Meow

One blog that always delivers is Nina's Lazy Geisha. This post, about Cougars, is a classic. To be honest, this was my first encounter with the term although it was known to Steve. Indeed, Steve has not only heard the term, he has had first-hand experience with this "most elusive and cunning of feminine felines." He'll even show you the scars.

A Cougar is, according to Nina:

"typically in her late thirties to early fifties, is financially secure, is professionally employed, has probably been married at least once, maybe twice, has an older child or two but isn’t tied down with little ones at home… so she can stay out at night and doesn’t need to worry about a babysitter, she looks good, she takes care of herself, and she wants to have fun, and that includes getting laid on some kind of regular basis, but she isn’t interested in being tied down either. Sometimes she wants romance and intimacy, but more often than not, she just wants to get seriously fucked silly stupid and doesn’t want the strings and responsibility of maintaining a relationship. She’s tried her hand at love and while she thinks that’s a wonderful sentiment – at this stage of the game, having good sex is a much better option — and believe me, we do have options."

Nina critiques an interview with a young, Cougar chaser. It's a real scream. Nina has the wonderful ability to softly, gently cut to, and through, the bone. The Cougar hunter explains some of his advanced and creative predatory techniques:

"A pedigree also helps, whether invented or real. For the cougar hunter, dropping a home address on the flat of Beacon Hill or in parts of the Back Bay or the South End can suggest a certain It factor, especially with women from the suburbs. “I like to tell cougars that I bought Johnny Damon’s condo in Back Bay when he signed with the Yankees,” says Chris, 27, a banker. “I’m bullshitting, of course, but as a rule, cougars love Johnny Damon. And by the time they get back to your place, it’s pretty much a moot point.”

Yes, today's big game hunter is more Elmer Fudd, less Allan Quartermain.

Finally, Nina asks if he, our Cougar chaser, "thinks we buy this bullshit?"

I've written about this topic before so stop reading if I've grown old and repetitive. However, I think much of this goes back to the internalizing/externalizing difference between many women and men.

I always thought that the ability of men to externalize was one of their greatest weaknesses and one of our greatest, albeit trying, strengths. When I fail, when I am criticized, when I am dumped, the fault is mine. I feel it is due to some inadequacy in my character or abilities. Dumped by a man....what did I do wrong? Did not get the job....why wasn't I good enough? If my term paper received a B+ then it deserved a B+, certainly not an A.

Many men, not all, but many, have the ability to externalize similar failures. The boss criticized my work....he's incompetent and couldn't find his own ass with two hands and a flashlight. She dumped me....she's a bitch anyway. Coach benched me....he knows I'm better than the other guy but he doesn't like me.....

The fault lies not in ourselves but in the stars.

Greatest weakness? I now think it may be their greatest strength. I knew some boys in high school. They had a band. They sucked. Everyone agreed they sucked. Actually, they would have to practice for a year to get to suck, so bad was their sub-suckiness. I also know that they will go to their deathbeds believing that they were terrific, perhaps capable, if lucky enough to be discovered, of being a household name. They will live their entire lives in blissful denial of the truth. And, in the end, I think they will be happier for that denial. Unflinching self-assessments are overrated.

So, to try and answer Nina's question: Perhaps the real question is not if we buy the admitted lies but does he? He's created his mythology. He is the suave, sleek big game hunter: Hercules tracking the Nemean Lion. I'm fairly confident that he is less interested in the answer to the question than in safeguarding his image. And, in the end, when he is old, tired, fat and incontinent, confined to his bed or dependent on a cane or walker, he'll always have his mythology: Those golden days and scented nights, when he heroically tracked and captured those most elusive and cunning of feminine felines.

As for me, I'll settle for being an old house cat, dozing by the fireplace on a cold winter's night.

Have a terrific and safe weekend.