Pissing Into The Wind

Pissing Into The Wind

Urolagnia. From the Greek: ouron = urine + lagneia = sexual lust. Commonly known as the Golden Shower. Sexual arousal involving urine. Peeing on; being peed on; becoming turned on at the sight of pee. A fetish. What is called, in psychiatric literature, paraphilia: a generalized bucket to catch sexual arousal that occurs in response to atypical situations. Although, as typical isn’t easy to define when it comes to sex, the term is used loosely: like wrapping a chihuahua in a beach blanket.

Many people first admitted to being made aware of Golden Showers with the release of the Steele Dossier.1 The dossier contains rumors of a “pee tape” that purports to link Donald Trump to Moscow prostitues engaged in the act. It’s never been proven, which is probably for the best: after all, what would we actually learn from such a tape? That Trump’s a liar and a creep? Got both already, and they’d come at the cost of images none of us would ever be able to scrub from our minds.

I do not have urolagnia. I am not aroused by pee. I’m also not disgusted by it. It’s your body’s waste but it’s also mostly sterile: meaning, you could drink it. I am not advocating people drink their pee. I’m also not not-advocating this. I am taking an agnostic approach to pee drinking, except to note that if any readers do drink their own pee: they are morally obligated to tell me how it went. 

I once peed on myself after getting stung by a jellyfish. At the time I think it helped with the sting, but looking back I’m not really sure it did. Mostly I was in pain from being stung by a jellyfish. I failed to mention where the jellyfish stung me, which was on my dick. So from a logistical standpoint, peeing on the sting was pretty simple. 

I am going to advocate that you don’t get stung on your dick by a jellyfish. Although, if you have a paraphilia about gelatinous sea creatures — by all means: carry on.

A saying comes to mind that is both a metaphor and a literal act: Pissing into the wind. But first, a note about metaphors — metaphors are fun because they typically have a contingent relationship with a literal thing. That is, if we’re sad about something we might say, There’s a hole in my heart the size of Texas. Which could be confusing until we look at a map of the real state of Texas and realize Wow, that’s a big hole: you must be really sad (as contrasted with, say, a hole the size of Delaware). When we think of that image a light goes on in our minds, which is itself a metaphorical reference to the literal act of a light going on in an otherwise darkened room, after which suddenly (hopefully) we can see more. 

When we say Pissing into the wind metaphorically we’re usually talking about an act that is futile or pointless. For example, you could say: Solving this political impasse is like pissing into the wind. Except — and here’s one of those strange conjunctions when the metaphorical cleaves from its literal basis — literally pissing into the wind is not a pointless act. If you’re a man who pisses into the wind — and I apologize for gendering this situation, but it’s really not easy for women to do this specific bodily function in the manner that we mean; you could substitute “spitting into the wind,” which both men and women are capable of doing, but nobody says that phrase so it’s not super helpful. Anyway: If you’re a man who pisses into the wind you’ll probably get piss all over you. That is decidedly not futile, for you have literally changed reality. Further, if you have urolagnia this may be a very, very effective act. In other words: if you get turned on by pee — and it’s gusty outside — your day is looking up.

I mention all of this because I am about to piss into the wind. I mean this metaphorically, for while I have literally pissed outside plenty I’m usually smart enough to do it with, rather than against, the wind. I suppose the metaphor I’m appealing to is about pointlessness, and if you’re one of those readers who has a paraphilia about futility: I’m about to blow your mind.


This is the part of the essay where you may imagine me guzzling a metaphorical 64oz bottle of cold brew, an act I literally would never do because that stuff is really not very enjoyable.

The news today revealed more allegations of sexual harassment against New York’s governor, Andrew Cuomo. He’s now up to eight (8!) separate allegations. This is both not surprising and rarefied terrain. The only other politician with this many allegations against him is the former President. Oh, and the current one. 

Everything in the allegations against Cuomo is believable. By this I mean: the women are absolutely believable, and so is Andrew. You look at that guy and automatically know: Yeah, he totally does that. Cowboys wear big hats and chew tobacco; the sun rises in the east and sets in the west; Andrew Cuomo asks young female staffers if they ever — you know — date older men… (Beyond being creepy in itself, that line is exponentially creepier because you know he only asks it because it’s historical efficacy rate is greater than zero.)

I want to be clear here — so far, these are only allegations, and by definition, allegations are not proof. Further, public opinion is absolutely the wrong place to try someone for most crimes. But when eight (8!) separate people who are not in cahoots with one another say you did a thing, the odds are pretty good you did the thing. And when having done that thing calls into question your ability to govern a state, we ought to get to a courtroom, stat, and figure things out. 

As the allegations mount so do calls for Cuomo’s resignation. Not surprisingly, Cuomo has dismissed such talk. In the same way you know by looking at him that he’s a creeper, you also know there’s no way he’s going to say: Resign? Great idea — I’ll totally get right on that! Cuomo’s argument has been something to the effect of: This isn’t true/I didn’t do this! You do not need to be a PR expert to realize that this is the absolute worst possible response, for by making it he’s effectively called these women liars. Which is absolutely boneheaded, and thus absolutely within character for this guy. 

Many of the calls for Cuomo’s resignation have come from Democratic leaders: Chuck Schumer, Kirsten Gillibrand, Jerry Nadler, AOC, Jamaal Brown, and a host of other top Democrats at both the state and federal levels have come together around this. They’re rightly upset and they’re rightly incensed, and while most of them acknowledge some form of the above about allegations/conviction, they argue that the allegations themselves undermine the public’s confidence and therefore Cuomo ought to resign. All of which I agree with 118%, and all of which makes me wonder:

Why don’t they say the same things about Biden?

You remember Joe, right? Maybe it’ll jog your memory if I mention that he’s the President. Of America. You know — Joe. Likes to hug women he doesn’t need to hug for way longer than he needs to hug them. Joe! Likes to rest his hand in the small of a woman’s back when there’s no reason even to have touched her in the first place. Joe! Gives non-Eskimo women Eskimo nose kisses. Old Joe! Likes to stick his fingers uninvited into a woman’s vagina — the old, oh what do the kids call that? — Pussy Grabbing! That’s right: Joe. Joe who enjoys a good pussy grab. You know: Joe!


Bladder full, I have unzipped my pants and turned toward the gale. Only to find that it’s not worth it. That is, I’m still going to piss into the wind, only going through with entire process seems rather pointless. (This is a real shame because for once I actually took notes on this essay.) So instead of writing everything I’d planned to, I’ll give you a truncated version below:

Biden has at least eight (8!) sexual harassment/assault allegations against him. All of the allegations are credible. If this is news to you, you’ve been living inside a firewall of your own construction. And Yes, all of this was well known before the election. This information is so ubiquitous that when you think of Joe you probably imagine a bumbling guy who with luck would be able to finish a See Spot Run book without either a mispronunciation or falling asleep. The next thing you think is that Joe probably shouldn’t be in a room with women. Just as you know from looking at Andrew — and as you knew from looking at Trump — the moment you take one look at Joe you know that he absolutely did what he’s accused of. 

People were rightly upset about Trump’s mis-treatment of women, and they are now rightly upset about Cuomo’s. Yet when it came to Joe, 81-million Americans voted to put him in the most important position in the country. To avoid confusion, I’ll remind you that we’re talking about President Joe — the guy who grabs pussies. Not to be confused with former-President Don — that’s the other guy who grabs pussies. 

Pointing out the absurd and glaring double standard of this is a lot like pointing out the gigantic E at the top of a vision chart. If you’re stupid enough to do it, you’ll likely receive one of two responses from those who voted for Joe. The first will be a false equivalency, something to the effect of Oh, you want(ed) Trump to win? As if not-supporting one known-pussy-grabber is an endorsement of the other pussy-grabber.2

The other response will be some version of a realpolitik acknowledgement that Yes, Joe’s flawed, but at least he wasn’t Don. This will often be accompanied by a ham handed attempt to emphasize that the allegations against Joe are just allegations, while the case against Don is somehow more definitive — though that somehow will certainly not involve anything resembling a legal definition of culpability. You may have heard this argument in other forms, such as: 

Yes, we know that Trump’s flawed, but at least he’s not Hillary.

Or maybe this: 

Yes, we know that Trump’s flawed, but at least he’ll give us conservative judges who’ll overturn abortion.

Let’s remember that our two main choices for president this past November were creeps we wouldn’t let into a room with our teenaged daughters, and we accepted this. We may have shrugged and we may have felt icky; we may have looked away and ignored the news reports; we may have told ourselves that the ends (not-Don, conservative judges) justified the means (pussy-grabbing); many of us went into all sorts of contortions and convolutions to rationalize and justify our decisions. But we still accepted it.3

My point isn’t simply that the left — for all its self-righteous condescension and endless carping about conservatives’ moral bankruptcy — acts, thinks and argues in almost the exact same ways as the right. That’s like pointing out the F on the second line of that vision chart. And while I’m tempted to make the moral squirm of suggesting that we might reconsider our-shock-over-Cuomo but-not-shock over Biden, I think that’s too on the nose — although I will say the hypocrisy is as nauseating as huffing a pack of unfiltered Chesterfields. Instead, I’d like to say something about reality. And I’d like the something I say about reality to be empowering instead of suicide-inducing.

If you haven’t noticed it yet, by and large reality consists of what we make it. Obviously I’m not talking about things such as wind, gravity, cheetahs and viruses, although we do impact each of those in ways beyond measure. As it’s easy to slip past the above point I’ll repeat it: By and large we make reality what it is. 

This will become obvious the moment you think about it. Let’s look at cars — where else do they come from if not us? As with cars, so with… well, just about everything surrounding us. We make political parties; we make politicians; we make moralities and voting booths and 24-hour news cycles and town hall meetings and exit polls and everything else you were bombarded with over the past 3-plus years EXCEPT Wolf Blitzer, who obviously was made by some advanced robots in a futile attempt to fool us (although it’s worth noting that we originally made those very robots).

And if you accept the notion that we largely make reality, then hopefully you’ll see that we can change what we’ve made. Think again of cars — we make them, and when they don’t serve our needs we change the ways they’re made so they work better for us. In the exact same way (but with some more significant variables) we can change our political parties. We can change our politicians. We can change our moralities and voting booths and 24-hour news cycles, though sadly Wolf Blitzer is static and beyond impact.4

Hopefully that’s inspiring and empowering, but as you’ve also probably realized (and as this sentence is reifying) most things come with a But… And the But…, about change is this: Change costs.


Let’s end with an analogy, which is a lot like a metaphor, only without most of the good things metaphors’ possess. Let’s pretend that you’re married and you’re unhappy in your marriage, so you and your spouse go see a therapist. After a couple sessions your therapist helps you both realize that the reality of your relationship is largely the result of the choices you’ve made. Consciously and otherwise, you’ve created patterns of communication, levels of intimacy, ways of sharing, etc. And because you’ve made that reality, you can also un-make it and create a new one. Hopefully that news will make you and your spouse feel excited, optimistic, upbeat, hopeful — because you have the power — the agency — to actually change the reality of your marriage.

But then your therapist will look at you and say: You — and that You will be scary, because she’s really looking you dead in the eyes — You are going to have to get back in shape so you’re more sexually attractive to your spouse; you’re going to have to learn some new jokes and stop telling the same worn-out, bald-tire stories; you’re going to have to take up some new hobbies so you have something interesting and stimulating to talk about over dinner; you’re going to have to read and travel and explore and think and share and and and…

The annoying thing about analogies is explaining them, so I’ll spare you most of that except this: if America is the unhappily married couple, we’re still refusing to go to therapy. Among many other things this means that the likelihood of change is very low, which means that the likelihood of us continuing to accept creeps as our leaders is way higher than it should be. 

  1. That’s an awkwardly structured sentence, but I think it’s probably the most accurate way to capture the purported shock of many people when this information came out. A shock that could only have been total BS.
  2. If you’re confused by the fancy logic term used above — false equivalency — try this experiment: go to the soda wall in a convenience store. You’ve got Pepsi and you’ve got Coke. Now, if you don’t buy a Coke, does that mean you’ve purchased a Pepsi?
  3. I’m aware that some people fought against it; most states offered third, fourth and fifth parties; there were the primaries, etc. But still — on the whole, we accepted this.
  4. A reality that leaves one option, an option that — for purposes of not-being geocached by the feds — I will refrain from stating overtly. I’ll only say this: Stand back and stand by.

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