The Monsters of the Arctic Bergs and Ice Floes

Prologue as an insult to the French
Although she does shockingly attempt to go single white female today on my #1 internet crush (only joking neuro), the so-called Bibi Franceypants is just about the most explosively amazing thing to ever happen in France. I know that isn’t a very effusive compliment. Good in France is far more worrying than being “big in Germany” but she does live in Cheeseland and yet she is great.

Did you know that the hungarian word for cheese is sajt? No? Shame on you. That s is pronounced “sh” and the j is “y”. That means that in Hungary, cheese is shite. When I called France Cheeseland up there, I wished 3 times that I could be in Hungary. Man, I hate Franceland.

I am currently enjoying some nice Russki beer. I spat it out all over a priceless family artifact however when I visited this podcast from The Onion. I know it is a tenuous connection but maybe you should go visit the number one Christian porn site now. Those guys are kind of like heroes for me.

Stressing over stress? What’s new?
I got a new album today. It is called Nothing Changes Under The Sun. Thankfully it isn’t a piece of Christian pap but some excellent coffeeshop music. It is by a band called Blue States. Don’t hate it just because Pitchfork, the biggest tosspots in the world, like it. I need a lot of coffeeshop music because this weekend I am going away with work again. I think this will be the 456th time since 2005 ended that I have to be away. I am becoming more and more of a zoomtard under the stress. Any suggestions for helping me de-stress will be gratefully received.

The woman who’s laundry I do got me a massage. I will avail of it after this next work assignment. The idea of a massage is, well, perplexing. I have to get in the nip (I prefer that phrase because by suggesting that one “gets into” nudity, it makes it seem less, well, nude to me) which reveals my birthmark on my back which looks alarmingly like a spikey ‘666’. On top of that, I have to let some hot Swedish girl knead my body. I am used to Swedish girls telling me they need my body, but not knead. Har har etc.

But sadly it seems, the masseuse will be a man. Happily in fact. I might be letting the side down for all the wannabe alpha males out there but there would be very little more embarrassing than “becoming physically aroused, prompting the associated symptomatic erection of the penis” around a stranger who is being paid to touch you. Suggestions for more scarleh-inducing scenarios will be gratefully received on postcards, the backs of corpses left lying in my garden or through comments.

I am lying of course. I am getting a full body massage but it isn’t being done by a masseuse. Masseuse, it turns out, is a feminine term. I will refer to my male body-pounder with respect as a masseur.

I wonder if there is a whore module at seminary?
Speaking of people paid to touch disgusting creeps for a living, the aforementioned neuro has written about prostitution recently. Most all of us Furious Thinkers are Christians. I know. Shocking. We mostly write our entries sitting down, so we can leave our psychological crutches on the floor. So as we approach the issue of whether Ireland should legalise prostitution, we come laden with the baggage of generations of churchianity encouraging us to see ourselves as more pure than those who don’t bow on a Sunday. But, none of the Furious Thinkers are likely to pay much heed to the socio-political judgements of the various churches in Ireland. Iain Paisely and Archbishop McQuaid don’t leave us with a bold heritage we are eager to claim.

While this debate rose to prominence here at home a few weeks ago, I was in Ukraine. Within about 20 minutes of leaving the train station in Kiev, we were offered wives and whores. Sex sells and it isn’t the product, but the retailer, that reaps the profits. The women we were offered were pimped by criminal gangs who must be getting filthy rich off of their industry. Meanwhile, the women are raped, demeaned, dehumanised and robbed of the chance to live as they should live. This is a serious issue and a simple “Let freedom reign” answer won’t suffice. Nor will a moralistic, reaching for utopian “This is wrong” response. It is serious enough for Catholic bishops to change their mind on it. For the sake of all that is good, it is serious enough for the Arctic Monkeys to write a song about it.

It is very difficult for me to write about sex without sounding like a Celine Dion lyricist. But take even a cursory look at our civilisation and you will see that it is one of the most potent forces at work. We drink it in every day in the songs we hear while driving, in the intentions of the tailors who cut our clothes and in the wink-wink nudge-nudge innuendos of a psuedo-intellectual amateur theologist’s web journal. I don’t think that any of that is especially bad. It is nothing more than the expression of something that naturally plays on our minds a lot.

But things get a little bit more hairy for me when sex is exalted from a natural good and an instinctive drive to being the natural good or more commonly, an instinctive compulsion. This is rarely expressed more eloquently than when Michael Stipe sings:

I’m an animal.

This idea, you see, doesn’t encourage much deeper thinking than that. We are indeed evolved organisms. But we are much more than that too and the sheer depth to which our culture drowns in sex and all things sexual must show us that sex represents for us a much deeper need. I don’t agree with enforced celibacy for Catholic priests, but I do think celibate people can be happy. Often today we work off an assumption that to deny our sexual appetite (or any appetite?) is to do harm to ourselves. But just as I shouldn’t eat a 12 inch pizza and a serving of potato wedges for dinner, I also shouldn’t browse for porn. The hunger I feel for food shows me a need that needs to be addressed. The hunger I have for sex shows me a need that needs to be looked at. But while any sufficiently large dose of food will stall the hunger, the need is for nutrition and while any sufficiently large dose of arousal will sate horniness, the need is for intimacy, vulnerability and connection.

I fear I lose track of what an appetite is for. It is not for silencing, it is there to be listened to. And there are days when I realise that without self restraint (and the encouragement of folks like XXX Church) I’d happily live on a damaging diet of junk sex, tv sex and solo sex as corroding to me as a diet of junk food, tv food and solitary food. I may only be able to eat enough food for two, but I could consume enough sex for ten if I removed those pesky ties to that one particular woman I love so much. The reason why it is important to remember sex is just sex and not a route to fulfillment in life is because the sexual appetite can be ludicrously and preposterously excessive. It is a greedy urge that seeks to aggregate to itself all that it can possibly wrap its arms around, even if those porn actresses might be underaged or infected and even if that woman is only doing this to pay for her kids. I should admit that I am ripping of C.S. Lewis who wrote once:

You can get a large audience together for a strip-tease act- that is, to watch a girl undress on stage. Now suppose you come to a country where you could fill a theatre by simply bringing a covered plate on to a stage and then slowly lifting the cover so as to let every one see, just before the lights went out, that it contained a mutton chop or a bit of bacon, would you not think that in that country something had gone wrong with the appetite for food? And would not anyone who had grown up in a different world think there was something equally queer about the state of the sex instinct among us?

So I don’t think that prostitution should be legalised so that people can have sex. In the marketplace, sex may be used to sell everything from toothpaste to theology (or at least it will be when I publish my first book: Penetrating Exegesis) but sex should not be for sale because there is a market. I think sex is too good to turn into a commodity. I think human beings are too valuable to be reduced to body parts. I love sex too much to see it so cheapened. Maybe it is ridiculous for a man in his early 20s to have such a view but I’ve made my share of sex mistakes and I am certain we are not just animals. We are not compelled to copulate. We do not have a mating season because the Pope is wrong, sex is for more than just having babies. Its also for more than just orgasms.

But before I get even more preachy, the reality is that people are being attacked and abused on a nightly basis on our streets. They are not living the life they could and should be living but that is almost certainly because of other people’s choices and not their own. Even if it was, I can’t make people live up to their potential by telling them what they can’t do. Prostitution is a moral issue, but the weakest kind of morality is one defined by limiting people. Telling people they can’t turn tricks doesn’t make it possible for them to do anything else.

So to stop the beating and the raping, I propose that we legalise prostitution in Ireland. I am under no illusions that it will end the exploitation, but it might end the violent degradation. It will still be mostly women, objectified and commodified and made inferior. It will still be the poorest and most disadvantaged who make up the bulk of the workers. The profits will still go to people exerting huge influence over those actually doing the work. And I realise that through the tax revenue and the legal precedent, society will be much less encouraged to reach for a future where women don’t have to end up working like this. But we can’t make people good by saying no. Ultimately, as a Christian, I don’t think “we” can make people good at all. But in a fallen, broken, shattered, groaning world, the legalisation offers a less bad model than the one currently in place.

And on the tangent of women being things that make us happy be watching them…
Although Natalie Portman is not a prostitute, she did once play a stripper. She is also very small.

Although Lisa Loeb is not a prostitute, she might be a commodity. Her reality tv show shenanigans suggest she is embracing it as her female perogative. I might have spent many happy afternoons as a teenager daydreaming about Lisa Loeb and her hot librarian glasses in her underwear, but its turns out that when you see it, it leaves you feeling like you’ve just gotten food poisoning. From a meat substitute. You feel sick and cheated.

Your Correspondent, Wonders if when the President talks to God, does he ever change his mind?

6 Responses to “The Monsters of the Arctic Bergs and Ice Floes”

  1. neuro-praxis says:

    Sorry to be encouraging the mutual appreciation society, but what a great post. Truly. I should probably say this to you in person. You’re sitting a metre away from me. See how I spelt metre? That’s right. The correct way.

  2. zoomtard says:

    *Hugs*

    Let’s all dance a happy dance of thinking each other just brilliant. Let us call the neighbors out and color the street in our favorite shades to honour skillful defense of prostitution.

    See what I just did there, I spelt American.

  3. zoomtard says:

    Stop *plowing* this same field over and over.

    *Analyze* your *arguement* and even you will see that you are what our American *neighbors* would call, a dufus.

  4. James Hackett says:

    Why should posting a webthingumy result in such applause? I feel discriminated against as someone who doesn’t have a personal web site or blog (yet). A recent survey states that 75% of web loggers are nerds, and therefore inferior. I admit that this is piece of writing is as good as it gets (imo) but I resent this ganging up against me. I notice that no one mentioned that I am great. Sadly, you wrote a blog and therefore all praise is nullified.