Is it a good day in America? Is it a good time to be in this broke, disgraced, sexually bewildered country when the lumbering and lost state of Texas finally crawls, lurching and sputtering and blinking hard, into the 19th century as it finally, against its will, is forced by the courts to allow sex toys to be sold to adults, thus leaving only Alabama and a bit of Georgia to stare into the void of their own unused genitalia and scream in abject terror?

Is it, furthermore, a better and brighter day for all Americakind when the lumbering and lost Federal Communications Commission still wants to fine ABC Television $1.4 million for showing a glimpse of a naked female butt on an episode of the now-defunct "NYPD Blue" five years ago, even though all the little kids who were ostensibly traumatized by said ass are now about 12 years old and into ultraviolent video games and hooking up on MySpace and choking each other to death, and the FCC's move is not considered a distressing, dire prediction of oppressive things to come, but rather a forgettable trifle, a shrug, a silly little footnote?

Is it not, finally, good to know that you now can, when in New York City, stroll into any number of bars or fine urban locales and grab yourself a free, official NYC condom or five, and also a nice packet of lubricant, all on the city's dime?

And what's more, not only are they complimentary and available citywide, and not only is there an impressive accompanying ad campaign for the second year of the groundbreaking program (TV, print, subway billboards, Web site) hawking said latex fun-sheaths and encouraging you to "get some," but the packaging is actually created by a semi-famous industrial designer (Yves Béhar) and the campaign itself actually isn't insulting or shy or demeaning as it dares to suggest that young adult Americans might actually enjoy sex and therefore, oh my God, wouldn't it be fun to get some today? The horror.

I am here to say yes, yes indeed, it is all quite good, refreshing, even a little promising, even if you don't really notice, even if it all seems minor and insignificant, overshadowed by looming recessions and lost wars and the bleak, bleak, bleak BushCo End of Days.

See, there was a time, just a handful of miserable years ago, when it all felt dour and sad and pathetic, when John "anoint my feet in oil" Ashcroft ruled the porn-obsessed Justice Department and worthless abstinence education was being forced down the throat of the educational system and the fundamentalist Christians were stabbing at the culture like unhappy vultures tearing at a carcass.

It was a time when major media was eating its own tail in fear of getting fined for allowing the slightest illicit or sexually suggestive infraction, as Michael Powell's Bush-controlled FCC went on the warpath, behaving like some sort of gnarled sexually uptight Megatron who hated women and never masturbated, desperate to crack down on the slightest naughty infraction, from Bono saying "f-" at the Golden Globes to Howard Stern talking dirty to porn stars for the benefit of his audience of overweight frat guys and lonely cab drivers.

It was quite a ride. From Ashcroft covering the nipples of Lady Justice with heavy cloth to the massive, insane outcry against Janet Jackson, it all culminated in 2005, in the Republican-controlled Congress ramming through the inane Broadcast Decency Enforcement Act, which increased tenfold the penalty the FCC could impose on broadcast media, to $325,000 per violation.

But now, oh, now how quaint it all seems, the Bush administration's dark and sexually repressive cloud actually proving to be nothing but a sticky mist, a passing pink puff of rancid gas, so many of the fundie Christians/congressmen proving to be secretly gay and the nation itself proving very quickly to be rather sick of the entire gaggle of Jesus-terrified henchmen.

What's more, the FCC's ominous threats suddenly feel moot and meaningless, especially given the upsurge of shows like "The L-Word" and "Californication" and "Tell Me You Love Me" and who the hell cares if they can show nipples and butts on network TV? The landscape is changing, far faster and more powerfully than any hypocritical conservative movement could ever comprehend, much less contain.

The signs are in place. The tone is shifting. Despite a misogynistic Supreme Court, despite the Christian right's desperate attempt to instill Taliban-grade prohibitions and constrictions around sex for the past seven years (well, more like 2,000 years. But that's another column), Texans can now buy dildos to go with their Sunday sodomy, condoms and lube are free all over New York City, abstinence education has proven to be a massive failure and the flatulent bout of Christian-led sexual hysteria has, at least for the moment, largely passed.

Oh, there will still be blips and triggers. There will still be Christian rock and "True Love Waits" and cute little Web sites extolling the virtues of teen virginity, of making nifty little pledges not to have sex until you're married and/or no longer a Republican or no longer absolutely horrified at the notion of your own vulva.

And yes, broadcast media will remain terribly uptight for a while longer. There will still be, for example, the producers of this year's bland-as-death Grammy Awards, who actually asked Amy Winehouse to please cover up the nipples on the bare-breasted pinup girl she has tattooed on her arm because some Americans might be confused and offended. (In response, Winehouse simply took some black eyeliner and drew a nice "bra" over the nipples, and middle America breathed a huge sigh of relief because oh my God, nipples. Our great national scourge.)

What's more, many issues remain volatile. The gay marriage war, for example, is far from over, though it now seems the most difficult battle has been won. The hull has been breached. The rainbow-colored cat is very much out of the bag. Wail as the fundamentalists might, the feeling now is that gay marriage — like women's suffrage, like interracial marriage, like the notion of a black or female president — is no longer a matter of if, only when.

This is the feeling. The straps are loosening. The legs are parting. The repressive sexual ideology of the right has, quite naturally, failed. So please, America, go buy your dildos in Texas and grab your free condoms in NYC, safe in the knowledge that the temperature of the national body, once frigid and clenched, appears to be warming up.

Can you feel it? Won't you do the right thing, and "get some" yourself?

Mark Morford's latest book is 'The Daring Spectacle: Adventures in Deviant Journalism'. Join Mark on Facebook and Twitter, or email him. His website is markmorford.com. For his yoga classes, workshops and retreats, click markmorfordyoga.com.

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