And she seems like such a nice person:
“To you and me, Shelly, a link is just a link. To a guy, however, a link is something special, a part of himself. The most, um, important part of himself.”
“Mags, are you telling me that guys equate links with their dicks?”
“Shelley, to a woman, a link is a way of connecting and being connected. To hearing and being heard. But not so for a guy. Guys see links as power, and therefore something precious, and to be protected. They hold on to their links as tightly, and as lovingly, as a thirsty drunk holds onto a bottle.”
At that moment I had a mental image, of a male weblogger I know, carefully adding a link to his post, bright, feral grin on his face, manic glaze to his eyes. But instead of typing into a keyboard he was . . . oh, that's disgusting!
Never mind that it's funny. Which I suspect is far more a blow to the ego than the, um, link thing.
Dicks are nothing to laugh at.
She stopped wiping the counter and leaned closer to me, lowering her voice. “The power-link guys have a word for men who link just to link,” she whispered. “They call them linkless.”
The more I thought on Mags’ words, though, the more I could see the truth in them. Much that has confused me about this environment is explained if one considers for a moment that some men think of links as some form of virtual penis.
Sites such as Technorati become the internet version of a locker room, where the guys can hang around, comparing themselves to each other. Those that come up short look at their better endowed brothers with both envy and admiration; sucking up in order to increase their own stature.
When we women ask the power-linkers why they don't link to us more, what we're talking about is communication, and wanting a fair shot of being heard; but what the guys hear is a woman asking for a little link love. Hey lady, do you have what it takes? More important, are you willing to give what it takes?
Oops. Not funny anymore. I mean, Shelley is, her writing is . . . but in truth, my case of heartsick is permanent. Not for myself, but for all whom I hold dear.
More truth? Okay: I just can't get it through my head there is a gender comfortable with, even finding preferable, the exchange of money for sex.
Talk about aloneness. Who will be my boon companion?
If I am a woman, whom, then shall I love?
