Can We Say Pushup Bra?

There's this chick in the lab today, just walked past me in fact. And as I look at her in her 2005 cuteness chic (surely everyone knows what that is), I am ruled by one overriding thought: "Those breasts have high ambitions."

I suppose within our culture the idea of what female breasts should look like has been overrun by the multitudes of women whose surgically enhanced bossoms look more like ballooning torpedoes than anything else. As lovely as they might be, I must admit to being completely nonplussed by this desire to "lift and separate." I just want to talk the girl who continues to bounce past me and plead with her to to stop putting her "lady lumps" (Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas: I hate you forever for that line) under such tremendous pressure.

Curves on a woman are wonderful and I wholeheartedly celebrate them. However, nothing can be more distracting than when a woman tries too much. When men try too much, in a lot of ways they just go about it by deluging themselves with cologne and trying to whore out to the newest fashion craze. Not to say that some women don't do that, but their trying more often than not engages in enhancements to body, whether those changes be temporary or permanent. (Again with the bouncing. I enjoy bouncing, I assure you, in fact I enjoy this bouncing. However, I do have a point....I think....) And I just don't get that desire. No, I take that back.

I fully understand not being happy with your body. I want to be as appealing as I can be. I'm sure everyone does. Yet it seems so many people define appeal by the world around them. Now that, I really don't get.

Let's take, for example, the faux-mohawk for women fad that started 1999/2000 and still has not died. Every time I see this on a woman, most recently Gwen Stefani and that big-mouthed chick from the Real World, I want to squash the moussed up hair. How and why do people find this in any way attractive?? I surmise that they don't. I would even go so far to posit that the attractiveness and desirability of the fad exists because a few foolish, high profile women became enraptured by some idiot's brainwave for hair...and are still enthralled. Our culture is celebrity-obsessed. So it should be of no surprise that individual sexual identity seems to no longer exist for most people. Fashion and sex is in the media, touted by celebrity. Therefore it seems like fashion and sex is defined for the masses with little or no desire to escape tenuous boundaries that seem to fetter like iron instead of the vapors they really are.

I pick on this woman, I realize. The way she wears her bra may simply be the way she wears her bra. I don't know. Bras are creatures of foreign origin to me, existing solely to puzzle me. However, I use her simply as a window into a more general comment about the world at large.

I am odd, I firmly profess. I profess that not because I enjoy it or feel justified or sanctified by saying it. No, I say it by virtue of the fact that I am. I walk through this life and know that I am odd. I like and love things that many people like and love. Yet, the way I combine certain facets of life, love, and spirit is really weird. I know I'm not the only person who does it (I am gloriously in love with a woman who finds the same desire to combine loves). But I know there aren't that many people who do.

Perhaps I am only justifying and kidding myself, but I like to think that trends appeal to me simply because, whatever the trend is, is attractive and those that are unattractive I toss over my shoulder. I just don't see most people objectively or, more importantly, subjectively examining the world that our culture creates and choosing what appeals, damning what does not. I see most people accepting that world without question and without hesitance. No wonder the RIAA and MPAA reign like tyrants, nomatter the shit put out, people buy buy buy buy buy.

I love the world around me. As much as I am apart from it, I am an intrinsic part of it. Yet instead of going through the world with glazed eyes, I hope I'm a bit more observant than most of the trolls out there.

I recently discovered an old lunch box I used to take to school when I was a wee tyke. It is a very cool and fun Care Bears lunch box. Considering the lunch thingie I have been using whilst trapsing about campus has committed suicide (helped considerably along the way by me), I have started to take this Care Bear box with me to school. I love it: it is a part of my childhood and deftly, for a little metal box, goes a long way to explain who I am - a 22 year old guy who can in a half hour go from talking about God and David, to a macabre discussion about grad school, to giggling like a schoolgirl with the girl. And I have gotten the oddest stares. And that pisses me off. At least, it kinda does. The people who know me laugh - I suppose enjoying another part of me is being manifested.

I guess the entire point of this is to say I see little joy in most people. Even through the worst trials of my life, I can honestly say I am full of joy. There is so much laughter, along with the worry and heartache. ...I have ten fingers. I can fill up those fingers with exactly the amount of people I know who live life with joy.

The lack of happiness surely manifests itself in life, just as the presence does.