Observations On the Dangers of Nudity
Tonight we dine upon the blood of our enemies! Haha, not actually. We dine upon a burger and fries at Red Robin somewhere in the universe at 67,000 mph.
She remarks at the absolutely stunning physique of the football players on the monitor behind me. How their uniforms leave nothing to the imagination, so skin tight that they may as well be in Greco Roman times when athletes performed in the nude. It makes me wonder how they managed to keep their appendages from flopping around and causing no small amount of pain. The modern players clearly have the loose bits strapped down tight.
But, the fact that these costumes are so shiny and vivid endorses the idea that it is the same physicality the ancient athletes put on full display that modern performers wish to showcase. Only with the hope of experience less physical damage.
Then there is the moral panic that comes when the naked human form is exposed. Particularly in the 21st century, culture as a whole confuses nudity with pornography. 'Born sexy' is a common trope in manga and increasingly in western art. The idea that even very young children can and should be objectified. Adding insult to injury is the 70 years of advertising that has weaponized sexuality as a sales tool.
Technology has continuously improved the houses of men, but done little for those which dwell in them.
No wonder we fear nakedness. Even though it is how we all begin life and it is the thing we carry with us all the days we draw breath. We have been culturally trained to associated a pure and clean thing with the forbidden. This certainly contributes to the epidemic of mental illness fixated on sex. It is all so sullied. Nudity has become weaponized. Without our cotton armor, we are as vulnerable to physical dangers as we are to moral ones.
I long for the innocence of childhood, where we are obliviously happy in our own bodies. Who of us has no stories of an eagerness to shed our clothing and traipse through the house and yard celebrating our freedom. All to our mother's consternation. Hence Alanis Morissette's recommendation to do just this in our living room.
What happens to that innocence? I can vividly recall at 10, sitting with folded legs on my grandmothers living room floor watching Saturday morning cartoons, in nothing but a bowl of cereal and a pair of white underwear. This was my uniform at home and at places trusted from infancy. But, some external thing, what I cannot recall, triggered a sudden maturity. I looked down and like my first parents it strikes me that... I am naked. Why has no one told me!?!
I set my cereal on the floor (which will fall victim to Tiger, the house pet), and leave to put on shorts and a t-shirt. For the last 42 years, I have continuted to respect the social agreement to hide ourselves. Mostly.
There is one person with which I can still bend this contract. And as an artist, I have a license to cheat on the social norm from time to time by paying models and recording the challenging human form. This of course is all considered academic and very proper... at least by some. Get the wrong crowd in involved and that license means nothing.
Land mines. The social experience is filled with landmines. No wonder, in these dangerous days many choose the most cautious path they can imagine. Fearing wounds of all kinds, they prefer to just stay safe.
This whole endeavor of entertainment, whether ancient or modern, is merely 'circuses for the masses'—a distraction from our existence and its troubles, easier to ignore than to repair.
Modern gladiators.
This brings to mind something I wrote a few weeks ago:
We are watching the Tyson fight tonight on Netflix. My SO is weirdly into this. It is surprising... and kind of sexy. She likes football sometimes too. She’s really dialed in on the fighters. I remember from a young age Mexican girls were always into boxers.
We have been married 32 years and we have NEVER watched a boxing match, much less a whole evening of it. I find event-like nature oddly appealing. The athleticism of it. But it feels… indulgent. Dangerous even.
I’m pleasantly relaxed after a double whisky and a big bowl of popcorn. The violence is off-putting and I feel sorry for the poor bloodied men. It makes me happy to see they seem to be colleagues at the conclusion of their fight (Ramos and Barrios). Like two friends who went for a run together. Just two buddies hanging out. Only the got paid millions for doing so. At least I hope they did.
The girls are fighting now. Katie Taylor and Amanda Serrano are REALLY battling it out. These women are NOT friends. It is gruesome and bloody. Gone is the undercurrent of camaraderie enjoyed by the previous men boxers. These two are clearly out to inflict as much damage and injury as possible. Serrano has a terrible cut over her eye and it looks like her brain is leaking out. Please! Someone stop this. A bandaid seems hardly sufficient. It is unpleasant and off-putting but this is why I imagine most fans watch the sport: bloodlust.
The streaming is getting progressively worse as the evening wears on. Until it is no longer watchable. Netflix seems only capable to maintaining a steady stream for 5 minutes or so now that the main boxers are taking the stage. It is too much for me. She is welcome to watch it on her phone, I have had too much of this spectacle. The whiskey has done its work and I choose instead to journey to slumberland.
Thanks for reading and sharing my beautiful lie.
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