Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Foreplay in Film

My alarm went off at 8 a.m. this morning, I'd been asleep since sometime after 2 a.m.

I dragged my body from the bed, stood in my walk-in closet (student housing: a kitchen so small it has no counter space but there is a walk-in closet, go figure) and blankly regarded my clothing hanging in front of me.

After sleepily collecting the articles of clothing I required in order to make myself decent, I completed a few other choice chores required for being a welcome member of society. Then I walked to school. I arrived right on time for the meeting compulsory for anyone working in the M.V.Z. laboratory and I settled in a chair. After the first 15 minutes, when it became clear that all that was going to be discussed was whether three vials of taq mix was enough of a buffer to allow for enough time for a new order, I zoned out entirely and allowed my eyes to linger on an especially good looking graduate student.

The only wisdom gleaned from the morning bureaucracy seems to be: Scientists are boring.
So logically, I have been questioning my desire to join their ranks.
The only problem is that, well.. I really like biology.
And the only problem with that is that, well.. I really like all of biology.
I like field work, hiking and knowing that the little gray lizards with blue bellies are Sceloporus occidentalis. But I also like molecules. And I really like chemical reactions, the more carbons involved the better. I think of it as sex on an atomic level. Only instead of males and females there's a whole periodic table of genders.
The main problem with this is that I'm a senior. My peers are writing resumes and attending job fairs where they are recruited by the DoD. So where does that leave me?

Lucky for me, there's a Rolling Stone laying around the apartment. That just happens to have an article on the man who start Penthouse.

And now I know what I want. I want power. The type of power you can only get with sex. And I don't mean I want to be a model, nude or otherwise. The models are just objects manipulated by the (almost exclusively) men behind the cameras.

There's no part of my body that commands any power in this day and age. Sure I can flash some guy my titties but really.. it isn't anything he hasn't seen a thousand times before.

The real power lays wheedling, flattering, cajoling a girl into thinking that if she lets me photograph her titties, someone is going to care to see them. That after a thousand titties, her titties are going to make some guy instantly cream his shorts.

So make love to the camera darling. When I grow up, I want to be a pornographer.

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