Thursday, October 8, 2015

Announcing The Formation Of A New Party

     “What’s this?” I hear you cry. “Has Porretto finally gone off the deep end? We have 82,573 parties in this country (by actual count) and not one of them is worth the powder it would take to blast it to flinders. But he wants to form another party?”

     Well, yes. But it won’t be a political party. And it won’t be a cocktail party, or a block party, or anything else that conjures up images of hats, hooters, and multicolored streamers. I intend that it be far more important than the former and a lot more constructive than the latter. Maybe more fun, too.

     This is in response, partly at least, to a note I got from longtime reader and correspondent Tim Turner, a.k.a. “furball.” (Whether he’s actually furry or not, I have no idea. This is the Internet, after all.) Rather than reproduce the whole thing here, I’ll give you the sentence that expresses the heart of it:

     I don't know much about God, but I'm really glad he gave us girls.

     Me too, Tim. Me too.

     But have you noticed, Gentle Reader, just how much acrimony feminists, homosexuals, and “transgender” activists have stirred up between the sexes of late? Stacy McCain has covered it extensively. The Washington Examiner’s Ashe Schow has also commented on it at length. And it’s really, really sad.

     It’s sad because of what Tim said above. And it’s not just us Y-chromosome bearers who think so. Hearken to one of pop music’s current crop of beauties:

     Now men are afraid to be men. […] They won’t be a gentleman because that makes them appear soft. That’s what we’re dealing with now, a hundred percent, and girls are settling for that, but I won’t. I will wait forever if I have to. That’s why I haven’t been having sex or even really seeing anybody.

     Being a masculine man is on the verge of being anathematized. Likewise being a feminine woman. And it’s all because of a tiny minority of idiots, perverts, and persons so mentally ill that less enlightened times would deem them candidates for a lobotomy.

     There are two sexes. Not three, six, seventeen, or twenty-three. Just two, and in case you’ve forgotten what they are, they’re:

  1. Male.
  2. Female.

     ...just as God made ‘em. And each can, should, and must find delight in the other. All else is madness.

     In recognition of which I hereby announce the formation of:

The Vive La Difference Party!

     This party will have no organizational structure. It will keep no membership rolls and collect no dues. It will hold no conventions, nor will it announce candidates for any office, high or low. And you will never, ever receive a funding solicitation from it, whether by email, snail mail, or smoke signal.

     Despite all of that, I invite you to join. Indeed, you may already be a member. The qualifications are as follows:

  • If you’re a man, you must be a masculine man who likes and appreciates feminine women.
  • If you’re a woman, you much be a feminine woman who likes and appreciates masculine men.

     If you’re anything else, this is not the party for you.

     Does any Gentle Reader of Liberty’s Torch, inarguably the #1 gathering place for the Web’s meshugganeh types, harbor any doubts about what it means to be a masculine man or a feminine woman? These are concepts Americans once absorbed osmotically from the air around us. No, gentlemen: you don’t have to be the reincarnation of John L. Sullivan. Nor need the ladies revert to elbow-length white gloves, whaleboned corsets and fainting couches (which were largely made necessary by the corsets).

     Be gentlemen. Be ladies. And let each sex display proper appreciation and regard for the virtues, strengths, and weaknesses of the other. For example, gentlemen:

  • Dress decorously.
  • Respect the rights of others.
  • Open and hold doors for all ladies.
  • Restrain vulgarities of language in mixed company.
  • Express our appreciation for female beauty in respectful terms.
  • Intervene to defend women from physical abuse by ungentlemanly men.
  • And of course, associate exclusively with other gentlemen and ladies.

     Similarly, ladies:

  • Dress decorously.
  • Respect the rights of others.
  • Restrain vulgarities of language in mixed company.
  • Gracefully accept gentlemen’s acts of appreciation and consideration.
  • Ignore the verbal emissions of louts and bounders.
  • Never act “catty.”
  • And of course, associate exclusively with other ladies and gentlemen.

     No, that’s not the entire litany, but it would make for a strong start.

Vive La Difference!

     Make it a rallying cry. Make it your personal credo.

     Perhaps I’ll go to Cafe Press with some sweatshirt designs. Yes, gentlemen and ladies can wear casual clothes. This isn’t the Victorian Era. I just want an end to ripped jeans and stained T-shirts, to pants whose waistband hangs around the knees, to flipflops anywhere but the beach or the shower, and to clothing that screams “let’s find a convenient hedge and get it on” to any passer-by with complementary coupling gear.

     Andrew Breitbart has told us that “culture is upstream from politics,” and indeed it is so. But “culture” isn’t just art, music, fiction, and other forms of entertainment. Culture is a personal commitment. You have a culture, as do I, and we proclaim it to the world whenever we’re in public.

     A culture of decorous deportment and mutual respect among ordinary individuals is upstream from all art, music, fiction, and other forms of entertainment. Masculine men and feminine women are the foundation of such a culture; no society worthy of the name is possible without them. Moreover, the sexes have always enjoyed one another most when the norms of gentlemanly and ladylike conduct prevailed. That American society no longer insists upon those norms is an ominous indicator for our future.

     Will you join?
     Have you joined already?
     Will you encourage others to join?
     Will you uphold and promote the Code of Conduct?

     Welcome to the Party.


Navvet55 said...

Could this be the party's theme song?

Guy S.

Dystopic said...

The restraint of vulgarities would be difficult for me. But I am a product of a degenerate age, and am well aware of my deficiencies.

Weetabix said...

"I'm witchoo. And when I say I'm witchoo, I don't mean, like I understand what you're saying. I mean: I'm witchoo."

furball said...

I'm in! . . . except for sleeveless t-shirts and shorts around the house in hot weather.

Guy S., I remember liking that song when I saw Gigi in the early 60s. By 2000 I was wondering if it would get attacked as pedophilic. Sad.

Tim Turner

Navvet55 said...

I used to joke, back 'round the 80's or so, that he ( Chevalier ) was being/playing the quintessential "dirty old man", with this song. Nowadays you are, sadly, exactly right. In fact I would go a step further. The pro pedophile group(s) would be actively arguing this is really no big deal. Both sides ignoring the original intent and meaning of the song.

Heinlein would be quite correct in calling the times we are in "The Crazy Years".


Sam L. said...

I saw GiGi some years back, and was appalled (APPALLED!!!!) at telling GiGi that the best she could do in life was to become some rich man's mistress.

Reg T said...

As already a lifelong member (as is my wife), I will remind one and all that the point of the song was that "They grow up in the most delightful way." There was no pedophilia implied. As girls grew up enough to reach an age where their physical attributes could _decently_ be appreciated, it became even more enjoyable observing them, at work and at play.

Chevalier was French. Yes, militarily the bulk of Frenchmen may have been "cheese-eating surrender monkeys" (and Brie was indeed one of those cheeses, Fran ;-), but the bulk of Frenchmen were also very appreciate of the feminine form, their physique. I am French-Canadian on both sides (an improvement upon the actual French), but was raised by a father who admired the feminine form, too. He was fond of saying, "There is no such thing as an ugly woman. Some are merely prettier than others." [He died before Janet Reno made the news and her photo was published.]

To establish my bonafides, I will say that my parents related to friends and family that - at the age of three and older - I was fascinated by the breasts (large) of my baby-sitter, and would touch and fondle them when she held me, which she found amusing (and, perhaps, enjoyable). They said I also behaved in like fashion with one of my aunts, who was similarly endowed.