Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Chicken shit

For those, like me, who cannot keep pets, this might appeal. I've always wanted my own chicken.


A few months ago, I blogged on the phenomenon of women who post pictures of their breasts. I didn't come to any conclusions. Here's an example.

Did I just post a gratuitous link to what P claims are her own tits? No, I did have a point.

It's this. It occurs to me that men cannot do the same thing because we lack a "secondary sexual whatsit". We only have cocks. I could post a photo of my cock (and it makes a quite beautiful picture, I assure you) but it seems a step too far (from what, I can hear you say -- but steps too far are never really from or to anywhere or anything, they are just too damned far).

Young women can thrill men simply by exposing their chests. Somehow a topless man just doesn't have the same impact (not that they cannot look good with their top off).

P is a proud member of the "Bitch Club", a webring of girls who simply can't understand why a man wouldn't want a lasting relationship with a slut who thinks she looks attractive with her head down a bog, upchucking.

Did I really just write that? I haven't even had a drink. I meant to say ... a lasting relationship with a dullard who obsesses about her weight, thinks erudition is a perfume and couldn't hold a conversation with a particularly flattering mirror.

Shit, that was all downhill from the tits.


But I know that I like to look at tits all the same, and that that liking helps perpetuate an element of our culture that I do not like. I have never been able to reconcile the two notions: that it is wrong to sell cultural artefacts solely on the back of how good a person looks in a tight shirt and how good it is to look at a person who looks good in a tight shirt. I consume Britney while despising her. I would have no space in my consciousness, even, for Britney were she not attractive (I distrust men who claim she is not -- she may not be your type but she was after all chosen for stardom for her good looks; denying it just makes you sound bitter).

The resolution most thinkers tend to find for this is to retreat into a stern quasimorality. They banish uncertainty and confusion by adopting codes that prescribe what is right about everything and anything. (This of course makes them sound a great deal more consistent than they are.)

A code is not for Dr Zen. Wallowing in stupidity and working it out on the hoof will always make more appeal than having to remember which knife cuts which meat and which key opens which social door.


Post a Comment

<< Home