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Young Blood

Men & Women

I love the fact that Pussydom is always harping about how BAAAD ol’ Leo DiCaprio is just because he trades in his girlfriends for newer models when they reach the ripe old age of 27.

However, when it’s Teh Grrrls going after toyboys, it’s suddenly just peachy:

It’s one reason why many midlife women are discovering the joys of dating someone much younger than them – and there are many more.

Two in five women on the dating app Feeld are now open to meeting members who are 15 or more years younger than them.

US Census data shows the percentage of marriages between older women and younger men has grown in the past two decades: 14 per cent of marriages of women over 50 was to a partner younger by least five years.

Not only is it easier for women to date younger men, those that do are happier. An American study of 300 women found women with a partner at least ten years younger are happier than those with partners their own age or older.

So why would a younger guy go for the Saggy&Baggy option by traveling on the Grab-A-Granny Trail?  From the horse’s mouth:

‘The first young guy I went out with was also the only decent guy who responded to my profile. At first, I thought it was a joke – why would a guy that young and good-looking want to date me? We arranged to meet, and I was convinced he’d either not turn up or run once he saw me in real life. He did neither. We had a brilliant evening and there was no pressure for sex at the end of it.
‘I asked why he chose me over a younger woman, and he said he was tired of their “dramas and insecurity”.’

Well, yes.  I can certainly see that.  Most young men in the target market (so to speak) would probably agree with him, because if ever there was a generation that has their collective head firmly buried up their collective anus, it’s the current 20-30 crop of wimmyns, fresh from their five-year-stint at university and its courses on FemLitEmpowerment and MenArePigs 301.  These are the same chicks who are the bane of companies everywhere, moaning about “work-life balance” and demanding psychological counseling every time a superior asks them to meet a deadline to which they already agreed before taking on said task.

Not that their male counterparts are much better, mind you, but at least some of those Young Penis People are ahem mature enough to attract Older Women, and let’s be honest, for a guy looking for an easy lay with no issues like childbearing hovering over the bedroom, the Saggies are low-hanging fruit — not only for the sex, but also because the oldies are probably somewhat more together than the weenies from their Sociology class.

Of course there are downsides for the cougar-bait;  I don’t call them the Saggies for nothing, but as long as they are reasonably personable and not too manatee-like, it’s probably not a problem. From the above article:

The type of woman who’s inclined to go out with a younger man is usually better than average looking. Let’s be brutally honest here: physical appearance is nearly always the initial attractor. These women don’t necessarily look younger than their age, but they do have buckets of sex appeal.

The best part is that over time, when the Saggies start to get unhinged — and they will — the toyboys can leave them cold with the excuse of “settling down and starting a family”.

Fucking hell, what a shit show.

What’s In A Name?

Communication, The Worst

It’s small wonder that I tend towards the irascible, having the name that I do.  Because, quite frankly, it’s a fucking pain in the ass.

Let’s start with the first (Christian) name.  Kim.  Easy to spell, easy to say, mostly it’s pronounced as written.  (There’s the occasional “Kym”, but that’s — I think — an affectation, like Tyffynny instead of Tiffany.)  My parents named me thus because they wanted a single, easy-to-pronounce, easy-to-spell appellation and in that, they were largely successful.  However:

“But that’s a girl’s name!”

This is the first of the many crosses I have had to bear, and my personal history is replete with stories of me taking a swing at people — okay, boys — who taunted me thus.

In fact, “Kim” is one of those gender-free names, in that it’s not a name, but a title.  In most versions of the early Anglo-Saxon language, “kim” means “chief” or “chieftain”, and as those ancient Anglo-Saxons didn’t care whether their ruler was male or female, the title bears no gender.  (Boudicca, she of the anti-Roman rebellion, was actually “Kim Boudicca” because the tribes of those days had no monarchy:  chiefs were elected leaders, not always hereditary ones.  (Mostly, but let’s try to avoid wandering down that branch line.)

And that’s just my first name.  (Also, in traditional English parlance, it’s my Christian name, but gawd forbid Americans are so intolerant as to use that when there are Muslims etc. in the populace who might take offense.  In addition, there’s no established church, so despite the “Under God” and “So help me God”, anything Christian is doubleplusungood, government-wise.)

Also, because my parents saw no need to give me one, I have no middle name, which causes endless issues with U.S. officialdom.  When I fill in the foul ATF 4473 form, for example, I have to put the idiotic “NMN” (no middle name) acronym, because to leave it blank or put in a “–” might screw things up totally.

And on we go.

My surname (“last” name in Murkin) is Du Toit.  So my full name is “Kim du Toit”, because if the name is preceded by a name or “Mr.”, the “d” is not capitalized.  But that’s only the beginning, because now we get to the Space Issue.

You see, there’s a space between the “du” and “Toit”.  (However, in modern-day France, it’s mostly spelled “Dutoit”;  go figure.)  But there has to be a space, as you will see.

An aside:  “toit” in French means “roof”, so my name literally means “of the roof” — perhaps because back in the mists of time, there was a Pierre who was a roofer, and so the family name might have become “Pierre of the Roof” (e.g. the Carter, Smith, Mason or Wainwright surnames).  However, as far as I can make out, the family originated in the south of France near the Pyrenees mountains, so “toit” could also mean “high place”, and the “de/du” has an alternative meaning of “from”.
The family motto, by the way, is “Dios y El Rey”, a Spanish term meaning “God and the King”, making the Pyrenees origin still more plausible.

Back to the pesky last name.  All my South African documents (birth certificate, passport, I.D. etc. are spelled “du [space] Toit” or if capitalized “DU [space] TOIT” (see the family crest).  So when I came Over Here in the Great Wetback Episode of ’86, that’s how I continued to spell my name.

Which is where the problems began.

You see, a great number of databases don’t like a space appearing in a name field — and by “don’t like” I mean they fall over or reject the spelling.  Worse still, it depends on which entity’s database we’re talking about.  The DMVs of Illinois, New Jersey and Texas will not accept the space — so my name always becomes DUTOIT on my driver’s license, except in Illinois where it’s DU_TOIT (!) — but the State Department has no problem with the space, probably because they have to deal with all sorts of strange names, so in my naturalization certificate and passport it’s spelled correctly:  DU [space] TOIT.  Ditto the IRS and SocSec, thank gawd.

Another aside:  some time ago I had occasion to visit the friendly folks at the local Social Security office (no kidding, they are totally unlike other government apparatchiks) and just for the hell of it, I asked to see my personal details.  Imagine mu surprise when the SocSec screen showed my birthplace as “Johannesburg, Saudi Arabia“.  I shared a merry laugh with the person on the other side of the counter, and luckily (for no reason I can explain) happened to have my passport with me, which showed my birthplace as Johannesburg, South Africa.  The guy laughed, and said, “So which one is it?” whereupon I offered him $10,000 if he could find in any atlas a town named Johannesburg in Saudi Arabia.  Then I asked to see the data input screen, and lo! “South Africa” appeared just below “Saudi Arabia” in the “check appropriate box” section.  He changed it on the spot.

Now let’s talk about other entities, e.g. banks.  You guessed it:  on a couple of bank cards, the space is elided, and on others, the space appears without any issue.  The problem comes, however, when I’m buying something online and have to enter my name As It Appears On The Card — because woe betide me should I add the space where there is none, or leave out the space when I shouldn’t.  So every online purchase necessitates me asking (usually out loud, with only a few Bad Words) “Now which [insert Bad Word here]  card am I using now?”

Finally, there’s the matter of its pronunciation.  Oh FFS. In South Africa, it’s pronounced “doo toy” because over time it’s become an Afrikaans name, and the Dutchies never found a French name they couldn’t fuck up.  Seriously:  “François” (“frahns swah”) becomes “”Franche Wah” and “Labuschagne” (pronounced like champagne) becomes the awful “Laboo-Skachni” — the -ch pronounced like the Scottish “loch”.

When I came over to the U.S. I decided to revert back to the (correct) French pronunciation because nobody could spell it anyway, and I happened to prefer the French manner because it sounds kinda classy and it’s all about branding, folks.  Also, the chicks thought it was super-sexy, and that’s all that counts, really.

On the day I was sworn in as a proud U.S. citizen, the clerk at the federal court asked me, before printing out my certificate, whether I wanted to change my last name.  Clearly, this would be popular with someone named, oh, “Krmczyl” or “Psmith” — or “du Toit”/”Dutoit”, for that matter.  Had I known this was possible ahead of time, I might have considered it quite seriously:  Dutton?  Dawson?  but that would have created problems should I ever have to get access to any South African documents (as I did, much later).  For continuity’s sake, therefore I said, “No, let me keep it just the way it is.”

So here we are.

And people wonder why I swear so much and am perpetually irritable.

Update:  a couple of folks have asked for a phonetic pronunciation of “Du Toit”.

Doo Twah (with a short “ah”)

Random Totty

Gratuitous Chick Pics

This is Tina O’Brien, who plays yesterday’s totty Lucy Fallon’s mother (!!!) on Coronation Street.  (She is, by the way, only eighteen or so years older than Lucy in real life, so technically at least, the age difference isn’t that close– especially for the working-class Corrie.)  Nevertheless:

And as an architect might say, the rear aspect is not too unpleasant either:

Lovely.

But as the old saying from Alabama goes:  “With a Momma like that, you shoot yer Daddy and make yer own brothers and sisters.”

I report, you decide.

Stumped

Friends and Family

We had Doc Russia and his exquisite wife over for dinner last Saturday, and as always, a really good time was had by all, what with funny stories, jokes, lengthy discussions on interesting topics, all enhanced by one of New Wife’s excellent cooking choices (roast pork nom nom nom) and shall we say a sufficiency of booze.

One conversation was really interesting, and it revolved around the question:  “If you had $3,000 spare, what would you buy?”

The immediate stipulation (made by Mrs. Doc Russia and endorsed by New Wife) was “No guns”, which stopped both spouses in their tracks.

It’s not that we have all we desire — far from it — and we could spend a lot more than three grand on, for example, a new car.  But both Doc and I have no actual need for a lot of things (outside guns).

In bygone times, I might have been seduced by the acquisition of a watch, say this lovely Longines Equestrian piece for New Wife:

…except that while she thinks it’s a lovely watch, she’s perfectly happy with the one she has (Olivia Burton Floral, $140) and sees no reason to own another, at any price.

As do I, because having acquired my Tissot Heritage manual, I see no reason ditto.


(I should point out that the above costs less than $500, and since getting it my desire to own any other watch has, amazingly, disappeared.)

I should point out that the question stumped both Doc and Mrs. Doc as well.  She talked about jewellery, being a woman, but although also a woman, New Wife has no interest in any of that stuff (“I own enough, and don’t want any more.”)  I am sure as hell not in the market for that crap, either.

Well, if not a watch or jewellery, then what?

A few decent knives?  Honestly, no.  As much as one could never have too many knives (or guns), I can honestly say I can’t see spending that amount on bladed stuff because my modest knife collection is perfectly adequate for all my needs and wants (see sample below).


(that’s my “Crossing America” selection)

The “no gun” restriction was proving to be a pain in the ass, but in the end, I settled for a vacation for New Wife and myself, in essence deciding to buy memories.  A 10-day trip to, say, Montana’s Glacier National Park or the Bitterroot Mountains:

Or (if we wanted to leave the country), there’s always the option of seven days in Montreal or Quebec City — I know, I know, but she’s never been to either place, and I love Montreal.

Both the above would cost around the $3,000 amount, and would leave us with a treasure trove of lovely scenery and fine dining.

Have to say, though, it sure would be hell not to be able to buy that Colt Single Action Army:

Anyway, what say you, O My Readers?  On what would you spend three grand, assuming guns were off the table?

Better Or Worse?

Lifestyle, Technology

I suppose enough time has passed since cell phones became cheap and therefore ubiquitous to ponder the question:  is life better with cell phones?  Denise Van Outen thinks not:

Denise Van Outen reckons smartphones have killed the fun of the hedonistic ’90s as revellers’ antics are now being recorded instead of remembered.

The 50-year-old actress and telly host made her name as one of the ballsiest women on TV more than a quarter of a century ago – partying with the likes of Sara Cox and Zoe Ball.

But the mum-of-one is now lamenting the loss of the ‘Cool Britannia’ decade – and blames the likes of Apple for sucking the joy out of life.She blasted: “We never had access to everything on our smartphone. So, you’d go out and you’d just be in the moment and really enjoy it. I remember going to the big festivals like Glastonbury and Reading and you wouldn’t have your phone with you, you wouldn’t be videoing anything.

“I think people are starting to see now that smartphones can be a hindrance and stop people actually enjoying themselves.”

“And I think we’re gradually getting to a stage where a lot of people… for example, if you’re going to a party – are putting on invites that it’s a ‘No phone policy’.

I dunno.  I find myself hopelessly conflicted about the whole cellular phone business.  Never mind an early adopter, I put off buying one of the things for years, until Connie actually forced me into getting one.  So I had a Nokia flip phone for years until my kids finally shamed me into getting a smartphone.

But maybe that’s just me.  As someone who guards his privacy fiercely (I know, this blog yadda yadda yadda), I don’t like being at someone else’s beck and call, and at least the advent of caller ID made things bearable because I could decide whether or not to take the call.

And cell phones — at least the smart ones — put in an appearance quite long after I’d semi-retired;  I cannot imagine having one in a workplace environment, and finding out that no matter where I happened to be, I was still in the office.

Ugh.

That said, there have been times that being connected to the outside world has had its advantages — a couple of emergencies, helping the kids out of a jam, etc. — so yes, there’s that.  And I can see that for some jobs (e.g. realtor) cell phones have been a tremendous help to productivity.  I remember going to the airport during the early 1990s (when I did most of my business travel) and feeling sorry for those souls who were glued to pay phones (remember them?), contacting clients, the office, family etc. in those few minutes before takeoff.  For them — the people whom Woody Allen in a rare moment of actual humor termed “connectivity assholes” — there’s no doubt that the cell phone has been a boon.

I remain unconvinced, however, that the conveeeenience of the cell phone has been that much of an improvement to society.  And I resent like hell the intrusiveness of the things, enabling the outside world to contact me whether or not I feel like being contacted at all, let alone by people I have no wish to communicate with (politicians, pollsters, scam artists etc.)

I’m not a Luddite by any stretch, by the way.  I embraced email, for example, with a vengeance and to this day I prefer to communicate by that method instead of a phone call.

But I’m a reluctant user of the phone — any phone, not just cell phones, mind you — so don’t expect me to sing its praises.

And the lovely Denise has that part right:  going out is a much better experience without a cell phone.  We all used to make fun of Japanese tourists who experienced their entire trip through the lens of their Pentax.

Now, of course, we are all Japanese, who have to record our every experience lest we forget it.

What bollocks.