Ja, we publiceren ook wel eens wat in het Engels. Soms zijn er stukken die we graag willen hebben die ofwel vrijwel onvertaalbaar zijn omdat dan de essentie verloren gaat, zoals onderstaand artikel, ofwel gericht zijn op een Engelstalige doelgroep (of gewoon omdat we het wel willen publiceren maar niet de tijd en mankracht hebben voor een goede vertaling). Hoe dan ook, voor degenen die geen Engels lezen, sorry!
When one meets the other spontaneously for lunch, one, nor the other, wants to spend an hour looking for a place to satisfy one’s other cravings than the ones one is usually accustomed to.
And yet! Today, my male companion and I spent móre than an hour going from one place to yet another, desperately seeking lunch in the form of real food.
Both being the kind of beings who prefer high quality, we instead had to swallow a high quantity of lunch venues not only primarily aimed at the tastes of the modern mainstream female population, although the problem with the latter is that it rarely contains any real food.
All lunch cafés seemed to be clones of one another, albeit each occupying a certain niche; or better said: taken that niche hostage within a certain amount of square kilometres. A good example to illustrate this phenomenon is the huge amount of coffee shops, where the mere difference remains the type of cup the coffee is served into, with or without the cookie.
The same seems to be happening with places where one can order lunch. Many, many of them keep on piling up on top of the breakfast plots, but one can’t yet speak of a variety, nor originality. The menus closely follow one food fad after another, with an unworthy price tag attached to the digestion conscious.
I live in a country where bread is the main course of the day, three times a day most of days. For me “grabbing” lunch, nor any other meal, actually consists of sitting down, and enjoying. My constant search to find something new and inspirational, and sharing the experience with wonderful company incased in the body of a man.
Well, something which should’ve been a celebration of life, uncensored, turned out to be a disaster for both of our genders. Especially for the “weaker” sex walking on high heels.
At one point our desperation reached such high notes, that I ended suggesting walking into a random place (preferably vegan) and ordering half a cow. For well, let’s name it and face it: majority of the options presented were the outflow of “modern developments”, and in most cases those are definitely not my cup of tea.
Luckily my breakfast was excellent this morning, and bigger than usual. Otherwise the search for lunch would’ve made me cranky. Thank goodness for men! (And their sense of direction.) My companion broke the vicious cycle with the proclamation: “That’s it! This is what we will do!!!”
He led us into a fine charcuterie, from where which we exited loaded with yumminess.
Yet, this rapid change of lunch spots right in the innermost gut of the city alarmed me. “Super” food smoothies with China seeds and freaka powder? Give me a break. Who is buying into any of this bull? What happened to the authentic, real food? Undiluted, purely grown or raised, in balance with nature’s elements?
Another alarming observation was the fact that the majority of those places were “chick” oriented. The cackle of primarily female clients was deafening and resembled a chicken barn, where the menus mainly focused on yoghurt cures.
“Where are the cocks?”, one starts to wonder, almost making the fatal mistake of doing so out loud. Are all men being grilled? Their testosterone levels are plummeting daily! A closely orchestrated agenda of making the “male-oriented world view” go extinct? Men are the problem, right? I saw a pitiful display within my inner eye: the majority of male population going hungry, on all possible levels. Are they nowadays secretly devouring that coveted piece of meat, hidden in a dark corner of some broom closet, fearing being caught by their over-controlling woman, who, of course can’t help herself, and views all animal products as “a crime of inhumanity” and “politically incorrect”? ….
It seems as if people are so out of control with their lives and their environment, they need to over-control their bodies, and those of others as well. How often haven’t one heard people say they feel guilty about eating a piece of cheese? Yet, the vegans of San Francisco consider it to be well-done to fly-in vegan cheese, tasting like goat excrements, all the way from Switzerland.
Speaking of pangs.
“Slow” food is luckily winning in pace. Who ever thought of a concept of “friendship” involving apples flown in from a “neighbour” 15.000 kms away? While those growing in your, around the corner neighbour’s backyard, are being exported to a “neighbour” 4.000 kms southwards? Where’s the logic?
When deer meat from an over-deer-populated forest few kilometers away lands in stores and on menus of local restaurants, this juicy, fresh, delicious meat is being met with local outrage from the “environmentally conscious”. Yet, deer steak all the way from Hunmarry is no problem at all.
This afternoon lunch attempt, the “feminized” menus, which I, the woman, refuse to put in my mouth, let alone swallow; the lack of originality; the ridiculous prizes of meals served, the incessant cackle of females which made my companion and me, the female, cringe. And I am not even speaking of the display of bad table manners nor the personnel who is there in the first place to show you how much better they consider themselves to be when compared to you, the paying -of-their-salaries client (who is serving whom, may I dare ask?) All of it is, well, worrying, and what’s also more worrying: it makes some think…further than the obviously displayed.
For the paradox remains: the more pseudo-feminine a society becomes, the more women-unfriendly it becomes, which in turn amplifies the male-unfriendliness agenda.
In our self-proclaimed “modern” world, where the woman is less and less allowed to express the full scale of her feminine madness (as that’s the best word to describe the indescribable), no man will be moved to feel the need to keep standing, fully centered, amidst the feminine chaos of deliciously extreme emotions not bordering on any logic.
No, he will just rub genitals with her now and then, male buddy-wise and she will be the one paying the bill for both, for after all, that is “politically correct” and “independent”, although it truly feels like shit to both of them.
Today, I had a sudden and shocking realization that it’s not the masculinity that is primarily attacked in our worldwide society. It is the authentic feminine. For after all: it is through this path that the masculine is reached, slain, ground, and made into one-size-fits-all sausage (which then gets bashed by vegans of both genders, no matter their sexual orientation, only to end in a remake version including batteries and on and off buttons.)
Politically correct version of authentic feminine
The authentic feminine is being rapidly replaced by the socially accepted and politically correct version, which rejects the authentic masculinity in the process, through primarily repeating to the females that they should embrace the masculine energy of competing with the other male half of themselves, which is also situated right inside their very beings, on both sides, males included.
Authentic masculinity and authentic femininity are being pushed to the outskirts of society, where one grins and bears it, suffering in silence; fearing the pain will somehow have the ability to insult the audience once expressed.
Men, especially, are so socially conscious and getting-laid-sensitive, that they are becoming more often afraid (than not) to be labeled “bad guy” by the ultimate (and ultimately unashamed) “bad gals”, who continue to measure everything with double standards, while screaming from the top of their lungs that men, who have no shame, are the ones doing it!
“There’s something wrong with you, man! Adjust! Or perish.”
But whenever they, the “aware” females, have the extra time to spare (and they always find that extra time to spare!), they tell me, the woman, that there’s also something dreadfully wrong with me, for I flirt, enjoy my sensuality, allow men to be men (primarily by driving them to extremes, where real art is always found), and yes! By eating animal products! And not getting de-light-ed by the prospect of having to spend my lunch packed in a barn with cackling chickens stuffing themselves on “power” seeds flown all the way from regions populated by starving individuals.
You never liked Sex and the City nor Friends? You don’t read the glossies? You are not buying into any of those gender clichés? Well, then to hell with you.
Do you still want to stay a woman amid a drowning world where transgender females have more social equality than you, the woman, has ever dreamed of? Then hold on to the remains of your continent, now a diminishing island, circled by sharks, mostly of female gender. Accept your fate! And do so without questioning.
Enfin. I feel sorry for men.
A world without real women is hell.