![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Building the Penis Denied Me by God
Jun. 5th, 2005 07:46 pmOn the internet, I read of an electric car enthusiast's participation in a general gathering of car buffs. Included in this gathering was a stereo sound-off (in which he had explicitly come to particpate) and a rev-'em-up contest. Never heard of such a competition? Essentially, cars that enter rev their engines, blasting the crowd with powerful combustion, hoping to sound the loudest and baddest of all the entries.
Being the kind of guy he is, Wayland entered his electric car in the rev contest, getting, of course, mixed reviews. (I wish I could find the narrative of the event, written by Wayland himself, but search engines aren't yet running as smoothly and as quietly as his entry.)
It is the admiration of such chutzpa that inspired me to defend and even celebrate the Gateway Tower several years ago. A person with whom I was at the time drinking took offense by the shape of the tower (more on that later in the entry, dear reader). To understand the triumph of that particular design and placement, one must first appreciate the psychology of towers and, more importantly, their builders.
I see builders as building to express something other than the stated intention in the PR blurbs, the over-blown "first-class city" hype and "mark of industrial progress" crap, the "look to the future" or the "respect of heritage" blecch. Builders are as creative, as humble, as technologically progressive, as stubbornly arrogant, as conceited or whatever as the buildings they contrive to finance and erect. Thusly, the building itself becomes a statement the builder wants desparately to make. In fact, when it comes to erections, builders, especially that special breed of builder, those of skyscrapers, like to think that theirs is seen as the biggest and the best.
It should come as a surprise to no one that many of these developers are short men.
Take Martin Selig, for example. He contrived to construct the largest building in Seattle, the Columbia Tower (now renamed so many times as to make all but the original name meaningless to me). He closed so many zoning loopholes that most were stricken from the books. He ruffled feathers everywhere, from NIMBY types to the FAA, which finally decreed the planned tower height unsafe, as it intruded in the flight deck of the busiest general purpose airport in the country, and ordered a rooftop antennae dismantled. In short, he bent, twisted and abused every rule just to prove to one and all that he had the mightiest erection in the city.
Which takes me back to high school gym class.
Trust me, there is a connection.
What women may do in the relative privacy of their own locker rooms will be forever obscure to me, but the shenanigans of the boys' shower room are, in my memory at least, forever etched. The unwritten rules of etiquette, violated even a little, that could cause shame; the constant vyeing for perceived superiority. Forcing a bunch of guys to get naked together, folks, raises all sorts of problems.
First of all, one must simultaneously be open and reserved about one's naked state. Non-chalant, but accutely respectful of personal space. One must move about the locker room to the shower and back completely unconcerned about the exposed buttocks and bouncing genitalia, but be especially mindful that any contact in such conditions could get you beaten to a pulp, and rightfully so. One must parade for inspection attributes that rarely speak in the average man as testements of personal pride, and inspect the attributes of others that in ways that must never reveal said inspections. One must be constantly aware of and constantly in denial of the sheer vulnerability of everyone present. Especially onesself.
It is a total mindfuck if one thinks too long on the subject. So most do not.
And who are the stars of the locker room? Why, those who have the longest dicks, of course. They can sit naked with no shame whatsoever. They have earned by nature and no one else the right to preen, strut, and in general behave without a care in the locker room world, and the reason is swinging prominantly to all that doubt their priveledge.
And who are the wall flowers of the scene? Everyone who bears a dick of average size and smaller; and those that are concerned that the sight of all this naked, brazenness might elicity a response in their own equipment. Those are the only two categories, regular dicks and homos. For the purposes of the locker room, there are no others.
This is, after all, high school, a time of continuous self-discovery and a very limited ability to absorb new information. Today, most well adjusted adults view homosexual advances as flattering, but inconsequential. "He finds me attractive," the adjusted and secure find themselves saying. "Ah, well." Then, in high school, any advance meant the person obviously sensed something. . . . People get killed that way. It is in no way trivial to someone who simply has never confronted what it is to be sexual.
Another aspect of the shower to be noted: The biggest swingers can swing with the other big swingers, but they prefer to hang with the average. It gives them the advantage in the competition, just as the tall will stand out in the shorter crowd. And this advantage means they do not have to compete at all, just relax and let nature's disproportion speak for itself. They can strut without fear of being denied the top spot in the light. To surround oneself with similar dicks is to put oneself in competition, to force the preening, the strutting, the unconscious presentation to the next level, and this level means that someone has to lose. There can only be one winner, after all, only one biggest dick. What did the bumpersticker say? "Second place is merely the first loser." This may be why there seems to be so much dismantling and dissemination in competition. Okay, his is the longest, but mine is the hairiest, and his the thickest, and that one the most oddly shaped. These lesser qualities make the competition that much more interesting, and invites more competitors. This seems especially true in the locker rooms of those in organized competition, as opposed to the merely general crowd of the Physical Education set. Throw the competitive spirit into the mix, and, well, things get both mixed up and sorted out in a hurry.
And what of the response from the average dicks? In the presence of a swinger, a true trophy bearer, one must play beta male, one must not try to continue the competition when obviously the prize has already been awarded. That is to invite scorn, and thoughts of worse -- gayness. "What in the hell? He can't compete here. . . . He must be a homo!"
Finally, I cannot emphasize enough the denial of the display, for to equate the deliberate display of one's genitals with a competition is to uncomforatably sexualize the situation, and men, let me tell you, hate a denied competition to become acknowledged at all.
Therefore, look to your developers of yore and consider their actions. They tend to build away from the competition, so as to surround themselves with a less developed crowd of buildings. That way they don't have to compete; they -- excuse me, the buildings the construct -- can simply dominate the scene local skyline. The Handcock Tower and the Sears Tower? Not quite opposite ends of Chicago, but far enough from each other for comfort.
Enter the Gateway Tower. It stands literally across the street from the Columbia Tower. At 57 stories, it stands at a few feet shorter than the 76 story king of the city, but heads above any other erection around. And it bears a shape and name that hardly rejects talk and walk of the locker room which, I feel, no doubt spawned it's construction. Unlike most towers of the modern design era, it has a sloped roof, instead of one that is flat and promotes the box as ideal for habitation.
And not just any sloped roof. . . . This building, designed by Fred Bassetti, earns the nick-name "Fred's Last Erection." It almost looks more priapic that an actual dick.
Placement of a grand tower next to one of lesser stature happens all the time. After all, one cannot simply move the older structure to save its reputation and former glory, and one also cannot simply let real estate so rapidly escalating in value go underdeveloped. A compromise is the gentlemanly approach. The Columbia Tower, for example occupies a place on the skyline discreetly distant from the Seafirst Tower, built in 1969 and until then the city's tallest. The Seafirst Tower, likewise, built well to the north of the old part of the city, avoided the unwanted associations from the Smith Tower, unitl then the grandest the city -- indeed, the West Coast -- had to offer in 1914. A direct confrontation with one's elders? Perish the thought. I'm no homo, they all must think.
But the Gateway Tower? No way. It was built four years after the biggest dick built by the biggest prick in town, and right across the street. You'd have to be pretty darned secure in your sexuality to pull such a stunt.
Ah, but it gets better. Think of the name. The Gateway Tower. Named (of course) for the freeway offramp piercing the base of the building.
Oh, yes, I forgot to mention what I realize now I assume as universally assumed. One never acts in other than a purely masculine manner while naked and surrounded by men you don't want to fuck. To bend a wrist or slip a lisp or bat an eyelash while swinging a dick could very well be equated with sporting, and I don't mean competing in sports. Effeminate behavior may be the second greatest offense to the untold etiquitte of enforced nudity in the straight world without actually achieving contact.
So, Gateway Tower? That's like saying Gay Straightguy. "Which is it? I have to know! I can't proudly display myself if the result of that display is (gag) sex with another guy!"
Thus my unending respect for the Gateway Tower and all who built her/him/it. It is the one building I can think of that dares to confront the unwritten laws by which gentlemen construct edifices to their ego, and by confronting, dares the egos to confront themselves. By denying the denial of construction sexuality, Fred has exposed the seriously repressed sexuality in all skyscraper construction. And by competing by the rules and uncomfortably breaking the unwritten rules, they have exposed the hidden competition of Martin Selig and all the short men like him. Think of John Wayland almost silently revving his humming electric in a sea of motors and motorheads, and daring to stand proudly.
Being the kind of guy he is, Wayland entered his electric car in the rev contest, getting, of course, mixed reviews. (I wish I could find the narrative of the event, written by Wayland himself, but search engines aren't yet running as smoothly and as quietly as his entry.)
It is the admiration of such chutzpa that inspired me to defend and even celebrate the Gateway Tower several years ago. A person with whom I was at the time drinking took offense by the shape of the tower (more on that later in the entry, dear reader). To understand the triumph of that particular design and placement, one must first appreciate the psychology of towers and, more importantly, their builders.
I see builders as building to express something other than the stated intention in the PR blurbs, the over-blown "first-class city" hype and "mark of industrial progress" crap, the "look to the future" or the "respect of heritage" blecch. Builders are as creative, as humble, as technologically progressive, as stubbornly arrogant, as conceited or whatever as the buildings they contrive to finance and erect. Thusly, the building itself becomes a statement the builder wants desparately to make. In fact, when it comes to erections, builders, especially that special breed of builder, those of skyscrapers, like to think that theirs is seen as the biggest and the best.
It should come as a surprise to no one that many of these developers are short men.
Take Martin Selig, for example. He contrived to construct the largest building in Seattle, the Columbia Tower (now renamed so many times as to make all but the original name meaningless to me). He closed so many zoning loopholes that most were stricken from the books. He ruffled feathers everywhere, from NIMBY types to the FAA, which finally decreed the planned tower height unsafe, as it intruded in the flight deck of the busiest general purpose airport in the country, and ordered a rooftop antennae dismantled. In short, he bent, twisted and abused every rule just to prove to one and all that he had the mightiest erection in the city.
Which takes me back to high school gym class.
Trust me, there is a connection.
What women may do in the relative privacy of their own locker rooms will be forever obscure to me, but the shenanigans of the boys' shower room are, in my memory at least, forever etched. The unwritten rules of etiquette, violated even a little, that could cause shame; the constant vyeing for perceived superiority. Forcing a bunch of guys to get naked together, folks, raises all sorts of problems.
First of all, one must simultaneously be open and reserved about one's naked state. Non-chalant, but accutely respectful of personal space. One must move about the locker room to the shower and back completely unconcerned about the exposed buttocks and bouncing genitalia, but be especially mindful that any contact in such conditions could get you beaten to a pulp, and rightfully so. One must parade for inspection attributes that rarely speak in the average man as testements of personal pride, and inspect the attributes of others that in ways that must never reveal said inspections. One must be constantly aware of and constantly in denial of the sheer vulnerability of everyone present. Especially onesself.
It is a total mindfuck if one thinks too long on the subject. So most do not.
And who are the stars of the locker room? Why, those who have the longest dicks, of course. They can sit naked with no shame whatsoever. They have earned by nature and no one else the right to preen, strut, and in general behave without a care in the locker room world, and the reason is swinging prominantly to all that doubt their priveledge.
And who are the wall flowers of the scene? Everyone who bears a dick of average size and smaller; and those that are concerned that the sight of all this naked, brazenness might elicity a response in their own equipment. Those are the only two categories, regular dicks and homos. For the purposes of the locker room, there are no others.
This is, after all, high school, a time of continuous self-discovery and a very limited ability to absorb new information. Today, most well adjusted adults view homosexual advances as flattering, but inconsequential. "He finds me attractive," the adjusted and secure find themselves saying. "Ah, well." Then, in high school, any advance meant the person obviously sensed something. . . . People get killed that way. It is in no way trivial to someone who simply has never confronted what it is to be sexual.
Another aspect of the shower to be noted: The biggest swingers can swing with the other big swingers, but they prefer to hang with the average. It gives them the advantage in the competition, just as the tall will stand out in the shorter crowd. And this advantage means they do not have to compete at all, just relax and let nature's disproportion speak for itself. They can strut without fear of being denied the top spot in the light. To surround oneself with similar dicks is to put oneself in competition, to force the preening, the strutting, the unconscious presentation to the next level, and this level means that someone has to lose. There can only be one winner, after all, only one biggest dick. What did the bumpersticker say? "Second place is merely the first loser." This may be why there seems to be so much dismantling and dissemination in competition. Okay, his is the longest, but mine is the hairiest, and his the thickest, and that one the most oddly shaped. These lesser qualities make the competition that much more interesting, and invites more competitors. This seems especially true in the locker rooms of those in organized competition, as opposed to the merely general crowd of the Physical Education set. Throw the competitive spirit into the mix, and, well, things get both mixed up and sorted out in a hurry.
And what of the response from the average dicks? In the presence of a swinger, a true trophy bearer, one must play beta male, one must not try to continue the competition when obviously the prize has already been awarded. That is to invite scorn, and thoughts of worse -- gayness. "What in the hell? He can't compete here. . . . He must be a homo!"
Finally, I cannot emphasize enough the denial of the display, for to equate the deliberate display of one's genitals with a competition is to uncomforatably sexualize the situation, and men, let me tell you, hate a denied competition to become acknowledged at all.
Therefore, look to your developers of yore and consider their actions. They tend to build away from the competition, so as to surround themselves with a less developed crowd of buildings. That way they don't have to compete; they -- excuse me, the buildings the construct -- can simply dominate the scene local skyline. The Handcock Tower and the Sears Tower? Not quite opposite ends of Chicago, but far enough from each other for comfort.
Enter the Gateway Tower. It stands literally across the street from the Columbia Tower. At 57 stories, it stands at a few feet shorter than the 76 story king of the city, but heads above any other erection around. And it bears a shape and name that hardly rejects talk and walk of the locker room which, I feel, no doubt spawned it's construction. Unlike most towers of the modern design era, it has a sloped roof, instead of one that is flat and promotes the box as ideal for habitation.And not just any sloped roof. . . . This building, designed by Fred Bassetti, earns the nick-name "Fred's Last Erection." It almost looks more priapic that an actual dick.
Placement of a grand tower next to one of lesser stature happens all the time. After all, one cannot simply move the older structure to save its reputation and former glory, and one also cannot simply let real estate so rapidly escalating in value go underdeveloped. A compromise is the gentlemanly approach. The Columbia Tower, for example occupies a place on the skyline discreetly distant from the Seafirst Tower, built in 1969 and until then the city's tallest. The Seafirst Tower, likewise, built well to the north of the old part of the city, avoided the unwanted associations from the Smith Tower, unitl then the grandest the city -- indeed, the West Coast -- had to offer in 1914. A direct confrontation with one's elders? Perish the thought. I'm no homo, they all must think.
But the Gateway Tower? No way. It was built four years after the biggest dick built by the biggest prick in town, and right across the street. You'd have to be pretty darned secure in your sexuality to pull such a stunt.
Ah, but it gets better. Think of the name. The Gateway Tower. Named (of course) for the freeway offramp piercing the base of the building.
Oh, yes, I forgot to mention what I realize now I assume as universally assumed. One never acts in other than a purely masculine manner while naked and surrounded by men you don't want to fuck. To bend a wrist or slip a lisp or bat an eyelash while swinging a dick could very well be equated with sporting, and I don't mean competing in sports. Effeminate behavior may be the second greatest offense to the untold etiquitte of enforced nudity in the straight world without actually achieving contact.
So, Gateway Tower? That's like saying Gay Straightguy. "Which is it? I have to know! I can't proudly display myself if the result of that display is (gag) sex with another guy!"
Thus my unending respect for the Gateway Tower and all who built her/him/it. It is the one building I can think of that dares to confront the unwritten laws by which gentlemen construct edifices to their ego, and by confronting, dares the egos to confront themselves. By denying the denial of construction sexuality, Fred has exposed the seriously repressed sexuality in all skyscraper construction. And by competing by the rules and uncomfortably breaking the unwritten rules, they have exposed the hidden competition of Martin Selig and all the short men like him. Think of John Wayland almost silently revving his humming electric in a sea of motors and motorheads, and daring to stand proudly.