When I was a child, if I really loved something — say, a cartoon, a game, or a toy — and someone else didn’t like it, I took it as a personal affront. This continued a bit into my teenage years with music — if you didn’t like what I did you were deficient. It’s part of an innate tribalism that it takes a lot of people a while to get over, as the world around them expands. Five year olds are very selfish, because they’re five. The world is centered around them because they’re five. It’s why it’s hard to explain things to kids — death, natural disasters, et cetera.
As you grow up and mature you realize that not everyone sees things your way. I also came to appreciate a lot of entertainment (music, mostly) that I previously didn’t. (Case in point: Blues Traveler. Hated them when I was a teenager, but now I get it.)
A problem I have with other people who are legally adults is their inability to comprehend this. I get it when the seven year old says it’s rude that we don’t like some nasty food she likes (but she hates carrots… and I don’t).
If I don’t want to live my life the way you do it is not a personal attack on you. It doesn’t make me deficient or weird. I’m my own person, with my own experiences, desires, and interests. I don’t have to live up to your standard.
There’s a great deal of discussion by men, of men. What makes a man, and the what-not. I’ve said before I love the Art of Manliness definition — “the opposite of being a child, not the opposite of being a woman.” Another thing I’ve seen is this picture that says “Real men like curves*; bones are for dogs.” Someone took that and added another layer of captioning. “Men like whatever the fuck they want.” There you go. Personally, I like curves. But I’m not about to let a woman dictate to me what I should like. Oh, and I’m also not about to let a man dictate to me what I should like. Just because you’re a Manosphere blogger, or you’ve got a lot of notches, doesn’t make you an authority figure for me.
I like hockey and football; I like Scotch and bourbon; I like cigars and pipes; I like legs, tits, and ass; I like vacations where I can hang out at home and do whatever I want; I occasionally like to travel. I enjoy writing and doing it at home is the best setup yet. When I go places I want to see places, so if I want to write I stay here.
I do a lot of things because they make me happy: I got married, because she makes me happy. I go to work, because I enjoy it (usually). I do yardwork that I enjoy. I drink beers that I like. Everything I write and tweet is for my own enjoyment. If it doesn’t meet your standards, screw you, lower your standards. Who the hell are you anyway?
If I do something that you don’t like, well, you can fuck right off. I’m happy, I’m free, and I’m not taking money from the government. I’m an adult, so I do what I want. You can keep your lists of what men should do, or how I should spend my time, or whatever. Life is too short for all this bullshit.
(For example I spent most of this morning playing a DOS game from 1991, that I got around 1991. Fuck you, it was awesome.)
* Seriously, the answer to anyone telling you what you should be sexually attracted to should always be a resounding, forceful, “Go fuck yourself.”
Also, not to sound like an MRA, but letting women define male sexuality is just as bad as letting men decide female sexuality. So sure, sweetheart, if you want to dictate to me what I get to like, GET READY, because there’s a list of dicks that need to be sucked when men get to define what YOU get to like.