October 13th, 2006

Real quick, I’d like to just say that I have seen Jennifer Aniston's boobs. Not in real life, of course, but in a few snaps taken by some paparazzi or another when she was sunbathing topless. Its really interesting how boobies are so mysterious and amazing until you actually see them. And then what goes through your mind is, "oh, they're breasts," and the wonder dies away. And it's a bit of a let down. Now, if she has new boobs, then maybe the wonder is back. I don't know.

The thing is, if Jen does have new boobs, then the context of her having gotten them is a necessary subject for meditation. Did she do it to lure Brad back? Did she do it to make him jealous? Did she do it as the act of an independent woman, no longer defined by what one man wants from her, but shaped according only to her own desires? No matter what the conclusion, the result is the supposition that bigger boobs are better, somehow. They solve a problem. I disagree!

Far be it from me to box myself in, but if I must choose, I like the smaller boobies. But I have to tell you, I have met some wonderful boobs that where not so small. And I loved them. Boobs are individuals, and have a content of character that is not associated merely with their size. I might say "I prefer smaller boobs," but really, it would me more accurate to say I prefer the boobs at hand, whatever their size. Going one further, it's even more accurate to say, I prefer the boobs that I've grown to know the best. And that's true no matter their size, or whether they're presently in front of me.

Obliquely, then, this suggests I want Jen to not have had a boob job. The boobs I've seen in the paparazzi snaps are just fine. They get the job done and they do it on their own terms. And now we get to the real meat of all of what I am trying to say here, and why I think this should be symbol for how ridiculous America is: Who cares!

Who cares if Jen had her boobs done! Who cares if I care! Go ahead and paste the title of this essay into your favorite search engine. Use quotes so they phrase is found whole. Marvel at the number of bloggers out there who are commenting on Jen's allegedly new boobs. Marvel at the bloggers commenting on just the fact that In Touch Weekly brought it up. And now marvel at me, complaining about all of it. Marvel at me complaining about complaining.

I offer commentary on another website called Antipundit. It's supposed to be political in nature. The sad truth is, I'm afraid, it's rarely politically commentary. That's because, you see, there's so little in politics to comment on. We have a two party system, political organizations who's ideologies don't mesh on the subject of how government should be run. But is it this dialogue or even argument that populates the airwaves and newsprint among those who comment on such matters? No. It's all finger-pointing and questioning every one else's integrity. It has little to do with day-to-day boring old government.

It's a form of entertainment, and not ironically, real "entertainment" has become the same thing. It used to be we watched movies, and occasional heard about the lives of people who made them. Now it's the other way around: we obsess on celebrities, and every once in while, we go and watch them perform some make-believe.

Jen, and her boobs, will be in movies and TV shows. I am trying very hard to decide if my commentary on other's people commentary on why we talk about whether she got a boob job will immerse me into those movies and shows even more. The bottom line, and why I want to this to be a symbol, is: it doesn't matter. At the end of the day, I don't know Jen, I don't know her boobs, and it's precisely the not knowing which foments all this blither-blather. The boobies I have known and now know, the really-real ones, are just that: real, not mysterious, not to be worshipped nor taken for granted, but treated like human beings.

This essay is a symbol for how Americans ground themselves in themselves by Olympusizing platonic reflections of their own pieces-parts. We talk about Jen's boobs so we don't have to talk about our own. We are goofy, silly people, because the only way we can maintain self-awareness is by comparing our selves to others. It's not shallow, it's just futile.