Yeah, I don't think Freud thought peeing was the essence of penis envy. Especially when that virtue is more than offset by the inconvenience of having dangling genitals. Talk about Unintelligent Design. Sort of like, God As Your Crappy Contractor.
God: "Okay, this bit which controls a good bit of your hormones will be hanging
outside
your body in a soft little sack next to these two moving limbs. Don't jostle it. And it was easier to hook the plumbing up so that the sexual and waste elimination functions went through the same tube. That won't be a problem, right?"
And it was easier to hook the plumbing up so that the sexual and waste elimination functions went through the same tube. That won't be a problem, right?
Count your blessings - at least we're not a species with cloacas.
Yeah, San Francisco's a total hellhole.
I lived in the Nob-loin when I lived there and felt completely safe walking home from the theatre at midnight. Maybe that's changed.
God: "Okay, this bit which controls a good bit of your hormones will be hanging outside your body in a soft little sack next to these two moving limbs. Don't jostle it. And it was easier to hook the plumbing up so that the sexual and waste elimination functions went through the same tube. That won't be a problem, right?"
Heh. This reminds me of a bit Woody Allen cut from Annie Hall where he's talking to God and tells him not to put the sexual organs too close to the excratory ones - it will only cause problems later on.
Wanting the power that comes with the Penis? Yes, sometimes.
Actual dick? Really, NSM.
(Although I would probably be the most annoying man, ever. Things probably worked out the way that they should've, there.)
Yeah, I can't really imagine looking at a dick and thinking that was a good idea. OTOH, I totes enjoy having one.
Perhaps the Pythons said it best:
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
It's swell to have a stiffy.
It's divine to own a dick,
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest prick.
So, three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy, or your cock.
You can wrap it up in ribbons.
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.
Daniel Craig, in drag.
It's for women's rights, but really, that's just a bonus.
Oh, thank God, Burrell. It's at least comforting to know that it's not just my kid, that "dreamy little sociopath" is completely developmentally normal.
I may be over psychoanalyzing it, but I think it's just a literalization of the mirror stage. As in, the first ego-imago of the child is the parent, so their sense of themselves comes from seeing themselves through us. In this case actually seeing themselves reflected in the eyes of someone who loves them.
And--ahem--I must admit my tendency to psychoanalyze stops short of buying into penis envy. Cute origin myth on Freud's part, but hopelessly fixed in a particular cultural moment.
