Monthly Archives: January 2010

January 25, 2010 · 22:01

It’s a question of… putting Valentine’s Day into perspective

xkcd.com

Love is a many splendored thing – as is Valentine’s Day, in its own, very particular way. Being single I’m not officially allowed to frown upon February 14 because I’d come across as a sore, bitter spinster of some sort.

However, as I’m constantly being assailed with Valentine’s Day and all things related at the moment, I do think I’m authorized to say that February 14 is slightly overrated and often turns out to be a moment of unnecessary stress for everyone, single or not.

I actually believe it’s worst if you’re in a relationship. You cannot mock or ignore it, not even by saying that you’re against commercial holidays, Hallmark version. It’s unforgivable to treat Valentine’s Day like any other day. That would just seem, well, petty. And you can’t even trust your “cool” partner who says he or she doesn’t care about it, because it’s a lie. Believing that sort of nonsense causes much pouting and frustration.

The pressure is not so much on finding the right present, restaurant or frilly underwear as on “being romantic”. And let’s face it, if you’re not naturally inclined, acting romantic – or reacting to another persons romantic behaviour – is not that easy, especially not on a given day. However, it is essential to try, because you must prove that “you care”.

While I’m all for telling the important people in your life that you love them (some might even say I overdo it in that area), I’ve never been a great fan of Valentine’s Day. (It might have a little to do with the fact that two different men offered me cheese – yes, cheese – as a Valentine’s gift). Like every event where expectations have to be met, it often turns out disappointing. It also feels somewhat unnatural – which might be explained by the fact that it is.

Let me explain. Among the three “Saint Valentines” once acknowledged by the Catholic Church, not one had any links with romantic love. In fact, like Christmas, Easter and many other “holidays”, Saint Valentine’s Day was invented to Christianize a pagan celebration. In this case, Lupercalia, a Roman festival held partly in the honour of Lupercus, God of fertility and husbandry and protector of herds and crops, and partly in honour of Lupa, the she-wolf who suckled Romulus and Remus (supposed founders of Rome). The celebrations involved sacrifices of goats and a dog, and men running round flagellating women to ensure their fertility.

Not much to do with love either, you might say. Wrong. Because Lupercalia was also a kind of “sex festival’. On February 14, small pieces of paper with teenage girls names written on them would be put in a big jar and teenage boys would choose one at random. The newly formed “couple” would then join in the erotic games and festivities of Lupercalia and remain sexual partners for the rest of the year.

In other words, “real” Valentine’s Day shouldn’t have anything to do with cards, flowers, hearts and red-coated chocolate. It’s supposed to be a sex lottery. Maybe one day, it will become so again. But in the meantime, you’d probably better start making more traditional plans.

As for me, I’ll be neither depressed nor feeling sorry for myself on February 14. Despite my single status, I’ll even be celebrating it fondly as the very special day it is. I say this because my son was conceived on Valentine’s Day.

So if your guy gives you cheese like mine did on that same day, don’t despair. Something truly marvellous might happen next.

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January 14, 2010 · 15:10

It’s a question of… having sex like fish

Sometimes you learn the most incredible things in places you’d least expect. It happened to me the other day when I was visiting the Parisian aquarium (Cineaqua). I suppose the things I discovered are common knowledge to some, but to me it was big news.

It all started when my son got talking with a young woman working there. She showed him a fish and told him it was 22 years old. I started wondering if it was time to send our sole goldfish at home to “a farm” somewhere (seeing myself retired with it is not an appealing vision). Then she turned to me and asked if she could tell him about hermaphrodites. I promptly agreed. Having recently had to explain to my offspring what porn was, I didn’t mind leaving this one to her.

It turns out that 10% of fish are hermaphrodites. I had no idea. This particular one – a grouper of some sort – started life as a “non-sexual” fish, then became a female at 4 years old and a male at around 12. As the lady told my son: “when it gets really fat, you know it’s turned to a male”.

Needless to say, I spent a few hours looking up the sexual lives of fish afterwards. That’s how I now know about protandrous hermaphrodites (fish that first develop to males, then to females) and protogynous hermaphrodites (the opposite, like the grouper). I also found out that many sequential hermaphrodites (that’s the general term for fish capable of transforming from one sex to another) use their abilities to maintain the balance between male and female fish populations.

For example, in a monoandric harem (ok, I’ll stop using words I didn’t know existed a few days ago) – a harem consisting in one male and several females – if the male dies for some reason, the strongest female will “turn” (within days!) and take his place. A sex change to make up for lack of males in one place? Fish are genius!

As for reproduction, well they’re quite progressive too, being avid partisans of random in-aqua fertilization and group sex. As the aquarium woman told my son: “They all get together and just spurt out sperm and eggs in the water and it all mixes and ends up making baby fish” (and yes, I was forced to have the sperm and egg conversation later on…).

It turns out that sharks are some of the only fish to actually copulate. They are also one of the only species to have different and external “genitals” so you can tell male and females apart (though sharks don’t have actual penises).

Of course, not all fish swim around “spurting” their reproductive material. Some females make nests, lay eggs and wait for a male to come along and “sprinkle” them. Sometimes, the male makes the nest (a fancy bubble nest), he then gets a female in there and “wraps” around her, squeezing her till eggs drop out. Others are “live bearers” (like guppies) and carry their eggs internally. And wait till you hear this: the female guppy can “stock up” on sperm and use it at different times, so she doesn’t have to wait for a male to be around to spawn. Again: genius! (True, these same fish have a tendency to eat their newborn progeny too, but hey, nobody’s perfect.)

And last, but not least, let’s not forget the female fish that take a big mouthful of eggs and sperm and store them in their mouths till the eggs hatch (note to men: see, fish don’t swallow either).

While I may not envy fish for their sex lives (though the water element is pretty enticing and the sex change possibilities interesting), I’m truly enthralled by having found out about yet another brilliant way nature works. And I now look at our goldfish with renewed interest…

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January 13, 2010 · 00:06

It’s a question of… Carrie Bradshaw being wrong

Many years ago, I had a boyfriend who got turned on by watching ‘Sex and the City’. While this slightly spoiled the series for me, it did however also have advantages. For example, it meant that I didn’t have to turn down sex upfront. I just needed to answer “Hmm, no, let’s play a board game instead” when he asked, “Shall we watch a few episodes of ‘Sex and the City’?”

The best thing about his SATC addiction though was that he purchased all six seasons – and left the whole set of DVD’s with me when we separated.

A few days ago, I quiet unexpectedly went to bed with season one of ‘Sex and the city’ after a long leave of absence with Carrie Bradshaw and her friends. I initially wanted to test my new Ikea bed laptop cushion (very satisfactory by the way) by working, but my WIFI connection refused to enter the bedroom. Which led to the DVD option.

So there I was, plunged yet again into the life of the successful, beautiful and sexually fulfilled women of New York (even further away now from my actual life than when I first watched the series…).

After a few episodes something strange happened: I realised my vision of Carrie Bradshaw had changed. Before, her relationship with the supposed commitment phobic Mr Big filled me with compassion. I knew exactly how she felt. Now? Not so much.

In fact I thought Mr Big showed a hell of a lot of patience most of the time. When she’s chasing him around wanting to be introduced to his mother (she obviously has never had a mother in law!), when he finds out she’s been spying on his ex-wife or when she has a meltdown because they haven’t had sex for several days (and he doesn’t want to in the middle of a boxing match). The worst part? When she breaks up with him because he won’t say that “she’s the one” there and then on the sidewalk.

I’m not saying I’ve never been just as clingy, jealous and stupidly in search of “proof that he loves me”. I have. Many times. Many, many times. But somehow over the years I’ve apparently lowered my expectations to men, relationships and romance. I no longer relate to Carrie Bradshaw when she dissects Mr Big’s every word and gesture. I’ve never been the “I want a big ring and a big marriage” type of woman. But I had never realised how much she was.

Being so suddenly annoyed by Carrie Bradshaw has been an unsettling experience. I’m not happy with suddenly understanding men who think women are slightly pushy. I’d much more prefer telling myself that I’m getting worked up by ‘Sex and the City’ because it reminds me of a time where I actually had relationships. Either way, one thing’s certain: I’m going to have to check out the remaining five seasons one more time to be sure.

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January 4, 2010 · 22:11

It’s a question of… the perfect diet

There is no escape: after the holiday season, it’s diet season. The same magazines that were encouraging me to “shed a few kilos” before Christmas in order to fit into my (inexistent) party dress are now telling me to diet once again so I can become a “new and fit” me. Apparently, all my pre-Christmas efforts didn’t go well… (which makes sense as I didn’t fully engage in any).

To be honest, the magazines aren’t the only ones subtly pushing me towards a little weight shifting. Every time I open my cupboard my clothes shout out “don’t even bother!” I have reached a point where I can only fit into one pair of jeans (because they’re the stretchy type) and am thankful for the cold weather because sporting oversized sweaters doesn’t look too strange. I can’t stand wearing my bra and well, even my underpants are tight – which must be the ultimate sign. So yes, one can say that I really do need to lose some weight.

Will I be buying diet books or following diet recipes from the magazines? Start ingesting vomit-worthy diet drinks, roam the Internet in search of the perfect diet pill or engage in some new detox fad? I think not.

First of all, I’ve learnt the hard way that I’m not the type of person to follow a set program, count calories or eat things I don’t like just because they have a low GI. I refuse to go all protein, fibre or grapefruity – for the simple reason that it’s downright cruel to my system and I wouldn’t last a week without turning into a very irritable and depressive being.

Also, I’m not stupid. Like most people, I know exactly where my unwanted kilos come from and I know that in order to lose them the best diet is also the most simple one: eat less, drink less and move more. I’m not saying it’s an easy diet – I like my chocolate, wine/beer and couch sitting as much as the next person – but it’s by far the easiest for me, and it works.

My perfect diet…

Women’s magazines have taught me a few things throughout the years (it’s not because I don’t follow their diets that I can’t read about them!), so most of this is based on “standard dieting”.

  • I eat breakfast (nothing new here), and 5 to 6 smaller (or medium’ish…) meals during the day (nothing new there either!).
  • I don’t eat after 7 pm (very hard – that’s when I normally start pigging out) but often drink a glass of wine before bedtime. The wine is more for my own comfort. I don’t care about the sugar it contains, what matters is that it’s alcohol and it’s diuretic. Basically, in the morning, I may have a small headache, but I weigh a little less (because of the water loss, but still, it keeps spirits high!)
  • I go “logically healthy” (I eat what I know is good for me). I eat more vegetables than usual, take fruit and yogurts instead of cake, continue having meat and fish and develop a true liking for soup and hard-boiled eggs.
  • I try to avoid bread and to cut down the pasta (one of my deadly sins). I keep dark chocolate in the house though. (It’s good for you and also, I’m an addict). I put even more chilli on my food than I normally do (on cheese, on chocolate, on salad… don’t know why).
  • When I get a hunger pang, I eat pickled gherkins and caperberries in huge quantities.
  • I don’t start jogging or doing sit-ups because I’m not that kind of person. But it would probably do me good. If I’m really motivated, I get out an old stretching video I have and do some moves in front of the TV. It’s the kind of exercise that doesn’t get me too sweaty but still makes me feel good (about my incredible willpower).
  • Then there’s the water issue. Supposedly, it’s important to drink massive amounts of this. While you’ll never get me to bounce around lightly with a 1 litres bottle of Evian sticking out of my bag (I mean, who does?), I do try to drink water throughout the day, but “spice it up” with lemon juice or herbs so I don’t feel like gagging after the second glass. I also replace some of my cuppas of PG tea with green tea (a little suffering when on a diet is normal after all…). I never ever try Chinese diet tea unless I have an urge to spend half the day running to the toilet!

After three weeks of this “personal diet”, I generally lose between 4 and 6 kilos – and keep them off (until I start over-eating again).

Now you may be asking yourself why, if it’s that simple, I can’t fit into my underwear today. I have no valid answer. I know I feel much better when I can wear (all) my clothes and fit into my bra. I know that it’s not that great an effort to lose a few kilos – even for the food-loving person that I am. I sit here trying to find convincing excuses but I really can’t think of any. So I suppose that means I’ll be starting a diet.

Next Monday.

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