It is a great source of happiness and pride to see Sinanation’s ever-expanding global reach. Thanks to Google Analytics, I now have the opportunity to see the origins of my readers. Here are the places Sinanation has been so far:
Thanks to all the readers!
Set out for a weekend of skiing, we drove down to Pennsylvania, to the mighty Pocono Mountains. There is actually nothing mighty about it. Set just a few kilometers off the I-80, Poconos reminds one nothing more than a hilltop creamed with a mix of natural and man-made snow. Still, with only a 1.5 hour drive from Manhattan, this place seems to be the most convenient “Alpine skiing” for a New Yorker.
Blame it on the low altitude and our persistence to disregard the weather reports, Poconos greeted us with heavy rain. Thus, we weren’t left with any other option but to try out the Sunset Hill shooting range, located 15 minutes away from the ski resort. Excluding one friend who has been there once before, we were too clueless to have any expectations on this vicious activity. Scarface, Lord of War, the Last Action Hero and numerous other action movies were there to misguide us to what we were going to witness in real life.
The shooting range on the horizon, we were perplexed with the sound coming from the other side of the wooden fence. It was smashing through the windows and rocketing into our ears without any welcome. Without a glimpse of this heart-pounding sound’s source, we galloped into the cabin where we would sign in to observe and test. Huge ear muffs blocking the sound and large plastic glasses protecting the eyes, we moved into a lethal weapon heaven. Above a carpet of used bullets, children to grandfathers, everyone was there to bring out the Agent 47 inside them. They were all eyes and ears, carefully observing every move of their instructors. From AK-47s to sniper guns, the sexiest lethal weapons of our time were proudly displayed in their sections. Cold, crisp, determined and too light for the purpose they serve, each gun was ready to be fired. Overwhelmed with power, confused by accessibility and surprised by the difficulty of hitting the targets, we tried to understand a world we observed only through the media and the movies. We were so far away, but yet so close. The gun scenes on the white screen became a joke. The reality of wars became heavier than ever.
This is an amazing post written by my friend, mentor and business partner Andrea on his blog http://thewaterrat.com/
I enjoyed it so much that I had to share it on Sinanation too. All credits to Andrea and his secret book on body parts.
The buttocks have quite unfairly become the joke region of the human body. They make people laugh; they are a popular subject for dirty jokes. The behind, the back side, the bum, the buns, the arse, the rump, the bottom – whatever name they are given, the buttocks are looked upon as either ridiculous or obscene. Even when they are considered an erotic zone, because of their proximity with the genitals, they are more likely to be pinched or slapped than caressed.
It’s easy to see how this negative attitude has come about. The buttocks are not alone. Between them lurks the anus, through which must pass, day after day, all our solid waste matter and - even more notoriously – the occasional emission of gas. Furthermore, when we bend down the genitals swing into view, also framed by the twin curves of the buttocks. So there is no escaping excretory and sexual associations.
It follows from this that to display the buttocks is interpreted either as a gross insult – a symbolic act of defecation on an enemy – or as a gross obscenity – a shameless presentation of sexual organs.
The buttocks display is sometimes made more abusive by the addition of the phrase ‘kiss my arse’. Taken at face value this is insulting because it demands a humiliating act of subordination. But there is more to it than that: the Greeks believed that the buttocks were the most beautiful part of the human anatomy. The human hemispheres were so different from the tough patches of hardened skin on the lean-bottomed apes that the Greeks saw them, quite correctly, as supremely human and non-bestial. The curvaceous Goddess of Love, Aphrodite Kallipygos – the ‘Goddess with Beautiful Buttocks’ – was said to have a behind more aesthetically pleasing than any other part of her anatomy.
It was argued that if rounded buttocks were the hallmark distinguishing mankind from the beasts, then the monsters of darkness must lack this particular anatomical feature. Early Europeans believed that the devil, even though he could assume human form, could never complete the transformation because he could never manage to simulate the rounded human buttocks. Historically, the devil was depicted as having another face instead of the buttocks. This second face is the one which was supposed to be kissed by witches as part of the ritual of the Sabbath. The concept of arse-kissing survived and the popular phrase was incorporated in the modern insult.
The females of apes have brightly colored rumps. Their hind quarters become increasingly conspicuous and swollen as the time of ovulation approaches, then recede again as it passes. This means that a male can tell at a glance whether a female is sexually active.
Human females are different. Their rumps do not rise and fall with their menstrual cycles. Their buttocks remain protuberant throughout. Matching this, sexuality also remains high. As part of her pair-bonding system, the human female has extended her sexiness so that she’s always potentially responsive to the male (mhhhh…). The female’s sex signal is accentuated by two other properties: the backward rotation of the pelvis and the sway of the hips in walking. The typical female has a more arched back than the male. When she walks, the different leg and hip design of the female skeleton produces a greater undulation in the buttock region. She wiggles as she walks.
The females of our early ancestors were much bigger-buttock-ed than their modern counterparts as evidence from ancient skeletons points out. One possible explanation of this is that our ancestors mated from behind. As we evolved into erect posture and our rump muscles bulged into buttocks, the swollen shape became the main sex signal. Females with larger rumps sent the stronger sex signals so that this condition started to increase until the buttocks became huge. The huge buttocks started however to interfere with the sexual act. The males solved the problem by switching to frontal copulation. As part of this new approach, the female breasts became permanently swollen as mimics of the large hemispherical buttocks. This later version of the human female, better balanced and more agile, was at a considerable advantage over the fat-laden earlier model, which was gradually replaced.
The presentation of the buttocks in a humble bent-over posture has had an enduring role as an appeasement gesture. In this respect there is no difference between the ape and human individual. In all cases the ‘presenter’ is saying “I offer myself in the passive female role. Please show your dominance by mounting me instead of attacking me”. The dominant individuals rarely attack such a subordinate, either ignoring it, or else mounting it briefly and making a few formalized pelvic thrusts.
Between lovers, buttock clasping is common in both courtship and copulation itself. It is this sexual linkage, again, that causes the occasional furore over the notorious Italian pursuit of bottom-pinching. Any attractive girl walking the streets of an Italian city is liable to have her buttocks pinched by admiring strangers.
Like many I welcomed 2010 surrounded with loud music, light shows, alcohol, hugs, kisses, laughs, confetti and cheers. All seems blurry now that I look back at the celebration. It was too quick and smooth to welcome a new set of 365 days that waits to pound our hearts with the unknown. Some good, some bad, we will again row through a year, hoping to make the best out of it.
For me, 2009 was full of surprises and revelations. I would have wished for a smoother year, but then wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate the lessons I learned. Now that I look forward, I have to remind myself what has passed through my mind just before the big countdown to the new year.
I am not a candle person. Don’t get me wrong, like many I enjoy the candlelight or fireplace when the occasion calls for it. I just hate dealing with hundreds of tealight candles or the preparation for lighting a fireplace. Some of my friends love the process. They become Casanovas in touch with their feminine side, lighting each tealight candle one by one delicately until they turn dark rooms into love shacks. I skip that whole ceremony, but I still can’t deny the importance of a good scented candle in the living room (especially if you have smokers or talented garlic/onion lover chefs as visitors). In the adventures I have taken to find a good candle, the Anthropologie stores have been lifesavers.
I had the pleasure of chatting with a close friend about the aftermath of a typical breakup. Our debate lead me to write this short observation of what I see as the dynamics behind the “male move on process” and the confusion of the female within all this tornado of testosterone and emotion. I thank her for challenging me into this intense, but rather comforting debate.
Just like the chromosomes that create sex, the views of a female and male differ greatly towards the episodes that come about after a breakup. As all of us who had the pleasure of dating are aware, breakups are almost always unfinished businesses. There is always one party in the game that whispers quietly outside, but yells furiously inside “I am not done!”. In this case our views of ghosts as souls who are stuck on the Earth because of unfinished businesses applies completely to the partner who is not done with the relationship. Nobody would want the world to know that he or she is that weak, confused, angry and helpless partner waiting on the side long after the relationship is over. Thus, begins the period where both sides retrieve back to their original clans, far away from the little tent they built during their happy days together. With the prospect of having the old single days back, the male and the female steps into the gang in which, he and she once played a major role.
The male is back in the Tribe of Y-chromosomal Adam.
He fights his urges to care whether the ex has moved on and he is well-aware that she will sooner or later. Like many of his buddies he believes the best official way to declare independence and strength is to find another girl (as many name “the rebound girl”) to decorate his loneliness and support his fun endeavors. The weakness is camouflaged with the best outfit and the tribe members are there to witness it.
After the break up, the male sees Y-chromosomal Adam as the members-only, sacred ground where nobody he has cut ties with are welcome. He is there to be attended to and focused on. Going back to the old days, having the best careless fun, sharing, supporting and relaxing are the main goals of the recently separated.
Yet, there is a miscalculation in the male’s expectation. Over the period that he has gallantly and happily hung out with his partner, he has (willingly or unwillingly) forced his tribe partners to embrace and respect the female (whom he now sees as history). He is perplexed to see the history showing up at his front door. He feels betrayed to see his tribe hanging out with the woman he grew apart with. He thinks “this girl is not over me and still manages to find a way to stay in touch through my gang”. He shivers with the thought of having to watch her have fun within his sacred grounds and move on in front of his eyes. The girl on the other hand wishes to stay friends knowing that the “rebound girl” is already there to cut off any prior emotional ties. She swallows the pain and puts on a good face. She enjoys the company of her “accidental” tribe. She shows up around Y-chromosomal Adam for the formation and the continual of a mature and respectful acquaintance.
He grows furious, taking it out on the people he came to rely on. He blames them for not caring as much. Insensitivity and betrayal are to be gotten rid of. He is blinded with the breakouts of the macho testesterone flowing inside him. He is scared of the emotions he witnessed and sedated with much difficulty, resurfacing. He needs time and hopes to get rid of the addiction with the hope of rejuvenating the days before “the couple”. Back in the Tribe of Y-chromosomal Adam… Away from his special female…Close to all the unrefined urges of his manhood and gangstership.
It took me a while to see this trend, but I think I can finally pick my two favorite colors in clothing: Petroleum Green and Navy Blue. I tend to always go for green when picking out new sweatshirts and cardigans and I lean for navy whenever I am out for a suit or jacket. I like both colors with any other color including black. I actually never understood why there has been a Chinese Wall between navy blue and black. Whoever came out with that rule made a big mistake.
Tried to remember the cartoons I used to watch as a kid and came up with a list. Here are the titles that ruled my childhood and how some might have altered my view of the future:
Do you have a minute for the Earth?
Do you have a minute for the children?
Do you have a minute for gay marriage?
Yes, I do have a minute for all of those, but I know for a fact that once you stop me, you will keep me stranded on the sidewalk for more than 15 minutes. Asking me all the questions that I really do not wish to answer.
Like 90% of the pedestrians passing by you today, I have a minute to talk about world piece, the environment, the kids and the gays, but I am just gonna pass. A tiny needle goes through my skin everytime I yell back at you “no sorry” with an awkward smile. I desperately search for my phone to pretend I am busy before our eyes meet. Sometimes I am successful in pretending, but you have to know this the considerate, thoughtful, over-joyful and confident survey person, I most probably have a minute, but I will not be using it to answer your kind questions. Who knows maybe one day lightning might strike and I might just stop for a chat. Don’t get your hopes up though!
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| By N2H | |||||
