I’mma’ Gunna’ Pull Yo’ Hair

I’ve changed a lot in recent years.  More specifically, my opinions have changed a lot.

Back when I was young and idealistic and inexperienced, I believed that freedom was achieved through hedonism – controlled hedonism, if you will.  I thought that happiness came to those who poo-poo’d social mores and embraced the more dangerous aspects of life.  The sex, the drugs, the rocks and the rolls, those kinds of things.

I was an aspiring free sprit with a modest collection of formerly banned books (as in books banned in the 1800s that are now available on the bargain shelves at Chapters), a penchant for literature about pornography (not to be confused with pornographic literature, although I do have some of that too), a taste for mild body modifications (all of which are covered by clothing) and a kind of bohemian life philosophy.  

I still have some left-of-center beliefs that I hold dear (i.e. gay marriage is cool, abortion is a personal choice, abstinence-only education is ridiculous, etc), but my belief that all fun is good fun has been tempered by personal experience.  Now I believe that some “fun” things are not fun at all.  For me, anyways, and possibly for you too.

Let me explain.

Sex.

So, on the far right end of the spectrum you have courtship.  Courtship is chaste and non-threatening.  It involves two individuals expressing emotional and intellectual interest in one another, and thus agreeing to spend time together to see if a romantic commitment is a possibility.  It’s about hand-holding and giggling and shy, flirtatious glances.  It’s old-school, basically, and thus dated – mostly because it excludes the possibility of developing a physical relationship prior to a wedding.

However, on the far (left?) side of the romance continuum you have the hook-up, which is, by definition, not romantic at all. The hook-up is a fast and furious self-serving act.  It’s meant to enhance one’s reputation more than his (or her, but mostly his) quality of life.  The term “hook up” is ugly.  It sounds like plugging in a cord or linking paperclips together over a boring lunch hour.  The analogy is fairly appropriate, as insertion seems to be a key component of any real hook-up.

It’s sort of like the Ying Yang twins song that’s alluded to in this blog’s title.  It’s rough and coarse and terse.  

Despite the fact that a hook-up is supposed to be frivolous and exciting, it has rules.  Big Rules.

Rule #1: Don’t get attached after a hook-up.  Getting attached is for bitches.

Rule #2: Don’t expect affection after the hook-up, that’s asking too much.  Affection is for bitches.

Rule #3: You can hook-up again, but if attachment ensues, expect mockery and a long-lasting adversarial relationship with your former “lover.”

I used to think hook-ups were dandy, a good way to relieve stress and learn more about the beauty of human sexuality.  Now, I think they’re a troublesome social trend that’s stunting natural emotional growth.  Sex need not be exclusively reserved for love or commitment, but it should be had for passion.  It should be about desire and, hopefully, a small shred of mutual respect.  It should be about fulfilling the wants and needs of yourself and another person.

When you’re told you shouldn’t – nay, can’t – expect basic respect from your one-time (or part-time) partner because “it’s just sex and clinginess is for bitches,” the fun is gone.  The freedom from archaic, old-fashioned values is gone.  Even the “naughty” aspect is eradicated.  The hook-up, more often than not, eventually becomes about one person’s power over someone else.  One person, free of emotional reservations, sees another as, well, kind of a come bucket or fleshy vibrator.  If the bucket or vibrator gets upset, he or she (usually she) is derided for not following the rules.

Expecting everlasting attachment isn’t fair, but nor is it fair to demand cold detachment from people who are, for all intents and purposes, being intimate with another human being.  

We don’t need to return to an era where kissing was scandalous, but we do need to find balance between austerity and overindulgence, especially when that overindulgence starts to prove more wearying and trying than it’s worth.  

Sex is about the enjoyment of another person’s body, not the cold use of it.  Somehow it’s become cool to forget that, and I think that’s sad.

A Burning Question

So, I’m kinda a member of the press now.

Well, not quite.  I write for a college newspaper, and I write for free.  In fact, I write because it’s a program requirement. However, it’s been a challenge, and a rewarding one at that.  

Anyways, I think I may have made some kind of etiquette or journalistic faux pas today.  Perhaps it was merely a professional one, I don’t know.

I’m writing a somewhat important story about some wayward support-gathering tactics used by a prominent political party.  I’m not the first person to talk about it.  This isn’t a Woodward/Bernstein thing, though it would be cool if it was.  I’d like respect and notoriety at a young-ish age.  If I had it, I wouldn’t have to worry about proper phone etiquette, for people would be calling me.  

So, because this is a somewhat important story, it requires me to contact somewhat important people.  Today, I called a politician, and when his assistant answered the phone, I just asked for the person for whom I was calling.  The assistant seemed kind of surprised, and did a little, “umm, uhh” sort of thing before asking about the nature of my call.  

I guess you can’t just ask for a politician the way you’d ask for your friend when you’re bored and want to talk about America’s Next Top Model.  

Are you supposed to be like, “Hi, I’m so and so, and I want to talk to Mr.____ about this, can you help me?”  

Was it brash and ignorant and rude of me to ask to speak directly to an important elected official?  Did I come off as amateur and socially awkward, or ballsy and assertive?  

I think the former.

Damn.

An Awkward Thought for a Wednesday Afternoon

Okay, so I kind of have this health problem.  It was discovered recently, and it’s not serious.  Well, it’s more accurate to say that it’s not likely to progress from curable to serious.  Still, it has to be managed with careful observation and, as a worst case scenario, very minor outpatient surgery (meaning I won’t have to spend a night in the hospital or anything).  The surgery part isn’t a guarantee, it’s a “maybe.”  Even if it becomes a must, it won’t be anything crazy.  In fact, it wouldn’t even be entirely correct to call it surgery, but rather moderately aggressive interference.  With some kind of electrical device.  

It won’t be as painful as it sounds.  I hope.  

Basically, I’m not all that worried.

Anyways, I know how I contracted this problem.  I got it from doing something that wasn’t in my best interests health-wise.  It wasn’t anything crazy – or even rare or unusual – but it wasn’t particularly wise.  I could have done things differently.  

However, I’m comforted by the knowledge that this was preventable.  I’m relieved that it had a defined trigger, and didn’t spontaneously occur.  Mystery, in this case, is a terrifying entity to deal with.

After I found out exactly what was ailing me (and why), I shared my wisdom (which I thought was actually common knowledge in this enlightened era) with a former “victim” and she looked doubtful, and a little scandalized.  

She hoped it wasn’t true, and that I was misinformed.  She dared not believe that ___ is caused by ____.  The ailment, she said, was no different from lupus or [some types of] cancer.  It appeared randomly and without provocation – a mere stroke of bad luck.

Even if something undesirable is caused by inadvisable behavior, is it not a little bit of a relief to know that ill fortune didn’t befall you randomly?  That you now understand the cause and can prevent such things from happening in the future?  Isn’t it just a relief to know why something happened?  Are all people not comforted by understanding cause and effect?  I know I am, I don’t like to spend too much time wondering why.  I like a firm “how.”    

Besides, the sooner you identify problems the sooner you can fix them, and the sooner you can (if need be) adjust your behavior accordingly.   

The good thing is that I know from whence this issue came, and I’ve accepted my involvement.  I’m not drowning in the throes of shame or embarrassment.  I’m not guilt-stricken, either.  I’m just relieved, really, to know the “hows” and the “whys.”  

P.S. I don’t have HIV or herpes.  

P.P.S. You all thought I had herpes, didn’t you?

P.P.P.S. Pigs.