This Activity Stimulates Everything but the Mind

Here’s a news flash from UC Berkeley: Recent scientific research indicates that sex can change the structure of the brain. To which I say, well, duh. How else do you explain David Copperfield and Claudia Schiffer?

The transformative effect of repeated sexual congress on brain cells may seem rivetingly new to scientists poring over data accumulated from their day in, day out study of lab rats, but, I ask you, how many of these scientists have been on a date lately?

Not to puncture your hopes for the Nobel, guys, but we knew it all along. There’s an old Yiddish folk saying that translates roughly as, “When the little head stands up, the big head lies down.” And I’m afraid that the mind-altering qualities of sex are not limited to the male of the species.

If sex didn’t change the brain, how would it be possible for me to consider as a serious relationship prospect a struggling rock musician who has no car and no job and lives with his mother? And what about the times sex changed my brain enough to convince me that when he said he’d call, he really meant to call, only he lost the number or maybe broke his dialing finger and was just waiting by the phone hoping I would call him?

In the past, sex has affected my brain to the point where I’ve handed over the keys to my car, my apartment and my heart to someone I’ve known less than 24 hours.

“Of course I don’t mind if you smoke in here,” I’ve lied cheerfully through my teeth to a three-pack-a-day guy who nearly set fire to my hair. I’ve acted as if I actually enjoyed wearing a garter belt. I’ve listened to heavy metal. Once, a very long time ago, I cleaned the oven in my college boyfriend’s apartment.

And I know I’m not alone. Even the president of the United States seems to have allowed sex to cloud his brain on more than one occasion. The list goes on: aptly named Clinton advisor Dick Morris, fatherhood role model Bill Cosby, unhappy hubby Frank Gifford, orally fixated cross-dresser Marv Albert and every other man who’s ever thought he could get away with it by taking a shower when he came home. And, what the hey, I’ll go out on a limb and include Marv Albert’s fiancee.

It’s abundantly clear that sex goes way beyond any drug ever invented in its effect on your cerebellum. It doesn’t just fry your brain, it scrambles it. If, on examining a fellow human’s behavior, you are compelled to ask, “What on earth was he (or she) thinking?” the scientific explanation is simply that sex has irrevocably altered his or her brain structure.

For instance, at the height of his popularity, Jerry Lee Lewis married his 13-year-old cousin. Question: What was he thinking? Answer: He wasn’t. Sex had changed his brain--most likely by shrinking it down to the size of a pea. Of course, if anyone at all marries Charlie Sheen, the same factors apply.

A prime example of the “what was he thinking?” litmus test is Washington Mayor Marion Barry. Unfortunately, it’s not possible to blame brain structure changes for the judgment of the voters who reelected him despite his notorious high jinks, unless he was having sex with many more of his constituents than seems likely or even possible.

What about Wilt Chamberlain? Well, the staggering number of his sexual partners doesn’t seem to have affected his intelligence on or off the court. But you’ve gotta ask yourself about at least the last few hundred or so of his many conquests. What were they thinking?

As for Texas millionaire widow Anna Nicole Smith, unfortunately, sex seems not only to have affected her late husband’s brain, but also his heart.

Eddie Murphy went so far as to let us know what he was thinking--he was simply a good Samaritan in quest of some uplifting late-night reading material: The Christian Science Monitor, perhaps? But I think his toes tell another story. Sex had changed his brain.

And in case those science nerds at Berkeley need a follow-up research project, they might try working on a premise that should come naturally to them: Lack of sex can change your brain too. Worst-case scenario: Hugh Grant. Remember, his main squeeze Elizabeth Hurley was in England at the time. Best-case scenario: Sister Wendy.