It was a terribly arty Saturday, which included a little Kiss My Cabaret at Sala Rosa, Alexis O’Hara’s vernissage Crotchacha at Casa, and an aborted attempt to get to the Belgo Building to see Mia Donovan’s Stripped. James and I were both dressed to the nines for our night out, and were joined at Sala by three older and outrageously gay professors who, disappointingly, were not.
As our group waited for the usual roster of strippers, belly dancers, and drag queens to hit the stage, one of the professors remarked upon a New Scientist article he had recently read about the burgeoning asexual movement. The professor seemed faintly bewildered by the concept; I, for my part, felt an immediate surge of dread. Knowing my generational luck, asexuality is destined to become the Next Big Thing.
Perhaps revolutionary asexuality is an inevitable reaction against the excess of sexual display that characterized this particular Saturday evening, and others like it. If sex is seemingly everywhere, then is it not conceivably more radical, and therefore way cooler, to renounce sex entirely? And not merely to renounce the sexual act itself, which would imply a repression of desire, but to valourize, even celebrate, the complete absence of desire?
This is about as far as I can get with the concept. Having come of age with AIDS, straight-edge punk, and Andrea Dworkin, the prospect of abandoning sexual expression entirely possesses worrisome shadows of been there, done that.
Sunday, by contrast, was spent puttering around the apartment, receiving visits from friends, and perusing interesting newspaper articles online. It’s not quite the same as getting the Sunday New York Times delivered to my door (*wistful sigh*), but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be able to afford that particular luxury again until my student loans have been paid off.
Among the journalistic highlights: A Chicago Sun Times piece on Smoke: A Global History of Smoking, an edited collection published by the University of Chicago Press. (Hint: I am not politically opposed to accepting Valentine’s Day gifts.) Also, an L.A. Times article, republished in this weekend's Gazette, Pressing the Mute Button on our Daily Soundtrack, which surveys various institutional efforts to preserve obsolete sounds.
Entirely predictably, I have become suddenly obsessed with cataloguing my own sonic past. I think I feel a series coming on...