sexuality

I cannot lie : I can't understand the whole concept of prostitution.

I can't understand why I woman would want to get paid by 2, 3, 6, 10 guys (or gals) a night to make rent. I can't understand how people can use their bodies as a tool or an instrument in that fashion.

I can't understand either why a guy would want to pay for sex. Yes, I know, I've heard about the whole "it's about having control and power and no string attached" spiel. Yet whereas many people see that as an exploitative act that gives men an unlimited amount of power, I see it more as a sign of weakness and even impotence. A guy that has to pay for it can't get it any other way and paying it for it is just part of the thrill.

Yet just because I don't understand the psychological dynamics of prostitution does it mean that it should be outlawed. On the contrary, just as with most drugs, I believe that we should follow Holland's lead and legalize prostitution.

Banning prostitution is not going to make it go away. On the contrary, the allure of breaking the taboo would be even stronger. If women and men want to turn sex into a transaction then, by all means, make it safe and make it fair.

Prostitution should be taxed and considered labor.

Prostitutes should be certified by the board of health.

Prostitution houses ought to be licensed and provide security services, along with health benefits and other labor benefits, to all their workers.

Drunk males get hornier and hornier the more they drink...to the point they start chasing anything, even other males. Problem is, though they get far more interested in having sex, their performance declines the more they drink.

All of that according to a study from the lab of Kyung-An Han, a neurobiologist at Pennsylvania State University, and reported in Nature News. Oh...the study was done on fruit flies (Drosophila melanogaster).

From the article on Nature News:

In the flies, hypersexuality caused by chronic alcohol exposure has the effect of making the males chase anything with wings — other males included. Although sexual preference in humans is obviously a complex phenomenon not replicated by the fly work, the findings could be used to further establish a fly model system for the study of alcoholism, observers say...

As the concentration of ethanol in the body rises, flies begin to become uncoordinated and oblivious to their surroundings: they get tipsy. “They bump into each other. They bump into the walls,” says Heberlein.

Add more alcohol and the flies become sedated. Add still more and the soused flies die. Remarkably, even the concentrations of ethanol that induce these behaviours are nearly the same in flies and humans, says Heberlein. Flies also develop a tolerance to alcohol, and can develop withdrawal-like symptoms...

I read Judith Warner's latest column for the New York Times this morning. My first reading was not a good one. In fact, the whole column sent me into a rage. Luckily for me, it snowed last night (you may have heard that the Northeast experienced a (what else?) Nor'easter last night). For those of us who do not have servants or husbands to shovel our driveways and sidewalks for us, what that meant was that, after my routine cups of coffee and a bowl of cereal, I donned clothes (the sweats I wore yesterday, pulled out of the dirty clothes hamper), a hat, coat, gloves, and my iPod, and grabbed a shovel.

As it turns out, the snow wasn't all that bad. Only about six inches, and while it had been icy coming down, creating hazardous road conditions, on the end of my shovel, it felt fairly light. Of course, it could have been my anger was fueling me, and I did find that the only music that I'd allow the iPod to play had to have a driving beat. I attacked the snow, making a game of seeing just how far I could launch it off the end of the shovel and onto the yard. I seethed about the article, and now, having showered, drunk a cup of tea, and, tucked under blankets to try to keep warm in my old, draughty house, I am trying to articulate why the article made me so goddamned mad.

I read Judith Warner's latest column for the New York Times this morning. My first reading was not a good one. In fact, the whole column sent me into a rage. Luckily for me, it snowed last night (you may have heard that the Northeast experienced a (what else?) Nor'easter last night). For those of us who do not have servants or husbands to shovel our driveways and sidewalks for us, what that meant was that, after my routine cups of coffee and a bowl of cereal, I donned clothes (the sweats I wore yesterday, pulled out of the dirty clothes hamper), a hat, coat, gloves, and my iPod, and grabbed a shovel.

As it turns out, the snow wasn't all that bad. Only about six inches, and while it had been icy coming down, creating hazardous road conditions, on the end of my shovel, it felt fairly light. Of course, it could have been my anger was fueling me, and I did find that the only music that I'd allow the iPod to play had to have a driving beat. I attacked the snow, making a game of seeing just how far I could launch it off the end of the shovel and onto the yard. I seethed about the article, and now, having showered, drunk a cup of tea, and, tucked under blankets to try to keep warm in my old, draughty house, I am trying to articulate why the article made me so goddamned mad.

Ted Haggard had a bad day yesterday. His self-loathing, his hatred of his body and its desires, desires he has stifled and twisted, caught up with him--publicly, and shamed, he resigned his position as President of the National Association of Evangelicals.

But, yesterday, I also had a bad day. I spent much of yesterday crying, sick to my stomach, unable to catch my breath, and contemplating the various implements within my own house that could be used to effect my own demise.

Jesus commanded that we should love all people as we love ourselves. But perhaps Ted Haggard and many, many of his compatriots do not love themselves; therefore, they cannot love others.

I get that kind of pain.

In trials so far these have produced no worrying side effects - however scientists think men may still worry about whether introducing female hormones could harm their virility in some way.

The new approach would therefore avoid this problem. The common perception is that few women would actually believe a man who said he was on the Pill.

However a study published in the British Medical Journal in 2000 found that only two per cent of women said they would not trust their partner to take a male Pill.

I bet you can tell where this diary is going. Down.
If you are a woman, would you feel comfortable relying on your male partner to take care of contraception?

If you are a man, would you consider taking the pill in order to ensure not getting your partner pregnant? Would you worry about side effects? Would having your fertility affected make you feel less "manly"?

"It does not profit a man to marry. For what is a woman but an enemy of friendship, an inescapable punishment, a necessary evil, a natural temptation, a domestic danger, delectable mischief, a fault in nature, painted with beautiful colors?" St. John Chrysostom