Wednesday, February 09, 2011
"I like the way the line runs up the back of your stocking..."
ROCK AND ROLL IS DEAD. One of the responses to my extortion of praise for the Glossary moved me. 'I Used to Love Penny' said:
This one caught my attention, not because it is funny, but because it identifies the underlying pathos.
"There exists an unpolled universe of dirty old men who are silently amazed by a mystery no one mentions: that intangible something in the air which smells of falling temperatures in the ardor of young men. What's going on inside those baggy pants? Or inside those tiny skintight selves? No one wants to ask; is this because we do not care? Or have we rather consented, knowingly or not, to slowly bleed to death the real cause of unsafe sex: the gender that is the unsafe sex. "
Stand up young men, stretch your bodies in the sun. Run along the edge, jump off the top, wrestle with the unknown! Don't let the gynocracy get you down. Don't let them cut out the parts of you that make them tremble.
In the space of time between the
extinguishing of man and the disappearance of our race they will, with
weeping and wailing, lament the loss of trembling.
What almost no one appreciates is how quickly this has happened. The
currency of female sexuality today is the pierced tongue and the 'tramp
stamp.' Only a generation ago it had to do with the tease, not blatant
billboard advertising of wares and techniques. Now we have 'urban
dictionary' entries about the donkey
punch and the dirty Sanchez,
both sexes chortling over their single-entendres.
No wonder there's a general decline in male libido. I just want to
clarify one thing, the 'dirty old man' reference. Frankly, I don't find
anything sexually attractive
about young women anymore, including basically any that are under 40 or
50. More and more, the young ones strike me as guys with tits and twats. The new
term of "connecting" as a euphemism for unromantic screwing is enough
to make me feel I have outlived my time.
People, even commenters here, keep asking why I continually refer to
myself as old even though I'm only 57. This is a huge reason why. Maybe
I'm wrong, but I have the distinct impression that if you lift the back
of a twenty-something girl's top these days, you'll see a tattoo a few
inches above her bottom that's designed to visually amuse her latest
'lover' while he pounds away doggy-style. What's that all about? Wer're
supposed to take her seriously as an emancipated, fully equal person of
note and individual accomplishment? Phooey.
Old.I.Am. The same way I feel about seeing Fergie
at the Super Bowl
imitating rapper accents and showing off a singing voice that, well,
let's face it, ain't no Doris Day, Lena Horne, or Tina Turner.
Real sex is in the past. Which makes it harder to care about
anything and everything.
I keep wondering what percentage of everybody is now just
units of lust and consumption and bathroom breaks, text-messaging acquaintances instead of living life with real intimates? Maybe you can educate me
about my world-class fuddy-duddy-ness. But I'll leave you with this
while you think about it:
Of course, it doesn't help my cause that David Lee Roth looks
increasingly like a dissipated old accountant, balding, bloated, and
boring. Oh well. Nobody ever promised that life would be fair.