Hitting the Big Time

Readers with long memories and dogged senses of commitment may remember a little article I wrote a while back called "Just Done It".

This was an article about Bettina Arndt and her book "The Sex Diaries". It was, to be perfectly honest (sorry to shatter any illusions here), an article that, to a certain extent, made fun of her. That is, it sort of mocked her, her book, her theories, her genitalia. Well, not her genitalia. The editors cut those fifteen paragraphs out. But anyway, it was a somewhat mocking article with a bit of a "hahahaha Bettina you brainless twat" tone to it.

And I had thought that was the end of that.

But if life has taught me anything it is this: that is NEVER the end of that, particularly in Wagga Wagga.

For that august town's Daily Advertiser on the 10th March published an interesting piece about Mrs Arndt and her recent trip to Boorowa (not far from Young, fortunately!) to celebrate International Women's Day and tell women to get jiggy with it more often.

And you will NOT BELIEVE THIS, readers, but the Wagga Wagga Daily Advertiser actually MENTIONED ME!

Little me!

And this is what it said:

"Bettina Arndt has been dubbed `man's
best friend'," Ben Pobjie author of Just Done
It comments. "Every writer knows that sex
sells. In deed when my own articles are
erotically charged each week the better they
are received and when the average person
hears the word sex they think of Bettina
Arndt. She helps people who are having
problems in their sex lives but never before
has she made such a contribution to mass
sexual satisfaction as in her latest book in
which she argues that the greatest cause of
unhappy relationships is the discrepancy
between the male and female libido.

I was very chuffed to see I was big in Wagga Wagga, but I couldn't help noticing...well...I mean...tell me if somehow that excerpt there sort of suggests somehow that I am...kind of...

a big fan of Bettina Arndt? I mean, I can't help feeling that the Daily Advertiser has actually quoted me as a sort of pro-Arndt blurb-writer, taking the quote slightly out of context and ignoring other parts of my article, such as this:

Believe me, I know whereof I speak. Like most men, I have for many years been enjoying sex that I didn’t actually want to have. On several occasions I have enjoyed sex that I didn’t even realise I was having until about halfway through. Because men are troopers. Even when they really don’t want to have sex, they are willing to roll up their sleeves and pitch in for the greater good.

Or this?

There’s no point in keeping your sex-canoe in dry dock your whole life. If you ever want to experience the joys of the river of intercourse, you have to get your canoe off the shores of abstinence, negotiate the rapids of foreplay, and tip yourself over the penetration waterfall. The American Indians knew this, but somewhere along the line we have lost the eternal truth of canoes.

Of course, it is possible that once the canoe is out, the woman might discover that she’s not actually enjoying it. Well, that’s canoes for you. Watersports are not for everyone. But would she rather not have a canoe? Would she rather her husband left her for a woman with bigger oars? In summary, the message is this: boating metaphors are less sexy than you might think.

I just feel slightly misrepresented here. Am I wrong?

Mind you, my feeling of misrepresentation is less profound than my feeling of confusion when I read these words penned by Narelle Ross of the Advertiser:

The story of the sex-starved husband has
struck a chord. For many men - not all by
any means - sexual performance is an issue
of deep insecurity. It starts in the
playground when they overhear older kids
recounting their `so-called sexual exploits'
most of which turn out to be `flights of the
fantasy'.
"We know in our hearts that any woman
lucky enough to experience the awesome
pleasure of our attention should just thank
her lucky stars as she swoons and hopes that
one day she might be allowed some more."
But it doesn't happen like this - very often
most men agree.

Dear Narelle Morse:

What?

Unusual Beyond Normal Bounds Of Politeness?

A Curious Story

Now, through a rather unlikely and complex series of events, it so happens that I found myself with a mix CD in my car which contains the rather catchy song "One Night in Bangkok" as sung by Murray Head and, apparently, Anders Glenmark - so there you go.

It also so happens that by nature I am a curious fellow, and when I find something I enjoy, I like to do a bit of research and find out more about the object of my affection. I already knew a bit about "One Night in Bangkok" - that it was composed by Benny and Bjorn from ABBA for example (although Tim Rice's involvement had been forgotten), and that it was on a vinyl LP that used to live in my family home featuring all the hits of 1984, including but not limited to:

- Michael Jackson's "Thriller"
- The Eurhythmics' "Sexcrime (Nineteen Eighty-Four)
- Black Lace's "Agadoo"
- Icehouse's "Electric Dreams"

All fine songs which I can expound on later. This is about "One Night in Bangkok". One thing I also recalled was that it was a song taken from the musical Chess, by the aforementioned Benny, Bjorn and Tim. I vaguely remember commercials for the show on TV when I was a lad, but knew little about it. So I looked it up on trusty resource Wikipedia.

Here I found out many useful facts about the musical's genesis, development, success and critical reaction. But I also found out something that may well haunt me till the day I die, or till the day there is a revival of the show that I attend.

In the plot synopsis of the Broadway version of the show Chess, we are reliably informed by Wikipedia that this happens:

The world chess championship is being held in Bangkok. At a press conference, the brash American challenger, Freddie Trumper, relishes the crowd's affection, while the current Russian champion, Anatoly Sergievsky, and Molokov, his second, watch with curiosity and disdain. During the match, Freddie accuses Anatoly of receiving outside help via the flavor of yogurt he is eating, and Freddie storms out, leaving his second, Florence, in an argument with the Arbiter and the Russians.

Let me isolate the pertinent part of that, in case you missed it:

Freddie accuses Anatoly of receiving outside help via the flavor of yogurt he is eating

Let us be quite clear here. In Chess, a musical which looks at the Cold War through the medium of the tension and strategy of international chess, the opening scenes pivot on one character accusing another of cheating...with yoghurt.

Yoghurt.

He accuses him of cheating with yoghurt.

Now, I know the accusation is a trumped-up charge, but nevertheless you would think a false accuser would want something a bit more plausible, wouldn't you? A bit more plausible than "This is intolerable! He is using his yoghurt to defeat me!"

Surely?

This will gnaw at me for the rest of my life, and yet I am not sure I even want to know.