Dr David, Editor / Publisher

So many years ago, at the height of my medical practice back in Connecticut, for a brief while I had as my secretary LJ, a pretty young lady whose parents owned the largest psychotherapy practice in town. I don't know how many exactly, but they had a lot of therapists working in their offices. I had a number of therapists working in my office, a lovely, large, Neo-Victorian house. The bottom two storeys were devoted to my practice. The third floor, the former servant's quarters, was were I lived.

Previously the third floor was a warren of little rooms. During my divorce I got an axe and started swinging; things began to open up. Up on a small hill, the former Vanderbilt estate, the western view was marvelous. I put in a 12 foot wide window. Life was good.

LJ and I made a party, inviting friends, all her parents people and all of mine, clients and patients included. I locked up my administrative office, but the rest of the house was all open. On the first floor the sauna and hot tub were running. On the second, in the big room (formerly a living and dining room, now combined) we had a four-piece Jazz band. In the spacious kitchen we had a chef and my six-burner Wolf range and oven turning out delectables. On the third floor we had a large supply of hallucinogenic mycelium, given to me as interest on a loan; a do it yourself electric smoothie station; add honey, soy milk, hit frappe. I was in my glory.

In attendance was one of my patients, who, back in the day had been very active in the Women's Liberation Movement, a real bra-burner. She had gone on to enjoy great success in real estate, and was very active in charitable causes; I remember a home for unwed mothers. Swishing past her and a small group of women she asked, "David you understand women. Tell us, what do women want?" I'll tell you what women want," I offered without missing a beat, "Women don't know what they want." They received this with very thoughtful consideration, as a truth revealed.

Now, of course, we are speaking in the largest of stereotypes, but even so, allow me to defend my assertion. Women have a harder time making decisions because they see the whole picture. Men have an easier time making decisions because we don't. 2 women are standing around the cake trying to decide which way to best cut it, wedges or squares. A man comes up and whacks off a chunk. "Why did you cut it that way?" they curiously inquire. "I wanted a piece," he cluelessly responds.

Of course, individual variance is large. In the great middle of the bell curve there is not much difference between men and women, but at the extremes there is. The great majority of people in jail for violent crimes are men. Women tend to be more nurturing.

Asserting even that there are innate (neurological, hormonal...) differences between men and women is enough to get you shouted down and banned from college campuses as a misogynist these days. Despite the enormous, definitive body of evidence to the contrary, kids are being taught that gender and everything else is fluid, only a matter of choice.

No one is studying the issue. It's conclusive: boys are innately different than girls. You can dress little Johnny in a dress and give him only dolls to play with, but when you turn your back he'll pick up a tree branch and start playing with it as a gun: "Bang, bang..."

Having lost in the scientific arena, Marxist university professors (once you say "university professors" do you have to say "Marxist"?) are taking the fight to the courts. Their idea is simple; humans are blank slates upon which society writes. This idea, that they were creating a new humanity justified Stalin and Mao in the murder of hundreds of millions of their own citizens... and the deaths were miserably slow. But, when you believe you are creating a new world, you aren't deterred by the need to eliminate a few hundred million people who, after all, as part of the problem, are standing in the way. (This discussion is closely following Jordan Peterson.)

The father-in-law of my best friend in medical school told him to beware of two times of the month, ovulation and premenstrual. I feel very in touch with my feminine side. I have my emotional ups and downs. What I don't have is a menstrual cycle. My ups and downs don't have a cycle. For no reason at all I wake up or go to bed feeling sad. I make mountains out of molehills.

The heartbeat may be irregular in two manners: regularly irregular or irregularly irregular. A menstrual cycle is a regular irregularity. I am irregularly irregular. It's hard. Last week I turned to my girlfriend and I said, "I think I'm getting my luna [moon, period]."

Again, it's painting with a very broad brush, but I'm a little jealous of women's regular hormonal irregularities. Mine are so without pattern.

That pretty young secretary of mine, didn't like the fact that I was (respectfully) flirting with her, but boys will be boys. It was when Monica Lewinsky was in the news. She quit without complaint or notice and made a complaint to the Human Rights Commission. I called her college without walls to find out if they had had any problems with her. I explained my situation and when I told the woman LG's name she sighed deeply and told me, "I know her well. I alternated between feeling very, very sorry for her and feeling very, very sorry for us." In front of the Human Rights Commission I asked LG if she ever told me that my flirting had made her uncomfortable, if she had ever asked me to stop. She admitted that she hadn't. The Commission members didn't want to hear any more. That right there was the end of the hearing. Case closed.

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photo: Alessandro Bo (cropped)

Dr. David welcomes you to San Miguel Sunday. Anyone with any interest in contributing articles is heartily encouraged to contact him at the email below. The "Best City in the World" deserves a good Lokkal magazine.