Monthly Archive
Browsing entries posted on August 2006
Guitars and Penis Envy
What an interesting title. Today I shall explore why girls love guitarists, some girls love playing guitar, and the sexology of the Rock God.
I had an audition today with the hall band Peroxide for a spot as their vocalist. The band doesn’t have a definite set-up, it works more like a football team - 2 players to every position - so it’s not ‘Rock Star: Supernova’, which I don’t watch anyway.
I have come to the conclusion that girls love guitarists because the guitar is a phallic replacement. Come on, you know what I mean. It’s big and long and loud and it drives the girls absolutely wild. There is something about a guitar - and I mean an electric one like a Fender or a Les Gibson, and not an acoustic - that is inherently, primally, sexual. A guy is just a guy, but a guy with a guitar - mmm. A hot guy who is a guitar maestro - bow down and worship him, oh my guitar-enamoured sisters. Think about it: Heath Ledger in ‘10 Things I Hate About You’: hot. Heath Ledger with guitar - *melts into puddle*.
Guitar skillz can be a redeeming grace of otherwise aesthetically challenged males. On the street, the boys of Peroxide are just otherwise normal. Some may even be considered less than desirable due to certain traits which I can’t identify here because those are very idiosyncratic traits. But in the studio, with their guitars on - yay. Rock Gods in the house, y’all.
Some girls would rather put the strap over their own shoulders. I totally understand. I have a bit of a fetish for the bass guitar myself. One looks so darn sexy with it hanging insouciantly at hip level, nonchalantly twanging away. But the true point is that the girls see it as a replacement for the phallus denied to them by biology. Yep. No, we do not want to be males. We merely want to imitate that sexual attraction of a large phallus. Yep. And come on, guys do find it attractive too. Avril Lavigne, etc. There’s a market for rock chicks, oh yes.
The Rock God - a true Rock God - needs more than just guitar skillz. He also needs, in my opinion, a hot bod, an addiction of some sort, a slightly feminizing trait, lots of tattoos, and a way-out personality. Case in point: Dave Navarro. I know he somehow ended up divorcing Carmen Electra (like, what?) but I think he is a true Rock God. I don’t know what his addiction is, apart from Jane’s. (His band is Jane’s Addiction.) He wears eyeliner and nail polish - pretty much de riguer nowadays - and yes, I do suppose the whole getting-married-on-MTV thing is pretty weird. Plus Carmen Electra sure knows how to pick them, her ex is Dennis Rodman so it shows she does like the more, um, outgoing and unique personalities.
But my own personal Rock God is old-school. Let’s give it up for Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, man! The dude fought heroin addiction and has been a bona fide rock star for well over a decade. Part of the reason I love the RHCP is him. He’s just so hot. Old, perhaps, but hot. Flea is pretty adorable, and John Frusciante’s cool, but hot, man, hot’s where it’s at. Yeah. Now where can I find me my own Anthony?
How very true!
Picture here. Can’t put it in, it messes up my template. And ok, fine, I’m just lazy to resize it.
Ouch! Stephan Pastis hits us slumbering students right in the solar plexus! Yes, world, tis true! We pay thousands of dollars for the privilege of having Ph.D holders sing us lullabies. And normally I wouldn’t agree with Rat (he has very warped views) but in this case I’d have to say he’s right. I don’t feel any smarter.
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho
It’s back to school we go…
I still get a gentle start to the school year, only one lecture today and a free day tomorrow. The lecture over and done with, I went back to hall to eat lunch and run some errands, such as declaring my fridge. I won’t be caught out again this year!
In the middle of the afternoon heat, I had to walk uphill to my faculty to sell a textbook. I don’t mind the walk so much but the heat made me sweat buckets. The girl I sold the book to was holding a textbook for the intro module as well. I personally don’t think it’s a good idea to take the more advanced modules concurrently or before you’ve taken intro, but that’s just me.
I returned a library book and as I was exiting the library, someone called my name. I turned around to see the immortal trio of the formerly-C4 boys, so I had to greet them each by name. The last one was extremely surprised to see me, because he hadn’t recognised me with my short hair. They’ve all flown away to call a different place home, and though they’re not on fire they’re most certainly all gone, all except one and his name is Joe, and that’s because he has nowhere to go.
Rockin’ it Old School
Since I came back for this new iteration of the academic year, I’ve felt nothing but old.
The boys from my JC batch have come in. The girls and I have never shared college space. I feel old, and the boys have taken to calling me ‘auntie’.
Tomorrow is Flag Day, and I am so disillusioned by the pretense of raising money for charity that I ran away to the library to avoid the briefing. I am adamant that I won’t be taking part this year. If I’m wandering around downtown tomorrow and see a Eusoffian or an Arts student, I’ll donate. Just because I have some spare cash, and well - I won’t contribute otherwise.
On the walk uphill to Central Library, a large yellow almost-full moon hung in a twilight cloudless sky. Looking at it, I almost felt like reaching out and touching it. Would it be like touching eternity? Like touching the hand of God?
The library was silent, but the lobby outside wasn’t. Something rowdy was going on in the Forum. But inside the air-conditioned confines of the library, it was lovely and quiet and there was a distinctive bookish smell in the air, such that I smiled slightly to myself upon inhaling it. Was it 2 years ago that I wandered into the library that still bore “Under Renovation” signs, and wondered what it had looked like for previous batches? Has it really been 2 years? I remember that I spent those 2 years taking modules and exams, but I can’t fathom where all the time went.
Some jerk cut my line at the RBR counter. To be precise, there was no line. He just pretended he got there first, when the service personnel came to collect our request slips. I darted my eyes sideways to glare at him. But I had the last smirk, because my book was retrieved sooner. *smirk*
I went to the toilet, which still amazes me with its newness although it’s been that way for a couple of semesters now. I waved my hand Jedi mind trick-style in front of the motion-activated paper towel dispenser. The gadget geek in me gleefully tore off the paper, while the concerned greenie had a twinge of guilt at the waste of paper. I don’t really need such a large piece of paper to dab water off my hands, thank you.
I felt the familiar apprehension as I exited the library via the theft-detection gates. I’m always irrationally worried that I’ll set them off, and this time it wasn’t that irrational because I had a borrowed book in my bag. I like to believe that the system needs time to digest the loan information.
A bunch of foreign freshmen seemed to be moving their belongings from a room in my wing. Stupid noisy freshmen. Why am I, a 3rd year, living with stupid noisy freshmen? Oh that’s right. Because the upstairs is full of stupid noisy not-so-freshmen too. Their music is too loud, and I’m too old.
Too old to be waking up at 4 am, and hauling ass to MRT stations around the country at 6 am in order to catch the first wave of commuters. Too old to be smiling ingratiating smiles to people who inadvertently made eye contact. Too old to be silently cursing you behind your back as you quick-step away, not because you didn’t donate but because you acted as if I didn’t exist. Too old to be treated like an invisible, inaudible being. Too old to be angry.
So this auntie is going to hide in an undisclosed location tonight, to avoid the wake-up call, but the hordes of eager freshies will still go out tomorrow. And for their sakes, that they don’t grow up to be bitter seniors like me, at least acknowledge their presence. Because if you walk past them acting like they’re not there, they’re going to pretend that the tin can that brained you didn’t come from their hands.
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