Carl Begai

I love boobs.

Yes, it’s true. Like any healthy heterosexual male or a woman that loves women, I have a great respect for chesticles of the female variety. I consider Anvil’s anthem ‘Show Me Your Tits’ a classic and I’m always ready to sing along with and add to ‘99 Words For Boobs’, drunk or sober. I am also in total agreement with 3rd Rock From The Sun star Kristen Johnston’s assessment that they do in fact have more power when they collide.

This little tribute was brought on by something of a serious nature, however. A friend recently drew my attention to a couple clips on YouTube featuring Bif Naked performing a short live acoustic set (with Machine from Death Match Union and ex-Neurosonic frontman Jason Darr) at a breast cancer charity event in September 2008. It’s significant because Bif was undergoing treatment for breast cancer herself at the time. Watching those clips (see below) I was reminded of the interview I did with her back in May 2009 – after she’d been given a clean bill of health, knock on wood – and how forthcoming she was with the reality of going through chemotherapy and everything that went with it. She didn’t paint a pretty picture, and in the end my jaw was somewhere on the floor. I wouldn’t wish what she went through on my worst enemy.

Check out the interview here for Bif’s recap of enduring breast cancer, all while recording an album (!). Point being, the treatment that Bif went through sounds like something out of a genetic engineering horror flick. There was no under-45-minutes Hollywood script save. No Hugh Laurie seeing one of those Anna Kournikova “Only The Balls Should Bounce” sport top commercials, having an epiphany and prescribing 500 cc’s of Boobaflex, two liters of soy milk and a walk around the block to make things all plush and pliable. Nope. It was strength of character and, I believe, sheer force of will that allowed Bif to beat the disease

Somehow calling her “inspirational” doesn’t quite cut it.

There are countless ways our numbers can be punched, but being diagnosed with breast cancer is one of those things I can only imagine as being completely devastating mentally as well as physically. The one – make that two – things that define femininity at a glance and there’s a higher power somewhere sitting on his / her / its throne saying “Well, you’re a sweet young thing, whole life ahead of you, I’m glad you’re enjoying it. By the way, I’ll take those…”

Fucking hell. I can’t imagine that.

I guess my point is that in spite of the fact I think men and women co-existing on the same planet is a cosmic joke, even though I will never understand the female mind – sorry, there IS something wrong with having 85 pairs of the same shoe in varying shades of off-white, and if you don’t want a guy to tell you the truth about that ugly-ass dress don’t demand an honest opinion – I’m floored by the strength women have in dealing with something so life-altering and brutally unfair.

Respect.

That’s it. No ulterior motives behind this post, no delusions of getting laid thanks to a few nicely played words, and no smart-ass remarks. Just… respect.

And now that I’ve outed myself as a sap, I’m sorry to say that I’ll ultimately continue to take the Neanderthal view of the female human body. Just know that the wandering eyes and occasional drool are borne of admiration rather than brain damage or lack of manners.