I am Sick of Anthony’s Wiener
by Jesse Loren
I am sick of Anthony Weiner headlines.
I am sick of Anthony’s wiener’s barrage of photographs both in and out of cotton underwear. Giving another minute of my time adds to this conundrum, but here it is, another minute. Please walk the minute with me.
Why is it so titillating to watch a man self-destruct? Innately, I think it reminds us that we know better. There is comfort in such comparison, but not much truth. How else can I say it?
I know that I am the custodian of my own eyes.
I can look around as I will do now, then some self talk will occur, and I will act, react or not act on the input and self talk because I have custody of my own eyes.
If that was too abstract, here’s what I mean. I am sitting in the living room and the kitchen is adjacent. It is the classic “great room” of modern housing. Vaulted ceilings, recessed lights, a fireplace, a ceiling fan; it’s all very bourgeois. My feet, in dirty tennis shoes, are splayed on the coffee table. Coffee, glasses, aqua duct tape, a wine glass, and an iPad are on the coffee table. My oldest cat, Bilbo, is next to me; Yetti is on the chair. Joe Cocaine, the dog, is lying on the socks I left on the couch. (The next step is my internal monologue.) I should put the socks away. I rarely use the ipad; I should sell it. Do I really need to leave last night’s wine glass out well into the day? I should put it away. Nah, I am going to rest a little longer, then put it in the sink.
Being custodian of my eyes, I can self-regulate my behavior. I don’t think Anthony has the same ability. He looks out and sees his wiener. It wants to go for a walk. Instead of telling it to calm down, that it can walk later when the wife returns from her trip, he indulges it. He is not the custodian of his own eyes. His wiener tells him to get online, check out some babes, strike up a conversation, and he just goes further into his wiener’s needs. He has a needy wiener. It is spoiled and doesn’t listen. He is not custodian of his own desires.
Some people think that rules do not apply to them. Some think they are so charming they will never get caught. Some do not realize the gravity of their own fall. This wiener is like that . It isn’t mindful.
Anthony is, perhaps, a sex addict. He needs help. He doesn’t need pills and such; he needs a Buddhist retreat. He needs to learn mindfulness. His wiener needs to speak in a softer voice. Mr. Weiner needs to be able to be custodian of his own eyes and custodian of his own penis. He needs to garden, plant, watch the packed punch of a seed grow into a fruiting body. He needs to watch nature, tend to the soil, see action and consequence. Perhaps he should go on a silent retreat to learn to be custodian of his eyes.
While he is at the retreat, the far right fanning these flames should also retreat and learn to be custodian of their own eyes. Feasting on the missteps of others isn’t far removed from the salacious act itself.
If he were running for office on a ticket of moral high-ground and spent money covering it up, he would be breaking the law. He isn’t. This is between him and his wife. He needs to bounce back and dig into public service. Pulling out early on this one is just wrong. He needs to stick it out, take his licks, and get down to business. While being mindful, of course.