’s lib and a mindset that portrayed men as idiots. Mesmerized by the miniskirt, most of us men complied. We became love-based and emotionally available, only to find ourselves in a 9-11 world that’s fear-based and completely shut down. Now we’re both trusting and paranoid at the same time.  
    Today’s women say men lack confidence. Well, of course we do. We can’t find a balance between being a doormat and an attack dog. The fact is we don’t know who we are anymore. We’ve turned into the Stepford wimps.  A lone tumbleweed blows through the ghost town of Male Dominance, and the Good Ol’ Boys club is nothing but a scattered tribe of cubicle workers, mindlessly stirring frappacinos, wondering how it came to be that women wear both the pants and the dress in the family. Women’s magazines are the reason. Every issue is chock full of tactics on how to psyche men out, lure us to bed, drive us to orgasmic nirvana and take over our lives.  And where do men go for comparable data? Nowhere, that’s where.
    The time has come for a men’s magazine that’ll rectify this inequality once and for all.  Here’s my prototype: Dolt — the magazine for men without a mojo. Less new age, more triage, Dolt’s mission is to empower men as quickly as possible. Of course, after decades of ESPN and light beer, that’s a tall order. We’d have to start with fundamental articles like “How to keep your cool in a health food restaurant,� and “G-Spot: What’s everybody talking about?�
    On the cover, we wouldn’t have some big-chested Pamela Anderson-type who we might like to make love to, but are sure we could never satisfy.  Today’s wimpified male yearns for the gaze of a cover girl who can instill a sense of confidence in ourselves again. Sandra Bullock wearing my t-shirt and the rosy glow of sexual satisfaction would make a nice cover, I think. But then, that’s me.  
    Dolt readers won’t be told that the way to self-esteem is to wear $1,000- blazers and drive million-dollar cars. They won’t be confronted with lesbian rock stars outlining why they prefer artificial insemination, and they won’t be given articles on how to drive a woman wild in bed.  Today’s man knows we’re lucky to even get a woman into the house.
    My colleagues in the publishing world caution there’s no market for Dolt. They claim that most men are so numb they’d forget to subscribe, and that their women, if they have one, wouldn’t buy it for them because they won’t want men having a magazine that will do to them what they’ve done to us.  
    Perhaps the time has come to accept the fact that Dad’s paradigm of being head of the household is outdated, that man lost the battle of the sexes and with it, his identity, his purpose and his ability to form long-term relationships. Like it or not, we are nothing but dependents now, subject to the whims of women.
    If that’s the case, may I suggest Plan B: Marriage Lite — a modernized wedding ceremony for those who want the experience but not the commitment.   
    “Do you take this woman to be your old lady until you need to get your head together?� “I do.�
    “Do you take this man to be your significant other, until you need some space?� “I do.�
    “I now pronounce you an item.� ∆

Dean Opperman reads himself to sleep at night. Add to his mail at dean.opp@cox.net.






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