23 year old men

Ah, how the weekends do fly by. Especially when you sleep in until 11 o'clock so you have very little daylight to work with. This past weekend was a pleasant, low key one, which began with the viewing of Jack Black's newest flick "Nacho Libre". Black's corpulent, often half naked body was featured prominently in the film and his accent varied from the intended Mexican to some kind of Californian surfer-dude inflection. There were midgets. A couple of times I thought the movie had momentarily morphed into "School of Rock". Overall this movie was hilarious; I laughed so hard I cried within the first half hour. It was written and directed by the same guys that did Napoleon Dynamite, so if you liked that movie you will enjoy this one. And if you like seeing people get hit by beehives, you will like this movie. And finally, if the thought of Jack Black flexing his buttocks to the extent that his "slacks" ride halfway up his ass appeals to you, again, you will like this movie.
On Saturday I went to the Jazz Cellar at Broadway and Dunbar with a very good friend. If you have not been and are looking for an ideal, romantic date I highly recommend! The music was fantastic, the venue was very cozy and I think most people thought that my girlfriend and I were lesbians. That's okay, it would not be the first time that had happened. I'll not regale you with the entire story now, let's just sum it up by saying: no matter how frenetic your schedule is, it's never a good idea to go out for dinner with your friend of the same sex on Valentine's Day.
After the jazz club we decided to go for a drink in the neighborhood. This, strangely, proved far more difficult than one would have thought. It would appear that every young person in Vancouver was at a Hallowe'en party on Saturday night, and all the pubs, bars and various dens of iniquity were DEAD. We finally got roped into going into the Copper Tank by a very assertive employee of said establishment and, because it was raining and it appeared gay friendly, we decided to go in. Ah memories of the Sandcastle! There was a live band (badly) playing country music with a few top forty thrown in. Happy nostalgia. Some people were dressed up, and irony of ironies, one fellow was going as Napoleon Dynamite. Excellent. So we stayed for a drink and then my friend excused herself to go to the loo. I focused on the hockey game and, lo and behold, after I had been left by myself for three minutes a young man came over to me and said "Are you really married?", to which I turned, saw that he had kind of a cute Gord Downie thing going on and was at least five years younger than me, and said "yes, I am". Not to be deterred, he came up with one that was new to me "Like married married, or going to the bar married". Ah, young grasshopper. I replied "Take me you starving UBC student. I like your jaunty cap". No, I actually responded "Like married married", to which he said... come on, guess. Just guess! He said "cool" and then left. Cool indeed. Then my friend came back with a similar story as to how another youngster in the bar had declared that he loved her as she walked past. We left shortly thereafter, but I was left with questions, as I always am. Especially after tax exams.
Here are my scattered ruminations and unintelligible thoughts. What are 23 year old menboys thinking when they hit on women that are a least a handful of years older than them? Are they that sexually confident? Are they bringing something to the table that I happened to miss out on when I had my one night stands oh so many years ago? More specifically, are they in it for themselves, or are they interested in ensuring that whoever they manage to persuade into bed has as much fun as they do? The next day I had this conversation with Michael, with my argument being that the young guys are likely hopeless and the sex would be inadequate and that I don't understand where their confidence comes from. Michael basically said I was frigid. He suggested a scenario in which an unbelievably good looking guy takes home a woman who is enraptured by his looks and, while maybe she doesn't have as much "fun" as he does, the night can be passionate nonetheless because he is attentive and tries hard and is so good looking that it doesn't matter. I said, "Oh. Where are these men?". My solution to this whole inadequate one night stand sex was this: men should have scorecards. When women sleep with men, they can rate the various activities on a scale of one to ten, tally it up and maybe leave a comment or two. You know, something like "Johnny shows potential, and should be encouraged to try new things" or "if it weren't for the stellar toe-sucking, Dave should be taken out and shot". A guy, such as my 23 year old Gord Downie, would approach a girl, they can flirt harmlessly and then she can request to see the score cards. He will produce them, she can review his ratings, see where he excels and lacks, maybe make a couple of phone calls to check his references and then decide if she wants to go home with him. I think it works. I think I may add it to my election platform, which will now be comprised of:
1) huge tax credits for purchasing fuel efficient cars
2) ensuring separation of church and government
3) organizing a team of stealthy, elite ninjas to kill George Bush, Dick Cheney, Karl Rove, Ann Coulter, Rush Limbaugh, Tucker Carlson and Conrad Black
4) revising the Income Tax act from 2,800 pages to 100
5) legalization and regulation of marijuana and prostitution
6) a score-card review systems for one night stands
Hey, you might not agree entirely, but it's better than Stephen Harper!