If a telemarketer interrupted your dinner last night, if another car cut you off on the way to work this morning, if you slipped on the ice in the parking lot or if someone let the elevator door slam in your face, I’ve found a person on whom to take out your pent-up angers and frustrations. Indeed, he seems to be asking for it.
Today, The American Spectator posted on its Web site what I assume is an opinion piece by St. Louis-based freelance writer Christopher Orlet titled, [The Hunt for Gray February](http://spectator.org/archives/2009/02/03/the-hunt-for-gray-february/). It's basically about the social aspect of hunting, and why, when deprived of that outlet in the winter months, men go mad. It also includes some delightful perspectives on women. I'll say right up front that I hope the piece is meant to be tongue-in-cheek. But I think that's just a touch too generous. Mr. Orlet, who seems to consider himself a hunter, is of the opinion that "conversation in a duck blind is taboo" and that the best way to be in the field is with, "A gun in one hand and a beer in the other." When it comes to women (whom he observers spend a lot of time "backstabbing and manipulating one another"), here are two choice excerpts: "Sadly few women understand the importance of this male [hunting] ritual. Unlike the fair sex, men cannot sit on a cell phone for hours talking about what drives them crazy about other men..." "It has been my experience that most females will demand to go hunting exactly once. Women naively see the hunt as a chance to bond with their boyfriends or husbands. Of course, their presence defeats its whole purpose which is to isolate oneself from female society for a few days, while regaining one's masculine bearings. Thus the smart men are likely to make the trip as unpleasant as possible. They may find the buggiest place in the swamp to make camp. They may choose the weekend of an expected ice storm. They will constantly remind their love-interest there is no talking allowed as it scares the game ..." Among other things, the irony is that I can't think of a single person among my friends who fit the description of the typical female proffered by Mr. Orlet. I'm still deciding whether to make fun of him or feel sorry for him -- probably both. Getting angry seems as pointless as yelling at a pigeon for pooping on my windshield -- the poor little guy doesn't know any better and couldn't help it if he did. In the end, I'm usually more stunned than anything else to come across this kind of thing, regardless of the venue. Thoughts? Favorite excerpts of your own? (I noticed there's also a comments section under Mr. Orlet's piece. Not that we should encourage him.) -K.H.