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One of the leading search terms for my film blog right now is "plantation slave sex stories."
More on the contraception brouhaha
Feb. 15th, 2012 09:38 amFascinating backgrounder on the politics around birth control going back to the FDR administration. What's most fascinating to me is that the recent Komen misstep and now the war around the birth control provisions in the ACA seem to be a signal that supporters of reproductive rights are starting to push back against the conservatives in effective ways. I suppose it's no accident, then, that I recently felt compelled to start donating ten bucks a month to Planned Parenthood. It feels like this is an issue that could blast a hole in the Republican coalition. Oh yeah, and improve people's lives, too.
Beer label scandal!
Mar. 17th, 2011 09:40 amUpright Brewing in Portland stirs controversy with the new label for Four Play -- a sour saison that I'd love to taste at some point. Although now that I've seen the (NSFW) old label, it seems clear that they were actually trying to tone things down a bit. Well, I imagine a little scandal is good for sales, at least in the short term.
Joke of the Day
Feb. 11th, 2010 03:42 pmParaphrased from Lovers on the Bridge (Les amants du Pont Neuf, 1991):
Two guys are sitting in a bar comparing notes on how often they have sex.
"I get laid once a week," says the first guy.
The other shamefacedly admits, "I only get laid every two weeks."
Down the bar they hear a third guy laughing and laughing. Nervously they ask him, "Well, how often do *you* get laid?"
The laughing man says, "Every three years."
The first two men are horrified. "Then why are you laughing?!"
"Because," the man says between gales of laughter, "tonight's the night."
Two guys are sitting in a bar comparing notes on how often they have sex.
"I get laid once a week," says the first guy.
The other shamefacedly admits, "I only get laid every two weeks."
Down the bar they hear a third guy laughing and laughing. Nervously they ask him, "Well, how often do *you* get laid?"
The laughing man says, "Every three years."
The first two men are horrified. "Then why are you laughing?!"
"Because," the man says between gales of laughter, "tonight's the night."
It will be really strange (and oddly appropriate) if the singularity commences with the rise of sentient dildos.
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lizhand in comments on her post, Mothers, don't let your daughters grown up to be reverse cowgirls.
--
lizhand in comments on her post, Mothers, don't let your daughters grown up to be reverse cowgirls.Yes, it's very, very hot in Seattle. Even worse, many beautiful people are wearing very little clothing. Very, very hot.
"I've seen my share of Spitzers."
Mar. 14th, 2008 09:19 amAbsolutely terrific piece by a former booking agent for a Manhattan escort agency. She confirms something I wondered about when I saw that the prostitution ring Spitzer used was called the Emperors Club: "A thousand dollars is nothing for these men. Money has little value; because no matter how hard they try they will never be able to spend their hundreds of millions. And if you are about to say that for a thousand bucks those girls must supply the best sex in history, then you really do not understand this world. Because it is not about sex; it is about power. And the simple act of ordering up an anonymously pretty 22 year-old girl to do your bidding in the salubrious confines of a luxury hotel suite is an act of power."
Ave, Caesar!
Ave, Caesar!
This maze of being skin
Nov. 12th, 2007 09:30 amSome days -- rainy days -- today -- I still dream of Queensland. Romantic melancholy is self-indulgent, no doubt, but today it feels something like good ...
Every day our bodies separate,
exploded torn and dazed.
Not understanding what we celebrate
we grope through languages and hesitate
and touch each other, speechless and amazed;
and every day our bodies separate
us further from our planned, deliberate
ironic lives. I am afraid, disphased,
not understanding what we celebrate
when our fused limbs and lips communicate
the unlettered power we have raised.
Every day our bodies' separate
routines are harder to perpetuate.
In wordless darkness we learn wordless praise,
not understanding what we celebrate;
wake to ourselves, exhausted, in the late
morning as the wind tears off the haze,
not understanding how we celebrate
our bodies. Every day we separate.
-- Marilyn Hacker, "Villanelle (for D.G.B.)"
Every day our bodies separate,
exploded torn and dazed.
Not understanding what we celebrate
we grope through languages and hesitate
and touch each other, speechless and amazed;
and every day our bodies separate
us further from our planned, deliberate
ironic lives. I am afraid, disphased,
not understanding what we celebrate
when our fused limbs and lips communicate
the unlettered power we have raised.
Every day our bodies' separate
routines are harder to perpetuate.
In wordless darkness we learn wordless praise,
not understanding what we celebrate;
wake to ourselves, exhausted, in the late
morning as the wind tears off the haze,
not understanding how we celebrate
our bodies. Every day we separate.
-- Marilyn Hacker, "Villanelle (for D.G.B.)"
9 Songs (2004)
Jan. 16th, 2006 10:17 amWell, I guess I'm going to classify this movie from the protean British director Michael Winterbottom as a disappointment, despite the fact that I'm not sure I understand what it's trying to accomplish. An uninteresting young couple have lots of sex in between going to various rock concerts, all told as a reminiscence from the point of the view of the guy after the end of the relationship, when he's in Antarctica doing climatological research. The resulting movie is a hodgepodge of explicit sex scenes, concert footage, and Antartic landscapes. None of these things seems related to the others. What's the point?
( Perhaps it's the banality of sex? )
( Perhaps it's the banality of sex? )Against Brundage
Nov. 18th, 2005 06:47 pmThus, I have avoided such stories as are usually to be found between lurid magazine covers showing luxuriantly-fleshed females scantily clad in either a leopard's skin or a two-piece female Buck Rogers outfit with a bare twelve inches of midriff, struggling (always valiantly struggling!) with an octopus-like monster or an otherworld hellion with horns and a leer. The tales in such magazines usually begin with a sentence like this: "Sool Darm opened his many-lidded eyes with reptilian anticipation and lowered his pointed head to gaze on the lithe but richly-rounded figure of the girl who lay unconscious at his feet." Ugh!
It is nearly impossible to mix sex and science fiction, any more than you can successfully mix sex and the supernatural.
-- Groff Conklin, Introduction to The Best of Science Fiction (Crown Publishers, 1946)
Wonder if he'd ever read "Shambleau"?
It is nearly impossible to mix sex and science fiction, any more than you can successfully mix sex and the supernatural.
-- Groff Conklin, Introduction to The Best of Science Fiction (Crown Publishers, 1946)
Wonder if he'd ever read "Shambleau"?
