Radical Honesty & #MeToo in "No Judgement Zone"

(756 words)

I was at Planet Fitness — the ballyhooed “No Judgement Zone!” — the other morning when I broke three unwritten rules in 20 seconds, any one of which could have led to my banishment.

First, I made eye contact with a pretty girl. What I’m about to say will sound preposterous to any member of the Greatest Generation, but making eye contact with a pretty girl today is the danger equivalent to storming Omaha Beach.

These are fraught #MeToo times. If a pretty girl senses I’m engaged in what used to be called “reckless eyeballin,’” she could signal gym musclemen to give me a crippling wedgie from which I’d never recover..

Sure, given my current daintiness, most women — hell, most kittens — could do the job themselves, but beating the stuffing out of me might interfere with their routine so some outsourcing would be in order.

But I didn’t just stop with with the eye contact. Nope. I kept upping the ante.

I told this pretty girl she looked great — she did — then I put my arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

The only reason I’m not right now in jail is that the pretty girl is my own darling 18-year-old daughter and we’re still chummy enough to permit public displays of affection.

Clearly, I’ve made some foolhardy mistakes in my life, but that little gym interlude — it was a chance meeting — comforts me in knowing I did a bang-up job on the job that matters most.

And it’s an ever-loving pity that job we all agree matters the very most pays the very least.

Less than even blogging!

Maybe I was so jazzed because, truly, I fear what might ensue if a pretty woman suspected I might be engaged in any libidinous leering. 

It’s so odd to me because virtually all the men and women who go to gyms do so to make themselves more fit and thus appealing to the opposite sex (or the same sex for roughly 5 percent of the population).

But we’re becoming terrified of saying so.

I’m friends with an older author who when he sees an attractive woman, tells her, “I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you are. I sense you are careful about your appearance and I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”

And the women melt.

It’s very classy and evidence of how a charming turn of phrase can bamboozle even highly intelligent women because I know the guy to be a filthy letch, a real hound.

Me? Before I was married, I’d resort to subtle humor. I’d approach a pretty girl and with a face of utter sincerity say, “Was it as difficult for you being born beautiful … as it was for me?”

It never worked but it taught me this much about pretty women: Pretty women love to laugh. Hard.

I mention all this now because I fear we’re on the verge of a bitter backlash where people will — damn the torpedoes — say and do whatever the hell they feel like.

Call it Radical Honesty. It’s the bullshit brainchild of Dr. Brad Blanton, maybe the most obnoxious cocksucker I’ve ever met.

See? That’s my half-hearted attempts at Radical Honesty, a practice Blanton describes as “the best way to reduce stress, make life work, and heal the past.”

It’s also, he said, a beneficial technique in helping one get laid.

I remember him saying if he sees a girl with a great ass he tells her she has a great ass and proceeds to tell her how he intends to romance her. I remember his game plan involved very little traditional romance.

Indeed, Blanton was obnoxious, but I remember thinking he was on to something.

We’re all so afraid of offending we’ve become reluctant to even praise.

Is Radical Honesty the answer?

Hell no.

“Honesty without tact is like brain surgery without anesthesia. The operation could succeed, but the complications could kill.”

I wrote that line years ago and it still applies. 

I hope Blanton reads this and has an epiphany about how honesty tempered with tact could lead to improved well-being through enlightened communication.

I believe this can happen because I’m certain that Brad Blanton is a swell guy who at heart cares more about his fellow man than his penis. And we’d expect nothing less from a man as handsome, thoughtful and sweet-tempered as Blanton.

See, I believe saying nice things about people can have an aspirational effect.

I believe in Radical Dishonesty. 

Related …

Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful …

War, Miss Universe & offbeat beauty pageants

My hands are beautiful to behold

#MeToo; I grabbed a girl’s ass in ‘85

Will a man ever #MeToo a female super? When pigs fly

How am I doing? Honestly?

If I can muster the nerve, the next time anyone asks me, “How ya doin’?” I’ll respond, “I’m horny! How are you?”

Chances are it’ll be true. I remain one of those average guys the studies say think about sex something like a gazillion times a day. Now that our kids are out of school for another 81 3/4days, the odds of me actually having any sex are greatly diminished.

The kids are always in the house, are light sleepers, and are so clingy to Mommy that me taking any kind of run at her would immediately bump me from 2012 “Father of the Year” consideration.

So responding “I’m horny!” to our most mundane conversational inquiry will be factual.

Even better, it will be interesting.

You rarely hear anyone announce their horniness aloud.

Instead, we all lie and say, “I’m fine. You?”

Bullcrap.

No one’s ever fine.

We’re bewildered, angry, frustrated, unfulfilled, underpaid, overweight, sleepy, grumpy, sneezy and maybe two of the other Seven Dwarfs.

Fine?

Never.

My inspiration for this, as it often is, is Dave. He’s my friend, my office landlord and the man who spends his waking hours conspiring to inebriate me and our buddies in the tavern he and his family have owned since 1954.

He’s spent the last couple of weeks responding to mundane conversation with brutal honesty.

If someone asks, “How ya doing?” Dave will scream at them, “Mind your own damn business!”

When a cheerful customer gets up to leave and invariably departs by saying something like, “Take it easy, man,” Dave’s face will darken and he’ll growl with menace, “By god, don’t you ever tell me what to do!”

It’s the same reaction the hapless bastards in “Goodfellas” get when they good-naturedly inform “Tommy” (Joe Pesci) he’s a funny guy.

It’s made me alert to all our little lies.

I guess that makes me spiritual sort of soul mates with Brad Blanton. He’s the tactless genius behind a movement he calls “Radical Honesty.”

He maintains we’re all playacting in our relationships and the only way for us to prosper personally is to be brutally honest with ourselves and each other. He believes our little lies corrode our souls and erect impenetrable obstacles to our ever being happy.

If he’s horny, he expresses it to whomever is within earshot. He told me in graphic terms, which I’ll paraphrase even as I’m certain the sanitizing would infuriate him.

He said if sees a girl he’d really like to “hug” he’d tell her, man, I’d really like to get a bottle of wine and spend the afternoon (hugging) the (stuffing) out of you. 

Such demolition of traditional courtship rituals would doubtless reduce poets and florists to tears, but I remember admiring his directness.

He assured me the tactic was very successful. I may be mistaken, but I think I recall him saying it was helpful in him meeting two of his ex-wives, a statement that reveals radical honesty might have trouble gaining traction in matrimonial arenas.

I interviewed him for Playboy about 10 years ago and remember thinking, gee, what a really swell guy.

That’s a lie. To be radically honest, he’s what someone radically honest would call a real dick.

It’s my contention that honesty without tact is like brain surgery without anesthesia. The operation could cure but the complications can kill.

But it would indeed spice up our lives if we could make one another more alert to our true feelings and we answered honestly next time someone asks us, “How you doing?”

If we could incorporate that little bit of one-word honesty into our daily conversations, I believe it would help spread empathy and erase some of the stealth difficulties we all face in our daily lives. 

It could lead to a happier society, to better personal well-being and, for a lucky few, to romance.

Honest.