For only one more day, I (the little ant head on the left) am featured on the same page as Maya Angelou, John Stewart, Barack Obama and more!
OMG, the excitement continues to grow exponentially! Now, courtesy of the same paparazzi-snapped photos that brought us the princess baring her boobs to sun and husband, we might actually be able to see her ASS!!!
So I thought I’d get a bit medical. Buttocks? Nothing.
How about a euphemism? Rear end? Nada.
A little slang, then? Ass? Not one. (I thought at least I’d get a donkey or two.)
This development has changed the direction of my post. I’d planned to wax poetic about the beauty of the human derrière, the way I did in my last post about the lovely form and function of a woman’s breasts. But instead I’m feeling pissed off that someone else has decided what images are ‘suitable’ for my clip art choices.
Just for the hell of it, I looked up pissed off. Zippo.
Why is the human butt not suitable? My guess is that some administrative types decided that clip art should be ‘clean’ of lascivious attractions. For example, little Ricky doing his book report might get side-tracked by the uncontrollable urge to look at some hiney. And I guess their logic is that parents catching little Ricky looking at hiney does not reflect well on the company that sold them the means (also called ‘blame the messenger’). Like little Ricky doesn’t see plenty of hiney (and booby) selling burgers on prime time TV?
My point is, what is the point exactly of this kind of ridiculous censorship? I blame the messenger for that.
Foot fetishists adore feet, and there are plenty of those in clip art. Little Ricky just might develop a foot fetish after viewing these beauties:
Shoe fetishists crave shoes, and clip art is rampant with them. Little Ricky might welcome the chance to accompany Mom to the Macy’s shoe section if it means more of this:
Pedophiles hunt for kid pix, and needless to say, those were endless. But I’m not even gonna go there with pictures. I might be accused of trying to attract pedophiles to my blog. Hey, they’ve got clip art! What do they need me for?
The bottom line is that it’s really difficult to make sense of our culture’s obsession/revulsion with sexuality. A healthy interest is what we should desire. Sexuality, in all its beauty and complexity, is how we propagate our species. It puts us back in touch with our primal animal bodies. It allows us to form the most intimate of heart connections with another. It’s a pathway to ecstasy, and for some, even spiritual bliss. And little Ricky looking for some booty pix is just the earliest manifestation of children’s normative sexual curiosity.
In my book in progress about food, sex and relationship, Licking the Spoon, I discuss the impact of the types of images and messages that both children and adults receive about sex.
Sex is one of the most powerful aspects of our mysterious life force. To treat it as if our natural interest is somehow perverse and must be protected against, while bombarding us with images that are in fact distorted (like the boob-job blonde having an orgasm while eating a 1500 calorie meal), is not helping us to be a healthy culture, sexually or otherwise.
But back to the butt for a minute. A fine pair of buns is indeed another of nature’s miracles. I hope the prince enjoys the view and supports his bride, especially if she is criticized by his rather tight-lipped grandmother.
I’ve been on the edge of my seat, haven’t you? I mean waiting to see whether the paparazzi-snapped photos of the princess sunbathing topless will make it into the mass media!
I sometimes joke that I got into sex education through the back door. No, not that back door, silly… Continue reading
In Part 1 of the above, I continued the story of how I became interested in writing, from innocent rhymes to my mother to racy novellas to winning a high school award. Unfortunately, no one thought to refer me to a college with a decent writing program. I was like the Oliver Twist of writing … Continue reading
My enjoyment of writing began early, as I described in a previous post Pretty Girls, Phallic Symbols, and the Mysterious Human Brain. Starting with childish tributes to my mother’s beauty (almost as soon as I could write), I soon became more sophisticated. By age 11, I was regaling my friends with a novella written in daily installments. As we walked to school, they listened, wide-eyed, to a growing tale of deep mystery. It was set in London, with a lovely young heroine who had recently lost her mother. As she visited the cemetery one foggy, lonely night… Continue reading
Previously, I described how a wealthy third grade friend sparked a love of nature within me. She led me through woods, across swamp, and to the bank of a river that were all part of her family’s property, and I found them every bit as voluptuous as the mansion that fronted their land. Then I had the great fortune to spend summers at my grandfather’s cabin in the Pocono Mountains (the grandfather who fed me ice cream, not the grandfather who fed me wine). It was a time and place when kids could roam freely, and play by circadian rhythms… Continue reading
My grandmother was typically a pretty poor cook. But then she’d knock out a Thanksgiving feast of such perfection that it might have gotten the European invaders to agree not to rip off the Natives. (No, I mean REALLY agree. And keep it.) WTF??? My mom, on the other hand, was usually a great cook. Not so much in the lean years. Actually I remember a lot of Spam in those years. (No, not the unwanted mail; the mystery meat.) Fried Spam. Baked Spam. Sandwich-Spam. I will never again eat Spam. Continue reading