Let’s Spend the Night Together

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I would sleep with Slash, Mick Jagger or Steven Tyler in a heartbeat. In that order. Slash is just plain cool; perhaps I could receive some of his coolness like an STD, but the good kind. Jagger and Tyler transcend any gendered normative behavior – I have a sneaking suspicion not only would it not be weird, it would be awesome as well. Curiously though, I would not sleep with any of the Beatles, definitely no one of the punk inclination, or Kurt Cobain. The Beatles lack any depravity (Lennon’s obsession with Yoko Ono notwithstanding), punk people, to quote Mr. Vicious, “don’t even like sex” and I couldn’t be paid to touch Cobain, even with a disease-ridden diplodocus at the end of a ten-foot pole. These categories are not all-inclusive. Chances are though, my not-that-there’s-anything-wrong-with-that list would not grow quickly.

Sleeping with someone as a plainly visceral reaction to puberty still requires a significant amount of brain power, regardless of the troglodyte behind the humping. So many factors get inputed into an as of yet unknown Sex Equation. If the number pops out positive, get your humping cap on; if it comes out negative, bring out the standard fake phone number with six digits; if it comes out neither (ie. zero), the convincing factor will be amount of alcohol consumed. Scientists say gravity is the most unifying force in the universe – they obviously have yet to discover fermentation.

It doesn’t really matter how sexually advanced someone is, the people they diddle serves one purpose alone, pleasure notwithstanding: it defines them. Like anyone who’s ever talked about the Beatles and the Stones in the same sentence, when comparing the two, it all boils down not to what their respective cultural and musical impacts are, but who you align yourself with. The Beatles make love (though perhaps somewhat obsessively and mostly subvertly as the 60s wore on) and the Rolling Stones fuck (if that Pierre Trudeau story is at all true). The same goes with sleeping partners – I’d do Slash in an instance because, let’s face it, I’m trying my hardest to replicate some of his cooler aspects – my hair is getting there, length-wise, and his top hat is stunningly difficult to find. Likewise, Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler are my sort of cultural role models – they can do no wrong. Punk, as much as I love it, is not something I would want to devote myself to; as for Cobain, why would I want to define myself like the man that obliterated rock with 4 minutes of distorted, angst-ridden, self-depreciating bullshit? Not even I am that heartless.

The thing about cliches is that somewhere, sometime, they were true. So, for example, when a girl stumbles from guy to guy during her first year of university and “she’s lost” or “she’s trying to find herself in her newfound freedom,” there’s a modicum of truth in that. The more people you sleep with, the harder you are trying to define yourself concretely in a manner that, not only will it yield a personal sort of satisfaction, and not only will it look good from the outside, but it will also lead to many more partners and situations where any self-definition is obviously superfluous. And that’s really the point of life – to know thyself so well, you no longer need to know thyself.

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