Monday, August 13, 2012

Alpha Move: Secure The Perimeter/Red Pill Anniversary Phase II

One annoying thing about the systematic demasculization of the American male over the last 40 years is the loss of expectation for men to act like protectors of their women and their castle -- the three boyfriends who gallantly sacrificed themselves for their women in the Colorado shooting being obvious exceptions.  .

Our society has de-emphasized a man's need to protect and defend largely because (under the sway of the Blue Pill) it was Assumed that men who knew such arcane matters of violence were more likely to use them to do violence to women than protect women from violence.  Along with the "equalization" of Marriage 2.0 came the idea that it wasn't a man's responsibility, necessarily, to go down the stairs with a baseball bat in the middle of the night in response to a strange noise.

Of course, while that was the Blue Pill narrative, the Red Pill reality was that women who witnessed their husbands, in a fit of equality, hand the baseball bat back them, they lost attraction for their dudes regardless of who eventually went down the stairs to confront the intruding zombies.

Now I'm not saying it's every man's responsibility to ensure the safety of every woman, regardless of the circumstances -- but when it comes to your wife, your home, your castle -- you'd better be able to protect and defend it, independent of the police or "security systems".  Because if you can't, it doesn't matter how witty you are at dinner parties or how much money you make, you have failed in one of the primary -- and primal -- gender-deliniated duties of our species.  Protecting the nest.

I'm also not saying run out and buy a gun, unless you're into that sort of thing.  There are certainly advantages to firearm ownership, but I'm not going to make a case for home defense that way.  Because the best defense isn't a .357 Magnum, it's discouraging potential intruders in the first place, and then keeping them out.

In my case, Stately Ironwood Manner had a security hole, one that's been gnawing on me for some time.  The home was built in 1963, you see, and while it has been remodeled repeatedly since then, it still retained the original 1963 aluminum sliding glass door leading to the back yard.  I'm sure it was cutting edge technology, back before men landed on the moon, but almost fifty years of use has reduced it to a barely-sealable shadow of it's former robust self.  My eight-year-old demonstrated that a few weeks ago, when breaking into the sliding glass door proved easier than walking around the house to the carport door.

So . . . security flaw.  Not an obvious one, but just enough of one to create worry.  In me and in Mrs. I.  It wasn't a high priority, and we don't have anything of obvious value worth stealing, but still -- our perimeter was vulnerable, and we both knew it.  I had the choice of rigging yet-another jerry-rigged repair, or the alternative.  Whatever that was.

So last week, a few days after our anniversary, Mrs. Ironwood spent the weekend at her mother's house to help her recuperate from hand surgery.  I took the opportunity, while she was gone, to rip out the old sliding glass door and install double French doors (which, while technically aren't as secure as sliding glass doors, open up the room dramatically, don't leak, and have no less than three locking mechanisms for peace-of-mind.

It sounds so simple to say that "Rip out the old glass doors and replace them with French doors", like I was painting a hallway.  What it ended up being was a seven-hour project for me and the children, from start to finish.

It was a real bonding experience for me and the kids.  It was a secret surprise from Mommy, for one -- and that's never a bad thing -- not to mention the opportunity to tear up part of the house and then use power tools.  When we finally were done installing the locks and cleaning up the glass, we were all justifiably proud of our accomplishment.  (Kids are 8, 10, and 12, for those keeping score).

But the fun part was the reveal: Mrs. Ironwood walking in after dealing with her mother on drugs for three days, and seeing a beautiful set of french doors where the ugly old gray aluminum monstrosity used to look.  The double-take.  The dropped jaw.  The hug.  I had hung a "Anniversary Present #2" sign on it, and then the kids gave a dramatic blow-by-blow account of how we'd done it.  And I was proud to show off my half-way decent job of hanging a door without calling my brother Andy.

But that's not what was Alpha about the whole thing.  The Alpha part was when we were alone, and she bit her lip and asked "How much?"

And I said, "Enough so that I feel very, very secure now."

"Why?  There are so many other--"

"It needed to be done," I shrugged, interrupting.  "There was a hole in our perimeter.  I fixed it.  And it looks pretty."

"I know, I know, it's just . . . I didn't even have that on your list yet!"

"Which is why it made the perfect anniversary present.  Tonight you will sleep knowing that we won't be attacked by anyone as smart as an eight-year-old and murdered in our beds.  That should bring you some solace.  Although I'm not planning on you getting a lot of sleep, hint, hint."

"It does," she nodded, and kissed me for a while.  Details are unimportant.  But later she added, "It makes me hot when I know you're looking out for us like that.  My protector.  And you had to lift heavy things and use power tools and a sledgehammer."  Aww!  She knew what a sledgehammer was!  My little debutante has been paying attention to something other than my manly biceps.  Mrs. Ironwood can use tools.  That doesn't make her a natural tool user, and she's suitably impressed by that sort of thing.  "And you can barely even tell where you chipped the brick on the one side!  I'm very, very impressed.  Especially when we could have spent that money on a weekend of hotel sex, for instance."

"See, now I'm reconsidering," I admitted.  I suppose I hadn't thought about that.

"Don't," she encouraged.  "It was perfect.  And practical.  And Alpha.  And romantic, in a fucked-up sort of way.  Of course, the girls at work aren't going to see it that way -- but I told them about the picture frame--"

"See?  I told you Part I was going to be something you can show off!  Part II you can show off, too.  It's just not as overtly romantic.  Just wait until you see part III of your present," I assured her, smugly.  "You'll forget all about the French doors."

"Then go ahead and give it to me!" she urged, the way my daughter does when I won't tell her a secret.

"It's not done yet.  Besides, I want to bask in your appreciation for the French doors for a while.  I freakin' earned it today."

Secure your perimeter.  Make a show of it.  Every night make the rounds, ensure the doors are locked, the lights off, and the alarm armed (if you have one) before you come to bed. And when there is a hole in your perimeter . . . fix it.  Quickly.  And prominently.  If there are exterior lights burned out, replace them quickly.  Make sure you have fire extinguishers (we have 7) and smoke alarms (5), ensure that all windows can be secured, and even if you can't afford a commercial security service, a couple of stickers on the window and a stolen sign in the yard can give you 80% of what you pay for with them.  Make sure that there are no easy ways to get in your house without a key, then make sure you know the location of every key.  And no one comes into the house unless you meet them personally -- just had to have that talk with the Niece.

That's you, being Alpha and protecting your woman.  You don't have to beat your chest or buy a gun, you just have to be aware of the potential dangers and be willing to exert the effort to keep the nest safe from intrusion -- and that's a kind of security every woman values.


  1. Fear and ignorance of guns and their history is definitely part of the blue pill world and the demasculinization of the American male. You've got some blue on your shirt there...

    1. You are being too USA-centric. There are dozens of countries where civilians never could possess guns, yet men are just as manly there as it gets.

      There is a russian saying:
      "An armed sheep does not become a wolf. It just becomes one f''' up piece of lamb"

    2. I agree. I'm a proud gun owner and steadfast supporter of the 2nd Amendment. And there is definitely a means of using firearms to boost your Sex Rating, and I'm preparing a post on just that subject.

      However, out of respect and sensitivity over the recent senseless criminal shootings in the US, I didn't want to dwell on that in this particular post.

      I would also make the argument that the US is not only the most heavily armed nation in the world, we're also hardly a nation of lambs -- our boys spend thousands of hours every year practicing in combat simulations ("videogames"). When they are incited to action, they tend to be the baddest-assed wolves around.

    3. Ian, as you said - no sense discussing it here. Especially not in the light of stuff that happened.

      And no, I was not trying to insult a whole nation by calling it weak wholesale. As a Russian I do keep a bag full of opinions about Americans (as I am sure most americans do about "commies") - but I keep this bag to myself :)

      I just see a lot of people who would get a much greater boost to their masculinity by going into a boxing ring for a couple of rounds, than from all the guns in the world.

  2. About the biceps part...I assume you work out regularly, did you always do this, and does your wife work out too? I am not sure I read about maintaining a healthy lifestyle to maintain attractiveness on this particular blog.

    And the power tools part...what do you recommend for people who grew up in apartments and haven't had too much blue-collar experience?

    1. I work out semi-regularly, that is, when I can squeeze in the time. I usually go in spurts, actually, when I start feeling flabby a little extra hard work and less chocolate in my diet, and I'm good. Mrs. I works out as her health (she's recovering from a busted ankle and a recurrance of Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy -- a nasty neurological condition) and schedule permits. I suppose we should devote more time to it, but as long as neither one of us is complaining, I think we're good.

      As far as tools: having a functional toolbox and the knowledge of how to employ it effectively is a DHV I think gets underplayed constantly. Chicks dig guys who can fix stuff. So what should your basic toolbox have?

      For starters, get a real toolbox, something big and impressive. You'll fill it up all too soon. That's your basic toolkit for home repairs, and it should include:

      a screwdriver set
      a trim hammer (that's the "regular" hammer, not the waffle-headed framing hammer-- that's a specialized tool)
      Needle nose pliers
      regular pliers
      monkey (pipe) wrench for plumbing repairs
      duct tape ("It's like the Force: it has a light side, a dark side, and it binds the universe together")
      adjustable wrench
      cordless drill
      screw driver bits for drill
      complete drill bit index
      assorted nails and screws, plus picture hangers (I've gotten laid from hanging a picture before -- long story)
      utility knife (carpet knife)

      Those should handle most stuff you encounter. If you want to add wiring to your list, add some wire cutters and strippers and some wire nuts. More plumbing, add some Teflon tape, some solder, and a blowtorch (which you can also use in the kitchen).

      For your automotive toolkit, include:

      socket set
      adjustable wrench
      needle nose pliers
      air pressure guague
      1 gallon of water
      duct tape (see note above)
      jumper cables

      I'm sure I'm forgetting a few things, but that should get you started. If you aren't sure how to use these tools, there's plenty of good How-To videos on YouTube and at sites like Lowe's and Home Depot to help out.

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