Save the Titties!
May. 29th, 2008 01:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfield[Click here and save...]
Breasts.
They present a conundrum to the modern man. They represent the most fundamentally natural aspect of humanity, unabashedly nourishing newborn life and symbolize in stark relief the bountiful generosity of parenthood. At the same time, they also call forth the relentless, suffocating superficiality of mankind, eternally subject to the commercialization of beauty, amplification of insecurities and objectification of our mothers, daughters and sisters.
In this way, breasts are instruments of both empowerment and subjugation, strength and delicacy, our pride and our shame. They are both the yin and the yang, the alpha and the omega, "the font of motherhood" and "funbags." In short, they embody the best and the worst of humanity.
It is because breasts are so vitally important, endlessly fascinating and preconsciously befuddling that we have so many names for them, in much the same way that the Inuit people have 100 different words for "snow."[1]
Usually I simply refer to them as "breasts," though I admit that in my more playful or primal moments I enjoy the naughty essence of "tits" or "titties" and will exclaim such words with great enthusiasm.
I'm not proud.
But even as I type that regetful sentence, I am grinning the dopey grin of a 10-year old boy. And by leaps and bounds I prefer "tits" or "titties" to "boobs" or "boobies." While these terms are now more commonly accepted in co-ed company and perhaps more accurately evoke the aesthetic qualities of breasts themselves -- I would argue that the latter is the reason for the term's origin, while the former demonstrates the post-feminist movement's success in co-opting theretofore pejorative language -- I find the term to be patently silly. It is clownish and conspicuous, clumsily self-effacing, regressive without being retro chic.
My point here is not to deconstruct the vocabulary or debate the relative merits of such. Ultimately I feel sort of ashamed about my use of the word "tits," although I insist that I only do so in the most appropriately lenient circumstances, and generally with great respect. Think of me as guy who loves something enough that he feels comfortable teasing it[2] a little.
But to assuage any remainder of guilt, I am raising money for a cause that is entirely noble: As a participant in the Susan G. Komen National Race for the Cure, I am asking you to pledge a donation to support the battle against breast cancer.
It's just a measly 5K run, but for me it's also a solid half-hour of reflection on the lives this dread disease has taken and the inspirational efforts of survivors, volunteers and sponsors.
I'm politely asking you to give something, anything, to the cause. That donation page lists a $250 "goal" as a default, but realistically my goal is somewhere between $5 and a million dollars. That leaves a lot of room for me to be pleasantly surprised. If you don't want to give, that's fine too. I understand. Maybe you'll at least stop by the race to cheer me on (or J., in case she is dragging me across the finish line) and perhaps you'll find yourself somehow moved.
As if "Save the Titties," and all it represents, weren't clarion call enough.
Breasts.
They present a conundrum to the modern man. They represent the most fundamentally natural aspect of humanity, unabashedly nourishing newborn life and symbolize in stark relief the bountiful generosity of parenthood. At the same time, they also call forth the relentless, suffocating superficiality of mankind, eternally subject to the commercialization of beauty, amplification of insecurities and objectification of our mothers, daughters and sisters.
In this way, breasts are instruments of both empowerment and subjugation, strength and delicacy, our pride and our shame. They are both the yin and the yang, the alpha and the omega, "the font of motherhood" and "funbags." In short, they embody the best and the worst of humanity.
It is because breasts are so vitally important, endlessly fascinating and preconsciously befuddling that we have so many names for them, in much the same way that the Inuit people have 100 different words for "snow."[1]
Usually I simply refer to them as "breasts," though I admit that in my more playful or primal moments I enjoy the naughty essence of "tits" or "titties" and will exclaim such words with great enthusiasm.
I'm not proud.
But even as I type that regetful sentence, I am grinning the dopey grin of a 10-year old boy. And by leaps and bounds I prefer "tits" or "titties" to "boobs" or "boobies." While these terms are now more commonly accepted in co-ed company and perhaps more accurately evoke the aesthetic qualities of breasts themselves -- I would argue that the latter is the reason for the term's origin, while the former demonstrates the post-feminist movement's success in co-opting theretofore pejorative language -- I find the term to be patently silly. It is clownish and conspicuous, clumsily self-effacing, regressive without being retro chic.
My point here is not to deconstruct the vocabulary or debate the relative merits of such. Ultimately I feel sort of ashamed about my use of the word "tits," although I insist that I only do so in the most appropriately lenient circumstances, and generally with great respect. Think of me as guy who loves something enough that he feels comfortable teasing it[2] a little.
But to assuage any remainder of guilt, I am raising money for a cause that is entirely noble: As a participant in the Susan G. Komen National Race for the Cure, I am asking you to pledge a donation to support the battle against breast cancer.
It's just a measly 5K run, but for me it's also a solid half-hour of reflection on the lives this dread disease has taken and the inspirational efforts of survivors, volunteers and sponsors.
I'm politely asking you to give something, anything, to the cause. That donation page lists a $250 "goal" as a default, but realistically my goal is somewhere between $5 and a million dollars. That leaves a lot of room for me to be pleasantly surprised. If you don't want to give, that's fine too. I understand. Maybe you'll at least stop by the race to cheer me on (or J., in case she is dragging me across the finish line) and perhaps you'll find yourself somehow moved.
As if "Save the Titties," and all it represents, weren't clarion call enough.
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[1]
Date: 2008-05-29 01:35 am (UTC)[2]
Date: 2008-05-29 01:36 am (UTC)Still, niiice.