Paul Sheehan, men, sex, and a detour to discover how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall ...

At last, as per the Sydney Morning Herald, a black hole ready to rival Disney's feature of the same name:

I read the news today oh boy
Four thousand holes in Liberal party budgeting, Canberra
And though the holes were rather small
They had to count them all
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.
I'd love to turn you on

Oops, seems like I got that wrong. Instead of Alfred Hitchcock's pitch 'The birds is coming, the birds is coming', there's the valiant The Australian warning that 'the greens is coming, the greens is coming':

Hang on, hang on. Note that little par down below 'the greens is coming'.

Suddenly it's only a $7 billion hole. Somehow somewhere between the two reports, and the story's downgrading to lower in the leader status in the Oz, some $3.6 billion has gone missing. Now we'll never be certain what it takes to fill the Albert Hall ...

As I scribbled, The Oz refreshed its page, and the $7 billion gap suddenly made its way to the top of the page, suggesting that the high-risk Greens embrace had lost its charm.

Never mind, a little digital treasure is now preserved, suggesting that between black holes and the danger of a greens embrace, The Oz's first thought will be about the dangers of such a rampantly sensual embrace. Now if only I could stop worrying and counting the number of black holes needed to fill Albert Hall ...

Speaking of embraces, as the TV host said to the nun when doing a throw, now for something completely different, and wouldn't you know, Paul Sheehan is suddenly on a Thursday - is he the new Miranda the Devine? - and he adds to his honourable reputation for complete and abject cluelessness by celebrating Bettina Arndt in The secret desires of men, and why they go unfulfilled.

Sheehan opens with a conflationary flurry that suggests he hasn't the first idea about the female demographic:

We are awash with an appetite for romantic and sexual fantasy. Call it the Twilight phenomenon. It merely adds to the sexual suggestiveness which permeates our lives. But underline the word ''fantasy''.

Uh huh. Note the inclusive 'we' and the trendy up to almost date reference to Twilight, which seems to suggest that Sheehan himself is a fantasy addict and a key member of the fantasy demographic:

Heading into the weekend, rival studios believed "New Moon" would have trouble going north of $110 million, since it is driven by only two out of four quadrants of the moviegoing audience: Females under 25, and those over. Even Summit execs might have agreed.

But the ferocious appetite for the franchise among girls and younger women proved those predictions wrong. Of the females turning out, a full 50% were under 21.

Why that Paul Sheehan, he's such a young girlie at heart, such a fantasy lover, and if you want to read more about New Moon and cumes and explosive box office comes and wilting cumes, you can trot off to Variety here.

Sorry, the time for fun is over. It's back to Sheehan:

Almost 40 per cent of marriages end in divorce. Of the rest, the majority end up in ruts, financial compromise, sexual arid zones, or all three. The great majority of sexual relationships end in break-up, sexual mediocrity or no sex at all.

Oh cry me a river, and who is shedding the tears, while beavering away selling her latest book about sex?

Today, at the National Press Club in Canberra, Bettina Arndt will return to this treacherous emotional sea when she talks about her new book, What Men Want - In Bed. In the process, she will remind her audience why she is much more popular with men than with women. She is a one-woman battering ram against the suffocating excesses of feminist victimology, with its irritating assumptions of moral superiority.

Which I guess makes Paul Sheehan a one man battering ram, or perhaps a billy goat, railing in his usual way and in a way that celebrates the suffocating excesses of patriarchal triumphalism, by blaming women for everything, fitted out with his usual irritating assumption of male superiority, or is that his usual posturing of the suffocating excesses of patriarchal victimology, because you see everything would be just fine and dandy, and peaceful in the garden if women would just come across more often with a decent fuck.

No more problems, peace and harmony on the domestic front, if only women would just lie down and give it up.

Yep, it's more of the same:

Arndt's previous book, The Sex Diaries, published last year, built on a foundation of diaries kept by 98 couples, plus a survey of the relevant research. It concluded that the majority of woman experience a precipitous fall-off in sexual interest as they grow older, especially after having children, and/or being with the same partner for a long time. This erosion in sexual interest is not as marked in men, leading to a host of predictable problems.

Well you have to hand it to Sheehan, as he scribbles in a predictable way about a host of predictable problems, which are of course all the fault of women.

He's got a wonderful sense a huma:

The methodology is not as rigorous this time around.

Seeing how the methodology wasn't rigorous the first time around, was in fact statistically completely meaningless and simply a way of shoring up Arndt's blithering prejudices, it takes a real comedian to lead with that line.

Still, Sheehan knows how to sell Arndt and her newly less rigorous methodology:

For What Men Want - In Bed, Arndt recruited 150 men to write to her over the course of a year about what they want from women, which in most cases meant their wives. What they want can be summarised in two words: more sex. What they get, in the majority of the case studies, is the opposite.

What? Just more sex?

Not more money? Not a faster car? Not a bigger TV? Not a better train set? Not interesting work?

No, and we're not being reductionist here, because everything can be summarised in a couple of words. You know, like more sex. Or how about, when it comes to Sheehan, fuck off?

Still it's grand to know that what men want from women isn't intelligent conversation, companionship, shared interests, empathy, warmth, love, or any of a hundred other items. No, it's just more sex, because you see it seems the best and perhaps the only use for women is more sex ... Please explain:

Most of the 150 male correspondents in the book don't have much to say or aren't quoted. The load is carried by a startlingly frank minority. Some of these men are sensual boofheads, with poor communications skills and stunted ideas about sexuality. But even the boofheads suffer from a mismatch not of their own making - the changes in physiology than can make a woman drift from being sexually charged to sexually fallow.

Ah yes, now there's a heartfelt plea for boofheads. And isn't it fun to think that the boofheads suffer from a mismatch not of their own making. You see they were beguiled by a temptress, a vile Eve, who offered them an apple of eternal sensuality in a garden of eden, and once she'd got the shackles on the poor boofhead, she snatched away the apple, and allows him only a bite once in a blue moon, or at Christmas time, or after a heavy drinking session. The poor boofhead had nothing to do with the mismatch, nothing at all ...

An'--wilt--yeh--take--this--woman--fer--to--be
Yer--wedded--wife?-- .. . O, strike me! Will I wot?
Take 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there arstin' me!
As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!
Take 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got
Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,
I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,
An' speaks me piece: "Righto!" I sez, "I will." (more here).

Well there's plenty more of Sheehan channeling Arndt if you can spare the time of day, perhaps typical the quoting of a female to male transsexual, without a thought for the experience of the larger proportion of transitioning transsexuals heading from male to female.

If ever there was an area fraught with issues, needing careful thought, transgender experiences and politics is it, but stumblebum boofhead that he is, Sheehan stumbles in, and takes Arndt at her word (and no, I'm not going to quote my favourite transsexual ranting about Arndt and how much she dislikes her, because we could be here all day, or more likely all year, and such frenzies can be upsetting to gentler minds).

Instead let's just note that Sheehan's column is presented in a singularly humourless and serious way, which makes this closer all the more poignant:

At the end of her narrative, she concludes with this parting sentence: ''Sharing a laugh together is truly a great way of staying connected.'' Amen to that.

I reeled away, suddenly filled with great shame and a stunned realisation that there was a Mrs. Paul Sheehan, and I was filled with a great transformative pity and empathy.

If only there was a way I could laugh with the man rather than at him ...

Here on the pond we should treasure our loons and rejoice in their work and the way that their scribbles can bring an unexpected good humour and happiness in to our day ...

Paul Sheehan whinging about women and suddenly being at one with Twilight and transsexuals is the kind of rare laugh that only comes along every so often, thanks be to the Herald and the absent Devine ...