Presently, I am reading a textbook for a male gender studies class (not that I’m taking the class…I picked the book up in undergrad because it looked interesting). Aside from my general concern that the book seems to have been written more from a perspective of women’s studies talking about men rather than a more neutral gender studies, the most recent chapter, which talked about “girl watching” as a subset of sexual harassment issues in the workplace, drew my interest because I think it put the whole nature of the objectification arguments into perspective.
To paraphrase H.L. Menken’s definition of fundamentalism, feminists who talk a lot about objectification have a terrible, pervasive fear that some guy, somewhere, is sexually attracted to a woman. Basically in the chapter it talks about the sexual harassment of longing looks (and more legitimately, male banter about how women look). The problem, it suggests, is that men do not think about how it makes a woman feel, thus treating her as an object rather than a subject.
But let’s take this to one extreme. A guy, alone in his home, fantasizes about having sex with a woman. A woman who would not consent to have sex with him. A woman who would potentially be emotionally distraught and feel the need to alter her behaviors if she knew what he was thinking. From this objectification analysis, his behavior is irresponsible, harassing, and perhaps borders on rape.
But this is obviously (I think) an untenable position to hold. Perhaps a more reasonable standard is a reasonable expectation not to be caught. This means that catcalls are certainly improper and that coordinated girl-watching activity amongst a group of men is on the borderline (though even considering a woman’s perspective, I’m not sure of the harm of a man basically saying “wow, she is really beautiful”). Silent, individual observation and the thoughts that follow are then acceptable.
I think the ultimate failing of the objectification theory is it seems to work from the assumption that men can only hold one thought in their head, and that if they are thinking about a woman’s physical form, they must naturally be abandoning any consideration of the rest of her person (intellectual, emotional, etc). I think it is an absurd simplification to think that there is a zero-sum evaluation between aesthetic beauty and other values; the easiest proof of which is the ability for intelligence or other factors to be sexy. I was recently observing that pretty much all the female musicians I listen to are really attractive. The negative explanation is that unattractive women simply cannot make it in the business. The other less ideal interpretation is my evaluation of the music is biased by my attraction. But I think it is entirely reasonable that the fact that they make captivating music enhances their appeal. And isn’t it finding attraction for complex reasons extending beyond the superficial the ultimate antithesis of objectification?
This was a bad decade. It’s good to know it’s over. This doesn’t mean specific people didn’t ride high; perhaps it’s worth lauding their accomplishments in a series of lists that can be consulted as sorts of time-capsules. The boys in a band are not in love with the modern world, this is a good start; tragic love was running shit since Gwen Stefani crossed-over and somehow predicted it happening in her first music video with No Doubt, almost as if the whole thing was contrived from the get-go. PAUSE.
Are there really commercials in this shit? They’ll ruin any good thing with inundated bullshit, won’t they, these record execs? Even Lupe Fiasco fucking complains; it’s enough to drive any loving critic fucking loco! So if this decade is all about losses; then we can casually sift through the wreckage, like Japanese cockroaches with helmet-cams and try to make sense of the fact that we are being controlled like robots by those who continually sell us new technology to make our lives MORE than what we could on our own. This growth is a kind of cancer of the human body; not on that Non-Phixion tip “1975: they created AIDS inside a laboratory” it’s amazing how many people can get caught up in superstition. PAUSE
The rechargeable battery came to replace the middle man between you and your product, now it was just supposed to be the player’s designer and the energy company which owned all your shit. Renting became so fucking easy, borrowing for no apparent reason the norm for 10 years, and the landslide that came a tumblin’ down was somehow a surprise to a suddenly defunct, but not quite dysfunctional family that is the american empire; no capitals here, cause’ there’s nothing to celebrate. Amiri Baraka once asked Thelonius Monk, “what’s happenin’?” Monk replies, “Everything, at the same time.” PAUSE
Is that shit not HILARIOUS: ZIF exclusive thought: reshoot this document piece, but make it about AznAmerican ballers, specifically Taka Yasuzawa, the Takstar.
Among the evils that strike women and children, sex slavery is probably the worst. Experts estimate that human traffic has become the main mafias income provider, even before drugs and weapons businesses.
Sunitha Krishnan talks about her experiences with children and women sold for pornography, prostitution, forced labor… She witnesses every day torture and exploitation.
Her testimony is hard to hear. Imagine, how much more it is to experience that situation in your own life…
She’s asking us our support and, above all, to break “this culture of silence” that surrounds these problems.
I am blissfully, happily, contentedly home from our vacation! And a lucky thing too. We flew out at 12 and our friends flying out at 3 got stuck in a flight tag because of bad weather, poor things. They must have gotten home late on the 25th at best. *I* actually got home at 5 o’clock on the 24th and Luke picked me up in travel clothes and all and we went straight to our special restaurant for our traditional Christmas eve dinner which was wonderful because I hate resort food. Also, it was wonderful to be with my sweetie and have a nice, uninterrupted, satisfying conversation. I realize this might sound whiny because it was just one measly week but I really really missed Luke.
Don’t get me wrong, I really love spending time with my family. Normally though, I spend some time with them interspersed with time with Luke and with pinches and dashes of other people thrown in and all of it offset by relaxing alone time at home. That way it’s more than wonderful to spend time with them. That is however quite a bit different from being around every member of my immediate family PLUS another family (friends) for 7 days practically full time. I am just glad it was only a week. A week actually would have been entirely fine if it was only my family because putting up with their quirks is well paid off with the fun that can be had in their company (if they aren’t bickering with each other or me). But once you add the kind of family friends in front of whom one must watch what one says and behave just so… well… it can get annoying. Especially so when ¾ of them (the other family) are dull as a butter knife.
Company aside, the weather was nice. We had sun the first few days and the last two days were semi cloudy and overcast in that order so it was a nice transition to coming back to snowy Toronto. I got a good tan without burning. The only other sucky part was that I had my period for essentially all the time we were there so I couldn’t swim AND because I was bloated, painful, tired and somewhat miserable for a couple days there. But it was still nice to go for walks on the beach every morning and the laying about and reading while baking under the sun.
Speaking of tanning, listen to this:
Luke loves tan lines so when we got to the restaurant I tried to show him my tan lines from my bikini top straps which he completely denied being able to see. So after several failed tries during which I opened up my top more and more till I almost flashed not only Luke but the whole restaurant, I just decided to wait till we got home to show him. So while he was dragging in my suitcase, I quickly got naked and met him in the kitchen, where he was putting away the leftover, in just my panties so he could see the full effect. While he seemed happy enough with seeing my tits after a week, he still shook his head. Exasperated, I said, “well it shows better on my butt anyway” because it does since it’s a larger area and the contrast shows better and then I turned around and pulled down my panties for him to see.
And then the coin dropped.
While the coin was making its descent, I glanced over my shoulder where I could already see the grin on his face and a nanosecond later I was bent over the counter facing the outside window (once again) and he was standing behind me with the accursed spatula. Let me tell ya, not being spanked for a couple of weeks makes a fresh spanking really stingy. Since I was going to be in a bikini in front of my family he didn’t spank me for about a week before the vacation and I must say, it was exciting to experience a non-severe spanking so acutely. Of course, after he was done with the spanking, he wanted somewhere to bury his cock and since I hadn’t had time to shower yet and bleeding tends to make my cunt dryish, he lifted me onto the counter and stuck a finger in my ass and commenced fucking me on display for the neighborhood. Of course, only the under the counter lights and it was pretty late by then. Also pretty soon he moved me to the kitchen table where he fucked my ass thoroughly from behind. And by the way, they should make tables with padded edges because at some point I thought his force slamming my upper thighs into the table was going to do more damage than his braided flogger ever has. He is a merciful sort though so we relocated to the back of the couch and then to the bedroom where the fucking continued till I was thoroughly sore. So once more proving his benevolence, he pulled out and flung away the condom so he could fuck my mouth to orgasm. Afterwards, I was so exhausted that I just fell asleep.
A delicious homecoming.
It’s just so nice to be “recaptured” again… you know feel that dominance and ownership… slip back into that space. This morning, he slipped out of bed, which always wakes me up but I stayed in bed hoping he’d come back because it’s so wonderful to snuggle in the morning but when he didn’t come back I got up because I didn’t feel like staying in bed on my own but as soon as I walked out I found him showered and ready to fuck in the hallway. Should have stayed in bed a bit longer! So I got my cunt fucked, then my ass (still sore from the long fuck on the 24th but not as sore as it is now!) and then my mouth. Although I think he let me suck him just so he could hit 3 for 3 not because he wanted his dick sucked. *laughing* By the time we were done my hair was so tangled I had to use a ton of conditioner to get all the knots out.
It’s good to be home.
Absence does make the heart grow fonder. Stepping out and taking a look at other lives does make one appreciate things that tend to be taken for granted.
Oh and xmas was nice too. The foods were yum and everyone got lots of nice gifts and I certainly loved everything I got. Luke did too although the poor thing fell asleep really early cause he was exhausted but that was ok too.
Now’s time for making New Year resolutions. This is going to be a pretty busy year so it’s more a matter of readjusting the game plan and fine tuning the scheduling than making resolutions.
I am excited, I must say. I want it to be a great year. I want to make it a great year. That’s a good resolution I think, no?
A snow day and the holidays have given the Crone a chance to reunite with her one true love–daytime television.
Sitting knitting yesterday in front of Dr Oz, the Crone was intrigued to hear that people who DON’T have a television in their bedrooms have twice as much sex as people who do. The Crone thought about this carefully, pondering it as she purled. After careful analysis, she concluded that removing the flat screen would not, by itself, be enought to generate romantic results in her nun-like crib. The telly gets to stay.
Just now I finished watching Lake of Fire, a documentary by Tony Kaye that examines differing opinions on the issue of abortion. Kaye weaves interviews with community members, officials, local idols (like priests, for example), and medical professionals with clips of protests and actual footage of abortion procedures. Not a pretty picture, people. As unsightly as the baby parts being extracted from the women’s bodies were, it was nowhere near as disturbing as the opinions from anti-abortion, bible-thumping, pro-life activists. These are the same people who quickly judged actions when they were unaware of the circumstances. At some parts in the film, there were the extremely hostile individuals who were against welfare, birth control, homosexuals, pre-marital sex, etc. and very openly expressed this. It still shocks me today, to see that people believe this way – I guess I’m naive in that respect believing that collectively, as people in the U.S., we are much more progressive than we actually are. It’s a damn shame, really.
Many individuals spoke of their push towards reversing Roe v. Wade – removing the rights women have to make decisions over their bodies. What’s more inexcusable is that these are older, wealthy (imagine all of the church-funded bucks they get for being anti-abortion), Caucasian MEN. They know nothing of the trials a woman experiences when she learns of her pregnancy, mulls over life-altering circumstances in her decision, and the abortion itself! The notion that they BELIEVE they have a say is nonsense. The only way I could ever believe this kind of concern is warranted is if the man is the father of the child and genuinely cares for the woman and their child.
I can’t even comprehend the times in which women were unable to have abortions EVEN if the pregnancies came about after cases of rape & incest. So many women ended up hemorraging because they were not aware as to how to use the rusty wire hanger in their uteruses. One of the men interviewed who believed legalized abortion are medical services that NEED to be provided showed a photograph of a woman slumped over, face on the floor, bleeding from her vagina, dead from hemorraging. It was horrifying, and as it should be – so many of these women died in the past because they were stripped of their right to decide on matters regarding their bodies. Why would we want this to repeat itself? Many of the individuals, mainly priests, were adamant about returning society to a Christian-based framework. Something I could take pages to discuss, but will say simply here, that ignoring and putting matters about people and sex under the metaphorical rug is an idiotic notion.
Human beings have sexual needs, because we are sexual beings. To deny birth control to the masses would be problematic in numerous ways. To believe and preach abstinence is simply unrealistic. What we should do and continue to do is improve our sexual education programs and provide better counseling services to schools, colleges, and community-based health clinics. Tremendously siphor funds into afterschool programs and nonprofit efforts that help our young men and women of today mature into self-respecting, responsible, capable adults. We need to let individuals decide instead of making the decisions for others with our own biases and personal beliefs because to assume that we know and understand what they are going through personally is ridiculous, not to mention impossible. That is why I believe pro-choice is the most ethical, moral choice.
I thought the execution of the film was exceptional. The film itself is shot in black & white, my guess is because it’s meant to highlight the contrast of opinions between those who are for abortion and those who oppose it. Focusing on so very little color allows you to maintain a greater focus on the issues discussed, the emotions expressed. Kudos, Kaye. You managed to have me squeeling, shaking my head, and shouting “YEAH” at the screen during various parts of the film. Definitely thought-provoking.
Next on my queue: Mississippi Masala by Mira Nair. Love the woman, pure genius. Plus, I’m in need of a romance film, haven’t seen one of those in ages.
“If yall gotta man and yall not swallowing, he’s definitely getting his d*ck sucked somewhere else.”
Since the overly publicized split between New Jersey rapper Joe Budden and former girlfriend Tahiry, Jumpoff has been rather quiet as of late.
While Crooked I, Joell Ortiz and Royce Da 5’9” have been dropping freestyles, Joey has been on the backburner.
The moment of silence has clearly been broken with the return of JoeBuddenTV with the episode pitting a debate between men and women aptly titled “Venus vs. Mars”.
Sexual endeavors are put fully out in this round table discussion.
First, I’m not a rapist, neither do I condone raping. Because in real world, unlike in the porn world where the woman starts to enjoy it after a while, raping is about one person overpowering another, and it’s often violent. I read somewhere that (I don’t remember the percentages) the majority of men would rape a woman, if they are guaranteed that they will get away with it. Also the majority of women had confessed that they had had rape fantasies at least once in their lives. Here the key word is ‘fantasy’, because in fantasies, rape is only about sex itself, not power or violence. So don’t be under the impression that women like to be raped. (It’s like just because you have a fantasy about being f..kd by a chimpanzee, that doesn’t mean you really want to be f..kd by one. Hah hah ha). So again, I’m just pondering on how to rape and get away with it, not actually going to do it. So how to do this (without killing her you murderer). Well, you should do something to her that she would never speak about. Inspired by a real american tragedy, I will give you this scenario. Imagine two guys (you & me) breaking into a house to rape a woman. In the house, there’s only the woman and her twelve year old son. We go in, pointing our pistols at them (real pistols OK. Not penises), we make her have sex with us. Then we force the twelve year old to f..k his mother. We should make sure that we don’t physically injure them, and that we don’t steal anything. And oh, also we should wear masks. After doing all that sinful stuff, we runaway. Now let’s think about what the woman can do. She’s living in Sri Lanka. So that means those scrawny little policemen are going to rape her again. What would they say when they come to know about the fact that she was f..kd by her son. What about the relatives and neighbours and most of the people she thought were her friends? There’s no need to even talk about them. All she’ll do would be to just keep her silence. That sucks right?
douce… yes… it is nice… oui… like a breath of fresh air after an intensely toxic forest fire… my parched seared lungs need to breathe again… but it comes in such a way as to reflect the rest of my life – nothing is easy, normal or conventional, abt my life is it?… i wld not exchange it for the world, dont mistake, but it is very very very tiring, to be different, to drive against the flow of traffic, to fly against the winds… literally… i just want to lie down somewhere soft, comfortable, and rest…
but yet for now i m thankful for my breath of fresh air… it gives me a sliver of hope… that perhaps just perhaps i can leave the terror and desolation behind…
he calls himself “blue blur k” ? what a laugh… this man is not at all ‘blur’ – he knows what he is and how women fall prey to his charms… decrepit as he is now, he is still somehow extremely attractive to unsuspecting females… all i can say is i wish him well – no, not that he can achieve as many free fucks as he can get in this sordid little lifetime, but that he can find some kind of resolution for his soul and light for his spirit… i mourn for the spoilage of such pristine innate beauty… ah, musicians, how enigmatic we are, how dark and twisted yet inexpicably attractive we seem to be… but u see, i never set out to deceive, to me, every word he uttered was truth, i believed… yet to him, it was just a twisted game in his life of playing out fantasies… yes i do approve of his choice of bimbos and sluts – he is right, these women move on faster, they are less devastated, becos they play the same game…
i m from another world, a different time and space…
but naive and gauche… i hope pixie face isnt playing the same game that is all… no matter what happens, i dont wish to be deceived again… the feeling of self hatred and shame is far greater than finding out how evil the other person has been… the latter one can shake off after some time, but the pain and damage from the former lives on and on and on, replaying like a haunting melody inside the head…
douce… for now… but dangerous, pixie, this is dangerous, to begin to trust and hope… and perhaps even love…
I would put a poll but I think this is something that doesn’t really need one. There could be many favorite positions so why just limit it to one?
What makes you get off? What makes your partner get off?
Just curious. I don’t have a particular favorite even though I do fancy the standard old-fashioned missionary. Doggystyle with the hair-pulling element is pretty nice, too.
Someone once told me that they thought I had a touch of ADD. Don’t know if they’re right (I smell bacon), but my mind does vacillate through story ideas, locking onto the ones that interest me at the moment. The sub title of this blog, A Horror Writers Journey, is right but the story idea I’ve settled on isn’t a horror tale, but it will have elements of horror within…natural for a violent crime/murder mystery. It will also include some questionable high-strangeness-factor events. It is called Country Dark. I am fleshing it out now in my notebook…synopsis of chapters and character sketches (I gotta have a map, in writing as in traveling). I’m drawn to this story, I believe, for the familiar setting it will take place; Smalltown Oklahoma. I have plenty to draw from, the characters are fictional but known to me, intimate and distant.
The other stories go on the back burner to slow cook as my mind wanders to them to add spices and body until ready to serve. I may be changing stories (did you hear a monky?) but I’ll still be writing. Be patient; I am slow and deliberate in the creation of stories, but the writing should come swift…
A relaxing massage is one of my favorite guilty pleasures. There’s nothing quite like lying on a warm padded table and having expert hands work the tension from my skin and muscles, reinvigorating the body and soul while clearing the mind of all its cares. My massage therapist calls it a moment to just “bliss out”.
The whole experience is, every sensory aspect of it, is a pure joy. I hate being cold, so having a comfortably warm room and a heated blanket on the table helps me to drop the tension from my body and sink into the table. There’s usually some sort of soft instrumental music or natural sounds playing — something calm and soothing to listen to. Your eyes are closed, so you have the quiet isolation of lacking visual input — just a serene blackness, not a dark void but a calm sea that blocks out the chaos of the world for a moment. Then you have the delightful scents of essential oils – my particular favorite is lavender because it reminds me of the smell of henna on my skin. When the massage therapist even so much as applies the oil to her hands from across the room, the scent carries directly to my nose and makes me instantly calm. And, of course, there’s the pure physical joy of having hands applying just the right pressure in all the right places, stimulating the skin, working away the knots, revitalizing the body. Part of me just wants to drift off, but part of me wants to stay awake and enjoy every second of that relaxing touch. Everything from my back and shoulders, down to my feet, and even up to the slightest pressure on my forehead and around my eyes — and finishing with a good gentle scratch of nails through my hair, massaging my scalp and banishing the stress in my head — nothing could be better.
Then again, I suppose if you have the opportunity to share such an experience with someone you love, it could be infinitely better. Sharing a moment of intimate, relaxing touch, calming away each others’ stresses and tension and leaving nothing but a blissful peace and relaxation, bringing two bodies close together in a silent, serene moment, enjoying the simple, basic human desire to touch and be touched. It can be simple, intimate, sensual, or erotic, but at any level it satisfies the body, mind, and soul.
today was typical. a tuesday. i fell asleep at around 10 am and awoke at around 7pm. ahhh so it goes. i was up all night looking up stuff on the net, facebooking, stumbling, pornwanking etc. i watched american movie a few times in a row. its one of my favorite movies now and is really relatable for me. along the way i made myself some snacks and such. no ones usually up at the late/very early hours i am so i mainly hang out alone with my thoughts. im aware of the rut im in. and i want to share it with you so youll know of the pitiful existence that this modern age has afforded me. im not blaming society or my enviroment for my lack of passion/productivity, but in what other time in history would a person living a life like mine be possible or even tolerated?
its currently 7am here in texas. ive been up all night, like i said since around 7pm. i spent the few decent hours of time i had left of the day running errands with my girlfriend side kick. shes waaay too hot for me (literally a model gymnast), and it makes me feel bad that shes become so accustomed to me that she hardly bats an eyelash at my fruitless existence on the couch in front of the tv. my dad pays my rent and throws a few bucks in my bank account to get me through the weeks. in addition to paying for my insurance, new car, groceries and phone bill. im beginning to think that the free flowing funds are hindering my personal progess through life, but am not at a point where i would renounce them.
sooo anyways, i picked up a few new movies to check out today. mostly i buy dollar vhs from the used book stores around town, occasionally i’ll splurge on a dvd, and i am a big believer in redbox. now please dont go judging my tastes by the following haul. i pride myself in being an eclectic collector with diverse tastes, and will give almost anything a shot. but on this particular day i picked up the following…
VHS from halfpicebooks- saved!, amelie, next friday, one flew over the coocoos nest,and heathers
redbox- julie and julia, paper heart, terminator salvation, harry potter and the half blood prince
i already owned most of the vhs i picked up today. its getting harder and harder to find stuff i want but dont already have. so all the tapes this time around were picked up as presents for my friends and such, save next friday and saved! which i did not have.
me and the girlfriend watched saved together 1st. growing up in a private christian school being no mystery to me, i couldn’t help but reminisce about my own life and times back in school. this movie was at one time even part of my curriculum. but thats another story. my gf had never seen the film so i put it on. plus we have no cable, forgot to mention that maybe, so we rely heavily on our own programming. which can be nice but at times repeditive. ive seen all my favorites literally dozens of times already. sometimes in a row! anyway saved! is good, good performances all around. dawn weiner is in it too. haha. culkin is a crippled and mandy moore plays an awesome bitch.
on to paper heart. never seen it before and i wish i never had. i thought it was aimless. this movie was boring, meandering, vague, and unreedeemingly pointless. the doc/mockumentary style only worstened the contrived plot. over all it was way to broad of a subject and its cute quirkiness just wasnt enough to drive the lack of story anywhere. me and the gf decided to turn it off a little after halfway through.this flick is prolly only suitable for wannabe indie hipsters, wanting to liken it to juno (which i also felt was a poor name dropping mess) or something along those lines.
and then we threw in julie and julia. this one was a coin toss decision at the redbox. wasnt too sure what the movie was about. kinda seemed like a chick flick (but hey i watched “hes just not that into you” and didnt mind). i was thoroughly surprised though, i laughed and greatly enjoyed watching streeps performance the whole way through. this movie was so inspirational for me in many ways too. for one it got me blogging, which i had considered doing before, but only took action after seeing the protagonist of the film do it. plus it’s about cooking, which is an interest of mine. and all the food looks so great in it, i didnt know if i should start blogging or culinary school to be honest. haha. meryl streep was nothing short of amazing, if it were up to me id give her the oscar hands down. she really played the hell out of that role. overall the movie was kinda chick flicky, but it was still very likable and didnt even have to have scarlett johansson in it to keep my attention.
im currently watching jim jarmusch’s stranger than paradise. ive owned this one on vhs for a while, but have only half watched it. so far its not bad, i enjoy his other films like ghost dog and coffee and cigarettes and even his commentary in the z channel documentary (which i highly recomend to anyone that likes documentaries). i guess we’ll see how the movie, as well as the rest of my day turns out in the next entry.
thinking about maybe staying up during the majority of the daylight hours today. we shall see though. til next time.
The witch hunt for sexual deviants is just beginning at Yale. As reported in the Yale Daily News, the Women Faculty Forum wants to employ the new consensual relationships policy as a launch pad for a more encompassing sexual control policy.
In its report, the Women Faculty Forum also recommended that new, University-wide policies against sexual misconduct replace existing policies, which vary across Yale College, the Graduate School and the professional schools. They also want Yale to shift its focus from sexual harassment to the broader issue of sexual misconduct — an umbrella term that applies to both sexual harassment and assault, and includes other sexually motivated behaviors intended to intimidate or threaten.
The Women Faculty Forum also called for the creation of a centralized sexual misconduct grievance board to administer the new policy and address complaints from undergraduates, graduate and professional students, faculty and staff alike. Currently, complaints are evaluated by four different grievance boards across the University.
“We don’t think there’s a lot of additional study necessary in terms of outside research,” Woman Faculty Forum report co-author and School of Management professor Connie Bagley said. “I hope the group is serious about the issues and willing to roll up their sleeves, dig into the [Women Faculty Forum] report and policy and just get this done.”
Miller said the University’s quick response to the report’s demand for a review committee and new policy on student-faculty relationships signals a “recommitment” to preventing sexual harassment and sexual misconduct.
“The administrators we’ve been working with agree that sexual misconduct has no place at Yale,” Bagley said last month. “They’re serious about trying to take additional steps to eliminate it.”
Both Bagley and Priya Natarajan, a professor of astronomy and physics and a co-chair of the committee that authored the report, said they are pleased with the University’s response to the Women Faculty Forum report so far, but added that this is just the beginning of the process. The new committee must act quickly and decisively and follow the policy changes outlined in the report, Bagley said.
The report came from over a year of research, writing and consultation with faculty and administrators, most of whom supported the group’s proposed policies, Bagley said. Members of the committee responsible for the report worked with the General Counsel’s Office to ensure that the policy changes offered in the report were legally feasible.
The Women Faculty Forum began work on its report on sexual misconduct in fall 2008, after several pledges to the fraternity Zeta Psi posed for pictures outside the Women’s Center with signs that read “We Love Yale Sluts” and 100 medical students wrote a letter to School of Medicine administrators in December 2007 expressing concern over the prevalence of sexual harassment at the school, according to the report. The Women Faculty Forum’s goal in writing the report was to help administrators to develop a workable, University-wide anti-sexual misconduct policy, Bagley said.
The dankprofessor finds it breathtaking that the report promulgates a policy of eliminating all sexual misconduct at Yale while at the same time insuring that the policies are legally “feasible”. Eliminating/eradicating sexual misconduct is simply not compatible with law that recognizes due process and civil liberties. Such elimination can occur but only in an authoritarian state ruled by sexual zealots. Of course, “elimination” should be in quotes since so-called sexual misconduct is never completely eliminated. The anti-sexual zealots know this and know that their work is never completed; vigilance is always necessary in their world view.
What this and other similar policies also foment is the use of informants, third party informants who will report on sexual dissidents. Based on reports to me from distraught students and profs, the usage of informants is commonplace in American universities. Getting a handle on this situation is difficult since the identity of such informants is kept secret by university authorities. In fact, most often the entire proceeding against sexual dissidents is of a secretive nature. What makes the Yale policy even more fertile for the fomenting of informants is the usage of the nebulous term “amorous relationships”. So if the behavior is perceived as not sexual but amorous such is enough to initiate the charges.
But one may ask who would be prone to become informants at Yale or any other university? The prone would be distraught or jealous students or faculty. A student who believes that she or he was unfairly given a poor grade may come forward with a false charge knowing that ones identity is protected and knowing in some cases that there are no rules regarding false charges. Or one may be jealous of a fellow student or fellow faculty member or one may be a distraught ex-boyfriend. The list can go on and on.
The world of Yale is no different than the worlds beyond the walls of ivy. The small minded are everywhere. The paranoid are everywhere. The sexual zealots are everywhere. The question is whether they will be allowed to takeover Yale and recreate Yale in their image.
For my prior posting on the Zeta Psi fraternity controversy, click here.
The dankprofessor will also be reporting on prior incidents of sexual hysteria at Yale and on a faculty member who was subjected to said hysteria.
Around this time of the year, I begin to think about the blogs that I read regularly and boil them down to a select group that I call My 10 Favorite Blogs. Except this year, try as hard as I could, I’ve only been able to come up with My 5 Favorite Blogs. How come? When I began blogging a couple of years ago, the blogosphere was overloaded with blogs, and for some reason, I seemed to like all of them, or many of them anyway. Everything was so new. What a relief from the sterile reporting and analysis of the mainstream media. Picking my favorite ten was easy then. Almost everything I read was at the top of my daily reading list. As a last resort, when the time rolled around for my Top 10 list, I arranged them alphabetically and lopped off all of those below the first ten. Mechanical but functional.
This year my selection process isn’t going along as smoothly as it used to. I’m puzzled. Has the number of blogs decreased? I don’t think so. In the Bay area alone, there must be several hundred, maybe a thousand. If you don’t believe me, check out CBS5’s Eye on Blogs, the brainchild of Britney Gilbert. She’s compiled a list of Bay Area Blogs complete with links to each of them. Quite an accomplishment.
What about quality? In my judgment, the blogs I check regularly are well-written, topical, and timely. So, there must be another variable to explain my difficulty in selecting ten blogs that I like above all others.
After thinking about it for a minute or two, I’ve concluded that the problem is me. Over time, my interests have shifted. For one thing, I’m not into politics the way I used to be. Maybe I need another election or a scandal to pump me up. Nah. Scandals are so commonplace these days, they’re kind of like clouds of gnats circling around my ears.
I think my declining interest in politics began when I started blogging on Open Salon. The variety of topics and styles of writing that I encountered there led me to think about wider more varied fields of interest as topics for my own blog.
And that’s how it stands at the moment. I have found writers and bloggers beyond my original boundaries. And from my newly-found peers, I’ve compiled my list of a very few favorites, writers who rise above the crowd. Here they are.
· The Ax Files heads my list this year. I stumbled across the author a long time ago and was struck by her originality. Her name is Alexandra Jones, and she has a captivating way with words combined with a facility in observation and interpretation that can lead you to think you are there with her if you let your imagination go. You won’t be disappointed if you check out her essays.
· The Renaissance Lady is a prolific author and the repository of a volume of information equal to that in many libraries. I became aware of her blog on Open Saloon and quickly added her to my Favorites list. Her interests are eclectic, ranging from politics to a casita inhabited by spirits in New Mexico. She writes fascinating material with originality and passion.
· The Fog City Journal is an online newspaper rather than a blog, but if it were a blog, it would rate with the best. Publisher Luke Thomas is a world class photographer who captures a variety of activities in San Francisco that he uses to good effect throughout the publication. Add to that a stable of top writers and analysts and you have an A-One site.
· CBS5 Eye on Blogs isn’t, strictly speaking, a blog but a compendium of Bay Area blogs with commentaries by the site’s mastermind, Britney Gilbert. She’s a product of Tennessee where she operated a similar site for a television station in Nashville. Luckily, her talents caught the eye of someone at CBS5 and now she applies her talents to Baghdad by the Bay, as Herb Caen called it. Good for Ess Fff.
· Jeannie Watt’s Blog on eHarlequin is my latest favorite. Jeannie is a writer of romance novels set in the modern West, primarily Nevada. A product of Nevada’s Cowboy Country, she writes about cowboys most of the time, but she has touched on the ordinary people of small town Nevada in a few of her novels with marked success. I am including Jeannie Watt in my list for a special reason. I have never been a reader of romance stories. I stumbled across one of her books in the bottom row of a book rack in a supermarket one day, thinking it was a story about cowboys. And it was. But it also was woven around a hot romance between a cowpoke and a teacher, which made for a charming story. Jeannie’s descriptions of ranch and cowboy life were so realistic that I became enthralled with her writings. In her blog, she talks about her own life in a small ranching community as well as about the business of writing. She has many fascinating things to say and that’s why she’s the only writer of romances whose works I read.
Okay, that’s my truncated list of favorite blogs for this year. I’m publishing the list well before the New Year because I’ll be on an extended vacation shortly and won’t return until sometime in 2010. I’ll undoubtedly be enjoying my family more than I enjoy blogging.
“So that’s one reason I write. To say what I could say when I was alive.”
Allen Ginsberg was born in Newark, New Jersey in 1926, to mother Naomi, a Russian immigrant, and father Louis Ginsberg, a poet. While attending Columbia University in the 1940s he befriended William S. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac, who profoundly influenced his writing, which up to that point employed strict meters and rhyme schemes. These three friends established what later became “The Beat Generation”. Ginsberg further honed his command of what he called “the bardic function” under the influence of Walt Whitman and William Blake, and the tutlege of William Carlos Williams, whose own poetry incorporated the sounds and diction of everyday speech.
In 1956, Ginsberg published his first volume of poetry, Howl and Other Poems. These poems freed the voice of the poet, rooting the prosody in physical breath, using long, uninhibited lines, as well as the diction of common speech. Howl and Other Poems was banned on grounds of obscenity, leading to an historic censorship trial in which the judge found “artistic merit” in the work, thereby advancing the cause of free speech in the US. “Howl” went on to become one of the most widely read poems of the 20th century.
Allen Ginsberg was a lifelong vociferous advocate of human rights, and he criticised authoritarianism wherever he saw it, on both the left and the right. He was also a prescient proponent of environmentalism, promoting earth-friendly, sustainable human activities before global warming entered the modern lexicon. Ginsberg actively organised against the Viet Nam war, and was highly critical of US military aggression in Latin America and elsewhere. He campaigned actively for gay rights throughout his life, and much of his poetry explicitly depicts gay sex at a time when homosexuality was still a taboo subject.
Ginsberg’s output was continuous up until his death at the age of 71. Allen Ginsberg died surrounded by friends and family in 1997. His works and activism are lauded around the globe. Many great artists, writers and musicians cite Ginsberg as an inspiration, a brave cultural and literary trail-blazer who opened the doors of freer and more natural expression — in life and art — to future generations. Bob Dylan said of him, “Ginsberg is both tragic & dynamic, a lyrical genius, con man extraordinaire and probably the single greatest influence on American poetical voice since Whitman.”
Hi there, its one of those cold December nights where a log on the fire place and a warm body to snuggle up to sound like great ideas. I don’t really care for the winter and the cold weather wreaks havoc on my libido. It doesn’t go away I’m just less inclined. Cold weather and shrinkage go hand and hand but hey, enough about that. Let’s talk about this cuddle season that’s upon us.
Women love to cuddle up when the temperature drops. Nothing wrong here, just make sure she knows the deal up front. What’s the deal? If you’re one of my readers of The Slackers Method ebook you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. In short, she should know we’re just keeping each other warm and that’s it. Not to get too technical but being close with someone forms a chemical bond. Think I’m BSing you? Check it out, its called Oxytocin. Women being the emotional creatures they are tend to get attached with the release of this neurological transmitter.
I’m not suggesting you avoid a relationship. If the feeling is mutual by all means go for it. Just don’t be surprised that feelings develop and some one falls in love with you after a few sessions of cuddling. More babies are created during bad economic times, snow storms and hurricanes. I think you know what to do if you don’t want that bundle of joy nine months from now. If not take your time and think about it…?
I am sure you have heard the term “win-win” situation.
But have you heard of “lose-lose” situation.
Here is one of my fiction short stories which depicts lose-lose situations – or does it?
It is a story with a message.
Dear Reader, do tell me your views, can such lose-lose situations be avoided?
Read on. It is a longish story, so if you want, you can read it in parts too.
PART 1 – DAYBREAK
“I’m going,” the man says.
“Don’t go. Please don’t go,” the woman says.
“Don’t go? What do you mean don’t go? You know I have to go.”
“You don’t have to go. You know you don’t have to go. Please. Please. Please don’t go. I beg you. Please don’t go!”
“Come on, Hema, be reasonable, and try to understand. You know I have to go. I promised him I would be there for his school’s Annual Day…”
“No, Ashok, No. You don’t go. His mother can go. He is staying with her, isn’t it? Let her look after him…”
“And I am his father!” the man says firmly, “I promised Varun I’ll be there and I have to be there!”
“You don’t love me! You still love them!”
“You know how much I love you, Hema,” the man says taking the woman in his arms, “But I love my son too. I have to go. Please don’t make it difficult for me…”
Tears begin to well up in the man’s eyes. The woman snuggles her face against his neck and grips him tightly.
“I’m scared,” she sobs.
“Scared? Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s the first time you are going to her after you two split…”
“Please, Hema. I am not going to her. I’m going to meet my son, for his school’s annual day, because Varun rang me up and made me promise that I would be there to see his performance on stage. I’ll meet Varun, attend the PTA meeting, I’ll talk to his teacher, see the concert and come straight back to you. I won’t even talk to Pooja, I promise,” the man called Ashok says to the woman nestling in his arms, “Don’t worry, Hema. You know it’s all over between Pooja and me, isn’t it? Maybe she won’t even come to the PTA meeting if she knows I’m coming, and even if she’s there I’m sure she too will avoid me as far as possible.”
The woman takes his hand, gently places it on her stomach, and whispers in the man’s ears, “Soon we will have our own son.”
“Yes,” the man says lovingly, caressing her stomach tenderly with his soft hand, “a son, and a daughter, whatever you want.”
They disentangle, then he holds her once more, pushes his face into her warm mouth, kisses her lovingly, and says, “Don’t worry, I’m all yours, and I promise I’ll be right back as fast as possible.”
A few moments later, the man sits in his car, wipes his face fresh with a cologne-scented tissue, starts the car, and drives off.
PART 2 – MORNING
“My Daddy has come, my Daddy has come,” a boy shouts gleefully to his friends and rushes towards his father as he enters the school gate.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” the boy says delightedly and jumps into his father’s arms.
“Hey, Varun, you look so good in your school uniform,” the man says picking up and lovingly kissing his son on the cheek. Seeing his son’s genuine happiness and rapturous delight, the man feels glad that he has come. He warmly hugs his son and then gently sets him down.
“Come fast, Daddy,” the boy tugs at his father’s sleeve, “everyone is sitting in the class.”
“Mummy’s come?” the man asks cautiously.
“Yes, Yes, Daddy,” the boy says gleefully, “She’s sitting in the class, waiting for you.”
They, father and son, walk to the classroom, and at the door the man pauses, looks around, sees the mother of his son sitting alone on a bench on the other side of the classroom, so he begins to sit at the bench nearest to the door.
“No, No, Daddy, not here. Mummies and Daddies have to sit together,” the boy says doggedly, and pulls the man towards the woman, who is the boy’s mother.
As he walks towards her, the man looks at the woman, on paper still his wife. As he approaches, she looks up at him and gives him a smile of forced geniality.
The boy rushes to his mother and exclaims exultantly, “See Mummy, Daddy has come; I told you he will come!”
The man and the woman contrive courteous smiles and exchange a few amiable words for the sake of their son, and for public show. It’s the first time the man, the woman, and their son are together as a family since they split a few months ago.
“Come on Mummy, make place for Daddy,” the boy says prodding his mother, and nudging his father onto the bench, and squeezing himself in between. The school double-bench is small, meant for two children, and for the three of them it’s a tight fit. His wife stares ahead, as he looks askance at her, over the head of their son, their common blood, who has connected them forever, whether they like it or not.
The man looks around the classroom. Happiest are the children whose both parents have come. Then there are those kids whose only one parent, mostly the mother, has come. And sitting lonely and forlorn, in the last row, are those unfortunate children for whom no one has come, no mother, no father, no one. It’s a pity, really sad. Parents matter a lot especially in boarding school, and the man feels sorry for the lonesome unlucky children.
The Class-Teacher, an elegant woman, probably in her thirties, briskly walks in, and instinctively everyone rises.
“Please be seated,” she says, and seats herself on the chair behind a table on the podium facing the class. The Class-Teacher explains the procedure for the PTA meeting – she’ll call out, one by one, in order of merit, the students’ names, who’ll collect their first term report card, show it to their parents, and then run off to the concert hall, while the parents discuss their child’s progress with the teacher, one by one.
“Varun Vaidya!” the teacher calls out the first name, and Varun squeezes out between his father’s legs and runs towards the teacher, the man is overwhelmed with pride as he realizes that his son has stood first in his class.
He swells with affection when Varun, his son, gleefully gives the report card to him, and as he opens it, he can sense the sensuous proximity of his wife’s body and smell the enchanting fragrance of her fruity perfume, as she unwittingly comes close to eagerly look at the report card, and he quivers with the spark of intimacy and feels the beginnings of the familiar stirrings within him.
PART 3 – AFTERNOON
Ashok realizes that their physical proximity, the intimacy, the touch of skin, has rekindled amorous memories and roused dormant desires in Pooja too, for she suddenly draws away from him and blushes in embarrassment. He wonders how people can suddenly cease to love a person they have once passionately loved so much and still desire.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya,” the teacher’s mellifluous voice jerks him from his reverie. He looks up at the charming young lady who has walked up to their desk and is lovingly ruffling Varun’s hair.
“Good Morning, Ma’am,” he says.
“Call me Nalini,” she says with a lovely smile, “Varun is really intelligent.”
“Like my Daddy– do you know he’s from IIT?” The boy proudly tells his teacher.
“And your Mummy?” the teacher playfully asks the boy.
“She is also a genius. But only in computers – she is an IT pro, you know. But my daddy is real good, he knows everything,” the boy says, and the teacher laughs, turns to Varun and says, “You go run along to the hall and get ready for the concert.”
“I’m Muriel. Muriel the goat!” says Varun animatedly, and runs away.
“We are enacting a skit from George Orwell’s Animal Farm,” Varun’s teacher says, “You are very fortunate Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya. Varun is a very gifted child. He comes first in class and is so talented in extracurricular activities and good in sports too. You must be really proud of him.”
“Oh yes, we are really proud of him,” the man says, and notices that the attractive teacher looks into his eyes for that moment longer than polite courtesy. He averts his eyes towards his wife and her disdainful expression tells him that his wife has observed this too.
He feels his cell-phone silently vibrating in his pocket, excuses himself, and goes out of the classroom into the corridor outside.
“Yes, Hema,” he says softly into his mobile.
“Is it over?”
“We’ve got the report card. There’s a concert now.”
“Concert? The PTA is over, isn’t it? You come back now. There is no need to go to the concert.”
“Please, Hema. I have to go to the school concert. Varun is acting – playing an important part – I promised him I would be there to cheer him.”
“Promised him? What about the promise you made to me – that you would be back as soon as possible and then we’d go to the disc.”
“Of course we’re going out this evening. I’ll start straight after the concert and be with you in the afternoon, latest by four, for tea.”
“I’ll get your favourite pineapple pastries and patties from Gaylord.”
“You do that. And spend some time on Fashion Street and browsing books…” the man sees his wife come out of the classroom and walk towards him, so he hurriedly says, “Bye Hema, I’ve got to go now.”
“You be here by four, promise…”
“Of course, darling. I Promise,” he says and disconnects.
“The bank manager…” he tries to explain the call to his wife, but she isn’t interested and says, “The Headmaster wants to meet us.”
“Headmaster? Meet us? Why?”
“How should I know?” his wife Pooja says coldly.
Soon they are sitting in the regal office front of the distinguished looking Headmaster who welcomes them, “Your son has settled down very well in his first term, Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya. In fact, Varun is our youngest boarder in the hostel. He’s brilliant in academics, proficient in all activities, sports, outdoors – a good all-rounder. ”
They nod, and the father’s chest swells with pride.
“Pardon me for being personal,” the Headmaster says, “I was wondering why you have sent such a young boy to boarding school? Especially when you live nearby in the same city.”
“I have shifted to Mumbai now.” Ashok says.
“Oh, I see. And you too, ma’am?”
“No,” Pooja answers, “I still live in Pune.”
“Aundh, isn’t it? The same address you’ve given us in the admission form?” the Headmaster says glancing at a paper in front of him.
“Yes. I stay in Aundh.”
“We’ve got a school bus coming from Aundh. If you want your son can be a day-scholar…”
“Thank you, Sir, but I have kept him in boarding as I work night shifts.”
“Night Shifts?”
“I work in ITES?”
“ITES?”
“Information Technology Enabled Services.”
“She works in a call centre,” Ashok interjects.
“I’m in a senior position in a BPO,” she retorts haughtily.
“Oh! That’s good,” the Headmaster says, and looks at both of them as if signalling the end of the interview.
“Sir…” Ashok hesitates.
“Yes? Please feel free Mr. Vaidya,” the Headmaster says.
“Sir, I thought I must tell you, we are separated.”
“Divorced?”
“Yes.”
“How much does the boy know?” the Headmaster asks Pooja.
“He knows. We try to be honest with him. We’ve just told him that since his father is in Mumbai and since I’ve to work night shifts, boarding school is the best for him,” Pooja says.
The Headmaster ponders and then says, “It may seem presumptuous of me to give you unsolicited advice, Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya, but why don’t you try and patch up? At least for your boy’s sake, he’s so young and loving. At such a tender age children must continue to feel they are a part of a family. They need to feel loved, to belong and to be valued. I know how much your son loves you both. He’s so proud of his parents.”
“We’ll try,” Ashok says, and looks at his wife.
Patch up and come back together – for Varun’s sake – he knows it is out of the question. Their relationship had become so suffocating, so demoralized by distrust, that it was better severed than patched up. And now, in his life, there is Hema …”
“We’ll try and work it out,” he hears his wife’s voice.
“I am sure you will – for your son’s sake. Thank you for coming, Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya. I’m sure you’ll love to see your son’s acting skills in the concert,” the Headmaster says and rises, indicating that the interview is over.
Later, sitting in the auditorium, they watch their son enact the role of Muriel, the know-it-all Goat, in a scene adapted from Animal Farm, and Ashok’s heart swells with pride as he watches his son smartly enunciate the seven commandments with perfect diction.
After the concert, they stand outside, waiting for Varun, to take off his make-up and costume and join them. Ashok looks at his watch. It’s almost one, and he wonders whether he should stay for the parents’ lunch, or leave for Mumbai to make it on time by four after the three hour drive.
“You look as if you’re in a hurry,” his wife says.
“I’ve an appointment at four. He called up in the morning, remember, the bank manager…” he lies.
“Where?”
“Nariman Point.”
“Then why don’t you go now? You’ll barely make it.”
“I’m waiting for Varun.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll tell him.”
He tries to control the anger rising within him and says firmly, “Listen, Pooja. Don’t try to eradicate me from your lives, at least from my son’s life.”
“I wish I could! Please Ashok, leave us alone. I didn’t ask you to come all the way from Mumbai today – I would have handled the PTA alone.”
“Varun rang me up. Made me promise I’d be here. I’m glad I came. He’s so happy, especially so delighted that I came to see him in the concert.”
“I’ll tell him not to disturb you in future.”
“No you don’t,” Ashok said firmly, “Varun is my son as much as yours.”
They stand in silence, a grotesque silence, and then he says, “I didn’t come only for Varun. I came to see you too!”
“See me?” the woman’s face is filled with ridicule, contempt and astonishment at the same time.
Suddenly they see Varun prancing in delight towards them and they put on smiles on their faces.
“You liked the concert?” he asks breathless.
“I loved your part. You were too good – isn’t it Mummy?” the man says.
“Yes. Varun is the best,” the woman says bending down and kissing her son on the cheek. Then she says, “Varun, Daddy has to go now. He has important work in Mumbai.”
“No,” protests Varun, and looks at his father and says, “No! No! No! First, we’ll all have lunch. And then the school fete.”
“School Fete?” they say in unison, and then the man says, “You didn’t tell me!”
“Surprise! Surprise! But Mummy, Daddy, we all have to go to the fete and enjoy.”
So they have lunch and go to the sports ground for the school fete – merry-go-round, roller-coaster, hoopla, games of skill and eats – they enjoy themselves thoroughly. Tine flies. To the outside observer they seem to be the happiest family.
On the Giant Wheel Ashok and Pooja instinctively sit on different seats. Suddenly Ashok notices that his son looks hesitant, wary, confused, undecided as to which parent he should go to, sensing that he couldn’t choose one without displeasing the other. So Ashok quickly gets up and sits next to Pooja, and a visibly delighted Varun runs and jumps in between them.
As he gets off the giant wheel, Ashok notices his mobile ringing. He detaches himself from his son, looks at the caller id and speaks, “Yes. Hema.”
“What ‘Yes Hema’. Why aren’t you picking up the phone? Where are you? Have you crossed Chembur? I’ve been calling for the last five minutes – just see the missed calls.”
“I was on the Giant Wheel.”
“Giant Wheel?”
“We are at the school fete.”
“School Fete? You are still in Pune? You told me you’d be here by four!”
“I couldn’t help it. Varun was adamant. He didn’t let me go.”
“She’s there with you?”
“Who?”
“She! Stupid. She! Your ex-wife. Is she there with you?”
“Yes.”
“You simpleton, can’t you see? She’s trying to get you back through your son!” Hema pauses, takes a breath, and pleads, “Ashok, you do one thing, just say good-bye to them and come back straight to me. Please. Please. Please. Don’t be with her. Please. Please…”
“Okay,” the man says and cuts off the cell-phone. Then he switches off his mobile.
“Daddy, Daddy, who was that?” the boy asks.
“Someone from the office,” the man says. He thinks for a moment, looks at his son, bends down and says, “Listen, Varun. I’ve got to get back to the office fast. Mummy will stay with you – be a good boy.”
“No, No, No! It’s only three o’clock . We can stay out till eight…” The boy sees his housemaster nearby and runs to him, “Sir, Sir, My Daddy has come all the way from Mumbai. Please can he take me out for dinner?”
“Of course you can go, Varun,” the kindly housemaster says to the boy, then looks at Ashok and says, “It’s the first time you’ve come, isn’t it? Okay, we’ll give Varun a night-out. Why don’t you take him home and drop him back tomorrow evening by six? Tomorrow is declared a holiday anyway!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” shouts an ecstatic Varun is delirious delight, “Let’s go to the dormitory, collect my stuff, and go out. I want to see a Movie, and then we’ll all go home.”
PART 4 – EVENING
So they, father, mother, and son, see a movie at the multiplex, then have a good time strolling and snacking on Main Street, and by the time they reach their home in Aundh it’s already seven in the evening.
Ashok stops his car below his erstwhile home in Aundh, where Pooja lives all by herself now.
“Okay, Varun, come give me a kiss and be a good boy.”
“No, Daddy, you’re not going from below. Let’s go up and have dinner. And then we’ll all sleep together and you go tomorrow morning.”
“Please, Varun, I have to go now,” the man says.
The boy looks at him, distraught, and the man gives a beseeching look to the woman, who smiles and says, “Okay. Come up and have a drink. You can take your books too – I’ve packed them for you.”
“Yea!” the boy exclaims in glee.
His wife’s invitation, the warming of her emotions, confuses and frightens him. He thinks of Hema waiting for him in Mumbai, what state she’d be in, frantically trying to reach him on his switched off cell-phone, feels a ominous sense of foreboding and tremors of trepidation. He is apprehensive, at the same time curious, and his son tugs at his shirt, so he goes up with them.
“I’ll freshen up and come,” the woman says to the man, “Make a drink for yourself – everything is in the same place.”
Varun, back home after three months, rushes into his room to see his things.
He opens the sideboard. The whiskey bottle is still there, exactly in the same place, but he notices the bottle is half empty. It was almost full when he had left – maybe she’s started having an occasional drink!
He sets everything on the dining table, and when she comes out, he picks up the whiskey bottle and asks her, “Shall I make you drink?”
“Me? Whiskey? You know I don’t touch alcohol, don’t you?” she says aghast.
“Sorry. Just asked…”
“You want soda? I’ll ring up the store to send it up.”
“I’ll have it with water.”
“Okay. Help yourself. I’ll quickly make you your favorite onion pakoras and fry some papads.”
He looks warmly at her, with nostalgia, and she looks back at him in the same way and goes into the kitchen.
Varun comes running out and soon he sits on the sofa, sipping his drink, cuddling his son sitting beside him, and they, father and son, watch TV together, and soon his son’s mother brings out the delicious snacks and they, the full family, all sit together and have a good time.
PART 5 – LATE EVENING
Her cell-phone rings, she takes it out of her purse, looks at the screen, excuses herself, goes into her bedroom, closes the door, takes the call, and says, “Hi, Pramod.”
“What the hell is going on out there…?” Pramod’s angry voice booms through the wireless airways all the way from Delhi.
“Please Pramod, speak softly. There is someone here.”
“I know he is there,” Pramod shouts, “What’s wrong with you? I leave you alone for a few days and you invite him into your home.”
“Listen, Pramod, don’t get angry. Try to understand. He came for Varun’s Annual Day.”
“But what is he doing there in your house right now so late at night?”
“He’s come to drop Varun.”
“Drop Varun?”
“He’d taken him out from school for a movie…”
“Why did you let him?”
“What do you mean ‘Why did you let him?’ – Ashok is Varun’s father.”
“You shouldn’t have called him to Pune…”
“I didn’t call him – Varun rang him up and told him to be there for his School’s Annual Day.”
“Anyway, get rid of him fast. I told you that you two are supposed to stay separate for at least six months.”
“Please Pramod. We are living separately. He’s just dropped in on a visit – we are not cohabiting or anything.”
“Just stay away from him – he could cause trouble!”
“Trouble? What are you saying, Pramod? He’s just come to drop Varun.”
“Pooja, can’t you see? He’s using your son to get you back. He’s a nasty chap – he may even withdraw his mutual consent and then we’ll be back at square one.”
“Pramod, don’t imagine things. And please Pramod, we had our differences, but Ashok was never a nasty person. Just get the papers ready and I’ll get him to sign on the dotted line,” she pauses for a moment and asks angrily, “And tell me Pramod, who told you Ashok is here?”
“That doesn’t matter. Now you are mine. I have to look after you, your welfare.”
“Look after my welfare? You’re keeping tabs on me, Pramod?” Pooja says irately.
“Now, you listen to me Pooja. Just throw him out right now. He has no right to trespass…” Pramod orders her.
“Trespass? Pramod, remember this is his house too – in fact the house is still on his name.”
“Don’t argue!” Pramod commands peremptorily, “Just do what I say!”
A flood of fury rises inside Pooja and she snaps angrily, “You know why I split up with Ashok, don’t you? Because I felt suffocated in that relationship. And now you are doing the same thing!”
Tears well up in her eyes, trickle down her cheeks, her throat chokes, she breaks down and she begins to sob.
“I’m sorry, Pooja. Please don’t cry,” Pramod pleads, “You know how much I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I’ll cut short my trip and be with you in Pune tomorrow evening.”
“It’s okay, finish your work first and then come.”
“Give Varun my love.”
“Okay, take care.”
“You also take care,” Pramod says and disconnects.
She stares into the darkness, at the sky, the stars in the distance and tries to compose herself.
In a while, Pooja comes into the drawing room. Ashok looks at her face. After her tears, her eyes shine in the bright light; the moisture from her unwiped tears solidified on her cheeks like dry glass.
“I’ll make us some dinner,” she says to him, “Let’s eat together.”
Totally taken aback, confused and startled, Ashok looks at his wife and says, “Thanks. But I’ve got to go.”
“Stay, Daddy! Please Stay,” pleads Varun.
“Daddy is staying for dinner,” Pooja says with mock firmness, and then looking at Ashok says, “Please. Stay. Have dinner with us. By the time you get back your cafeteria would have closed. You still stay in the bachelor’s hostel don’t you?”
“Yes,” he lies, “But I’ll be moving into flat soon.”
“That’s good. Where?”
“Churchgate. Near the office,” he says. Now that is not entirely untrue. Hema, with whom he has moved in, does indeed live near Churchgate!
“Churchgate! Wow! That’s really good for you. Food, Books, Films, Theatre, Art, Walks on Marine Drive – everything you like is nearby,” she says, “And Hey, now that you’re moving into a flat please take all your books. I’ve packed them up and kept them in the study.”
“Come Daddy, I’ll show you,” Varun jumps and pulls him into the study.
He looks around his former study and sees his books packed in cardboard boxes on the floor. The room has changed; except for his books there is nothing of him left in it.
He opens the wardrobe. There are some men’s clothes and a pair of shoes he has not seen before.
He is tempted to ask his son, but doesn’t ask. Varun has also come home after a three month spell, his first stint at boarding school.
He takes a towel, closes the cupboard, and goes into the bathroom to freshen up. The moment he comes out his son excitedly says, “Come Daddy, let’s help Mummy with the cooking.”
So they go to the kitchen and cook together – like they sometimes did in happier times.
Later they sit in their usual places at the small round dining table for dinner. It is the first time he, his wife and their son eat a meal together as a family since they had split three months ago. It is a happy meal, with much banter, primarily due the sheer joyfulness of their son, who is so happy that they are all together after a hiatus.
Then they sit together on the sofa, father, son, and mother, and watch her favorite soap on TV. Ashok notices how happy, natural and relaxed they all are. It is almost as if they have resumed living their old life once again.
PART 6 – NIGHT
Suddenly, he remembers Hema, waiting for him in Mumbai, and says, “I’ve got to go”
“Stay here Daddy, please,” his son implores, tugging at his shirt.
“It’s late. Let Daddy go,” Pooja says to Varun, “he’ll come to meet you in school soon.”
“He can’t. Parents are not allowed till the next term break. Please Mummy, let us all sleep here and tomorrow we can all go away,” Varun says emphatically to his mother, and pulls his father towards the bedroom, “Come Daddy, let’s all sleep in Mummy’s bed like before.”
“No, Varun, I have to go,” Ashok says with a lump in his throat, disentangles his hands, bends down, and kisses his son, “Varun, be a good boy. I’ll be back to see you soon.”
At the door he turns around and looks at Pooja, his ex-wife, and says, “Bye. Thanks. Take Care.”
“It’s good you came to see your son,” she remarks.
“I didn’t come only for the child,” he says overwhelmed by emotion, “I came to see you too.”
He sees tears start in her eyes, so he quickly turns and walks out of the door.
PART 7 – MIDNIGHT
The clock on Rajabai Tower is striking midnight as he parks his car below Hema’s flat. The lights are still on. He runs up the steps to the house and opens the door with his latchkey.
Hema is sitting on the sofa watching TV. She switches of the TV, rushes towards him and passionately kisses him. He kisses her back and recognizes the intoxicating sweet aroma of rum on her breath.
“You’ve been drinking. It’s not good for you,” he says.
“Promise me you will never go to there again,” she cries inconsolably, holding him tightly.
“Please, Hema. Try to understand. I don’t want to be eradicated from my son’s life.”
“No, Ashok. You promise me right now. You’ll never go there again. I don’t want you to ever meet them again.”
“But why?”
“I am in constant fear that you’ll leave me and go back to them. I’ve been dumped once, I don’t want to be ditched again, to be left high and dry,” Hema starts to weep, “I’m scared Ashok. I am really very frightened to be all alone, again!”
“Okay, Hema,” Ashok says gathering her in his arms, “I promise. I promise I’ll never go there again.”
“Kiss me,” Hema says.
He kisses her warm mouth, tastes the salty remains of her tears, which trickle down her cheeks onto her lips.
“Come,” she says, “it’s late. Let’s sleep.”
He doesn’t have a dreamless sleep – he sees a dream – a dream he will never forget. He is drowning, struggling in the menacing dark fiery turbulent sea.
To his left, in the distance he sees Varun, his son, standing on a ship beckoning him desperately, and to his right, far away, standing on a desolate rock jutting out into the sea he sees Hema, his newfound love, waving, gesturing and calling him frantically.
Floods of conflicting emotions overwhelm him. He looks at his Varun, then he looks at Hema, and he finds himself imprisoned between the two.
His strength collapses, his spirit yields, and slowly he drowns, helplessly watching the terrifying angry black sea swallow him up and suck his body deep within into the Davy Jones’s Locker.
Jolted awake by the strange scary nightmare, Ashok breaks into cold sweat with a terrible fear.
Ashok cannot sleep. He starts to think of his innocent adorable son Varun, imagining him sleeping soundly in his bed in Pune. The father in him agonizingly yearns and excruciatingly pines for his son, the pain in his heart aches unbearably, and he wishes he could go right now, at this very moment, lovingly take his son in his arms and kiss his son goodnight, like he used to do.
He clearly recalls Varun’s words when he heard that his parents were going to split: “I don’t like it…”
He remembers the phone call Pooja did not want to take in his presence – maybe a new man in Pooja’s life. Pooja hasn’t told him anything – but then he hasn’t told Pooja about Hema either.
And suppose Pooja remarries. That guy would become Varun’s stepfather.
“Step-father…!” he shudders. No. If Pooja remarries he will get Varun to stay here with him.
Then he looks at his newfound love Hema, sleeping calmly beside him, and the beautiful serene expression on her pristine face. He gently places his hand on her forehead and lovingly caresses her hair. She warmly snuggles up to him, turns, puts her hand over his chest, and with a heightened sense of security continues her tranquil blissful sleep.
Will she accept Varun? No way! He remembers her tantrums in the morning, her insecurities… she is fearful that the “baggage” of his past, the “debris” of his broken marriage, will destroy their new relationship. A flood of emotion overwhelms him as he thinks about Hema. Poor thing. She’s just recovered from a terrible break up, and is holding on to him so tight – apprehensive, anxious, insecure…
Torn between his past and future, between the conflicting forces of his love for son and his love for the woman beside him, he feels helpless and scared.
He knows he has lost Pooja, his wife, forever.
Now he doesn’t want to lose both his son and his newfound love.
Varun and Hema are the only two things he has in this world.
And he knows can’t have both of them together.
His life is a mess. Maybe he is responsible – if only he had tried harder, if only he had stayed on with Pooja in that suffocating relationship, if only they had made more efforts to save their marriage, just for Varun’s sake.
If only? If only?
It’s no use. One can’t go back in time and undo what has been done.
The more he thinks about it, the more helpless and hapless he feels, and soon his mind, his brain, starts spinning like a whirlwind.
In the whirlwind he sees all of them, Varun, Pooja and a new unknown face, Hema and himself, all of them being tossed around in disarray.
There is nothing he can do about it, so he breaks down and begins to cry.
Two months ago, I found myself in a precarious situation. Single. Sure, some may say at 27, I have my whole life ahead of me and nothing to fret. I live in the 3rd largest U.S. city. Have an impressive network of friends – ‘real’ friends, too, not just the Facebook kind. Not to mention, a killer shoe collection containing enough diversity to draw compliments from men who calibrate on the least metrosexual side of the continuum. But after a glass of moderately priced cabernet, and by ‘glass’ I mean Anthropology ‘fishbowl’, and a fulfilling evening of relaxation, I find myself in bed contemplating what’s next. It’s a funny phenomenon the way the female brain never stops spinning. Sure, the wine after 5pm can slow down the ticker…but it can never stop the internal clock from tick-tocking into the future realm of uncertainty.
I’ve taken the proper precautions since becoming a single again. After two serious relationships with stand-up men, both teetering on the edge of either moving in together or talking ‘rings’, I’ve come to terms with the fact that while I may have a slight commitment issue (aka: divorce phobia), I just haven’t found the ying for my yang. And although Single Town has rendered feelings of insecurity and bouts of loneliness, it’s also provided an opportunity to enjoy the many freedoms that come with being in your late 20’s. Want to go to Scottsdale next week? Ok. Vail to ring in 2010? Sounds like fun. Acapulco to beat the Chicago winter blues? Why not spend my next two paychecks – book it! It’s not like I have to buy a thoughtfully expensive gift for my delish beau.
But after surviving the dating tribulations of these last two months, I find myself considering what’s ex…I mean next! Ok, I find myself being drawn back to my ex’s. I suppose after going on a date with that god-awful news reporter who talked about investigative reporting in Bogota over a dinner that was supposed to be a glass of wine, I gained new perspective on how great the ex’s were. Who wouldn’t after staring at that guy’s cheese grin for two hours? And then of course, there was the charming son of the CEO who swept me off my feet for a month only to toss me on my head when the prize was won. I suppose this was a good life lesson. I might’ve spent my life in a cage of inferiority with that one – a diamond-crusted, golden cage of course, but a cage nonetheless. But the question remains, can ex’s be friends? Can ex’s recover after several years apart? Need I even ask these dumb, self-evident questions? Probably not.
Having had time to think, as most women never stop doing, I come back to this idea of falling in love with someone, learning they’re not ‘the one’, and then closing the door. It’s so strange how men and women fall in love, deeply in love, and then realize they must spend their lives apart. I understand most people eventually find their matches organically, whatever the hell that means anymore in this digital universe, but isn’t it funny how you live, love and then move on? You move past the memories. Move past the families, friends and other meaningful parties who become a piece of your life. And then you meet the next special person who blurs the memories and fades the residual feelings. It’s life. It’s love. And it’s so freaking weird.
November 8, 2007 at 12:54pm
Connections: Body, Spirit, and SEX SLAVERY around the World
Do you realize that the body is connected to the spirit? Your body is not cheap, or to be used for prostitution, but for GOD, and very valuable.
Connection: the spiritual support that we give to sin helps increase the number of girls being raped, molested, and forced to be prostitutes.
We may not be able to save every molested little girl, or sex slave in Thailand, Africa, or America, but We can make a difference! How? By refusing to support sin, and the cheapening of the human body, in ANY form.
Also, by praying that God would save them, and save their abusers, and CRUSH any industry that abuses the human body to advertise or make money. (magazines, music, movies, clubs)
Do you realize that every time you support:
a porno video
a party, club or nightspot that uses sex to sell
a porn website
a hip hop video that cheapens womens bodies
any other magazine or advertisement that cheapens womens or mens bodies
using the term ‘pimp’ as a positive word
a movie that uses sex or naked bodies to attract viewers
that you are spiritually or financially supporting ‘human trafficking’ aka SEX SLAVERY
which is the NUMBER ONE SLAVE INDUSTRY EVER in the World?
Did you know that there are more SEX SLAVES in the world right NOW then all the African American slaves ever?
Did you know that Prostitution is the BIGGEST FASTEST growing Industry across the EARTH right now?
Most of these are preteen (4-12) and teenage girls that are either sold by their parents for money, or kidnapped by strangers.
How does America support the Child Prostitute Slave Industry?
Financially.
A Lot of it is Purchased through the INTERNET!
Bought by vacationers.
Entertainment Industry
Pornography over the Internet
watching horny videos. Or even “Positive” Rappers that make body cheapening songs like Talib Kweli’s “Hot Thing”
supporting Filthy music about sex
Strip clubs, orgy parties, American sin-clubs
Advertisements that display sexual images, that should be private
These things make the human body a cheap thing for display, not the temple of God like it should be. This contributes to people’s thinking that they can sell it for real.
Travel Industry
“business” vacations in Asia with a LOT of extra curriculars
Spiritually (In Yourself)
Men, when you let sexual sin use you as a slave, in your eyes or your body, and allow others to do the same you are contributing spiritually to the rape of an 8 year old girl in Thailand, Africa, or Cambodia… or the molestation of a little girl in America… How? Because sin grows and spreads spiritually. The lifestyle we live spreads into the culture that surrounds us. The culture that surrounds us spreads into other cultures. (Look at hip hop and the American entertainment culture. it spreads everywhere.
You have to hate sin to destroy it.
Fashion Industry (Spiritually)
Women when you sell your own body with the clothes you half-wear, showing cleavage, not covering your bootie (not being modest acc to 1 Peter 2 ), you spiritually contribute to lust of men, and to the prostitution industry, and the CHEAPENING of the body of a 13 year old girl in Thailand, Africa, or Cambodia… AND America!
This message is about connecting our lifestyles to how it affects others. You will definitely suffer for it, but sin affects more than just you.
Teach someone else not to support sin in ANY way! Do not support the cheapening of the human body in ANY way.
Look it Up!
STORY OF A GIRL SOLD
SEX SLAVERY VIDEO
http://youtube.com/watch?v=R5eWyrXd-hU
hip hop video about it by Mr. J (this video is an answer to Talib Kweli’s song “hot thing”)
November 8, 2007 at 12:54pm
Connections: Body, Spirit, and SEX SLAVERY around the World
Do you realize that the body is connected to the spirit? Your body is not cheap, or to be used for prostitution, but for GOD, and very valuable.
Connection: the spiritual support that we give to sin helps increase the number of girls being raped, molested, and forced to be prostitutes.
We may not be able to save every molested little girl, or sex slave in Thailand, Africa, or America, but We can make a difference! How? By refusing to support sin, and the cheapening of the human body, in ANY form.
Also, by praying that God would save them, and save their abusers, and CRUSH any industry that abuses the human body to advertise or make money. (magazines, music, movies, clubs)
Do you realize that every time you support:
a porno video
a party, club or nightspot that uses sex to sell
a porn website
a hip hop video that cheapens womens bodies
any other magazine or advertisement that cheapens womens or mens bodies
using the term ‘pimp’ as a positive word
a movie that uses sex or naked bodies to attract viewers
that you are spiritually or financially supporting ‘human trafficking’ aka SEX SLAVERY
which is the NUMBER ONE SLAVE INDUSTRY EVER in the World?
Did you know that there are more SEX SLAVES in the world right NOW then all the African American slaves ever?
Did you know that Prostitution is the BIGGEST FASTEST growing Industry across the EARTH right now?
Most of these are preteen (4-12) and teenage girls that are either sold by their parents for money, or kidnapped by strangers.
How does America support the Child Prostitute Slave Industry?
Financially.
A Lot of it is Purchased through the INTERNET!
Bought by vacationers.
Entertainment Industry
Pornography over the Internet
watching horny videos. Or even “Positive” Rappers that make body cheapening songs like Talib Kweli’s “Hot Thing”
supporting Filthy music about sex
Strip clubs, orgy parties, American sin-clubs
Advertisements that display sexual images, that should be private
These things make the human body a cheap thing for display, not the temple of God like it should be. This contributes to people’s thinking that they can sell it for real.
Travel Industry
“business” vacations in Asia with a LOT of extra curriculars
Spiritually (In Yourself)
Men, when you let sexual sin use you as a slave, in your eyes or your body, and allow others to do the same you are contributing spiritually to the rape of an 8 year old girl in Thailand, Africa, or Cambodia… or the molestation of a little girl in America… How? Because sin grows and spreads spiritually. The lifestyle we live spreads into the culture that surrounds us. The culture that surrounds us spreads into other cultures. (Look at hip hop and the American entertainment culture. it spreads everywhere.
You have to hate sin to destroy it.
Fashion Industry (Spiritually)
Women when you sell your own body with the clothes you half-wear, showing cleavage, not covering your bootie (not being modest acc to 1 Peter 2 ), you spiritually contribute to lust of men, and to the prostitution industry, and the CHEAPENING of the body of a 13 year old girl in Thailand, Africa, or Cambodia… AND America!
This message is about connecting our lifestyles to how it affects others. You will definitely suffer for it, but sin affects more than just you.
Teach someone else not to support sin in ANY way! Do not support the cheapening of the human body in ANY way.
Look it Up!
STORY OF A GIRL SOLD
SEX SLAVERY VIDEO
http://youtube.com/watch?v=R5eWyrXd-hU
hip hop video about it by Mr. J (this video is an answer to Talib Kweli’s song “hot thing”)
So, it’s been a while since I decided to begin my blog. Actually, since I began I’ve thought a few times about just ditching it completely.
But you know what? That growth process and life and My Road to FREEDOM is absolutely amazing and I MUST tell the story. There are so many parts. I mean, in the last 2.5 months, I officially resigned from the church of my youth (cultish in the process of self-removal as it was . . . .), I got tattood with a BEAUTIFUL, deeply meaningful tattoo in a place that I see daily & reminds me daily how beautiful I am and that my new motto is life is that I’ll let NO ONE F**K with me! It’s amazing, actually. And with each daily recgonition, another feather is added to the butterfly wings that allow me to enjoy this ever-changing view from the air! Life will never be the same and it is amazing!
So, I’m getting a little ahead of myself. What I want to write about today is my relationships with MEN! LOVE men BUT I’m just learning the rules. Not THE rules. Today, I realized that I have the freedom to create MY rules. And I feel soooo good!
Here’s the history. Just after my soon-to-be husband left & I didn’t let him come back, I started talking with a man I feel very attracted to online. NO! I never met him. And that’s why I haven’t talked to him for the last 3 weeks — until today. And, in the interim (about a month ago) my friends hooked me up with a great guy that I’m very attracted to.
Here’s the rub! Never met the internet guy (although we seemed to be headed in that direction) because Mr Face-to-Face told me on our FIRST DATE that if he is dating me, it doesn’t work for him if I am seeing other people. WHAAATTT??? Get this — I’m not wanting to run around being sexually free with every man I meet — but I DID feel uncomfortable. How could a guy I’ve just met expect me to cut off all of my other options from the get-go? Well . . . . I did it in spite of my better judgment. Dumped Mr. Internet — even though we were able to talk deeply about so many things and I LOVED the way he pushed me to go deeper inside myself and share that with him.
BUT . . . . Mr. Face-to-Face has a very busy, complicated life. Translation: Doesn’t call when he says he will. Sends a text a few days later saying sorry and asking forgiveness. Ok the first few times. Gets irritating after a month with several requests for forgiveness. I’ve been thinking for about a week that I might have just walked into Mr. Face-to-Face’s life at the WRONG TIME!!!! Ya think???
Especially when I’ve just released myself from tightly wound silk strings that bound me!!!
So, today I realized that I’ve been thinking about Mr. Internet A LOT. I text him. Turns out he hasn’t called for 3 weeks because he lost his phone with my number in it and I dumped him. Of course, he did call once to confront my txt that cut him loose before he lost his phone. He was right to confront it — but the way he did it didn’t leave me with warm/fuzzy feelings toward him. Then the ball dropped. Call me gullible if you want for believing his story about the lost phone — I’m not saying I believed him. I just needed to set the record straight on a few things. And I did. And I opened a door with him again. And I felt FREEEEE!!!!
I’m not mad at anyone. Mr Face-to-Face may or may not call again. I don’t even care! Mr. Internet and I might not ever be able to get past his disappointment that I told him I only wanted friendship. I don’t care!
All I know is that I’m free to make my own choices! It’s a GREAT BIG OCEAN with LOTS of FISH and I’m going to have LOTS of fun fishing!
Rules: DON’T commit to dating only one man — that’s when obsession begins!
DO respect my body and wait to share it until I KNOW I’m understood at my deepest level and THAT IT MATTERS to the man I’m thinking of sharing myself with.
DON’T kiss and tell!!! — Unless you can do it anonymously on a blog!!! tee hee!!!
DO have FUN! Enjoy life! Listen to myself and REVEL in the gifts life offers! JOY!
I am just one woman and I am in LOVE with my process of freeing up my free spirit with feather butterfly wings!
I was working with a female editor recently and discovered the most amazing thing–another difference between men and women. The word jiggle. I write erotica most of the time and the toughest part about it is to make each and every sex scene different and still exciting. There are only so many words you can use to describe various body parts and how they move. One of my scenes involved the word jiggle. Needless to say I was politely told that this word makes women cringe and shudder.
Really?
ObviouslyI am a man (or at least the last time I checked) so the bump, roll and jiggle of a woman’s body is among some of the more pleasant movements in the world. Be they nun or harlot there is something about the shimmying of a woman’s body that strikes a very deep cord in the male mind. Sensous bouncing, wobbling and swaying sets a man’s libido a-fire and makes him happy he was born male. Say what you want about pursed, soft lips or even hair spun like silken thread–a woman’s jiggling is extremely sexy. How was I to know it was a BAD word?
My father once told me that there is always something about a woman that is beautiful. She might have a great smile, a sultry voice or even sparkling eyes–even her jiggle can be wondrous. Oh well I guess I learned something new and the world is a sorrier place for it.
So women harken to my words! Embrace your jiggling! Strut and shimmy and remind yourself that the men around you are fascinated, enthralled and mesmerized in the movement of your bodies! I say we take back the word jiggle, wobble and roll and make it part of the beauty of all womanhood. Who wants to watch a skinny, anorexic model stomp down the runway, no jiggle in sight! Toothpick-like legs, no bounce to the ounce–what fun is that?! Quiver with pride! Jiggle joyfully!
Really. Who cares? He’s a sports hero and famous and super rich… Did anyone actually expect that marriage to last. Furthermore I think the wife is at fault for whatever emotional distress she is feeling. Why you ask?
Because he’s Tiger Fucking Woods. And I didn’t realize this until today but apparently she married him after he stopped being Tiger Woods, and added that telling middle name “Fucking”. She married Tiger Fucking Woods, sports God – rich man – who travels extensively – and is admired by millions – and expected a faithful monogamous relationship? This only further illustrates why I choose not to involve myself with the weaker sex. I kid, or do I? (cont’d below)
Now granted she’s hot. But the best piece of ass is a new piece of ass. Am I right, or am I right?
So to conclude – Once again the story is not interesting or fascinating – but the obsession of the country over it is. Tiger Woods cheated on his wife. Shocker! He can have almost any non-prude single girl (and probably a lot of the married ones) simply by asking.
Hi there, its one of those cold December nights where a log on the fire place and a warm body to snuggle up to sound like great ideas. I don’t really care for the winter and the cold weather wreaks havoc on my libido. It doesn’t go away I’m just less inclined. Cold weather and shrinkage go hand and hand but hey, enough about that. Let’s talk about this cuddle season that’s upon us.