Balls to the wall
April 26, 2007 § 9 Comments
I’ll admit, I’m starting to feel a little overwhelmed by it all.
My thesis proposal is finally starting to unfold, but only in temperamental fits and starts. Even so, my apartment has returned to its stubbornly entropic state, I am two weeks behind on my email correspondence, and, despite the best of intentions, I still haven’t done my taxes.
Meanwhile, I continue to be examined by bevies of doctors wielding an ever-widening array of medical instruments. One of them believes that I have developed shin splints, and has ordered a bone scan that will leave me mildly radioactive for several days. Another has discovered a pre-cancerous lesion in my eye which must be immediately surgically removed. What fun.
Then, strangely, there are men, who have reappeared on the doorstep of my life like summer ants and whose testicular status has yet to be fully determined. Thus, I find myself considering the questions raised by Gay Prof and Me: The Sequel with some care. Yes, it will have to be a man with balls. Which are what, exactly?
As with both art and pornography, I’m hard pressed to provide a definition, but I will venture so far as to say that I know them when I see them. This suggests to me that balls, like beauty, are in the eye of the beholder, and, as such, that they tell you as much about the person who perceives them as the one who possesses them.
To me, honesty is distinctly ballsy. So are expressivity and embodiedness. Warmth, too, strikes me as a ballsy quality, as does curiosity. But the most ballsy trait of them all–the AC/DC of balls, as it were–is almost certainly self-knowledge, which I suppose is to say that a man with balls ought at least to know that he has them.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must retire to my quarters to contemplate another part of the male anatomy.