sex

As you might imagine, the talk of the town this week in New York City has been the Eliot Spitzer scandal and consequent resignation. People can’t believe he would risk both his career and his family for a few hours with a high-end prostitute. People can’t believe his wife has stood by his side during all of his various announcements.

Personally, I can’t believe that it costs $4,300 for sex. It’s just plain shocking. I guess he has been exposed as an unfaithful husband and I have been exposed as a cheapskate.

But really, think about it: even if she were the most beautiful, most talented, most not-his-wife prostitute ever, a stunning love goddess free of both sexually transmitted diseases and a gag reflex - even then, I can’t begin to comprehend what that woman could have possibly done to him over a few hours at a hotel that could in any way ring up to $4,300. Were exotic animals involved? How about unmentionable fetishes requiring gem-studded diapers and rare fruits? Did the sex session package include a free riding lawn mower?

I mean, $4,300 is almost exactly what I put into my 401K last year - and he splurges it all in one evening? That’s what I find disgusting. And how could his wife stand there next to him, knowing that she could have gotten that used jet ski she’d had her eye on if only he could keep it in his pants for under four figures?

Then today I read this Slate article by Sudhir Venkatesh, who has spent years interviewing sex workers in the New York area. The surprising truth? The most expensive prostitutes cost up to $10,000 a session - and many of the sessions don’t include any more than heavy petting, maybe a bath, and a lot of ego massaging (with “ego” not being a euphemism for anything gross). Apparently, even though you can do unspeakable things to a transvestite heroin addict near the Port Authority for $75, for ten or twenty times that amount, you might be lucky to get a good night kiss on the cheek.

Then I thought about it, and this seems to be the theme with most expensive things: the more you pay, the less you get. For example: I remember the first time I went to a really nice restaurant. For as much money as I was making in a day, I got something called a “micro salad,” a piece of salmon that should have legally been thrown back into the river, and three - three! - spears of asparagus, all laid out in a beautiful fan on my huge, heavy, expensive , mostly empty plate. In that case, I suppose, I was fucked for just under $60.

That’s the real tragedy here. Don’t people know that you can have ALL YOU CAN EAT at the Golden Corral for under ten bucks? Didn’t Spitzer ever stop and think that he could probably get a perfectly good prostitute at a more reasonable price - and that most people couldn’t tell the difference unless they looked at the tag? Or that, even better, he could have put that money into a long-term low-risk retirement fund?

These politicians make me sick. Either that, or it was something on the third plate of food I ate at the Corral.

The day that I have been waiting for has arrived: someone has finally searched for the key words “Sarah Aswell Nude Pics.” And Ben says it wasn’t him. I’m just so proud, so flattered, so thankful — in fact, I’d like to take a moment to thank my family, my friends, my loved ones, my hott bod, and Jesus Christ.

Because you know what? I think there’s a big market for nude pictures of someone with an overbite who spends most of her time complaining about things. You know, like me and like that girl from High School Musical.

In any case, I hate to keep a crowd waiting. Here’s a picture of me wearing nothing but pearls… and a diaper… circa 1981. Look at those come-hither eyes.

I watched snippets of Superman Returns tonight on HBO, after having seen it in the theater last summer. I’m not going to waste your time by pointing out the terrible special effects, the gaping plot holes, and the baffling ending that I am sure cannot be explained to me logically by anyone.

But I do want to talk about this one thing, because I’ve seen it a lot lately and it is driving me crazy: why are female love interests today getting younger and younger while the male leads stay the same age?

I think Superman Returns is the best example of this phenomenon, since this movie supposedly takes place five years after the original Superman movie (which was released in 1978. Now, in the original movie, Lois Lane is painted as a no-nonsense career women - a reporter high up on the ladder at a big city paper. Margot Kidder (below left), who plays the original Lois Lane, was 30 when the movie was made and might even look a bit older than that in the movie. It might be a stretch, but it’s somewhat believable that she could be writing big articles for the paper at that time.

Now let’s fast forward to Kate Bosworth (above right), who plays Lois Lane in Superman Returns thirty years later. She was around 23 when the movie was made, and she looks around that age in the movie. But she’s got a five-year-old kid and it’s been five years since Superman was around - this should land her in her mid-thirties, at least. Instead, she looks a solid ten or fifteen years younger than she should.

I might be able to suspend my disbelief that some 23-year-old has landed a huge job at a city paper, but now I’m supposed to believe that she got five years younger instead of five years older during a five-year span of time? Is she also from a different planet? And am I also supposed to believe that, if she’s 23 now, that she was 18 when she got the job at the paper and originally met Superman? That’s harder for me to accept than a guy who wears a cape and blue tights and carries around commercial jets.

Even more than that, am I supposed to believe that she’s gotten more glamorous, less charmingly odd, and less practical after the birth of her bastard child and as time passed?

Who knows, maybe this has to do with the fact that I’m a brunette. Who tends to photograph weird. Or that I am not nearly as skinny as either Bosworth or Kidder. But seriously, I think it might be a scary sign of our times. For a long time we’ve know that actresses tend to “lose their value” as they age much faster than their male counterparts, but this is getting ridiculous.

I mean, we’re getting a strong, quirky, smart, career-minded character in Lois Lane, but in today’s standards we have to also make her barely legal? What do we tell the girls in this country, who are going to think that they and their aspirations expire right before they’re old enough to rent a car? That they should hurry up and get married before they become invisible at 25? That they should skip college and get to man-finding?

And don’t be that one guy who mentions that Juliet was 12, because I don’t want to hear it. Juliet might have been 12, but she was also dumb and immature enough to kill herself over a dude when she should have been pursuing her own dreams, taking guitar lessons and gossiping on the phone, had phones been invented.

Yesterday on my way to work, I was late and got on a later train than usual. I was standing next to someone about my age when he reached his leg out and tapped on my foot. I took it as a harmless, run-of-the-mill subway-jostling mistake.

Then it happened again. And again.

The second time it happened, I looked up from my book as if to say, “Seriously?” and he looked back at me like the dictionary definition of simpering. The third time it happened, I walked briskly away to the other end of the subway car. Did he think he was Larry Craig? I thought, laughing at my own topical humor. What did he want out of this interaction? I was totally creeped out.

A few stops later, I had forgotten about him, found a seat, and gotten lost in my book again. Then, though, my knee was nudged and there he was, sitting next to me, leering at me in a disturbing manner - the only way one can leer.

It was at this point that I devised a plan. I was reading a hardcover book and I pinpointed several large strong good Samaritans nearby who would come to my aid. If he did anything else, I told myself, if he touched me again, I would hit him in the face, plea my case to the good Samaritans during a succinct but moving oration, and then they would finish the job I had started with their various thick crime paperbacks. My song would be sang for many, many ages on many, many subway lines.

But there were only two subway stops left and I got away without further incident. And not doing anything during those first FOUR incidents haunted me throughout the day. Should I have hit him with my hard cover after two toe taps? Three? Why do so many people, including me, let these instances of intimidation and sexual harassment slide by?

What if, every time some dude did something of this sort to me, I did something about it — something that would be really embarrassing for him. What if every time some dude shouted at us in the streets, we shouted back - and not just “Fuck yous!”, but clever comebacks that were, at the same time, extremely degrading and self-esteem-lowering? Why do women think the best response to sexual harassment is walking away and not paying attention? Is it because these men just want attention? Even if that’s the case, I don’t think we should let them get away with it. Is it because we’re afraid of what will happen if we do respond?

Of course, this morning on my way to work, I was late again. I got on the train and there he was again - the very same simpering foot tapper. Leering at some other poor girl. Did he do this every morning, with some different girl? Was it part of his morning commute? Was she, too, reading a hard cover? Again, I did nothing.

On my walk from the subway to work, some other guy shouted “good morning!” at me in the bad way, and when I walked by without saying anything or looking at him, he said, “I said, good morning!” and I did nothing again.

Has anyone ever responded to a sexual harassment issue? How did it go for you? Was part of the problem not really knowing it was sexual harassment until after the fact - do these men operate knowing you’ll be too shocked and confused to act?

P.S. If I were going to sexually harass someone, I’d do something WAY cooler than tap their foot and leer at them. How lame.

One of my favorite parts of maintaining a blog is visiting my WordPress stats page and looking at the list of search terms that have led people to my blog. A lot of them make sense: “Britney Spears weird” or “Aswell complaining” though a lot of them don’t. (My favorites are the questions: “What should I know before proposing?” and “Did you eat my cookie?”

However, it’s been unsettling since I made a post about sexy author photos in which I briefly decried the glut of sexy Halloween costumes for women over the last few years. I, along with a commenter or two, made fun of the phenomenon by mentioning a few ridiculous sexy costume ideas, such as sexy firewoman or sexy burrito.

You can imagine my horror, when, ever since then, I’ve been getting dozens of Google hits for people looking for sexy costume for the upcoming holiday. Here’s a sampling from the last day or two:

• Sexy flower costume
• Sexy janitor Halloween
• Sexy costume for wife
• Sexy girl scout
• Sexy burrito
• Sexy train conductor
• Sexy ghost
• Sexy maid costume (child size)

Yes, you read the last one correctly. And yes, as much as we don’t want to sound like our grandfathers, this country is all gone to hell.

But perhaps we need to look at this trend more closely. Why do women want to dress in sexy outfits on Halloween? Is it simply because it’s an excuse to do so? Is it because the store was all out of unsexy gorilla costumes? Is it because the sexy elf costume you wore to the office Christmas party went over so well?

Or is it because women are embarrassed about being sexy under normal circumstances, when they are not acting like someone else, and Halloween is a time when they feel comfortable showing off their bodies?

I often hear of groups of girls deciding to take a night on the town dressed up as they usually wouldn’t, or all dressing slutty for a bachelorette party - like they’re using the event or the consent of the other women as an excuse to dress and act in a way that isn’t normally acceptable for them. If anyone questions them, it was just for fun - a joke. Sure, they say, I’m totally straight and socially conservative, but for fun we all put on fishnet tights and made out with each other!

I don’t know as much about feminist theory as I’d like (I’ve just got an intro class and a few books under my belt, but that’s it) and I’m curious as to what’s going on here. Is it that many women are sexually suppressed, and this is their sexuality pushing its way out like a leak in a dam? Is it just for attention? Why can’t they make out with each other when they’re not in fishnet tights, pretending to be a different sort of person? Why do I find fishnet tights so extremely itchy?

The next question is, do I have a problem because I’m uncomfortable with this? I don’t exactly have a closet full of hot pants and corsets, but I’d also consider myself very comfortable with my sexuality. I’m still young enough that this isn’t generational, right? I suppose all I know is that Halloween is supposed to be about miniature candy bars. And bachelorette parties are supposed to be about the tasteless cocktail straws.

I guess, in a way, I should at least be happy that the sexy costumes listed above are more diverse than the conventional, unimaginative sexy costumes of past years: sexy nurse, sexy devil, sexy witch, sexy cheerleader, sexy maid (adult size).

And maybe the person who wanted to buy a sexy train conductor outfit for Halloween is doing it for social commentary’s sake. It’s a win-win angle: make fun of sexy costumes and still look sexy! I’ll even admit I want to see a sexy burrito, all covered in hot salsa and cheeky beans, probably with her mini-tortilla wrap barely covering her ass. I’d bet money she makes out with the sexy janitor. She looks hungry.

I noticed that the new book I’m reading (Special Topics in Calamity Physics, by Marisha Pessl) has a very sexy author photo on the back of it. And then I remembered that the last book I read, Flower Children, had a similarly sexy author picture. In both pictures, their heads are tilted coyly to the side and their eyes scream, come into my author photo and rip my clothes off! (see right for Pessl’s book jacket shot). Neither of these books are about particularly sexy subject matter.

I looked at a few other author pictures off of the backs of young women’s novels that were lying around my apartment. One after another, I came upon more and more of these pictures — all come-hither glances and bedroom eyes, like those mall glamour shots.

Then I looked up actual pictures of these people on the internet and they looked like normal, kind of nerdy, likeable women writers. You know, with personalities besides wanting to make it with whoever is reading their book. Even more importantly, they look comfortable (see left for Pessl’s normal picture).

Now, I know a lot of this stuff is out of their hands and has to do with their publishers selling books (I remember my professor, Brady Udall, telling us that before his first novel, The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint, was bought, the publishing company flew him out to New York to get a look at him for marketing reasons). But that doesn’t mean that we, as a freakin’ gender, can’t start recognizing that this is happening. Don’t even get me started on Halloween and the complete lack of non-sexy costumes for women. Do I want to be a sexy devil or a sexy ghost? A sexy fox or a sexy bunny?

Since I’ve started my blog, for example, I’ve gotten a few negative emails. It’s normal. But each of the emails have immediately devolved into pointing out that the picture on my blog is goofy. Not attractive. Even my own mother has suggested that I put up something prettier. I don’t know though – I want my picture to reflect what I feel and what I write about, and I guess that would be kind of awkward and a little self-conscious. And yes, goofy. Would my posts come across differently if I posted a come-hither photo of me? (Yeah, this picture is ridiculous. Yes, I got rid of that coat. No, I have not yet written a published novel. Please don’t write me an angry email.)

Now, I’m not saying that sex or being sexy is bad – for men or women. And we should embrace it or reclaim it or whatever we feel like doing with it. And if you already bought your sexy firewoman costume for the end of the month, that’s fine, too. Let’s just hold back on being sexy every once and a while, just when we need a little break – like when we want to have fun or goof around or, perhaps, when we want people to read our book for the words inside.

The race between me and Britney Spears has heated up even more this week. Not only did the court decide that Britney was unfit to care for her children, it also decided that Kevin Federline - a grown man who doesn’t seem to know how to tie his shoes - would be a better pick. Add to this her divorce earlier this year and her recent estrangement with her mother, and Britney is now alone in the world, if you don’t count asshole singer Howie Day and a mountain of coke. And I usually don’t.

Unlike some people, I’m not upset that Britney has lost custody of her children, and it’s not only because my goal in life is to be more loved, successful, and toned than her. It’s because she didn’t get her children taken away, she lost them after not being able to follow two simple rules: pass drug tests and see a counselor. If she really put some effort in, I think she could have eked out those two things and kept her kids. At least, I’m convinced I could have in a similar situation (if they gave me a specific list of drugs they were testing for beforehand and didn’t make me see a counselor).

But - I’m also not of the school of people (and Star magazine) who believes that Britney has hit rock bottom. Oh no. She’s got a ways to go, if I remember the details from watching that Vanilla Ice biopic. She hasn’t lost her millions yet, for instance. And she hasn’t gotten into a tour bus accident (perhaps only because she’s not touring) or a jet ski accident or a pyrotechnics accident. She hasn’t gotten bad plastic surgery or been found passed out (completely) naked. And she hasn’t even OD’ed yet. She might be in a freefall right now, but she hasn’t even glimpsed the bottom yet.

I had a less eventful week on my road to success - I’m hoping that this slow and steady thing pans out for me. I had a good week at the gym, especially working on my guns and upper body. I also managed to eat well - at one point even refusing a no-strings-attached jelly donut that I could have eaten in my cubicle without anyone being the wiser. On a wholly different level, I also didn’t shave my head this week, hit anything with a car, botch a photo shoot, or lose custody of my two theoretical children, who, as a theoretical mother, I should have guarded and cared for up until my last responsible, motherly breath. Not like I actually had a photo shoot scheduled in which to botch. Maybe next week.

The most heartening news for me this week wasn’t even about Britney’s custody battle, but about a sex tape that might surface of Britney and some guy she picked up at a bar in Hawaii a few months ago. Now, with all of the sex tapes out there these days, it’s hardly shocking or interesting news and doesn’t speak much to Brit’s descent. But - one detail of the article really made me smile. The dude with the sex tape has had it for months without coming forward. Why did he keep it a secret for so long? Because he said that the sex tape isn’t very interesting and that he was embarrassed that it was so boring. So Brit’s a starfish in bed. That’s something that won’t improve even if she does get another hit single. Point Aswell!

Read last week’s installment of Sarah vs. Spears