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Reader Feedback on "The Wow of Poo"
Thanks for some good laughs. I enjoy clever, honest writing, especially from a writer that apparantly doesn't take himself too seriously.
--cc
07/14 |
rufus, what the h-e-double-toothpicks is your e-mail? al.
--ay
12/28 |
I found your article really funny. But I think you should spare a thought for patients in hospital. I am a nurse on a bowel surgery ward, so farting and shitting are obviously major parts of the recovery process. Not only do patients have to fart and defecate with only a curtain for their privacy, but they have to put up with us nurses asking them about the frequency, texture amount and colour of their shits!! Before they are allowed to eat after a bowel operation they have to have first passed flatus. Even the poshest people lose inhibitions and proclaim loudly (and proudly) to the whole ward "I've farted, I can now eat!". Also from my point of view as a nurse, I have to get used to the sight of other people 'on the throne' and also get used to inspecting other people's poos. It's a shit job, but someone's got to do it!!! Anyway your article really made me laugh.
--BT
11/20 |
hrmm does this mean we are to expect a Te of Pee(glet)? Personally I would rather not get into that stinky room with the love of my life. I would rather keep my romanticized image of my lady smelling like roses
--noah
10/19 |
You should know (and should have mentioned) The Lady's Dressing Room by Jonathan Swift: gopher://dept.english.upenn.edu/00/E-Text/PEAL/Swift/dressing which includes these lines: As mutton cutlets, prime of meat, Which, though with art you salt and beat As laws of cookery require And toast them at the clearest fire, If from adown the hopeful chops The fat upon the cinder drops, To stinking smoke it turns the flame Poisoning the flesh from whence it came; And up exhales a greasy stench For which you curse the careless wench; So things which must not be exprest, When plumpt into the reeking chest, Send up an excremental smell To taint the parts from whence they fell, The petticoats and gown perfume, Which waft a stink round every room. Thus finishing his grand survey, Disgusted Strephon stole away Repeating in his amorous fits, Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia shits!
--FHB
09/29 |
Thats a great little ditty. Being female I spent much time being ashamed of my body functions. Im still a bit shy but I can even fart in front of the husband these days and have a big shit eating grin on my face. He was so proud of me when I became comfortable with that that he said " you fart as good as a man does". I guess that was a compliement.
--jl
09/27 |
I really enjoyed your article. I have long been deeply embarassed about my nether regions and have only just begun to willingly, consciously, explore the pleasures of anal sex, something very freeing for me because it has been a fantasy of mine for a long while... In regard to your article, i thought it very funny. When i am at my boyfriends house i am so embarassed about going to the toilet to do poo that i often am unable to !( i don't want to make any sound because i feel that then he will know what i am doing, which of course is stupid because he could probably guess anyway and besides, isn't it worse to have a worried uptight girlfriend than one that is actually just like you and actually enjoys going to the toilet and emptying her bowels? I am of the belief that one can always sense these things whether consciously or not so what the heck, maybe i will get brave!
--PA
09/25 |
I can not forget (you never forget your first smell) the fantastically rich stench of China when I was there a decade ago, with its open air toilets, nightsoil collectors, and hole-in-the-floor toilets (on the trains you can watch your pissing hit the tracks). It was so damn real. It was there I came up with the "thin line" theory of advanced industrial capitalism: the thin line of the sewer system, that's all that separates us from the undeveloped world.
--mw
09/24 |
CHECK OUT THE ATRICLE ON "SHIT PEOPLE" IN THE LAST ISSUE OF pOPSMEAR mAGAZINE. iT WILL BLOW YOU AWAY.
--CMR
09/23 |
I have long considered it a sign of the ultimate intimacy to be able to fart without shame in the presence of one's lover. I've had several relationships in which my partners felt perfectly comfortable passing wind, but I've never been able to allow myself that kind of abandon. It doesn't help that I grew up in a flatulently uninhibited family (albeit all female.) I still fear immediate abandonment if I were to let one rip in front of my man. My current boyfriend has also taken to freely expelling gas in my presence, and even though I don't like it (mainly because it tends to be silent, and he doesn't warn me), I have come to accept it. But I just can't respond in kind. Since it's my belief that a fulfilling and lasting union requires one to be completely vulnerable and trusting, I fear that my inability to expose this aspect of my bodily processes will keep me from ever finding true love. I have not given up hope though. Tonight I suggested Mexican.
--JMW
09/20 |
i poo in your mouth!
--JW
09/19 |
Dear Rufus, And here I was expecting a contrast and comparison of the subconscious sexual undertones of A. A. Milnes character Winnie The Pooh. I read with great enjoyment your recent From the Editors piece entitled The Wow of Poo. Since I am eager to contribute to Nerves community of hedonists, I hope you will accept a few personal observations about your article. I can remember, quite vividly, that as a young boy I did not believe that women defecated. I cannot determine to what I attributed this belief except to say that I have always held women in uniquely high regard -- especially strong, confident, powerful females. Much like my mother. Go figure. Next, I have, for many years now, enjoyed the heterosexual exploration of the source of my own, personal poo. When I was in my twenties, I was fearful of exploring the sexual pleasure associated with my or my lovers ass. I recall feeling ashamed at the thought which, I have recently discovered, is consistent with the writings and observations of D.H. Lawrence on fear and shame. Three factors contributed to turning-around my provincial attitudes: sexual experience and maturity, gastrointestinal examinations, and children. I am the single father of two children. And children, like few other experiences in life, can do more to turn-one-around with regard to our preoccupation with politeness, conformity, and formality. Finally, with regard to the fear we feel relative to the association with poo, my theory is that its not the odor but the vulnerability associated with the activity. Speaking for myself, I cannot imagine another activity in life during which one is more vulnerable. I should know -- Ive been lashed to a Saint Andrews Cross before a live audience by a sensitive dom. So thats it. I hope my observations elicited at least a chuckle and a thought or two. Regardless, it feels good to communicate with and to ones own. Cheers! Tony
--TH
09/16 |
Ruf... I actually think that shitting meant surrender. Giving in to what your body can no longer hold. To me, it really is all about losing your power. It is beyond your control. I often wonder what it is like when famous beautiful people or icons who have a lot of power are like at the stall. All that ego flush right out of the door (no pun intended). Thanks for sharing your view.
--sos
09/16 |
i have to say something here - i don't mind smelling so much anymore. i just spent a week in the desert tolerating "alternative bathing and relief techniques", and honestly, i think it makes for much better sex anyway when you both already smell a little (you're gonna freak the funk soon anyway, ya know?), when that bikini line has grown wild and the other shaved, primped, and plucked parts are on their way to going back to their more primal states. my only beef with becoming part of the great unwashed & unshaven is that stubbly chins make for some painful oral sex. still, i think that for the most part, i prefer to take my shits alone. as a new yorker, being able to take some personal, private time to head to the crapper, Times in hand or whatnot, is a moment much needed.
--DM
09/14 |
I found the article quite witty and well-written, except for the spelling errors. They are quite distracting, not to mention disappointing, in an e-zine that endeavors to pass itself off as literate. Those errors should not have gotten past the editorial sphincter -- perhaps it had a case of diarrhea that day?
--LCA
09/12 |
Ruffy, I just read your article. Two reactions: 1) If you want to smell more shit and hang with people who seem less concerned about privacy associated with the act of shitting or farting or the smells involved, just come down here or any variety of poor third world latino countries. You will be privelidged with the opportunity to toss your shitty toilet paper in an open waste container where the fumes mix with all previous occupants for a grand social shit smelling experience. You will get to leap over open sewer systems where the rank smell of shit makes you want to vomit. You will get to hear people (specifically youthful males) fart often and laught about it (we used to do this in crew and it was kind of nice not to have to worry about silencing the fart). My guess is, the third world experience up close and in the living quarters will saturate the exotic appeal you associate with the nether orafices. Yikes, that came off sounding patronizing, big bromaster. Forgive me for that - I am presently sick of dealing with the guerilla forays of shit past the orafices, so thats part of my reaction. 2) As usual, mine is a biological/evolutionary take. Shit causes disease and death, and therefore we have been selected to react negatively to its proximity and think that shit stinks and that shit is not a focal point for social interaction and intimacy. The improvement of sewage systems, disconnecting the excreted matter from the consumed matter was what allowed urban societies to move past problems like the black death, the plague, etc.
--bwg
09/11 |
wow. must admit that i am still a little potty shy, myself. however, after reading your piece, i am reminded of the lovely and poignant words written by mr. leonard cohen: "there is a crack, a crack in everything. that's how the light gets in, thats how the light gets in." let it shine, baby.....-brears.
--mbr
09/09 |
It's not often you read something of this sort in print, yet it is (good diet allowing) an everyday occasion. Once that bathroom door is opened, once the first fart or dump has been sniffed, it becomes old hat. The mystique can only last so long in a relationship (especially for those who are shacking up). For any relationship I've been part of beyond the courtship phase, it is a forced reality. I've unmasked the sound/odor factor with humor--the obligatory fart ing in bed and pulling the covers over your partners head routine. But since I'm a boy and in a relationhip with another boy, this works splendidly. I wonder if women would embrace fart-knocking and pooping with the same belly laughs and gusto of men. I have, on occasion, had partners who have neglected to flush, leaving their scraps for me to find in the toilet. Again, I have often responded with humor, often eliciting a flushed, somewhat off-putting response. I wonder, if maybe sometimes they were not intentionally left behind for me to find--an attempt to gain approval for a job well done--or coversely an attempt to punish me for not paying attention to the needs of the child within. Having said that, there's the whole scat culture (and no I'm not talking Ella Fitzgerald here) that encorporates poop into the whole bag of sexual tricks. Those are the people that, try as I might, I just don't get. It's shit, for Christ's sake. Get rid of it. But,as usual, I digress.
--RPR
09/08 |
ruf--nicole here. delightful piece. you'll have no probs snatching snatch with that one. i've often been turned on by the rankest of smells and i don't trust a man who isn't earthy enough to at the very least be curious about what i'm capable of producing via my variegated forms of evacuation. if a man is turned off by a woman who farts he isn't for me. if a man is grossed out by my interest in smelling him and his, then he's not for me.
--n.a.
09/08 |
Rufus: Two things: Are you Catholic? I have always noted that Catholics have a fixation on potty jokes and such. Have you noticed that? Also, what did you mean by saying you have an inability to confront the aft regions in bed? Does this mean you don't ever have anal sex with your Ladies? Have you never had a girlfriend rim your ass with her tongue? To miss that would be a shame. :-) I felt that somehow your editorial was unfinished in that regard. Best Regards, Guy Harley
--GEH
09/08 |
You, sir, are a courtesan of coprophilia; a legend in your own logtime; a vulgaric voyager...and I, for one, whole-arsedly support your er...stance. Intimacy, being the realisation that ones partner shares all ones flaws, only truly arrives when it becomes unconditional. The bog, as the last bastion of personal intimacy, should be a shared experience. When all other levels of intimacy have been prostituted to the gods of commerce, to allow oneself to defecate before ones dearest is to share in 'the beyond'. I admit that I draw the line at wiping before my hearts desire...surely she would not be interested in the minutiae of technique...but to converse whilst squatting is proof of togetherness. In terms of humanity, shitting could be said to be the last truly shared human experience. To be born without an arsehole would be to be unique; deprived of humanity's last common goal, the isolation would be intolerable. And yet, as we travel the intimate path, before we attain the goal of enlightened defecation, all our efforts are, as you so eloquently state, geared towards the illusion that our bodies are incapable of producing anything other than beauty. Women, mortified by the possibility that a potential partner might smell the animality of menstruation, are prepared to risk toxic shock by cramming chemically deodorised tampons into what is in reality a naturally self-cleansing organ. No thought is given to the fact that it might have been the very odour that they are trying to obscure that initially attracted the other person. I have never seen the studies, but is it not conceivable that the lingering smell of dingleberries might not have the same effect. The smell of a clean colon and pheromonally enhanced shit, might just be the philosopher's stone that the dating industry has over looked. And for that I am truly grateful. The thought that someday you might be able to buy a sanitised odorant that chemically copies the naturally occuring compounds that eminate from my anus, leaves me constipated. Let my shit be! p.s. It should also be mentioned that you are a sick f... Rufus, for even bringing the subject to light. Thankyou.
--SCDA
09/08 |
Candid, insightful and poignant -- an excellent commentary on the most natural of human functions.
--PG
09/08 |
Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm sure that more among us than would be willing to admit it share this curiosity and desire to push open that last door of bodily shame. Vive la resistance!! Well done, Mr. Griscom!
--gvc
09/08 |
You might enjoy reading the chapter on "Bathrooms" in STUD: ARCHITECTURES OF MASCULINITY (Joel Sanders, ed.). Princeton: Princeton Architectural Press. "The men's room, set apart as it is to provide a culturally designated 'privacy' in which to respond to the body's demands, houses two highly differentiated spaces that reestablish within it the consequential distinction between public and private zones, mapping each of those attributes onto specified zones of the male subject's body. Thus, the genitals, though figured as the 'private parts,' acquire through the openness of the urinal, a relatively 'public' status here, while the anus and its functional necessity bear weightier burdens of social embarrassment. In the men's room the norms of male bodily display reverse the values that the laws of pudeur assign to the privatized portions of male anatomy in the world outside; you don't show your ass in the men's room, and you don't conceal your dick. The partition that distinguishes the privacy of the stalls from the exposure of the urinals and sinks, therefore, defines the men's room, like the U.S. Congress, as strategically bicameral, allowing each part of its legislative body to hold the other in check." (from Lee Edelman's essay "Men's Room")
--cs
09/08 |
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