When it comes to cultural diversity, I say woot, woot. Adam Carolla has my back. “We’re different, and that’s a good thing,” he writes. “Why is it that the same people who beat the celebrate-differences drum when it comes to cultures refuse to acknowledge the biggest cultural difference on the planet? Men and women.”
The title of Carolla’s book is not indirect. It’s “In Fifty Years We’ll All Be Chicks.” OK, it’s essentially a 250-page standup rant that you actually have to jog your eyes over rather than watching with a nice bucket of Schlitzes. But Carolla, who says that when he was in fifth grade “my reading level was at zygote” (not coincidentally, he is a product of singing-and-ceramics-based ’70s hippie “alternative schooling” that provided an alternative to learning anything) has keen political instincts and a vision for common sense that place him closer to P.J. O’Rourke and H.L. Mencken than Jay Leno.
Carolla’s book is about a lot of things. There are bits on snooze buttons and microwaves and hospital gowns. But he keeps circling back to the main point, which is: Why are men acting like women? (Related: Do women really want this?)
The first warning sign was the disappearance of the gym rope — that unclimbable symbol of aspiration and frustration, each climber left alone to achieve shame or glory. “Most of the kids couldn’t make it to the top. But that wasn’t the point,” Carolla writes. “The point was you had to try while some middle-aged guy in a windbreaker who couldn’t make it up a flight of stairs yelled at you. At some point somebody decided the ropes needed to be removed. Sparing the kids the rod is a good thing. Sparing them the rope is a horrible idea. We should have put Lardo on that rope, given him a three-Mississippi head start, and then sent a subway rat scurrying after him.”
While testosterone-crazed young males of yesteryear gazed at the top of the rope, wondering, “Could I be the first one to get up this hempen monster?”, today’s kids are spending that hour of gym learning about the proper wear of a bike helmet or being made to sit out the soccer game because they forgot to pack sunblock.
Twenty years later, women realize they miss the rope climbers. “Guys,” writes Carolla, “used to have stories where they said, ‘This son of a bitch spilled a drink on my old lady at the bar, so I got in his face and said, “If you’re looking for trouble, you found it.” ’ ” Now, he says, “Dudes tell stories that go, ‘I honked at a guy and he got out of his car so I called 911. But I got a busy signal, so I locked myself in and hit the OnStar button.’ What happened to the bull – – – t factor where you at least pretended to be a guy?”
You hear it all the time from women who love “Mad Men”: “Of course I wouldn’t want to go back to a time where sexism was rife and women were playthings but . . .” Cue the dreamy look in the eye, the dazed twirling of hair. Do we all have to be neuter Mattel figures? Not all manly urges are counterproductive. Some obnoxious guys in bars need to be slugged.
And some office problems could be solved with a feminine face slap. “Anybody can sue for sexual harassment because it is completely subjective,” writes Carolla. Picture an office where there’s a Cool Guy and a Creepy Guy. Attractive receptionist comes in wearing tight new jeans. Carolla writes: “Cool Guy comments, ‘Somebody’s been working out.’ She replies, ‘Oh, it’s only the jeans.’ Cool Guy looks her up and down and says, ‘You do have good genes.’ She laughs.
“Now, same scenario with Creepy Guy. Receptionist walks in, Creepy Guy says, ‘Hey Kelly, nice jeans.’ And she marches straight off to Human Resources to file a report.” Rather than enforce a no-fun policy in the workplace, surely it would be more satisfying (and effective) for Kelly to deal with Creepy Guy herself, via a slap in the chops.
Here’s something else a Cool Guy is cool about: politicians. When Barack Obama appeared in his magical hope-halo, the country shrieked like little girls at a playground. Life would be just like that school Carolla went to as a kid: We’d all form a big singing circle and forget about the nasty outer world — a world with invisible gym ropes everywhere, where people were mean and competed and not everyone could be a winner.
“The only person who can change your life is you,” writes Carolla. “It’s so naive and pathetic every four years when an election comes up and I have to watch all the formerly intelligent people around me go bananas for one candidate . . . a good economy and not being depressed are the only things anyone should ever care about.”
In Fifty Years We’ll All Be Chicks
. . . And Other Complaints from an Angry Middle-Aged White Guy
by Adam Carolla
Crown Archetype