The War on Women: Believe It.

War—it springs eternal.

As constant as a heartbeat, as enduring as the tides.

But riddle me this: which war has raged without end for the duration of human existence thus far?

The war on drugs? Nope. The war on terror? Sorry.

It's the war on women.

Although stoked by the rantings of a drug-doped dirigible, the embers smoldered centuries before Mr. Limbaugh first woke up spooning with that rattling vial of magic opiates.

And that's a mistress he'll never disparage.

No, throughout time, this assault has been waged in the home and the workplace, the clinic and the bedroom, the courtrooms and the halls of Congress.

Thursday's New York Times unveiled the most recent salvo on women's rights, the fight to renew the federal Violence Against Women Act. On the books since 1994, the law surfaces for renewal every six years, and aims at sustaining funding for free legal assistance to domestic violence victims, extend the definition of violence against women to include stalking and provide training for civil and criminal court personnel to deal with families with a history of violence.

Oh, yes, it also proposes broadening the protection to same-sex couples, which is why the vote has been split right down party lines.

What the hell is going on here?

First, conservatives and Catholic bishops rally against the President's contraception mandate despite the glaring fact that ninety-eight percent of Catholic women have used contraception.

Leave it to the power of celibacy to gauge the pulse of the American woman.

Then, in a move right out of the Salem Witch Trial Owner's Manual, the Virginia House of Delegates passes a law requiring women seeking to exercise their right to choose, to undergo a transvaginal ultrasound probe prior to doing so, and then be forced to wait ten days.

This procedure has no medical value whatsoever; its only purpose is to shame and embarrass its recipient. In effect, she must submit herself to a punitive, state-sanctioned rape.

I'm certainly not so naïve to be surprised by these developments. Institutional control of our female population is a concept that's been around since Eve fouled the nest of humanity through her gullible acceptance of the apple from that Muppet in the tree.

It was all her fault. Eve was the original female Gilligan. If it weren't for her fool heartedness, we'd all be cavorting naked in the sun, riding lions and rhinos bareback and eating as many Oreos as we want.

But no. Eve screwed up, hence women must rightly pay the price for eternity.

I'd like to think that even if I weren't father to two daughters, I'd still be appalled by these developments.

But since I am, this battle has become personal.

What women really want: Like I know

What do women look for in a man?

This question arises occasionally, and today it reared its head again as I watched an interview with Gene Simmons, leader of KISS, on The Joy Behar Show.

We all know that this guy is the poster boy for male rock-n-roll sluttiness. He's claimed to have biblically acquainted himself with over 4,600 women...and counting. I watched as Gene sat there, his dyed, jet black, spray-on hair and sunglasses portraying the appearance of a living police composite sketch. Perched next to him was his live-in girlfriend of 26 years, Shannon Tweed, nodding and smiling as Simmons elaborated on his scores of sexual exploits.

Naturally, I understand that a lot of females are attracted to wealthy, bad-boy rock stars—always have been and always will be. Am I envious? Sure.

However, even if this guy carnally sampled half of the women he claimed to have, he would officially qualify as the bacterial equivalent of a chewing gum-covered concrete wall the size of Orange County. With all the fame and riches stripped from his persona, he's at best nothing more than the Crown Prince of Chlamydia, Nasty McYuckerson. What is it about seemingly repulsive dudes that draws these women to them?

I decided to fire up the google mobile and found a site which lists the top ten traits women look for in men, at least according to one woman. Money, fame, power and rock stardom weren't on the list, which was refreshing, so I decided to assess how I might stack up:

1) Appreciation—I'd like to think I exhibit appreciative qualities, like when I lovingly say, "Thanks for finding the remote."

2) Organization—I'm more than willing to organize everything into a large, neat pile.

3) Observation—I'm quite adept at gauging a woman's moods and emotions, most notably her subtle irritation that occurs after I've demolished any kind of weight-bearing wall.

4) Drive—I definitely know what I want...and this time I want it with extra cheese.

5) Intelligence—I've utilized my intellectual tools to determine that deep within her soul, she yearns to discuss football. Say the word, my sweet.

6) Outlook—I realize that a positive outlook goes a long way, which is why, when I'm the driver, I'll never admit that we're lost.

7) Genuine Chivalry—I could have pitched the tent that dark, rainy night, but knew it would serve us much better as a blanket.

8) Spontaneity—Go ahead and get your coat. We're going for a beer.

9) Confidence—Of course I can eat all of that.

10) Self maintenance—If I can't take care of myself, how can I take care of her? That's why I bought us each a pair of sweat pants at Rite Aid.

Wow. Looks like Simmons has nothing on me after all.

Are women really the fairer sex? You decide.

I'm surrounded. By females. This isn't  completely by design, as I have two daughters, but on the voluntary side, I've worked in the retail fashion industry for 19 years, which is heavily inhabited by women (see The Devil Wears Prada.). With this type of long-term cred, I feel I'm qualified to offer some observations about the gender which supposedly sprung forth from Adam's rib.

I read an article this morning in The Seattle Times, illustrating the contributions made during World War II by the Women Airforce Service Pilots, or "WASPs." A lot of these women are now deceased or in their 80s or 90s, but they're finally being recognized with the Congressional Gold Medal. This award encompasses Congress' "highest expression of national appreciation for distinguished achievements and contributions." Previous recipients include Dr. Jonas Salk, the Navajo Marine Corps Radio Operators, or "Code Talkers," and the poet, Robert Frost.

These women pilots were forbidden from engaging in combat operations, but they did just about everything else—they ferried planes across the country, hauled targets for shooting practice and trained scores of male combat aviators. They encountered intense prejudice from the male military establishment, and were paid a fraction of what the guys received. In addition, the WASPs were actually  denied veteran status until 1977.

I'm going to insist that my daughters read this piece. Today's girls still don't experience a completely level playing field visa vie our society's deference to male leadership, but things have improved substantially. My mom used to tell me about girls' high school basketball in the 1950s, where no one was allowed to dribble the ball more than three times, and the team was divided into front court players and back court players. I imagine sweating was just a little too unsightly and unfeminine when one is wearing her basketball skirt.

Well, here's the deal. We all need to come to grips with this tenet:
Women are tough. Come on...say it.

I've borne witness to two child births. It's not pleasant. Oh, sure, we guys experience pain and discomfort, especially as we age. It might take us three installments to pee every morning, or the old football knee may flare up when the weather turns cold. But I've seen my wife spring out of bed at three the morning, the barf bowl positioned under my kid's chin, long before I woke up and realized I hadn't actually attended that final exam naked.

Amelia Earhart—tough, Sacagawea—tough, Wilma Rudolph—tough, mothers across the globe—tough.

And the Women Airforce Service Pilots—toughness recognized at long last.