What (some) blokes think about women, steaks and dads
May 29, 2006 Edition 1
Vivien Horler
82 mistakes women make (with men)
Paul Kerton (Spearhead)
293 things every SA man should know
Dennis Cavernelis
I can do that - fitness for the lazy guy
Blair Ludbrook
In search of SA's perfect woman
Kevin McCallum (Two Dogs)
Who's Paul Kerton, and who thinks he can tell us women what we do wrong?
The former editor of SA Playboy magazine and launch editor of Men's Health, Kerton says in a foreword that he had planned to write a book about the 1 001 mistakes men make with women, or even the 2 002 ways men turn women off, but then decided to be less ambitious.
Kerton tells us earnestly that one tiny irritating thing often builds up over time until your man snaps.
"Next minute he does something drastic like getting on a plane to the Cayman Islands, leaving you stood there stunned on the doorstep, telling the local press, 'I don't know why he left. He went out to get a paper and never came back'."
Among the mistakes he lists are: thinking you're fat when you're not really ("He likes you, he wants to have sex with you, so don't insult his choice of woman by running yourself down"); refusing to dress up for sex (dressing up is apparently one of the quickest ways to send a man into a fit of sexual euphoria); wanting to be "just friends" ("this is probably the worst thing you can say to a man apart from 'call that a penis?'"); standing between him and the TV; never farting ("this is a mystery to most men ... what do you do with the gas?").
Then there's loitering with intent outside jewellery shops, saying "I love you" too soon, ironing creases in his jeans, faking orgasms and saying "yes" when you mean "no".
We'll all plead a sheepish mea culpa to some of these accusations, but along with the laughs there are quite a few points to ponder.
Two Dogs Press, a man's imprint from Struik, has published what looks like a slew of laddish books, although behind the jokes they have some serious content.
Cape Times arts journalist Dennis Cavernelis has listed the 293 things every man should know (why 293?) - from what beats a flush at poker to why girth beats length and how to undo a bra one-handed.
He describes how to tell if a steak is done without cutting it: press your finger into it lightly, then touch your head. A well-done steak should feel as firm as your forehead, a medium steak as firm as the end of your nose, and a rare steak as firm as the point of your chin.
And if you're in a relationship with a woman, Cavernelis warns, you'll annoy her if you do things like leaving your beard trimmings in the basin, leaving dirty laundry where it falls, and not acknowledging the existence of the toilet brush.
Kevin McCallum, chief sports writer for the Star newspaper, gets paid to travel the world, drink beer and watch sport. This gives him the authority to describe the perfect woman - or so he says. One definition of a perfect woman (which he claims is not his own) is one who is three-foot tall with a flat head and roller skates "so you can put your empty beer bottle on her head and push her to the fridge to get another one".
McCallum says the perfect woman is a slip of a person, who probably has a few extra bits she would rather you didn't talk about.
She makes you tingle when she walks into a bedroom and rich when she walks into a boardroom, and she understands beer and soccer.
Sounds a bit optimistic to me, but McCallum's written a funny book, and everyone knows the perfect woman has a great sense of humour.
Another book in this series is I Can Do That - Fitness for the Lazy Guy by Blair Ludbrook, a personal trainer now based in Germany, who takes the couch potato through the basics of getting both mentally and physically fit, with the aim of running the Knysna Half-Marathon, swimming the Midmar Mile, or riding the Cape Argus Pick 'n Pay Cycle Tour. It can be done, or so they say.
And lastly, there's My Dad - by South African Sons, which is made up of essays by the likes of Lucas Radebe, Justin Fox and Arnold Geerdts. These are fond, often moving memoirs.
Vivien Horler
