And virtually no one can resist it.
Not even Mr. Fernández, who normally is even less prone to swimming with the current than I. At 6:30 in the morning, the clock radio will startle me into life, and neither willy nor nilly will keep me from listening.
Today, according to CNN, the world’s eyes are on Cairo, and the president, Mr. Morsi. Well, news to me, but son of a newspaper guy am I. I did my best, and read two thirds of the article.
Right—and what is Puerto Rico occupying itself with today?
The morning radio gave me the first clues. Prostitución. La Prieta—the dark (female) one. Rubencito.
OK—what’s The New Day, our number one newspaper, serving up today? Escalofriantes Detalles reads the front page of the print edition. Chilling details.
A man disappeared last Thursday. His family was distraught. The press gave the matter a lot of attention, perhaps because he was a publicist, and thus presumably known to journalists. His body was discovered two days ago—and now the story is out.
Well, the family is now facing two deaths. The first being the publicist himself.
The second?
Their image of him.
If the accounts are true, he had a little secret. And no, you won’t find it here.
I believe in the public’s right to know. I think it’s very important, in fact, to know who won the bid to build the highway, at what cost, under what circumstances. I want the press monitoring how the elections are held, what the votes are, and what the shenanigans are.
What I don’t get is why I have to participate in the shredding, posthumously, of a man’s reputation. Or why I have a right to know sordid details that must be agonizing to a family already decimated.
Confession—I read the article. Not the two thirds that I gave to Cairo and Mr. Morsi, but the entire article. The details of which I am—high-mindedly—denying you!
Nor can I be very proud of the fact that I never once was tempted to look at Kate Middleton’s you-know-whats. Pretty easy temptation to avoid. But the day Mr. Fernández announced, “Hey, here’s a picture of Ricky Martin nude?”
Well, I violated then what I violated today—chastity of the eyes. Which I remembered from my days of reading about religious orders. Nuns, in the old days, were told to walk with their eyes cast downwards. Temptation was everywhere.
Also, of course, it was self-discipline. The will was exerting itself, taking control of the body.
It may also have been respect. There are some things I shouldn’t, and therefore don’t, see. It’s enough that your life has been maimed. I won’t pry into the shameful reasons for it.
Of course, the issue for me is chastity of the ears. A man with better control than I would rouse himself at the first mention of prostitution, stride to the cold shower, mortify the flesh. Not lie under the warm and prurient covers….
And is it only I, or does anyone else think that it’s far more easy to practice chastity of the eyes than chastity of the ears? Somehow, you have less control over what you hear than what you see.
Or maybe not. Try googling chastity of the ears and you’ll get surprising little. The first citation is from a Father Hardon (and speaking of which—is there chastity of humor?), who tosses the term off with no discussion. Three or four citations down, you come to this, from Morning Talks, October 30, 1967:
Out of the five outgoing faculties of eyes, ears, nose, touch and taste, three are most powerful. Lust attacks us eighty percent through the eyes, fourteen percent through the ears and the remaining six percent mainly through touch.
Well, now, that’s an interesting fact to know.
If true.
Which I doubt. I’d argue that there are visual guys, tactile guys, aural guys. I could and did go to bed with wildly divergent guys, visually speaking. Didn’t matter to me, in those long-gone days.
I could never go to bed with a guy who had an unpleasant voice.
Well, if I’ve sinned, I must do penance. Here taking the form of an utterly silly cat video.
Enjoy!
