keaton asked me to join her at an all day women's leadership conference in nyc yesterday called "the berkana women's leadership revival tour".
not for any high brow reason or nothin'.
but partly because villanova was out of march madness, my bracketology was in a shambles, and i had little else to do except write another dumb post for my fibomercials and scams blog, which i'm growing tired of.
besides, more notably and for reasons i will never understand, it was important to keaton, and usually that's good enough for me, whether comprehended or not (except when trumped by my beloved nova wildcats being in the thick of ... well you get the picture).
keaton also promised me that there would be other men there.
there were—i was told afterwards there were four.
so i went, as cheery as a dog on a car ride (albeit unknowingly to the vet's for a little anal gland expressionment).
by the time the reviving got into full swing, as best i could tell i was one (of five of us i guess) among two hundred fired up women .
and let me tell you about these women leadership revivals.
they aren't happy with the state of men anywhere we might be found right about now.
even barack obama was taking his lumps.
that did not bode well for the likes of me in my lowly place.
but i'd be less than honest if i didn't say i'm beginning to understand why.
you see, we are an unlikable lot we are.
we really are.
we need to start nurturing a bit more.
and for good reason.
do you know that the best profitable endeavors men have come up with after being in charge for 10,000 years, the three most lucrative businesses in the world today, in order of import, are: drugs, human trafficking and armaments.
that's not good for future man business.
why that's even enough to make ole maggie thatcher cringe, and she's not your every day, nurturing type by a long shot.
and all this time i was under the proud delusion that the best businesses were football, beer and carnivore eating products.
i wasn't even close.
and another thing.
during one of the exercises called "passion cafe"—no it's not what you guys might be thinking, far from it—i learned myself a few other insider secrets.
women are different for one.
and they are angry for two.
and when they get angry, they get even more differenter for three.
for starters, they want to shut down the three illustrious pursuits i was referring to before.
shut them down!
and they are passionate about this—that's the passion part of passion cafe.
and i have to tell ya, they're on to something.
i mean it's hard to defend that male legacy of ours when it's being thrown in your face like that.
the truth is, i didn't even try.
all i was doing was trying to keep them from giving me a little of the old tar and feather treatment.
so i turned on my gonads in short order, saying stuff like, "ya gotta have some majora labias to have passion like that".
well, not exactly in those words, but along those lines.
actually, it doesn't matter what i said frankly.
they understood the feelings i was trying to share with them.
as a matter of fact, it was shortly thereafter that they removed the bubbling iron pot of tar from the flames and the chicken feathers from their rubber gloved clutches.
i also suggested they needed to get more men at these revivals; to hear their ideas—although i suspect these particular women are more than willing to go it alone given their druthers.
and to tell ya the truth, i can't blame them.
anyway, i survived.
eh, that makes it sound like i was tortured or something.
i was not.
sure, i was uncomfortable, like i might be sleeping on a pull out couch.
sure, i was stretched, like i might be doing extreme nude yoga.
sure i was the "other", like i might be at a mensa jamboree.
i was all of those things, but saying i survived, as if i short-changed certain death, is a bit of the old histrionics my mom always warned me about.
"i lived to talk about" might be a more understated way to say it.
all in all, it was nothin' really.
in fact, towards the end, a rather curious woman of color saddled right up next to me, real close, and whispered, "so what makes you the type of man to be here?"
i pointed at keaton and said, "see that woman? she's been working on me for ten years and besides my bracketology skills suck."
she laughed one of those big rolling chuckles and said, "well you're a good man."
and i said, "oh no, you have it all wrong. she's a good woman, who was lucky enough to have a little something to work with, namely me!"
then her face lit up like it might at the first peek of the sun after 40 days of rain, and she gave me one of those fist to fist punches, except being a rather self-conscious white and all, i messed it up and tapped her fist with my head instead, confusing a ritual of color in all my caucasian glory.
it didn't matter much though.
i still felt special, as if we had connected in some kind of manly sisterhood way.
yeah, so there you go.
all in all, i could have caused great undoing given my propensity for the occasional larry david moment, but i think i made keaton proud.
of course it's early and all the feedback isn't in yet, especially that little passion play of mine.
but i'm feeling pretty, pretty ... pretty good!
besides, i learned a few things along the way.
one being that this male "feminine side" fear just isn't all it's cracked up to be.
two being that havin' a set of brass labes might not be the worse thing in the world for a guy.