Dear Modern Women
What’s happening to me? Inside I sense a confused caveman who wants to howl like a wolf. Living beneath my skin there’s a real man – not a modern man, but one who wishes to express himself through something more than a computer screen or the buttons of a remote control. In the old days there was more room in a relationship for a man to show whom he was. In those days I would have been a hunter or a warrior. I would have needed my physical strength and had perhaps even had the opportunity to act in ways that would increase my self-confidence. My woman would have been able to admire me for more than my ability to remember what I’d read in the newspaper, and, who knows - my children might admire me for being able to protect them from the dangerous elements of nature.
                      When I look at other modern men sitting behind the bank counter in their suits, it’s hard for me to imagine that there are cavemen lurking between their skinny shoulders. When the modern man’s delicate white fingers punch away at a keyboard and the computer screen’s light is reflected in his pale, drawn face, I have to ask myself: What in heaven’s name has happened to us? In the evening, when the bank man plops down on the sofa in front of the television in his red jogging outfit and slippers, one must concentrate hard in order to remember that this being once swung through the treetops in the jungle. His wife must approve all decisions he makes and if she’s not around he has to ask his computer. His kids don’t want to hear anecdotes from his long, boring day at work. The world of the caveman has been wiped out and he has been moved to a modern reservation of computer games, movies and books. The modern man must be able to do the same things as a woman. If he needs to use his diminutive muscles he’s sent outdoors where he can play football and drink beer with his friends. When he comes home from work he can hide behind the newspaper or scrape his way to hero status with a lottery ticket. All in all, the modern man has turned into a sad and pitiful creature with as much personality, charisma and impact as a pudding on a freeway. But what can we do? Most men choose to go along with it and dream in front of the television while watching movies that depict all the masculine roles they’ve been incapable of filling in real life. Already as a teenager I could see where this was leading me. In those days I had long blond hair, was pretty skinny and most of the time I wore a worn-out Icelandic sweater. In short, I looked like a pipe cleaner. A pipe cleaner is a good metaphor for the average modern man – it can be shaped and bent – can be adapted to many uses in the home and can be twisted around a woman’s little finger. It doesn’t get violent, drinks only very little and has a natural talent for keeping quiet.

                   Perhaps the modern man has created the problem himself. Thanks to his endless creative urge, he has developed a world that can be dealt with by pressing a few buttons and keys. He has made his own strength and powers of rational thought redundant. Technology is still incapable of simulating a woman’s intuition, solicitude and overview. Therefore it can only be a matter of time before society can do away with men altogether. But what can we men do about it? Of course we can try to win back our respect by acquainting us with as much knowledge about research and technology as possible. When there’s no longer any use for the body, one must use the brain. My body is slowly shriveling. My car has power steering, my computer a light-touch keyboard and my television is remote-controlled. My last source of exercise was lost a couple of years ago when a woman gave me an electric toothbrush for my birthday. I’m sitting here in my home having mail and pizzas delivered, trash collected, news broadcasted, baggage carried, entertainment transmitted – and now I have nothing left. What do we men do to break out of our pipe cleaner condition? It looks like the pipe cleaner man is here to stay, even though there’s no one who likes him – not even himself.

Sincerely yours
The Pipe Cleaner Man