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Bjørn Østman of Pleiotropy again

Aha! So this is what is constantly bugging me. Finally, here’s a book describing what I need to become a real man.

“In a time when everyone is looking for a bailout, headlines highlight John Edwards’ affair, and books detail A-Rod’s steroid use, what has happened to men of honor and integrity? Once upon a time, a real man fought for his country, treated women with respect, and was a hero to his children.”

Dare I say that one of them recently became president?

“‘The Ultimate Man’s Survival Guide’ explains how to fight off alligators, identify poisonous spiders, mix a perfect martini, and more. From tying a tourniquet to tying a bowtie—Miniter teaches men the skills, attitudes, and philosophies they need to be the Ultimate Man.”

It should come as no surprise that I got this ad in an email from a conservative group – the ideals of a real man fighting off alligators and tying a bowtie fit right in with that, while I myself have other ideals. Not that I disagree that those are nice things to be able to do (especially mixing the perfect Martini), but I fear that the philosophies that this ultimate man must adhere to are of the conservative kind.

I wonder how learning from a book how to be the ultimate man squares with being the ultimate man. Seems kind of sissy ass liberal to me.

He said it here.

Østman, an evolutionary biologist, blogs a lot about conflicts with Biblical creationism in both its raw and more sophisticated “Intelligent Design” forms. Another point he might have raised is that if as Creationists like to think the Earth is only 6,000 years old… that really wouldn’t have left a lot of opportunities for men to play with Bowie-knife-type weapons. As for bow ties? What. Ever.

Seriously, 101st Fighting Keyboarders fantasies notwithstanding, neither knife-fighting, alligator wrestling, nor bow-tie tying makes one an ultimate man. Not least because trying to describe, let alone aspire to be, the “ultimate man” is about as misguided as trying to describe the ultimate shade of blue or the ultimate note on a piano.

Not to sound too woo-woo or anything but when I was maybe 19 gourd-stoned future former hippie earnestly declaimed to me that in his opinion “we’re all born with a bag full of shit tied around our neck, and our ultimate goal before we die is to take as much shit as possible out of our bag without putting any of it in anyone else.” To the extent wrestling alligators or stirring (even I know better than to shake) martinis contributes to that ultimate goal of unfilling ones self with shit then good for them. Otherwise one wonders if the advice in such books might not produce the opposite result.