My Theory About Small-Framed Guys

It's more like a spectral analysis, like a scientific approach used to categorize a certain strain of human, of man. My research is tainted a bit by my personal preferences, but I do try to draw logical conclusions from things that intrigue me, whether I am biased or not. I've always preferred the slender physique in guys from as far back as middle school, when I'd watch the boys at the skate park in their baggy sweatshirts and Airwalks, tripping over the loose flesh of their clothes as they maneuvered around the rises and falls of predetermined concrete terrain. At summer day camp, I'd admire the boys with slim legs and nimble arms, limbs that seemed more defined by the mass they lacked. Unfortunately, they seldom seemed to go for me; they were more prone to their skinny female counterparts, whereas I, for my early and rapid maturation, was normally a victim of pinches and taunts. We were alike in that we wore oversized shirts but for opposite reasons. But no one said I couldn't look and dream.

When I began high school, this species of boy seemed to grow in number. My three year crush on now alum chum, Donnie, was one of a long strand of examples. They were always a little taller than me and had the blessing of a rapid metabolism that yielded almost no fat, no pimples, no high squeaky voice. When I got bored enough, I'd write down the names of all the boys I liked, their ages and whether or not there were any mutual feelings. I think I still have the address book with those names written in dull pencil, with secret symbols for their importance scribbled next to them. I can't remember ever being drawn to any other shape or size of boy. For some reason, the stocky, solid, or plain chubby guys didn't seem like they possessed the gene that would turn them into men, while guys who looked like they would lways be able to fit into their eighth grade gym shorts seemed like the real deal, the kind of look that could only get better with age. It is an irony that used to confound me, but as I grew older, I realized that there are more than enough reasons that caused me to think this way.

My first real boyfriend would not surface in my life until I was long gone from the suitable environment in which to have a first love, my freshman year of college. He was in my gym class, as was his current girlfriend, an Amazon woman of imposing girth. He invited me over to his dorm room, along with some people we had in common, under the false pretense of a chess game. We became a couple almost immediately, and I had my first specimen, up close and personal. He was a brain, like most of them are, one of those guys who learned how to operate a computer at age nine by reading the two-inch thick owner's manual. He was a psychobiology major, an active member of Mensa, a regular in Who's Who, and a fashion oddball. He liked fencing, chess, role-playing games, and camping. He wore a long trench coat, a tweed cap, combat boots, skater pants, and often carried a walking staff and a pipe. He was so indifferent to the waves of typical peer pressure that he was able to create his own world, one that drew many members, including myself. He had a baby face that he always covered with some sort of facial hair assortment, which was easy to maintain since he could grow a full beard at the age of seventeen. He spent most his time working to convince the world that he was in fact a man, working his voice into a low gravel with a daily dose of cigarettes and liquor, his thin ribcage with tons of fattening food, and his brain with all sorts of stimulating information.

As my own personality began to form despite the weight of his impressive shadow, we grew apart and four years later I broke up with him. Despite his many problems and ghosts, I still hold him as an example of the kind of guy I'm drawn to, whether it is a sane choice or not. I always seem to fall for guys who are so much that you can't possibly find the bottom of them, and they always seem to be small-framed guys.

The best place to start is the social structure that we all are susceptible to, the standard perception of male and female roles in American society. This involves a few stereotypes, but we have to start somewhere, even if it is such a reproachable place as the media. We are taught that boys play with guns and girls with dolls. We are taught the girly and boyish tendencies of the sexes. There are exceptions to that rule, and I am surely one of them, but that's a different rant. Guys are expected to be imposing, strong, having a certain level of mass and presence, one within which the typical female would feel the most at ease, safe and secure. There are a handful of vehicles in which a guy can apply this expectation: sports, academics, and antics, preferably a combination of one or more. The typical examples could be the quarterback, the class president, the class clown, or the class bully.

If this could be agreed upon as the norm, where does the small-framed guy find his place? From what I've seen, he doesn't. He either isn't physically up to par with his fellow alpha majors or isn't into the same kinds of activities as the alpha majors, the former usually causing the introduction to the latter. The idea may be better expressed in the concept that when a person loses one sense, the other senses jump in to compensate. In saying this, I don't mean to imply that medium to large framed guys aren't intelligent or don't seek other goals beyond those that can be attained by their bodies. What I am saying is that small-framed guys tend to take the application of alternate interests to a deeper level, a level of intricacy and precision. All men do this with their hobbies, passions, goals, and dreams. Most guys I know who hunt can tell you everything there is to know about rifles, or car buffs about the mechanics of an engine's makeup, or computer buffs about programming jargon. It is this devotion that has always drawn me to the male mind, even if I was never fully capable to understand it. I somewhat expect men to be enigmatic, as they do about us, though for very different reasons. However, I am led to think that small-framed guys take that aspect typical to their gender to another level, one that sets them apart.

Since college, the faces and names I've racked up were always a variation on the same theme. Being in New Orleans now, the theme is the arts more than the sciences. I am creatively led and often look for men who are oppositely minded, so my stay here has been more of a distraction than research. The small-framed guys you're likely to run into here work service industry jobs as take out food bicycle delivery drivers, bartenders, waiters, line cooks, full-time students, or a combination of two or more. The creatively led are usually struggling writers, struggling artists, or struggling musicians. I honestly haven't run into any scientifically led specimens, but that may have to do with the fact that I conduct my observations from within the French Quarter, where they are not likely to congregate if they are local, if they know what's good for them. However, when I lived uptown and was closer the college watering holes, I seldom found anything different. They probably don't thrive in such an environment, which may have led to my recent decision to return up North at the end of the upcoming year.

Small-framed guys, when able, will use their minds as other guys use their bodies. As a muscle that grows and strengthens with use, their minds grasp ideas and concepts and throw them into motion, a never-ending machine of cycles, connections, and conclusions. You can almost hear the gears turning as they spin out their theories, word problems and reasoning. You can see the fire in their eyes when an idea is applied in the physical and succeeds as easily as when it fails and they work to find out why it failed. All the while, they don't seem to have a care in the world what the status quo would have them do, nor do they even seem to grieve its lost hold on their lives.

I have seen the glass test tube contraptions of basement scientists as they worked with fervor to bring about the correct chemical reaction. My ex worked for months to re-create the mysterious Tesla coil that was said to generate electrical current so that a human could merely hold up a florescent bulb and it would light up without being plugged in. He also made my engagement ring with a jeweler's soldering iron in that same basement. I've heard numerous songs strummed out in living rooms with lyrics that pierce the heart in passionate and somber tones. I've attended a private viewing of amazing silk screen art and seen a part of myself from within it. I suppose I've been very fortunate to have been an eye witness to these minor miracles, and without a doubt I am thankful for each one. Despite the problems that may come with their kind, small-framed guys are definitely my species of choice, hands down.

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