(Today, your intrepid, yet to be hired by McSweeney’s columnist somehow connects sexting, wanking, joint replacements, and Russell Tovey – it’s not as difficult as one might think . . .but, rather a LONG ONE … which can hurt a little, but is generally a good thing …)
Sunday morning. Most often I spend my Sundays in repose, reading the New York Times, doing as little as possible. However, since I moved houses yesterday, I didn’t get to gym-it, and I am somewhat paranoid about NOT going to the gym two days in a row, so . . . here I am, early morning web-trolling in an effort to get my lazy ass motivated to drive down the mountain from which I am currently perched, looking down on all of you, in order to work out and – well, ANYTHING to procrastinate – so, here I am, NOT going, and STRUCK by these seemingly disparate stories … which, in my mind, are all connected with themes on which I am ruminating in one of my projects … so, bear with … deep breaths …
Yesterday I was jokingly (sort of) going on about sexting, its prevalence and why I think it’s a good thing. I still do. However, this morning I was assaulted by multiple articles about a 17 year old English lad who killed himself after being blackmailed using threats to expose footage of him collected while he THOUGHT he was texting with an American girl around his age. There is FAR more to this story than we are getting in the news reports, which is clear from some of the articles that indicate he’d been being cyber-stalked or bullied earlier about something – details of which are not supplied, nor do we get details of what the footage of him included except vaguely in one report saying it had been tampered with and edited to make it seem something else. WHATEVER THE FOOTAGE – here’s the thing – AGAIN – if there wasn’t so much SHAMING and FEAR about the NORMAL URGE TO EXPRESS OUR SEXUAL ENERGIES in various ways by various methods; if, in fact, we were ENCOURAGED to explore our creative sexual natures and educated about varieties of healthy expressions of same – WE WOULDN’T HAVE ALL THIS CRAP GUILT AND ITS EXIGENT TRAGIC RESULTS AND TRAUMA AND PSYCHOSES! Come on people, grow up, get familiar with your genitals and if you feel like sharing them, do it, just play safe. Fuckballz but I am sick of people dying and having their lives ruined because they needed a wank.
AND ON THE OLDER END OF THE SPECTRUM …
So, yes, while I’m always interested in promoting the cause of wanking and sexual liaisons, I am also a man in my early forties (Yes, yes I am. Believe me, I’ve met PLENTY of people who swear they are in their 30’s and if they are – well, then, YES, I AM IN MY EARLY 40’s – deal.) and without health insurance, so, when I had occasion of late to hear a story concerning a woman to whom I had been VERY close when I was in my late teens – she was then in her “40’s” – much like I am now, if you get my drift – and she recently had to have a hip replaced I was appalled.
Why terrified? Well, issue one; my lack of health insurance. If something goes on me – and, let’s be honest, in my case it’s fairly certain that my knees will be the first thing to go, but, that, as they say, is another story – I will NOT be able to afford to have anything replaced, or, even, looked at. I’ll just hobble along. Or, stop kneeling (there goes my social life – I mean, church-going – ha – at least my Catholic youth gave me one thing I could use later in life, STRONG KNEES – well, and a kick-ass vocabulary – but I, as usual, DIGRESS). And, issue two; unlike my hip-replacing friend, I will have no children, offspring, nor anyone else to take care of me should I manage to get a replacement joint (sounds like something one does after having lost one’s weed, doesn’t it?) and need to recuperate. I will end up doing re-hab in the cardboard box I’m living in beneath some underpass or on some street grate.
SO – I did what I do when terrified; started drowning myself in information. WHICH DID NOT HELP! Leave it to MOTHER JONES to scare me to death. The Truth does that. In their article, it was revealed that the cost of manufacturing a replacement hip joint is somewhere around $350. The actual REPLACEMENT procedure to consumers ends up being more like 30 to 125 THOUSAND DOLLARS. Yep. I mean – holy shit.
Do NOT get me started on the healthcare system in this country. DO NOT. Which is all a part of the multi-national corporate greed machine which is INCREASINGLY in charge of EVERYTHING and running (and RUINING) the whole fucking (or – NON-fucking and SHAMED about fucking) world. I recently had the opportunity to spend some time with a fellow in his “early 30’s” who is a member of the medical profession and he went on at great length about how the “medical establishment” in this country – including the FDA – is really just one big ad agency supporting monster pharmaceutical concerns. I have to agree. And while I am getting close to exceeding my self-imposed word limit and haven’t yet gotten to my imaginary boyfriend yet, this “early 30’s” fellow went on to explain in some rather explicit and complicated medical-y jargon detail with which I had GREAT difficulty keeping up – why the continued, long-term used of drugs to medicate most of this country for ADD (and its ever-expanding panoply of variants) and DEPRESSION – is a HUGE scam, using those drugs in ways, for periods of time they were NEVER meant to be used for and creating a nation (world-eventually) of ADDICTS.
I HAVE BEEN SAYING THIS FOR YEARS!
I’M GOING ON TOO LONG (but wait!!!!)
So, yes, with this paragraph I will exceed the 1000 WORD mark, a line I have been trying NOT to cross since being told – months ago – by a former New York Times editor that NO ONE read more than 300 words of ANYTHING on-line (or in a paper) and that using more than 300 words to talk about anything was nothing more than MASTURBATION.
Okay, well, nicely done Charles – that brings me back to topic 1 above – WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH A GOOD WANK? I mean, really? And I don’t wank on Skype or in sexts, so, consider this blathering babbling bloviating I daily do as my – hmmm – substitute – I am SUBLIMATING and SUPPRESSING my sexual urges by VOMITING STREAMS OF WORDS in a messy explosion of UNSAFE TEXTING. Hahahaha. I’m a rebel.
Speaking of, (speaking of what you wanker? you DO go on) I came across (so to speak – boy, now everything sounds dirty) an article in The Guardian by Kirsty Gunn about the return of long novels – well slap my fanny and call me Oscar Wilde (especially if you are a barely legal beauty in possession of a difficult personality) – I’m going to KEEP submitting that 700 page behemoth I wrote until someone says “YES – JUST THE THING” – instead of, “What? That’s a sample chapter? I thought it was a trilogy!”
Speaking of trilogies and barely legal folk and English things (you know, that’s when you say “wanking” instead of “jacking off”) – there is a new book coming out Tuesday by an Oxford educated 21 year-old wunderkind, Samantha Shannon. The book is called The Bone Season, and is being heralded as the next Harry Potter. I don’t know about that, but it does sound quite good in the NPR Book Review and it is another bandwagon onto which I have jumped – pre-ordering the book – in ACTUAL book-form as opposed to on Kindle – the decision between which format becoming a rather complicated formula of late about which I intend, eventually, to write.
BUT NOT TODAY.
Because I have gone on too long in my writing/wanking or wanking/writing or wranking? Whatever the hell you want to call this (and I hope that you want to call it charming and witty and fascinating and unique – because I am ONCE AGAIN going to enter the McSweeney’s Columnist Competition so I can bleed over a column and never hear a word in return – but damn, I do MISS my weekly WANT2DISH Rants & Raves platform and all the followers and hits I had there – alas – you know how when you reach your early 40’s you start to miss things from the past?) I need to get to my final topic. And here I am – GOING THERE:
Russell is my pretend boyfriend. He is pretty much perfect. I stalk him on Twitter (he does NOT, of course, follow me- why would he?) and watch everything he is in when it makes it across the pond to the U.S. OF COURSE HE’S FROM ENGLAND. WHERE ELSE WOULD MY IMAGINARY BOYFRIEND LIVE? I first saw him on Broadway in The History Boys and then, of course, bought the DVD and watched it – OVER AND OVER – and then there was Being Human and – well, you can check out everything here on IMDB.COM RUSSELL TOVEY; and you, too, will fall for him. BUT IT’S NOT JUST ABOUT HIS BEAUTY AND ROCKING ASS AND TALENT AND THAT HE’S OPENLY GAY – no – it’s about the way he loves his dog! His dog is named Ernie and is a blue French bulldog. I LOVE how he LOVES his dog. Look!
AND AS IF THAT ALONE WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN ENOUGH TO MAKE ME LOVE HIM (and, yes, that ROCKING ASS) – he has helped me to tie up this little Sunday morning wank-romp by Tweeting pics of himself that are THISCLOSE to sexting (at least, in the fantasies I’m making up about him) LOOK:
You see? He is PERFECT for me? Right? I mean, it’s fate, isn’t it? And, since I am in my “early 40s” – he is only 10 years younger than me! I mean, what could be more perfect, right? 10 years younger and an ocean between us. This could WELL BE the closest thing I’ve had to a fulfilling, sensible love affair in decades – now, if my knees just hold out until I can meet him . . . everything will be just fucking brilliant, right?
Here I am, then . . . 1700 words later (don’t tell me I haven’t got STAMINA) – GOING.