Shy,
Many studies show that men suffer more hormonal swings than women, and men are far more likely to emotionally erupt than women. Hence, men are far more likely to commit crimes of passion than women.
bjork violently attacked a reporter . i semi violently chocked my freind with a broom pole (he wasnt hurt). the majority of these stereo types evaporate along with the ego and the snow.
A mommy screwdriver often is a kitchen knife. LOL, my other half groans when he cannot find one that is not bent. Hey, it works. The mickey mouse queen at work. Also, toothpaste works for filling a hole in a plaster wall and for polishing silver.
Hola Shy,
I knew I had set myself up. Being a little girl in the 50’s makes me view everything differently than you do - can’t help it. It is like trying to describe to you how many times I have changed my pantleg from bells/back or skinny glasses as opposed to the big fat huge ones from the 80’s. Tent gets me because he is me. The generations are worlds apart which is why I apologized for catagorizing the sexes so dramatically. I see things this way for MY generation of men.
JT IS my generation. Of course, he is much, much older and far more stuffy, but that is besides the point. 
violently happy
come calm me down
before i get into trouble
violently happy
overemotional
violently happy
'cause i love you
Bjork
Is it, I have seen much of the stereotyping from today’s young men and women, albeit I do not see young women expecting a man to “take care of her.”
Bessy, men do the same. They wore the butt huggers, now wear the baggy pants. Also, I attempted to purchase wider wire rimmed glasses five years ago, no luck, they do not make them anymore. Ditto for 501 Levis, discontinued. Hence, I still wear my rather worn, ancient 501’s.
JT is a sweet teddy bear, much like my other half. He probably doesn’t have a sexist bone in his body.
Back to the topic, are men wired differently than women, or perhaps they are conditioned differently than females. Take a look at the toys for the genders. I was the tomboy with the chemistry set, I made great stink bombs which earned me more than one brotherly beating. 
Had a bow and arrows with the metal tips. Dad took me target shooting with his 30 30, until mother put a stop to this, too unladylike. Much more fun than the dolls she gave me which gathered dust. How about the baseball bat, gloves and ball. We had a 1/4 acre and a great baseball diamond in the backyard.
It’s a little mind-boggling as to why this question holds, for us, so much fascination and constantly surprises us with its truth.
We would never dream of questioning if different species are wired differently. Here external differences are considered indicative of a deeper difference and it is insinuated that these external differences are more than aesthetic. We take the external generality of a perceived pattern as a sign of a general difference.
Yet, when it comes to subtle differentiations, such as racial or sexual differences, we draw a line between external and internal. Our modern teachings force us to exclude any real differences, when considering physical appearance, as indicative of more than just cosmetics.
We, for example, like stating how different we are from gorillas, despite the many physical similarities. We take the slight differentiations in external appearance as proof of how not like them we are.
With religious thinkers, these slight differences become evidence that we are so unlike them as to be existential aliens. Man has a soul whereas an animal does not: therefore man is not an animal.
They cannot even dream about being related to such creatures. They feel insulted and a little threatened by the possibility.
But then, these same minds, driven by another need to preserve self-importance and quality and sae themselves from comparison, find it apprehensible to consider that slight differences in external appearance, between humans, could signify an internal difference, no matter how slight.
Here they seek for similarities to disprove the notion that any external differentiation could possibly signify further differences.
But nature regularly uses appearance as a method of deducing quality and character and potential. In fact visual markers are what much of sexual selection is based upon.
It is difficult to integrate our instinctual reality with social necessity.
Living in a world that seeks to level everything into uniformity of spirit and style and in a world more interested in social harmony, we are taught to judge things other than visually (superficially) making it apparent that the person’s quality (In how (s)he has absorbed and integrated cultural ideals into her/his psychology) is what we must judge them with.
It is obvious that all we have to go on is sensual interpretations of perceived patters. We look, hear, feel, taste, smell our way around reality, we gather information and construct abstract metaphors to make our understanding efficient.
With these sensual patterns we construct reality and make predictions.
For this reason it is difficult to totally ignore how women and men are different in more than just appearance and plumbing. There is a distinct behavioural and thinking difference that surprises us when it doesn’t fit our social/cultural expectations.
Men and women have evolved to play different roles within a group and in the procreative game. Because of this they are not only physically made different but behave and think differently, they have different talents and weaknesses that go beyond appearance.
I think that Descartes trickled into the public consciousness and stayed there.
aspacia
A teddy, for sure. It was a joke.
Satyr,
As always, Satyr… you are so interesting and articulate. I have a secret. I read your blog all the time. I have read some of your passages many times. And to all: if you have not had the pleasure of reading what this man has to say you are missing something. Even if you don’t agree with it all, it is so well thought out and beautifully poetic that you can’t miss it.
Let me know when you finish the book you must be writing, Satyr, because I will line up to buy it. My favorite piece of yours is as follows:
My Acropolis
[i]
And when all is said and done, I’m still contented by life’s simpler pleasures.
I hope for seclusion in a world of my own making, for a quiet sheltering escape behind a walled garden, for a space to call my own… to call my home.
I dream of a private vantage point, a summit of remoteness, from where I can launch into excursions of physical and intellectual foraging into a turbulent, uncertain and often noisy world, and then return, pollen-laden, back to my nest, and digest it all surrounded by waxen serenity and sweet caches; souvenirs from my many impatient journeys.
That Mediterranean house awaits my Odyssean homecoming and makes imaginings swim through me, rekindling a secret desire.
It inspires me, in my quest, and rests me from my weariness - lost, as I am, in an endless stormy sea.
It seduces me…This, my private Ithaca.
Like an Acropolis it sits there, that Mediterranean temple, waiting for its old master to return and reclaim it, waiting for its missing inheritor to repaint its chipping walls, refurnish its desolate interiors, relight its darkened surfaces, bring life back to its empty promise …and finally…forget.
I once cursed that house on that hill, overlooking all those repetitive orchards and that river which cut through their greenery, like a dark scar, and often dwindled into a murky stream, during the summer’s scorching heat.
I damned it to hell for chaining me to its existence, for tempting me, with Circe’s voice, to settle down, for milking away my energies and igniting within me…an aspiration.
I cursed its connection to my past, its nostalgia for what burdened my psyche, its long memory and many tears.
I wanted nothing more to do with these worldly things and these human wars over foreign lust.
Now I nurture that daydreamer’s wish. I fan it into a dancing flame, within me, and enjoy its warming spectacle as I’ve forgiven its many indiscretions and reluctantly embraced its totality, for what it was and is and will, or not, be.
I accept it as the creation of an old romantic who could not let go and whose soul could not heal from the ache of reality, before the end.
And in his name I dream….
I build imaginary gardens on its waiting soils and I design its interiors, with the mind’s omnipotent eye.
Full of bookshelves and carpeted marble, the interior will be. The pastel walls decked with whispering paintings and suggestive mementos.
The fireplace lit, in the winter, filling the room with the gentle light of glowing emerald along with the slight scent of timbered soot emanating from its crackling appetite.
Around it, lush carpeting full of inviting warmth and muffled ease as the wind whistles a bone-chilling tune outside.
In the summer, the patio doors will be flung open to allow the southern sea breezes to flow through and fill it with smells of oregano and salt.
My basic amenities are all there. Modern comforts that have become necessities in time:
A refrigerator filled with delicacies and gastronomic delights, a small stove to prepare them with, cabinets filled with glassware and utensils, useful knickknacks loitering on the surfaces.
In one corner a wooden computer desk, with accompanying machine, waiting for my thoughts during those nights when passions dwindle and the mind makes sense of itself.
Across from it, a televised window into the world will stand, from where humankind will reach me without touching me.
On the veranda, overlooking the farmlands and with Laconikos Kolpos shining under the sunshine in the distance, a plain table with matching chairs will be, where I’ll take my evening meals as the sun drops behind Tauetos, tinting the sky with red, or where I’ll sip my morning coffee as it rises from behind Parnonas with the golden explosion of a new day.
And there, around its perimeter fence, I will plant ivy, and every sort of creeping plant and shrub, to create a living boundary between my inner sanctuary and the outside world; a barrier of foliage to mark out my little paradise, my parcel of existence, my imitation of Eden.
Inside the fence, above the northern wall, where my mother once stretched her wash to dry, a few rows of lemon, orange and grapefruit trees, with a few olives in the mix, where I will plant tomatoes and cucumbers and green peas and watermelons, when they are in season, and all kinds of different vegetables, perennials and fruit plants, at their base, and I will garnish their perimeter with flowers to complete the aesthetic scene.
There, during the day, I will trim and pamper and stimulate them into fruition. And I will marvel at their cycled creativity and thank them for their sweet gifts.
Below the northern wall, I will plant a row of grapevines and knit them into thick canopies to cast a shade over the concrete driveway, just like my father dreamed of doing, and wait for their bounty to savor the sun’s joy from beneath the cooling cover, and toast the gods in his name.
On the western side, I will build a small chicken coop with cages for rabbits, ducks and turkeys and all kinds of domesticated beasts, which I will harvest for my sustenance and enjoy their antics and personalities as they roam free within my enclosure.
On the eastern side, facing the road, rows of flowers and an assortment of budding plants to ease my eyes, fill my soul with wonderment and my breath with joy.
And I will invite a few friends over after sunset, from time to time, when I am done with my daily chores and I have washed the grime from my fingernails, for dinner and a quiet communion, sharing bread and red wine for our sacrament.
I will serve them my own produce, sweet and pure, and feed them my own assortment of viands, fresh and clean, harvested with my own two hands and nurtured with my own labors.
And I will listen to them speak of everyday things, as if they were imbued with infinite meanings and transcending purposes, and enjoy the simplicity of it, the reassuring ease of it all.
And I will eavesdrop on their hopes and fears and comfort them with my selected words and delight in their talents and distinctness.
And if the mood arises, music will echo from my summit and my voice will rise to greet eternity under the starlit darkness, no more in resistance but now with a harmonic submission to its flow.
But these seas have unseen currents and some dreams are better left unrealized.
[i]The boat creaks, the sails are torn and the weather threatens to cast me against Polyphemus’ island.
Yet, still……I dream.[/i]
(How I love this, Satyr… You make me feel as though I am there. I am printing this out and framing it for myself. Such a talent, you are.)
To all at ILP… GO HERE BEFORE THE END OF THE DAY:
Again, generalization does not always hold true as both genders may simply be conditioned by society. Think about it, male toys often focus on developing visual and agression skill, but some women also enjoy these toys. Why is it okay for a female to be a “tomboy” and a male not be a “janegirl?” Isn’t society instructing the genders how to behave? I tried to enroll in an astronomy class in the early 70’s; nope, this is a male discipline. Ditto for men who wanted to be nurses. This has only recently changed.
You might enjoy an anthropology class. We discovered that many hunter gatherer tribes, and the few left today, evenly distributed power, were nuclear and were nomadic. Often a brother and sister shared power. When married the children were often cared for by the both the male and female tribal elders while men and women searched for food either by hunting or gathering. In some tribes after the hunting and gathering both females and males cared equally for the children.
Yes, men and women have different talents, men have more upper torso strength, women often have stronger legs and they also have an extra layer of fat to protect the fetus when the female becomes pregnant. Also, it may be true that men and women differ in thought processes as the study reveals, but more investigation is necessary.
I only hope that studies do not diminish the progress women have recently made. For example, if a woman with children was abandoned or widowed, she needs to earn enough to care for the children and for herself and not have to rely of societal whims of the welfare dime.
ps
My favorite of Satyr’s weight loss plans:
Standing in front of a large mirror stark naked. Works for me. If I have one more thing to eat I am going to explode.
=D>
aspacia
No, society is merely accentuating already established natural tendencies.
Women play to prepare them for their natural/biological roles, and males play similarly.
Play is a form of practice. It isn’t nature’s way of entertaining us.
Social systems, in their attempt to harmonize through uniformity, tend to make boys “janelike†and girls “tomboys’.
But given the feminine disposition towards harmonious coexistence and tolerance, it slants towards the feminine, rather than towards the more aggressive, intolerant, authority-challenging masculine.
There’s a reason why social units, as they are found in nature, are predominately female.
You mean separated their realms of power.
Today, in our human societies, not such separation happens.
But you forget that a tribe is a social unity, just like our more populace and complicated modern societies, and so the same patterns of feminization can be witnessed in their embryonic stages.
If you re-label feminization as domestication you will be more open minded towards it.
Once our species became reliant on groups for survival, a certain deterioration of individuality was inevitable and certain.
As group size increases, individuality decreases and forces the need for more uniformity and conformity. Sexual identity is but collateral damage.
Bessy
Wow!!!
I’m flattered.
Maybe you can become my publicist or something.
I’m not planning on a book, though. I prefer short pieces: Polemics, Aphorims, Essays, Prose.
If you liked that piece maybe you’ll also like my “Postcards from Purgatory†piece.
It can be found on my Blog. I think it’s the last thing there. You’ll have to do some digging.
Thanks again. 
I will look. I am rereading DIGNITY at the moment. Talk about a wow!
I write music. I am inspired by your work. And ---- you have the talent for writing music. Writing is rhythm, my friend. You have it.
Bessy
Yes writing is all about rhythm.
I sense it every time I do. I often rewrite passages so as to keep with the overall rhythm of the piece.
I only wish I could write the perfect piece. All of it fails to capture the essence of what I want to express.
Shadows on the walls of sensuality.
Solitude is an existential burden.
It will not surprise you then to find that I’m a pretty good singer, as well.
Not much of a vocal range, but my voice carries spirit and emotion. I feel it.
Why then did the ancient, hunter gatherers have an even distribution of power and had the male and female elders as caregivers.
Chuckle, sorry, but do you really see societies as more feminine than masculine? Yes, most societies prefer peaceful coexistence, but they love the very rugged, often dangerous sports to say ballet.
Generally, because we know who the mother is and do not always know who the father is, but matrilineal descent is not often seen except in Judaism.
Hum, I was discussing how previously the separation did not occur, but now does, and has occured for many years. Only recently has this problem been addressed.
Do some research, yes it does, especially in third world countries. How many dead beat dads are there compared to dead beat mothers. What is it now, 350 to 4. Think about it.
Yes, men have both the x & y chromosone, women only have the X. But, many males incarcerated have the double y. Studies have not proven any direct correlation to this and violence.
Yes, I see your point, but this is recent. Thankfully, I can wear slacks to work, wheras in previous positions I had to wear nylons and a skirt or dress.
Satyr, I do enjoy your writing as does Bessy. Keep up the good work.
Pardon the intrusion, but where is “Postcards” Satyr? I can’t find it.
Click on ARCHIVES December 2004, on the right hand side.
Then scroll all the way down to the end.
Geez, I’m gone for one lousy day and now I’m old and stuffy and a sweet teddy bear without a sexist bone in my body… 
I have GOT to get a life!
I suspect that the nature/nuture debate will never be resolved because the ‘target’ is constantly moving. Just as soon as there is a bit of understanding, the dolls put on different clothes and we’re back at square one.
This is why I referred to the brain studies. It seems that this is the only area of investigation where ‘differences’ may eventually be sorted out. Not that it will mean anything to the individual. As Satyr pointed out, the socialization issues have more weight than any inherent differences, and trying to seperate out which is which is to dive headfirst into the swamp. Aspacia notes that there are all sorts of cultural ‘experiments’ in male/female roles, but they are culture specific and can’t be generalized onto the larger social organizations.
It may be well to simply observe male/female differences as they exist inside a specific culture in a specific time frame without looking to ‘root’ causes. Bessy suggests generational differences, and she’s right. But this is also the difficulty of saying anything as a generalization, as cultural influences are constantly changing male/female roles.
All of this is interesting, but I’m guessing that it is premature to begin thinking that we have a handle on what differences of mind are actual, and I doubt that there will ever be an understanding of the cultural roles for more than 30 minutes or so.
JT
But i thought (because of your avatar) that you had no weight problem, and speeking of naked:
Squeek [size=75]SqUeEk[/size] [size=59]sQuEeK![/size]
…Mang, i wish i had a Dan emoti…
I gotta make some emoticons and get a server quick!
Dan emoticons > Smileys.
Being sexist is only bad when it hurts someone else or yourself in some way. Also, please note that teddy bears are lame, and grizzley bears qwn. Aim for better!
No Danny, I am not a fatty - but I adore eating and drinking. I live to cook and eat - hence I work out like a dog. If I don’t break a sweat once a day, I feel like a slug. By the by, anyone over forty either watches their weight or they are fat.
Cherry pie. I really like homemade cherry pie. Especially when it is hot. =D>
Send me your recipes.