Slartibartfast says he’ll support the day of Blogger Silence on April 30th, if every blogger will spend May 1 writing about breasts.
In that same comment thread, the Vol Abroad says that I and my fellow commenters are “compulsive bloggers”. I can’t speak for the others, but I am definitely one for the burning urge. And since I am a compulsive blogger and most probably won’t observe the Day Of Blogger Silence because I think it’s pointless and won’t memorialise the VTech victims in any meaningful way, I figure I could jump the gun and write about breasts for Slarti a few days early. He’s had a pretty awful couple of days, what with being stoned on sleeping pills and having to defend his Korean-born son from the ignorance of men who run without going anywhere. So, in honour of both Slarti and my compulsiveness, I’m writing about breasts.
I like my breasts now more than I used to. I developed early, which meant they showed up before I even knew they were supposed to be important. It just sort of seemed as though I woke up one day and there they were. Bam. Right in the middle of my chest. They took the place of my feet, apparantly, because I haven’t been able to see past them to my feet in twenty-five years. That’s fine. I prefer my breasts to my feet anyway. Breasts don’t have toenails.
I don’t quite understand why breasts have the cultural power that they do. But I can’t say I’m unhappy about that. If you look at life as the equivalent of a seventy-year poker game, it’s always nice to figure that for every deuce you draw you might pull down an ace. I’ve got more than a few deuces. I can’t see without glasses and I’m allergic to contacts. I tend toward fat, which wasn’t necessarily a deuce for my ancestors but doesn’t sit me in good stead in the twenty-aughts. But when life dropped the Big Boobies on Fourth Street I can’t say I wasn’t grateful.
Edited to Add: Yes, Sarcastro. Yes, Knuck. Yes, CLC. Yes, Lee (and any other poker players out there). I realise that the Turn is a community card. The way I see it, the community also gets to enjoy my breasts, at least from a distance. So there.
Well, I didn’t neccessarily mean YOUR breasts, but…
This is awesome!
I don’t quite understand why breasts have the cultural power that they do.
Because breasts are really, really pretty.
I’m all in.
(It’s sad that I have to say that sometimes.)
Wow, normally I would really have to work at fitting this into conversation…but now it’s not going to sound so strange that I bought 2 new bras for my breasts today.
…and just for the record, sometimes I wish that my breasts DID have toenails, that way MAYBE my husband would keep his hands off them once in a while. Really, what is it about husbands that they feel the need to squeeze your boobs ALL THE TIME?!?!? Ah, I digress…after all, I’ve got new bras for my Happy Boobies!
Thank you, thank you, thank you. This is a terrible tragedy — but I think gimmicky things like this just trivialize the situation. If you want to do something meaningful, try getting involved in youth mentoring or volunteer for a crisis hotline or do something else constructive. Maybe your church / synagogue / temple / mosque has an outreach program at your local college that you could help support. If not, maybe you could start one. There’s a time for gestures, a time for symbolism, but I think we get too fascinated by that stuff sometimes. Making the world a better place is a lot harder that wearing whatever color rubber bracelet they’re selling this week.
[…] Kat made me laugh out loud with her brazenness, and I’m going to take it a step further. I’ve been meaning to […]
“what is it about husbands that they feel the need to squeeze your boobs”
Boobs are like a train set at Christmas. Theoretically there for the kids, but much more fun for the dad.
LOL! @ Knuck’s comment!
My wife says , if they made noise like a squeak toy, maybe I’d cut it out.
But that would actually make it more irresistable. 🙂
I see your breasts and raise….wait. Never mind.
LOL…This is such a hilarious post! Wow, I’m amazed at Kat’s honesty about her mammaries…Man, Slarti, i’d have to agree with you…If my wife’s breasts squeaked, she’d either have to move out or chop my hands off (but then, I could always use my feet!) 🙂
Uh…huh huh…boobies.
Knitaddict, the truth is … all men – the straight ones, at least – (AND Isaac Mizrahi, apparently) secretly want to be bras. And that is why your husband can’t leave your breasts alone.
Oh, sure, they’ll make all these altruistic sounds; they don’t want you to risk falling out of bed, so they need to fall asleep with a solid handful. Or they’re being scientific: they need to see if there’s been a change in size or density since yesterday … or five minutes ago … Or it’s psychological; they’re nervous, or anxious, and need something to do with their hands.
No lie: I tapped an opponent out with mine, once; he couldn’t breathe!
LOL@ the Knuck & Mack!
Breasts have so many uses…I celebrate my breasts…I know what Victoria’s Secret is, but I ain’t telling…alas, I just wish gravity would stop doing its work on ’em… (sigh)
Breasts don’t have toenails.
For the most part, this is true. However, there is this:
http://www.digg.com/offbeat_news/woman_grows_nipple_on_foot
OH MY GOSH. Casey…what scares me is what you had to google to find that! lolololol
How harsh. It’s not trivial for people to grieve the best way they know how. If my blog was still active I don’t know if I’d participate in the Blog Silence or not, but I would certainly not denigrate others who felt they could help themselves process the tragedy better participating.
I was fortunate enough to not directly know anybody in the shooting, but a good friend of mine did know someone who was shot twice in the leg (he’ll be ok). She’s been doing things, like the “Wear Orange and Maroon” Day yesterday, that you would probably find gimmicky and trivial, but if it helps her cope, I’m not going to tell her not to or discourage her from participating.
Have a heart.
[…] in an effort to be kind of serious, I’ve been thinking about what dolphin said in response to what John said. John: This is a terrible tragedy — but I think gimmicky things […]
LaBellaDonna–I have told my other half that he will surely be reincarnated as a bra for his eternal happiness. That is so funny.
If I could manage to properly tap the power of my ta-tas I would rule the world-or at least the male half of it.
Look where it’s gotten Dolly.
OH MY GOSH. Casey…what scares me is what you had to google to find that! lolololol
Hehe. No, I prefer nipples in the usual location 🙂 That “story” made it to the front page of digg about a month ago.
I would be happy to write about boobies on May 1. My own are getting on my nerves.
Dolphin —
My comments were clearly not directed toward anyone who was personally touched by the shooting. Obviously, those people are feeling a different kind of grief, and whatever they need to do to process it is OK. But I don’t think the day of blogger silence is directed towards those people. And you ignored the main thrust of my message, which is that there are more concrete and productive ways to respond to a tragedy like this.
Oh how I wish I were Rachel’s nerves… no, wait.
I was sitting here speachless but then that guy-thing kicked in.
Not sure I’d ever want to be a bra, getting knocked around every time she starts moving.
meow.
btw – as to the VTU shooting, a cousin says the “official” community observation is to wear maroon and orange either on Friday or Saturday (he’s not yet yet told me which so I’ll probably do both days). His friend Jeremy Herbstritt, a grad student from Bellefonte, PA, was among those killed.
John,
As I asked in the above post though, who gets to decide who was personally touched by the tragedy? What is the criteria? Different people are effected different ways by different things.
And I didn’t necessarily ignore your mentioning other “more concrete and productive ways to respond.” I include those in with the responses you think are “trivial” and “gimmicky.” I don’t think it’s up to me to decide what response is most appropriate for any given person.