Random Thought #1 ~ Rapelay, the video game.... Huh?

One of a kazillion (numbers may be altered for shock and awe effect) hentai games created by the Japanese, this video game (which has been pulled off the shelves in Japan, was stymied from ever catching site of American shores, but has blossomed in true atomic fashion on the internet) features a scenario where the gamer goes about raping women. Not like a serial rapist... with random intention... but rather like a sadistic freakzoid who stalks his victim and then proceeds to rape her and her entire family. Mama Cass... come on over? Grandma Woo... you too!

Now, while I think this video game is not for me (definitely!), I find it interesting that this is a part of a larger type of game (the hentai game) in Japan. And I find it fascinating that you can walk into any game store in Japan and pick out a hentai game that includes abduction and rape and mind manipulation and all sorts of rather untoward activity that is not spoken of in polite society. Huh. Fascinating. Then I think to myself, why would it be an accepted part of Japanese culture when it is obviously (obviously!) shunned by Europe and America and the video-game-playing West? (I say obviously because of the uproar over the game "Rapelay." Seriously. Think I'm kidding? Just google it; you'll see.)

And then I remember the kamikazes. You know, those guys during World War II that kissed their loved ones good-bye, jumped into their airplanes, emblazoned with the rising red sun of the Japanese empire, flew into the wide, blue yonder and then promptly slammed their planes into various and sundry targets, causing mayhem and destruction and killing themselves in the process. Those guys. The ones committing suicide for their country? Yeah. Them. Unlike regular soldiers, there's no possibility of ever (ever!) coming back from a kamikaze mission. There's no hope of a miracle, much-maligned, "magic bullet" that will kill your whole platoon but leave you free to continue on your merry way. No. Your plane is a ball of fire! You will die.

What for, you may ask. For country. For family. For honor. A-ha! For honor. Because in the Japanese culture, honor is a big deal. You gotta do your best not just for your own personal self-gratification but so that you don't shame anyone in your family. And we're not talking just your bull-shit brothers and sisters. Oh no! We're talking lines of ancestors reaching back to the beginning of time. Oh yeah, all them too! So if you fu** up and don't reach your full potential, don't achieve some modicum of success, don't follow "the plan" as laid out by society-at-large, you are dishonoring entire generations of people. That's not funny. And it's a shit-load of responsibility.

So, back to the hentai games. If we have a culture that is steeped in honor and in the notion that current actions will reflect badly on themselves, their family, and their ancestors, what are the odds that the average gamer will act out the scenarios from the game in real life? I don't know the statistics, but I'm guessing it's kinda low. After all, "Rapelay" is only one of a kazillion (see disclaimer above) games in the hentai tradition. These types of games have been in stores for quite some time and are still available today. In Japan, these games appear to be widely accepted. But in the video-game-playing West, they are shunned and demonized. Why? Because we are a different culture and, thus, do not have the same built-in societal safe-guards. Think about it. Do you know your mother's mother's name? Her mother's name? Do you consider their ideas and opinions when you make a decision? Be honest now. Probably not.

Now, as a woman, I don't like hentai games. I don't want to play them. I don't want them in my house. That's a personal opinion, based upon my own personal beliefs. But do I think "Rapelay" deserved the blistering hatred and hoop-la it received. No. This is a case of cultures clashing. See it for what it is.


Random Thought #2 ~ "Single Ladies" send-up ~ Ah, Beyonce. What have you done to us?

Imagine my surprise when (in the one time in six years I actually turned the darn thing on) I saw gyrating seven year olds on Good Morning America. Commentators shook their heads, tsk, tsk, tsking emotionally. How could a dance teacher think this was appropriate? What has the world come to? And why do I have to watch it before my morning coffee? Seriously.

You've seen the Youtube video, right? A group of eight and nine year old girls dressed in black, sequined outfits, mid-drifts showing, thighs flashing, dancing ~ in an inappropriate manner ~ at a competition or a recital to Beyonce's hit song "Single Ladies." Let's just say that the moves were one step less than Selma Heyak's snake dance in From Dust Till Dawn. So. Yeah. I wouldn't want my daughter doing that on stage. (Although the snake was pretty sweet.) Anyway, huge public uproar. Children should not be exposed to sexual material. Children should not be taught gyrating dances. Children should be clean and spotless and innocent. Insert my guffaw here because these people, up on their high horses, waving their flags of righteous indignation, are targeting the wrong person. That dance teacher from a tiny dance studio in California that no one had ever heard of before this incident, is not the devil incarnate. She is merely one example of a society-wide epidemic.

Let's explore, shall we. Where, pray tell, did those little girls first hear said song-of-the-devil, "Single Ladies?" On Mtv late night? No. On VH1's 10 sexiest videos send-up? No. On a kid's cartoon show targeting children between the ages of five and nine? Bingo! Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Remember the commercial for the sequel to Alvin and the Chipmunks? Alvin and the Chipmunks, The Squeakquel introduces the Chipettes, three cute, cuddly girl chipmunks in short, school-girl outfits (complete with plaid skirts and plaid ties). They dress fairly sexy, in a naughty school-girl kind of way, and their signature song is... you guessed it.... a high-pitched cover of Beyonces' "Single Ladies," complete with little furry gyrations and fluffy paws in wind-swept, tangled hair. Let's review. The Chipmunks wear baggy sweaters and sing "Christmas Don't be Late." The Chipettes wear naughty school-girl outfits and sing "Single Ladies." Are you seeing a difference?

Let's continue. Ever watch "Little Miss Perfect" on the We channel? It's a reality show that follows the Little Miss Perfect Pageant as it tours the country. Each show focuses on three or four little girls (and their moms... and their MOMS!) as they get ready to perform in the pageant. And this pageant is a mini Miss America, little girls with their caked on make-up and highly teased bouffant hairstyles strutting their stuff for the judges. They wiggle, they giggle, they shake their hips and answer questions about their dogs or favorite activities. They wear poufy dresses and skimpy bikinis. They blow kisses and give cheeky winks. It's rather like watching a strange display of flirting, behind a glass-enclosed museum case. "And here are the traditional methods for attracting a mate...." Truly useful skills.... especially when you're four and a half.

It's time to own up to our own societal down-falls. Americans want our women sexy. We want to pretend that we want them smart but, in a knock-down, drag-out jello fight, sexy's gonna win. Hands down. Thanks to our puritanical roots, we can't openly express our sexual natures in a public forum in an adult, mature manner. Therefore, we allow sex to mix and match with lots of other things, so we can pretend that it's not about the sex. We like the music. (Beyonce and Lady Gaga.) We like the historical representation. (The Tudors.) We like the violence. (Spartacus.) We like the female friendships and quick, witty repartee. (Sex and the City.) We throw in kink and blood and violence and fantastical costumes and snappy dialog and a slick backbeat to get around any notion that we are actually watching it FOR THE SEX. Which we are. Let's be realistic.

This need to delude ourselves is fine, most of the time. But a problem arises when we start truly believing ourselves, believing in the truth of the pretences we erect around our little, happy, no-sex boxes that we store in our vibrator drawer. In short, we forget that, while we may enjoy the music and the story arc and the dialog, we also enjoy the sex. It is when we ignore the sex, that we have serious lapses in judgment in discerning what is and is not sexually appropriate. Little girls in skimpy outfits prancing on stage in a burlesque manner? Inappropriate. Little girls made to look like living dolls flirting with men as old as their fathers in order to win a prize? Inappropriate. Cartoon chipmunks gyrating to a popular song? Inappropriate.

So, come on, say it with me. I like sex. I like consensual sex with of-age individuals ~ whether same sex, opposite sex, or both at the same time. (No judgment here.) I think sex rocks! I live for sex! Maybe if we say it enough, we'll stop pretending and accept sex for the intense, exciting, natural, biological, kick-ass experience it is. We'll be able to put away the societal guilt (and I do think there's some guilt there for all the pleasure it brings) and start channeling that sexual energy in productive, positive ways. Then, we can leave the little girls alone. Because, seriously, there's nothing sexy about that.