My Sore Spot is a Whore Spot

I didn’t sign up for this when I signed up for sexual deviance class. I expected a light survey of all things vice: prostitution, stripping, infidelity, polyamory, foreplay, fiveplay, etc. What I got instead was an in-depth jaunt around the twisted, misanthropic dystopia that encompasses prostitution sob stories and venereal sickness. In short, this “sexual deviance” course was not about the deviance; rather, it covered the deviants themselves. We’ve covered the indentured whores, the embattled sex slaves, the AIDS-saddled minors, the stigmatized transsexuals, and even the closeted homosexuals.

The segment on pornography had a particularly unsatisfying taint, as we studied feminist pornography in lieu of the real “Jenna Jameson takes on Peter North” deal. Feminist pornography, for those in the blissful dark on the topic, is a grassroots porno branch that focuses on empowering women, and depicts a sex act that features open communication and respect. No facials, no penis worship, no exploitation, no mind-numbing blondes with big, fake boobs; in short, they sucked out everything that was fun about pornography and replaced it with the things that make our own sex lives boring. People don’t watch porn to learn how to behave in a relationship. They watch it because it’s a fantasy, an unattainable “I wish” that is, and always was, supposed to deviate from reality. And now this: an unwatchably ho-hum field on which everyone is an even player…reason #109,889,765 to hate radical feminism.

And why am I ranting? Why am I complaining when I could very well be trapped in advanced macroeconomics or (I'm slitting my throat just thinking about it) organic chemistry? I’ll tell you why: because I give a shit about liberal arts. Everyone dumps on them, especially the pre-law and pre-med students. The free-thinkers, artists, and musicians are much-maligned, and generally saddled with lower salary prospects and limited options for gainful employment. For us—the liberal artisans—our sole defense is the soul defense; we study things that matter to us, and that we hope will either grow our understanding of the world or of ourselves. We have the audacity to knowingly forgo the golden handcuffs and delve instead into animated, topical pursuits: writing, music, sculpture, sexuality, and so on.

So when we take a class in sexual deviance, to indulge that part of our being that thirsts for a reprieve from the bottom line, we don’t want it to suck. Calculus and law classes can suck all they want; those fields have nothing on the line. But liberal arts are not self-sustaining. They need to be promulgated by people of passion in a passionate manner, because if they are related with the same workaday bore as their soulless counterparts, it jeopardizes the arts’ chances for continued survival.

Now all we need is somebody to tell that to my professor, who right now is probably building an Excel spreadsheet that cross-references breast sizes and cancer odds. She’s the life of the party like that.

Stay solemn, sexual deviance
DJ Double D’s