‘Sex at Dawn’ – THAT should help the Google-hits!

One of two favorite books I read in 2010. Sex columnist Dan Savage had been PRAISING Sex at Dawn, having co-author Christopher Ryan on for an episode of the Savage Love Podcast (highly recommended – entertaining, pragmatic, political, frothy and available on iTunes – no, I don’t get a commission).

Ever seen porn? Heard of porn? Anyway, people enjoy watching other people have sex. People like pondering other people having sex. People like imagining themselves having non-procreational sex. Yet, admitting this is a source of shame.

How many times must we see moral zealots revealed to be unhappy hypocrites about what they profess compared to what they truly like? How many times among our friends? Us? Hell, remember how then-Surgeon General Jocelyn Elders got pressured to resign for acknowledging that masturbation is a natural activity?

“A 2005 survey of 12,000 adolescents found that those who had pledged to remain abstinent until marriage were more likely to have oral and anal sex than other teens, less likely to use condoms, and just as likely to contract sexually transmitted diseases as their unapologetically non-abstinent peers. The study’s authors found that 88 percent of those who pledged abstinence admitted to failing to keep their pledge.”

This book takes on a lot of long-held anthropological assumptions and knocks them down. We are not aggressive apes prone to violence over territory, as chimpanzees are. We are closer to bonobos. Bonobos rub genitals together in greeting, and have sex with each other. A lot. It reinforces social bonds. It feels good. It was what early humans did before the development of agriculture. Before the establishment of harvests, of property, of having more stuff than other people – including claiming dominion over mates.

“On the question of human/bonobo similarities concerning stress, it’s interesting to note that when bombs fell near them in World War II, all the bonobos in the zoo died from the stress the explosions caused, while none of the chimps perished (according to de Waal and Lanting, 1998).”

This book is ambitious, and has great humor. It strives to be an updated Kinsey report, but even broader and deeper with detailed looks at neurology, anatomy (sexual organs, sexual processes/mechanics, hormones and health), sociology, gender studies, sexual attitudes across many cultures, primate-to-primate behaviors. It examines what we actually do, and why. Not what we profess to do. Never thought I’d read paragraphs about “sperm competition” and find them so enthralling. Not prurient, but “Oh, wow.”

It’s pretty good at the take-downs of unsound, enduring, widespread anthropological assumptions. Doesn’t feel as solid on the cases it builds up. It does demand a lot of thought by the reader on what makes us as humans happy, biology v. social conditioning, wants and needs on both a species-wide and personal scale. Expect to do a lot of reflection and rummaging through your past and present.

BEFORE you go all inward in front of your computer display/smartphone right now, let me intervene and delay your impending epiphany.

Did you know that Kellog’s cereal was formed by Seventh Day Adventist brothers who worked in a sanitarium trying to dampen libidos? Check it:

“Though widely considered to be one of the leading sex educators of his day, Kellogg proudly claimed never to have had intercourse with his wife in over four decades of marriage. But he did require a handsome male orderly to give him an enema every morning—an indulgence his famously high-fiber breakfasts should have made unnecessary. […] These men believed that any spices or strong flavors excited sexual energies, so they recommended bland diets to dampen the libido. Graham crackers and unsweetened breakfast cereal were originally marketed to parents of adolescent boys as foods that would help them evade the evils of masturbation.”

Update

on 2011-05-20 05:11 by Derek Denton

I danced around a core issue in the book: monogamy. Scores of statistics that our mass national shock, SHOCK at people who are non-monogamous contain an abundance of fucking hypocrites. Other, more pragmatic nations laugh at our pretense and vestiges of Puritanism, and inability to hold to them. The book looks at scores of human societies with completely different practices on sexual exclusivity/possession with startling extremes on both ends. And at our biology, and what we admit to anonymously about actual sexual exclusivity.

What if we’re not wired for it? Long-term exclusivity does happen, happily, but think of the broad cliché (even assumption) of a couple seething at each other with longterm resentments/tolerance and lack of affection, yet they are obliged to stay together. Think of friends who separated or divorced. Or maybe you have yourself. Was it a clean break? Or even when dating – crisp transitions from one relationship to the other, or vague, sloppy, bewildering periods? If people are not sexually compatible with one another, but compatible and happy in other ways, are they obliged to shut that part of themselves and their identity off?

As I’m typing this, a lot of tsk-tsking over Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver’s divorce is going on with the media. Is it sad a family is breaking up? Sure (we assume). Do we know all that was going on in that marriage? No. Do we project on them anyway? Oh, yes.

I am not of the “Let’s leave [celebrities steeped in scandal-of-the-day] ALONE.” There is HUGE comedy to be mined in paragons of beauty or morality caught being mammals just like us. It’s a privilege we have. Idols are built then torn down. For thousands of years.

Any-hoo, the book puts all these ideas out there, and then … leaves you wondering what should we be striving for as a society. It makes for a tough, challenging, deep read.

Mebbe the world is fulla weirdos?

Midway through a lunch hour I’ll break out the journal book and start scribbling. High-minded stuff occasionally, mostly dirty stuff. Deeply inward, slouched over, intermittently leaning back and laughing, other times frustrated how it reads like other parts I’ve written. A burst of goofy inspiration splashes on the page, I get happy, lean back again with another laugh or shake my head at some in-joke that’s been embedded and whether it will get a laugh. Then I’ll wonder what scene this behavior paints:

A gangly-ish, frumpy-ish dude in, as a neighbor described me, “corporate Joe” office regalia, seated solo making a series of pained faces, O faces, smirky faces. Occasional fidgeting and perusal of books, Kindle, reference sheets, notes. More smirking/anguish/maniacal rotations of postures and sounds.

Then I’ll look around and see a sprinkling of other hermits seated alone among the crowd. Some of them working intensely on something (usually on a laptop). I tend to write in places with lots of people around. Then I’ll glance at the tables with conversations going on. Presumably folks arrived in troupes from nearby workplaces. Maybe they choose each other’s company. Maybe some of them were press ganged and wish they could have a patch of solitude away from work.

Photo is of my pen, my notebook (at the time – now FILLED, bay-bee!, like, three journals ago!), and a fragment of pencil lead left behind at the table by a previous occupant.

Anne Sexton at home

Don’t know why this footage exists, but it’s compelling. The Spanish subtitles add to it. Does attunement and sublime expression require someone to be cracked?

Facebook a mural of holiday letters

My Facebook biota is full of people browsing, reluctant to contribute, unwilling to extend and be vulnerable.

That makes it less compelling to me. Still valuable as a news feed. Still good for bursts of life’s most presentable aspects scrubbed and groomed like sentences from family holiday newsletters. Feels like a shift more to posturing, less personal bravery. Even under pedestrian expressions (“Hey, gotta make another trip to the grocery store! LOLZ!”), chthonic frustrations can be readily detected (“If SOME people had planned a little better I wouldn’t be going to this goddamned grocery store again and having a SUPER-TEDIOUS conversation with the same clerk who will remark on how I’m back again 20 minutes later implying that I don’t have my shit together!”) – but I don’t want to have to work THAT hard.

I still like it for the quick-hit sense of interpersonal geography. A map of where people I know are, what they’re doing. Expands my sense of the breadth of the world – traveling to and from work can be a existential tunnel.

Many brave friends who have been willing to be vulnerable and articulate have burned out on Facebook and dropped off that mental map. Frequent thought of late: “Why is the News Feed less aesthetic, more anesthetic?” Several still hold on, the depth is appreciated (especially you who got notice from me about this blog – thank you).

Whittling down the list of Facebook friends might help. My list is too long, and I hear from people over and over they appreciate my posts, but they never interact with me. “Thank you!” I say to the compliment. “Grrr…” I say inwardly about these lurkers.

That dynamic has an advantage from a public relations standpoint, but what I’m perhaps yearning for is contact. Or solidarity with other people with peculiar brains. “Peculiar” = perceptive and honest. Life is damned peculiar, being peculiar shows attunement.

Emotional fitness test

Took a fitness test on an elliptical machine the last two trips to the gym, noticed my pulse RISES when listening to melancholy music, drops when listening to funk/soul.

Realistic diagnosis: memory of past dramas gets the adrenaline going.

Preferred diagnosis: I was born funky, bass is my baseline.

Space, and opera

Last night’s dream —

I’m part of a family of four in a small space station we made ourselves. Not my real life family. My role alternates between father and sibling.

The fifth person in our group goes mad, damages the top of our space station that keeps us aloft by tearing a giant seam in the hull. I spot the tear, grip it closed enough with my hands while radioing the other people in the space station that we’ve been sabotaged, who did it, and that we’re slowly descending back to earth.

We land in a desolate area in California. I’m with one family member and we get picked up and transported to San Francisco. The other family/crew members disappear at this point. I’m not sure which family member I’m traveling with.

We check into an elaborate, fancy hotel in San Francisco. Like all fancy hotels, it is adjoined to a fancy shopping mall via an outdoor escalator to the mezzanine level. How fancy is this shopping mall? Why, one of its anchor stores is the San Francisco Metropolitan Opera House!

We go inside the San Francisco Met and attend a massive variety show staged on three sides about a floor above where the audience sits on couches and chaise longues, looking up. Large pageantry, pastel costumes.

I find a remote underneath my seat, press a button, the lights flicker and the whole audience and the performers are all “WTF?” then I hit the button again. Lights return to normal and the performance resumes.

Intermittently I’m trying to text a friend who lives in San Francisco: “Hey, I’m in San Francisco! Let’s hang!” but there’s a problem with sending a text – a breach of protocol in the opera, for one, although I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Unable to text, I’m trying to check in via Facebook Places to catch the friend’s notice and coming to realize that there may not even BE a San Francisco Metropolitan Opera. Frustration sets in. Dream ends.

[UPDATE: San Francisco has city opera, but it is not named the Met]

I like to ride my bicycle, I like to ride my bike

Saturday I went on an hour and a half bike ride – 22 miles. From my home to the airport and back (okay, at the other end there was frozen yogurt involved (double okay – frozen yogurt is basically a fruit & candy delivery vehicle)). I love the move through space, the sustained dumb exertion, thinking snide things about passersby, singing quietly during solitary stretches until slightly winded.

Weather was great. There’s only a 40 block stretch shared with vehicles. While on guard, it’s always heartening to think of the number of people who COULD mow me over and choose not to. Strain and adverse conditions usually make me laugh.

A bit of daydreaming, a lot of reflection, but never, ever any particular big-picture resolve.

Action-packed dreams, with tasty eating!

Long periods go by where I wake up and don’t recall any dreams. This morning, I recall four. All simple, all influenced by the night before.

Zombie infestation!
The dream took place in an elaborate, delapidated apartment complex. Heavy doors with lever handles. Great for slamming closed JUST IN TIME while looking through the porthole window at the thwarted zombies (they rarely snap their fingers and say “Drat!”) or seeing something really terrible happen to someone who might’ve been me. Can’t recall if anyone I know was involved. If you were, sorry. And yes, I will shoot you in the head if you’ve turned, and expect you’d do the same for me. Okay, 2-3 of you I would strap to a a stretcher and drag around now matter how much you bitched or went “AAARGGHH BRAAAINSS!” in case a scientist somewhere came up with a cure. IF you made that cut and IF you were cured EXPECT you would owe me the biggest goddamned favor of all time. At a minimum, do NOT bitch about how the straps left little crenulations across your chest, arms, and legs.

Woke up a little agitated, heart racing, concerned. Then realized I had a ZOMBIE ADVENTURE dream, affected by watching about 5 minutes of the Dawn of the Dead remake last night, and thought “Ah! Cool.” *KONK* Zzzz…

Hanging with a friend.
Sitting down having a mild chat with a distant friend. Don’t even recall the topics (I usually don’t – will assume My Dinner with André-level scintillating conversation) just the fond relief that at that moment, the geography gap is closed and it seems time and space are within control and easily bent to suit our whims. Am assuming this was triggered by Facebook or Twitter interactions/viewings. This online stuff can be QUITE the neuron-stirrer.

Mediterranean/Lebanese food.
Watched Batman Begins with the kids last night. In it a portly corrupt cop eats a falafel sandwich from a food cart, steals money from the proprietor’s tip can, gets hoisted several stories up and above an alleyway and interrogated by gravelly-voiced Batman. First time the kids have seen the movie. Was pleased as it meant a new audience for my impression of Christian Bale’s gargle-growl – and I’m getting exact about WHAT in Bale’s American accent bugs. L spotted mid-way through the movie that Bale keeps his mouth open – a lot. Not an unfair American characterization by Bale, but still weird-lookin’.

Anyway – watching the fat oily man drop his falafel sammich when yanked upward by his ankle to GROUCHY Batman on the rooftops above I thought: “I want to get Lebanese food tomorrow.” In a dream, I did just that. And, using super-powers gained from intensive study of The Secret – I may have visualized this goal enough to have it manifest today!

Disney park.
History/obsession/study of Disney parks merits an entry/confession/plea-for-help here at some point. I have a shelf of books of the history of Walt Disney the man, the corporation, testimonials by employees, but especially about the parks. I have an outline and some text written up for a novel that takes place at Walt Disney World that I may resume after this current writing project is done.

I take charge in a Disney park. The amount of time spent studying the geography and history is extensive. I was in the Magic Kingdom as recently as early April (for half a day – but fun was MAXIMIZED!) as part of a business trip. We’re finishing up plans for my spouse’s annual conference for her hobby to be extended to a family trip to Disneyland.

The BEST guidebook for the Disney parks is the “Unofficial Guide”. Pragmatic detail of each attraction, logistics, dishy, even-handed and well-timed “Do these things in this order” plans of attack, with variations depending on the group you’re with, that are awesome and minimize waits in line. I was reading the 2011 edition for Disneyland before falling asleep. In the dream, navigating around Disneyland (solo? with family? with friends? – can’t recall in the way Rain Man might not be top-of-mind cognizant of the people he’s with) and having fun.

In general, my dreams tend to be simple, with easy-to-identify sources of inspiration. That’s good, right?

“My Makeup” by Rochelle Kraut

This sits in the malaise that sighs in the between-beat parts of Pink’s “Get This Party Started” or Ke$ha “choose debauchery” anthems.

My Makeup
by Rochelle Kraut

on my cheeks I wear
the flush of two beers

on my eyes I use
the dark circles of sleepless nights
to great advantage

for lipstick
I wear my lips