sex bombed
Dec. 20th, 2004 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfieldSame message, different language:
"I do not propose to discuss my love life. I will say that I still can’t get over how women are shaped, and that I will go to my grave wanting to pet their butts and boobs. I will say, too, that lovemaking, if sincere, is one of the best ideas Satan put in the apple she gave to the serpent to give to Eve."
- Kurt Vonnegut, "Timequake"
"Let's talk about sex, ba-by. Let's talk about you-and-me. Let's talk about all the good things, and the bad things, that may be."
- Salt 'N' Pepa, "Let's Talk About Sex"
Someone told me the other day: "You do talk about sex A LOT. Like CONSTANTLY. Enough to make someone a little nervous." Is this true? I honestly never noticed. Sorry about that. And I'm sorry about this post, which is going to make her absolutely squeamish.
I do like talking about sex. I mean, what else is there? When man first crawled out of the primordial ooze, he learned to hunt. Why did he hunt? He hunted for food. Why did he need food? So he could go on dates. Why did he date? We're really not sure about that. I mean, he could have just clubbed her over the head and brought her back to his cave. Which just goes to show you, Guys have never really known what the hell they're doing.
Today, guys wear suits rather than loincloths, and use clubs instead to play ridiculous sports, and have marginally better hygiene. But the principle is the same. Guys want money, prestige, power, etc. so they can attract women. Ladies, you are no different. Your activities are also designed to impress women. Studies (Cosmo, Glamour et al.) have shown that when it comes to behavior, fashion, life skills, etc., you couldn't care less what men think, but you really want other women to think you're hot shit. Why? Because you know nothing turns men on like the idea of hot lesbian action.
Sex is what we were designed for, instinctually. Don't give me any of that baloney about the importance of working or the need to feel fulfilled or important or competent. Famed humanistic psychologist , unwavering optimist and Badger maniac Abraham Maslow (1908-1970) suggested such nonsense in his Hierarchy of Needs.
According to him, people work their way up the pyramid, satisfying their most basic set of needs and then moving up to the next set. The pinnacle of human existence, he postulated, was Self-Actualization -- or the achievement of maximum individual potential. He presumed this would entail noble pursuits such as education, spiritual enlightenment, and devoting one's life to baking cookies for orphans. But we all know that, left to our own devices, our lives would be beer commercials. To wit:
That's what I thought.1
Anyway, Maslow's theory is flawed because it is predicated on a person living in a vacuum, generally operating independently of other people and worrying solely about their own needs. But real life doesn't work that way. Dealing with other people -- meeting his "Social Needs" -- is not a mere step on our path, it is an omnipresent factor in the entire journey. Throughout our lives, we work in teams, couples, groups, families. We are organisms with an intrinsic sense of competition, and we are surrounded by emotionally-charged stimuli. Life is a car pool lane, and not only are there other people in the car screaming or playing with the radio, but there are other vehicles all around you moving too fast or too slow or too recklessly. The overarching human goal is to continue the trip -- stay in the car, perpetuate the group.
And besides, you just know that sex underpins Maslow's entire concept, because it doesn't conveniently fit into any of those needs categories. Sex is a part of each of those needs. (OK, sex as a "safety/shelter need" is perhaps a bit of a stretch. But it is frequently the motivation for a guy to get his own apartment.)
Sex is important. It's not just why we're here, it's why we're here. This alone would make it a viable anytime-conversation topic. (Well, not anytime. Not with my parents, not in Church, and not during the last two minutes of the half.)
But sex is also funny. Sex is hilariously, ridiculously, absurdly funny. It is funny in a slapstick sort of way, what with the silly noises and goofy faces, not to mention the comically stupid things people2 will do to get it.3
Sex is also funny in a more basic sort of way. On a fundamental level, sex creates anxiety. Anxiety creates fear. Laughter is the psyche's way of relieving that fear, like the squeal of a pressure valve. (Humorist Gene Weingarten has said that people cry to deal with grief, and they laugh to deal with fear. He does not specify what people do in the event of pain, but I find that cursing loudly is at least partially effective.)
Coincidentally, laughter and orgasms are thought to be biologically related, stimulating the same neurotransmitters in the pleasure centers of the brain. (Studies show that chocolate does the same thing. Research is still being conducted on pizza, ice cream, beer, The Simpsons, Super Bowl victories, cash and Halle Berry.)
Since sex is so often a joke, it only makes sense that I commonly use it for a punchline. But I do not wish to leave the impression that I think sex is cheap. On the contrary, I just got back from Las Vegas and the companion industry appears to be quite robust.
Ha, ha! there I go again. OK, sex can be cheap, but not the way I do it. If I may enter the cheese section of the store: I believe that sex is the physical expression of love. As a symbol, it's pretty effective. It can take so many forms: tender, angry, joyous, dangerous, stupid, epic, fleeting, safe, etc.
The term "Making Love," beyond being comically grandiose, is yet another misnomer, or at least it ought to be. Because by the time you're having sex, the love should already be done and ready to serve. Love has always come first for me.4
I've never had sex with anyone I wasn't totally in love with. Sometimes I think I'd like to try casual sex, though. (I've had enough of formal sex. The damn cummerbund keeps getting in the way.)
I imagine that casual sex5 is much like going to the ice cream parlor and just getting nothing but free teaspoon-sized samples. Sometimes you just want to try new things without investing a whole lot in the experience. Sometimes you're passing by and you just get a sudden hankering for mint chocolate chip. Sometimes you're broke and you're starving and you'll settle for anything that's free, even if it's liver sorbet.
It seems like so much fun, so footloose and fancy-free. And besides, everyone else is doing it. All right, maybe not. But when you're not doing it, it certainly seems like everyone else is doing it. Loudly. All the time. All day. All night. In the next apartment. In that supply closet. With your roommate. Wouldn't you like to have a taste? (As long as you use protection, lest you acquire a "cavity" that burns when you pee.)
I've wanted to do it. I've tried to do it. But I never could do it. Because sex without love is inherently phony – and not just because it usually requires lying to the other person. ("I'll respect you in the morning. For right now, though, wear this harness.") More importantly, it involves lying to yourself, You telling You that empty sex is all you deserve, or all you can afford. That, my friends, is bullshit.
So if it seems like I'm flippant about sex, it's not because I don't take it seriously. It's because there is a lot of hypocrisy and hyperbole surrounding the whole sordid enterprise, and sometimes we need to hear how silly we sound.
And if it seems like I talk a lot about sex, it's not because I'm obsessed with it. I just think sex is important because it fuels so many of our actions and motivations, and it so generously informs all of our interpersonal relationships. And to ignore such a fundamental element of who we are is like not talking about our parents, or our god, or next week's "Smallville."
And if it seems like I think a lot about sex, well, that's true. Once every half-hour, scientific research says. (This figure is slightly lower during baseball season.) But you can rest assured that when I think about it, I'm thinking about it in the context of a loving, monogamous and mutually rewarding relationship in which the man and the woman are free to explore their desires and communicate their needs, thereby building a framework of intimacy and trust on which can be established true self-actualization, as embodied by a supportive family with whom they can travel safely and securely down the road of life that leads to the city of enlightenment in the state of unwavering bliss.
And then I think, "Yeah, right," and I just buy a double-scoop of chocolate.
"I do not propose to discuss my love life. I will say that I still can’t get over how women are shaped, and that I will go to my grave wanting to pet their butts and boobs. I will say, too, that lovemaking, if sincere, is one of the best ideas Satan put in the apple she gave to the serpent to give to Eve."
- Kurt Vonnegut, "Timequake"
"Let's talk about sex, ba-by. Let's talk about you-and-me. Let's talk about all the good things, and the bad things, that may be."
- Salt 'N' Pepa, "Let's Talk About Sex"
Someone told me the other day: "You do talk about sex A LOT. Like CONSTANTLY. Enough to make someone a little nervous." Is this true? I honestly never noticed. Sorry about that. And I'm sorry about this post, which is going to make her absolutely squeamish.
I do like talking about sex. I mean, what else is there? When man first crawled out of the primordial ooze, he learned to hunt. Why did he hunt? He hunted for food. Why did he need food? So he could go on dates. Why did he date? We're really not sure about that. I mean, he could have just clubbed her over the head and brought her back to his cave. Which just goes to show you, Guys have never really known what the hell they're doing.
Today, guys wear suits rather than loincloths, and use clubs instead to play ridiculous sports, and have marginally better hygiene. But the principle is the same. Guys want money, prestige, power, etc. so they can attract women. Ladies, you are no different. Your activities are also designed to impress women. Studies (Cosmo, Glamour et al.) have shown that when it comes to behavior, fashion, life skills, etc., you couldn't care less what men think, but you really want other women to think you're hot shit. Why? Because you know nothing turns men on like the idea of hot lesbian action.
Sex is what we were designed for, instinctually. Don't give me any of that baloney about the importance of working or the need to feel fulfilled or important or competent. Famed humanistic psychologist , unwavering optimist and Badger maniac Abraham Maslow (1908-1970) suggested such nonsense in his Hierarchy of Needs.
According to him, people work their way up the pyramid, satisfying their most basic set of needs and then moving up to the next set. The pinnacle of human existence, he postulated, was Self-Actualization -- or the achievement of maximum individual potential. He presumed this would entail noble pursuits such as education, spiritual enlightenment, and devoting one's life to baking cookies for orphans. But we all know that, left to our own devices, our lives would be beer commercials. To wit:
That's what I thought.1
Anyway, Maslow's theory is flawed because it is predicated on a person living in a vacuum, generally operating independently of other people and worrying solely about their own needs. But real life doesn't work that way. Dealing with other people -- meeting his "Social Needs" -- is not a mere step on our path, it is an omnipresent factor in the entire journey. Throughout our lives, we work in teams, couples, groups, families. We are organisms with an intrinsic sense of competition, and we are surrounded by emotionally-charged stimuli. Life is a car pool lane, and not only are there other people in the car screaming or playing with the radio, but there are other vehicles all around you moving too fast or too slow or too recklessly. The overarching human goal is to continue the trip -- stay in the car, perpetuate the group.
And besides, you just know that sex underpins Maslow's entire concept, because it doesn't conveniently fit into any of those needs categories. Sex is a part of each of those needs. (OK, sex as a "safety/shelter need" is perhaps a bit of a stretch. But it is frequently the motivation for a guy to get his own apartment.)
Sex is important. It's not just why we're here, it's why we're here. This alone would make it a viable anytime-conversation topic. (Well, not anytime. Not with my parents, not in Church, and not during the last two minutes of the half.)
But sex is also funny. Sex is hilariously, ridiculously, absurdly funny. It is funny in a slapstick sort of way, what with the silly noises and goofy faces, not to mention the comically stupid things people2 will do to get it.3
Sex is also funny in a more basic sort of way. On a fundamental level, sex creates anxiety. Anxiety creates fear. Laughter is the psyche's way of relieving that fear, like the squeal of a pressure valve. (Humorist Gene Weingarten has said that people cry to deal with grief, and they laugh to deal with fear. He does not specify what people do in the event of pain, but I find that cursing loudly is at least partially effective.)
Coincidentally, laughter and orgasms are thought to be biologically related, stimulating the same neurotransmitters in the pleasure centers of the brain. (Studies show that chocolate does the same thing. Research is still being conducted on pizza, ice cream, beer, The Simpsons, Super Bowl victories, cash and Halle Berry.)
Since sex is so often a joke, it only makes sense that I commonly use it for a punchline. But I do not wish to leave the impression that I think sex is cheap. On the contrary, I just got back from Las Vegas and the companion industry appears to be quite robust.
Ha, ha! there I go again. OK, sex can be cheap, but not the way I do it. If I may enter the cheese section of the store: I believe that sex is the physical expression of love. As a symbol, it's pretty effective. It can take so many forms: tender, angry, joyous, dangerous, stupid, epic, fleeting, safe, etc.
The term "Making Love," beyond being comically grandiose, is yet another misnomer, or at least it ought to be. Because by the time you're having sex, the love should already be done and ready to serve. Love has always come first for me.4
I've never had sex with anyone I wasn't totally in love with. Sometimes I think I'd like to try casual sex, though. (I've had enough of formal sex. The damn cummerbund keeps getting in the way.)
I imagine that casual sex5 is much like going to the ice cream parlor and just getting nothing but free teaspoon-sized samples. Sometimes you just want to try new things without investing a whole lot in the experience. Sometimes you're passing by and you just get a sudden hankering for mint chocolate chip. Sometimes you're broke and you're starving and you'll settle for anything that's free, even if it's liver sorbet.
It seems like so much fun, so footloose and fancy-free. And besides, everyone else is doing it. All right, maybe not. But when you're not doing it, it certainly seems like everyone else is doing it. Loudly. All the time. All day. All night. In the next apartment. In that supply closet. With your roommate. Wouldn't you like to have a taste? (As long as you use protection, lest you acquire a "cavity" that burns when you pee.)
I've wanted to do it. I've tried to do it. But I never could do it. Because sex without love is inherently phony – and not just because it usually requires lying to the other person. ("I'll respect you in the morning. For right now, though, wear this harness.") More importantly, it involves lying to yourself, You telling You that empty sex is all you deserve, or all you can afford. That, my friends, is bullshit.
So if it seems like I'm flippant about sex, it's not because I don't take it seriously. It's because there is a lot of hypocrisy and hyperbole surrounding the whole sordid enterprise, and sometimes we need to hear how silly we sound.
And if it seems like I talk a lot about sex, it's not because I'm obsessed with it. I just think sex is important because it fuels so many of our actions and motivations, and it so generously informs all of our interpersonal relationships. And to ignore such a fundamental element of who we are is like not talking about our parents, or our god, or next week's "Smallville."
And if it seems like I think a lot about sex, well, that's true. Once every half-hour, scientific research says. (This figure is slightly lower during baseball season.) But you can rest assured that when I think about it, I'm thinking about it in the context of a loving, monogamous and mutually rewarding relationship in which the man and the woman are free to explore their desires and communicate their needs, thereby building a framework of intimacy and trust on which can be established true self-actualization, as embodied by a supportive family with whom they can travel safely and securely down the road of life that leads to the city of enlightenment in the state of unwavering bliss.
And then I think, "Yeah, right," and I just buy a double-scoop of chocolate.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
footnote 1
Date: 2004-12-20 08:54 pm (UTC)footnote 2
Date: 2004-12-20 08:55 pm (UTC)footnote 3
Date: 2004-12-20 08:55 pm (UTC)The things we do to get sex always make the best stories. You might be wondering: why, then, isn't there more comedy-pornography? There's a simple answer for that, actually. Really good-looking people – the kind of people you would theoretically want to see copulating – are not funny. A sense of humor is only developed as either a defense mechanism against peer cruelty or as a way to distract from facial or bodily abnormalities.
footnote 4
Date: 2004-12-20 08:56 pm (UTC)footnote 5
Date: 2004-12-20 08:56 pm (UTC)A lot of people point to the "fuck-buddies" model as the best of both worlds – that is, physical satisfaction without the emotional commitment. But it sounds less idyllic to me. What you're basically doing is skipping all the fun parts of a relationship (the flirting, the wooing, the discovery, the adventure) and going straight to the point right before most couples break up, when the only thing holding them together is sex, laziness and a flimsy sense of obligation.
The one-night stand is even more petrifying. That's a lot of pressure to put on a single performance. At least when you're in a relationship, you can find a rhythm, you can develop a rapport, you can tailor your technique to your partner. With a one-night stand, it's all-or-nothing. You're Evel Knievel at the bottom of the ramp, revving your engine and smiling while silently praying that nothing goes wrong.
no subject
Date: 2004-12-20 10:10 pm (UTC)One-night stands do suck (see footnote 5), but not for performance-based reasons. This is someone you're probably not going to see/have sex with again, so who cares what they think? It's like worrying that the person in front of you in the supermarket check-out line thinks your shoes are ugly. Who gives a shit? Sure, it'd be great to have your one-time-only paramour sigh with fondness every time s/he thinks of your assignation, but you'll never know if they do. So it really has no bearing on your life whatsoever. No, the real problem is that one-night stands, in my somewhat limited experience, leave you feeling lonelier and emptier than if you'd had no sex at all.
But the fuck-buddy arrangement has its merits. "What you're basically doing is skipping all the fun parts of a relationship (the flirting, the wooing, the discovery, the adventure)," our host writes. Says you. Not everyone agrees that those are the most fun parts, though. What's more fun: flirting with an uncertain outcome, or removing articles of someone else's clothing? I'll vote for the latter. If that paints me as risk-averse, so be it -- I'm nevertheless caressing someone else's body.
Sex is definitely an important expression of love and a nutritious part of a complete healthy committed relationship. But not everyone wants one of those relationships -- and everything they entail, good and bad -- all the time. When that shoe doesn't fit, there's nothing wrong with trying on a different brand.
sex pot pie
Date: 2004-12-21 12:06 am (UTC)Re: sex pot pie
Date: 2004-12-21 05:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-21 03:19 am (UTC)David Foster Wallace
Date: 2004-12-21 03:06 pm (UTC)"David Foster Wallace (born February 21, 1962 in Ithaca, New York) is an American writer. He graduated from Amherst College in 1986 and from the University of Arizona. He is a recipient of the MacArthur Foundation 'genius grant.'"
This sounds pretty good. Writer/Genius. I can live with that kind of comparison. Then it says:
SEE ALSO: Hysterical realism
So I look that up, and it says:
"Hysterical realism is a literary genre characterized by chronic length, manic characters, madding action, and frequent digressions on topics secondary to the story.
"The term hysterical realism was coined by James Wood (critic) in an essay on Zadie Smith's "White Teeth" to denote the contemporary conception of the "big, ambitious novel" that pursues vitality "at all costs". In response, Zadie Smith described hysterical realism as a "painfully accurate term for the sort of overblown, manic prose to be found in novels like my own White Teeth. . . "
This sounds a little less flattering, although I can't really argue its appropriateness. I'll only say that I'm not always manic. I have been known to write very calm and contemplative sonnets, and my haiku is first-rate.
I do know what "Spanish Fly" is, though. Isn't that the tune by Herb Alpert and the Tiujana Brass that was the theme song for "The Dating Game?"
Re: David Foster Wallace
Date: 2004-12-21 03:07 pm (UTC)Re: David Foster Wallace
Date: 2004-12-21 05:06 pm (UTC)another thought
Date: 2004-12-23 04:18 am (UTC)Emotions are entirely different while immersed in them than when looking back - at the time, wishful thinking is a driving force more than anything real about the relationship. And I can certainly lay claim to my share of that. But reality sets in as the sting of their departure subsides, and you realize you'd been settling for anything but love all along.
Re: David Foster Wallace
Date: 2004-12-21 05:05 pm (UTC)Since then, I've come to realize that his writing can be seen as somwhat overreaching and arrogant, and this is now the age of the "ambitious novel," of which far too many are gracing bestseller lists. I still like him, though, I guess because I encountered him first. My favorite will always be the literary nonfiction.
I know nothing of that song, though.