In the last few years, and maybe it’s just old age catching up with me, I’ve been changing my mind about some things I had considered hammered out in my head for good. One was my opinion on suicide; I’m not even sure why I thought I needed an opinion on suicide (it’s a little like having an opinion on murder, I mean, come on) but nevertheless at a rather young age I arrived at the conclusion that suicide was more or less a very selfish thing and only very self-absorbed people would ever bother killing themselves. Last year (and I don’t remember what prompted this change of heart; maybe one of my old high school acquaintances committed suicide or something) I rethought it in the context of euthanasia and realized that if I believe a person in immense physical pain should be able to decide when and how he or she will die (which I do) then it was very pig-headed of me to not extend the same sympathy to people in immense psychic or emotional pain. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be ravaged by cancer any more than I can imagine being plagued by severe depression, so who am I to say someone who commits suicide to escape that pain is selfish?
This is going to be a fun blog post, I can tell.
Sorry, but I’m getting to my point, I swear. It’s just that I’ve had another about-face in my entrenched thinking, and I’d like to share. Andrew Sullivan linked to this blog post by Sylvia Lucas, which asserts that the male body should be portrayed just as sexily as the female, because ladies like hot men, guys! I’m less concerned with seeing more naked people in movies, though, and more concerned about the basis of Lucas’ argument: that women are not as icked out by mens’ bodies as everyone claims; that men are beautiful and certainly deserving of visual appreciation; and that we should all stop saying how ookie dangly bits are.
I feel properly chastised because I have definitely, both jokingly and seriously, implied on occasion that male bodies are, if not gross, then at least not as attractive as female bodies. These are passing comments I’ve made, perhaps in the context of discussing bisexuality, about how most women dress better (or at least are forced to dress better or more complexly), take better care of themselves physically (for the same reasons), and are just more beautiful in all their varied shapes and sizes than men. And I sat here and thought about it for a minute after reading Lucas’ piece. Do I really believe that? Do I really think men are yuckier than women? I don’t think I actually do. And I feel more than a little chagrined at ever saying so.
I am told some ladies appreciate this one.
It’s not that I believe that men need a nice pat on the head (poor men with your higher paying jobs and generally easier lives!) but I think in this instance, I owe dudes an apology. Being told your emotions need a mute button is bad enough; I shouldn’t have been reinforcing the idea that your dangly bits are stupid on top of all that. They’re not stupid. They’re just fine. Or at least, no more weird than ladies’ bodies.
Bodies are pretty cool, period. There’s a whole bunch of organs and vessels somehow working together so that we can walk! And speak! And put things up on shelves! That’s impressive all on their own. But we also manage to have skin that’s soft instead of scales, and hands that are clever instead of hoofs, and hair that smells nice as long as you wash it once in awhile instead of fur, which always smells terrible, I don’t care how much you brush your dog, it stinks, sorry.
So yay for human bodies. And men, maybe your form will make a comeback soon. The Greek ideal was male, if I recall. Maybe we can share the ideal in the next aesthetic era. That would be nice. The pedestal is plenty big enough.
I liked Steve Jobs, and I want to make that clear. I’ve always been bi-operating system-sexual (mixing Mac products with Android like a champ) and I was always wary of subscribing to one person’s or company’s vision, but Steve Jobs seemed like a cool dude. And now that he’s gone, it’s clear he’s inspired a lot of people. 
Week Two also finds me in the second week of keeping a Fitness Diary. This is the first time since I was 9 I’ve kept an actual pen-and-paper diary, not just a blog. I think the act of actually writing down what I’ve eaten that day, how I feel, and what my exercise was like really makes me own it. And since I have to carry it with me everywhere, I can’t avoid it. 
