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Julian Assange in Red and Green

Posted in History, News, Sex, World politics, tagged , , , on December 2, 2010| 4 Comments »

I admit that my post on the hotness of Julian Assange was tongue-in-cheek … his tongue/my cheek sounds good. Yeah … I think he’s cute, so shoot me.

True, he’s not my type in the physical sense, but I’ve always been flexible when it comes to looks. It’s brains and panache that reel me in, and he’s steeped in both. Although his élan is apparently not effusive, Julian’s reserved manner only serves to make him more attractive. That he grates, and grates so effectively, helps, too.

Stealing, as he does, from the rich (powerful movers-and-shakers running the show), and giving to the poor (the rest of us slobs who are supposed to be happy being spoon-fed cud predigested by the former), there is a temptation to brand him a Robin Hood. Although I would SO love to see him in green tights … and little else … that image doesn’t sit well with a whole lotta folks and I’m staying away from it out of a hesitation to stir this pot in that direction.

And speaking of pots … there seems to be a tempest in the one with the leaks, and the reaction to oozing goo is over the top.

Interpol issuing a “red notice” for him, smacks of sour grapes, harassment and a grasp at straws since actually coming up with something he could be arrested for seems beyond the realm:

The red notice does not amount to an arrest warrant. Instead, it asks people to contact the police if they have any information about his whereabouts.

Yes, Sweden wants to “detain him for questioning” on allegations of rape, sexual molestation and unlawful coercion, all denied by Julian, but don’t have enough to issue a warrant for his arrest, while Australia is trying to figure out whether or not he’s broken any laws there.

If Mr Assange were arrested he could face extradition to the United States, although analysts say that because the US Espionage Act carries the maximum death penalty, nations that do not have the statute might refuse extradition.

But that assumes he’s done something to be arrested for AND that the US Espionage Act has anything to do with him.

Smear campaign? Mega-bullying? Cart-before-horse? Guilt-before-innocence? Shut him the fuck up before he releases any more shit?

Sure, some peeps are right pissed off. After all, Wikileaks has given the world a peek up the bowels of power. And how ’bout that French president chasing a rabbit around the office?

The incident is described in one of the 251,287 classified cables the whistle-blowing website Wikileaks says it has obtained and shared with several newspapers.

Gasp!

If that’s not horror enough, how about the revelation that Silvio Berlusconi is considered to be “feckless, vain, and ineffective as a modern European leader.”

OMG!

Russia has mafia issues? Nyet shit …

No doubt there’s embarrassment … and well there should be. Some of these people are disgusting, some are morons … AND they’re in charge of stuff!

Rolling out the big guns, accusations of dire consequence are bouncing all over the place, but are these real concerns … or nothing more than ramping up the ante?

After the release of an enormous haul of US defence department documents in August, Pentagon spokesman Geoff Morrell told the Washington Post: “We have yet to see any harm come to anyone in Afghanistan that we can directly tie to exposure in the Wikileaks documents.”

… After this latest release a Pentagon official, who wished to remain anonymous due to the sensitive nature of the material involved, told the McClatchy newspaper group that even three months later the US military still had no evidence that people had died or been harmed because of information gleaned from Wikileaks documents.

A bit of historical perspective on hysterical reactions to letting people in on what actually happens in the world might help a bit, and who better to pull into the mix than Daniel Ellsberg, the man who gave us the Pentagon Papers back in 1971 and let us know what a fucking mess was happening:

The release of these papers was politically embarrassing to not only those involved in the Johnson and Kennedy administrations but also the incumbent Nixon administration. Nixon’s Oval Office tape from June 14, 1972, shows H. R. Haldeman describing the situation to Nixon:

[then cabinet-member Donald] Rumsfeld was making this point this morning. To the ordinary guy, all this is a bunch of gobbledygook. But out of the gobbledygook comes a very clear thing…. It shows that people do things the president wants to do even though it’s wrong, and the president can be wrong. John Mitchell, Nixon’s Attorney General, almost immediately issued a telegram to the Times ordering that it halt publication. The Times refused, and the government brought suit against it.

Although the Times eventually won the trial before the Supreme Court, an appellate court ordered that the Times temporarily halt further publication. This was the first successful attempt by the federal government to restrain the publication of a major newspaper since the presidency of Abraham Lincoln during the US Civil War. Ellsberg released the Pentagon Papers to 17 other newspapers in rapid succession. The right of the press to publish the papers was upheld in New York Times Co. v. United States.

As a response to the leaks, the Nixon administration began a campaign against further leaks and against Ellsberg personally. Aides Egil Krogh and David Young, under the supervision of John Ehrlichman, created the “White House Plumbers”, which would later lead to the Watergate burglaries.

So … what’s that thing about forgetting history and being doomed? And if I recall correctly, the White House Plumbers ended up in jail for doing shit that really was against the law.

Ellsberg’s take on Julian Assange and the present fracas:

He told the BBC’s World Today programme that US officials made that same argument every time there was a potentially embarrassing leak.

“The best justification they can find for secrecy is that lives are at stake. Actually, lives are at stake as a result of the silences and lies which a lot of these leaks reveal,” he said.

“The same charges were made against the Pentagon Papers and turned out to be quite invalid.”

For sure Julian is, unlike Ellsberg at the time, an unknown quantity and … relevant to ethnocentrics … not American, therefore out of grasp and very likely sub-human and of suspecious intent … all the more reason to tweak Interpol into Red Carding him.

A former UK ambassador to the UN adds an interesting spin:

“I don’t think it has been proven that this is dangerous to US troops, for instance. I haven’t seen that case made very clearly,” he said. “What I think this means is that we need to look at our own mechanisms for democratic accountability and foreign policy. We need to be much, much better.”

In what way is that a bad thing?

And, how about the statement from Max Boot, a senior fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations”

At the very least, they will make governments like Pakistan and Yemen and others, which are collaborating with the US in the battle against terrorism, more reluctant to co-operate.

Huh? Excuse me, but would it be rude to point out that Pakistan and Yemen collaborate with EVERYONE, including terrorists? If it takes Julian Assange to make that point … well … that’s just fucking sad, and scary.

Look … I don’t presume to know much at all about any of this shit other than what I read in the news, and maybe Julian is a total dick out to subvert a wonderful working model of civilization that protects us all without lowly peasants like me and you having to know anything about how that happens. Perhaps global leaders are benevolent heroes diligently striving toward peace and freedom with no hidden agenda and no thought toward personal gain, and exposing foibles … with attribution … should be considered a mortal sin.

Yeah, right. Pull the other one.

No matter. I’d still like to have him try that thing with the green tights, and although it’s raining today the view from my bed is still fab, Jules.

For further reading, check out Andy Borowitz’s take today, this from the BBC on what happens when you piss off the big guys, and this lame move from the Swedes covering their asses.

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Julian Assange Makes Me Go Wiki in the Knees … leaks not up for discussion

Posted in Men, News, Sex, Seychelles, tagged , on November 29, 2010| 20 Comments »

Wiki Image

Yeah, yeah … I know hearts are all a pitty-pat and thighs a’quaking for the new Hawaii Five-0 guys, and that Daniel Radcliffe has grown up enough to be considered luscious these days … but REALLY! … is anyone in today’s world anywhere near as flat-out hot, as sweat-inducingly titillating, as compellingly arousing as Julian Assange?

Not in my book, Babes! And not in yours, either, if your gauge of wanna-slather-him-in-custard-and-slurp-up-sumdat-spotted-dick runs anywhere near where mine takes its turn around the dial.

Okay, he doesn’t have Jason Statham’s body and I’m pretty sure he can’t pitch like Brian Wiison. He’s got no full dark mane, but is rather sparsely coiffed and gray in that premature-cute-as-a-bug sort of way, looks like he’d lobster up after fifteen minutes on my beach, isn’t particularly tall and probably can’t play a mean guitar, but … ooooooooh! does he do it for me!

Assange advocates a “transparent” and “scientific” approach to journalism, saying that “you can’t publish a paper on physics without the full experimental data and results; that should be the standard in journalism.” In 2006, CounterPunch called him Australia’s most infamous former computer hacker. The Age has called him “one of the most intriguing people in the world” and “internet’s freedom fighter.” Assange has called himself “extremely cynical.” The Personal Democracy Forum said that as a teenager he was “Australia’s most famous ethical computer hacker.” He has been described as thriving on intellectual battle.

Pant. Pant.

That he’s smart certainly appeals, and he is whiplash smart. An international man of mystery? Well, duh! The guy is harder to nail down than the Scarlet Pimpernel, a reluctant star, a man long disinclined to step into the slimelight he would rather focus than hog. He is also brave, irreverent, cocky, demanding, uncompromising … and looks enough like Bill Maher to set me aching down under. (Yeah … right … that’s a reference to him being Australian … )

The fact that he is all about transparency ups my longing exponentially, as susceptibility for bullshit doing any sweeping off the feet has ebbed while fondness for exposure, and exposure of stuff that’s hard to come by — as opposed to easy (sure … that’s what I meant) — can set me to sway in breeze factor zero.

Although some accuse Julian of over-exaggeration when it comes to threats and dangers to his adorable person, the idea there could very well be a “manhunt” on for him fits and brings out the come-Sweetie-I’ll-take-care womanly stuff in me that wants to hold him to my breast and soothe his worried brow.

Whew … pass that towel over, will ya, please …

So … Mr. Assange … Julian … Jules …

If some time on a tropical island where no one … but me … will have the foggiest who the hell you are appeals, there’s an amazing view from my bed.

Oh … and bring wine.

One more thing … I don’t cook, so you’ll be doing that, too.

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QWERTY Crag Clinging

Posted in Hopeful thoughts, love, Men, Poetry, Sex, tagged , , on November 24, 2010| 20 Comments »

Perched on an emotional ledge as I have been for the past while, I find myself using my fingers to hang on to the cliff face with the hope the persistent ache resulting reminds me to keep the grip and not slide … plummet? … leap? … cavort? … into the abyss, or whateverthefuck it is, below.

The crag I cling to is QWERTY-shaped, and like velcro needs multiple connections doing a little dance to keep the stickiness happening.

Some shards pulled away by the friction between the rock and the hard place the other day got a comment that’s kept me busy lately while I hang around:

Have you ever considered writing poetry about anger? I read these yesterday, couldn’t sleep last night, don’t know why poetry about anger kept swirling around my thoughts.

So, thanks to Amy, it’s anger raising its fiery, swollen head and keeping me clenching …

Pissed off. What’s a Girl to Do?

To spew my anger ‘cross a page
would mean acknowledging my rage
It seems I was raised way too girly-ous
to allow such blatant show of furious

An emphasis on contemplation …
consider each and every view …
and be no reason for vexation:
The mandate for a girl’s milieu

Not that some don’t infuriate
when what they should do is placate,
but I have faced consequences dire
when releasing my indignant ire

It’s not that I don’t have a temper
I do, but somethings can be learned:
There’s no need to just sit and whimper’
but formulate through each slow burn …

It’s helpful oft’ times to rattle a cage
and channel off more than a bit of outrage
through get-backs oh-so-very terse
in fits of pique disguised as verse.

Unfortunately, the season doesn’t help much …

The First Noel

The first Noel I hear
as we come toward the end of the year
will convey no festive tingling
but could earn a testes jingling
and a very hearty round of “Fuck you, Dear”.

And … of course, the usual angst that confounds and confuses …

Man: Optional?

I’m perpetually disappointed by
the sex that feels anointed by
the fact they sport a penis,
or it they

Although seemingly unfettered
and somehow strangely flattered
by a mass secreting phlegm
along the way,

they find their bits impressive
even when the thing is restive
and can’t ever keep their hands
too far away

There’s no doubt that cock’s amusing
and I’m very fond of using
the appendage on ’bout any
given day,

but if suddenly to find it
hanging ’round there, I would bind it,
not assuming special powers
in its sway

Since I wasn’t born with boy bling,
that male Lincoln Log-like toy thing,
it’s not possible to ‘get’ that
need to play

with it inside things or outdoors,
(little pickiness between whores)
just ’bout any hole will do it
So they pray:

Fall down to your knees in full praise …
or upon your back with legs raised …
just give some place for to aim and
shout “Hooray”

for the penis now he rises …
no, no need to think in sizes …
just appreciate the sight of
that beauTAY!

If the thing could only speak it
would hardly need the geek it
uses to transport it ’round
each day

Truly, women are from Venus
and we’ll never have a penis
other than the ones we borrow.
That’s okay

There’re no shortages of offers
from those pleased to fill our coffers
and occasionally the man attached
will stay

round long enough to carry
a few burdens, even marry,
giving more than just their penis
and a lay

But …

I’m perpetually disappointed by
the sex that feels anointed by
the fact they sport a penis …
or it they

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“Sisterhood is powerful.” ~Robin Morgan

Posted in Friends, love, Men, Sex, Women's rights on November 20, 2010| 4 Comments »

I’ve spent no little time taking on men in a WTF-is-with-them-anywhoo? sort of way over the past months, so it’s time I set my blaster on stun and turned it toward my own gender.

As this article suggests, as it is, “Holding Up a Mirror Along with the Bullhorn: Why Women Can’t Lay All the Blame Elsewhere”.

When we consider issues of gender in this country, we tend to assess the progress and prospects of the American woman through an amorphous sort of “look how far we’ve come” or “look how far we haven’t come” analysis, eyes trained on the Man and related cultural influences that have historically beaten us back. It’s a legitimate exercise. And yet, as we do this, I think it’s also valid to consider a related, if more elusive and controversial, component to the contemporary female experience, one we’d much prefer to sweep under the rug. And that’s the degree to which girls and women are — or are not — nurturing each other’s ascent.

To be fair, it’s not a one-side thing, this accusing.

In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on woman. ~Nancy Astor

But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t rise above, does it, Girls?

Yes, Madeleine Albright got it right when she said, “There is a special place in hell for women who do not help other women”, but another woman who made it big in the man’s world that is politics, Bella Abzug, references another issue …

I prefer the word homemaker, because housewife always implies that there may be a wife someplace else.

Ay, there’s the rub.

So much of my yammering on the duplicitous nature of men has rather ignored the huge part played in those dramas by women only too happy to bounce on someone else’s trampoline.

Although it’s sometimes merely circumstance that leads women into a dally with another’s dolly, there are those who prefer to play with a Ken who has a Barbie:

The hooked and booked man is like a forbidden temptation. That’s what makes him irresistibly attractive to a woman. He stirs a challenge in her. She feels a sense of power in attracting a man who is already taken. What makes him the catch for her is his confidence, experience and authority. The excitement stems from the fact that he’s already taken.

Having seen infidelity from every angle … yes, I admit to taking a wander over posted ground where “No Trespassing” was writ large a few times … I have first-hand experience on both sides of the fence. Although I never set out with an intention to encroach, it happens, and since the end results vary between a shrug, a sly and secret smile and nuclear holocaust I’m not recommending a hop into that pasture to anyone.

Of course, an intentional invasion is a declaration of war and there are none-to-few who quite happily lob a grenade into a mine field, sit back and wait for the massive explosions one would expect from such a provocative act. Sometimes the earth settles and they plow it for a while, but they’re always on the lookout for new incoming that can rip apart their tidy furrows.

Truth be told, women don’t like women much, and trust them even less. Sure, we have girlfriends … and FFS! we do need and treasure them … but women in general? Not so much. If to men we are the sugar and spice of life, to each other we are arsenic; in controlled amounts helpful and healing, but otherwise poison.

Divide et impera, hey, Ladies? That is the result the lack of sisterhood leaves us with. Playing into the hands of men … in any old way … has done us little good as a gender, and it’s only when we make the effort to join hands and hearts and minds that we have any luck at all in climbing ladders or breaking ceilings or gaining control of such basics as our own bodies.

So … Girls … maybe it’s time we developed a new perspective. I suggest this thought: You wouldn’t think of using another woman’s douche bag, so why in hell would you use another woman’s douche bag?

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“Hope Flings Infernos” and other verse

Posted in love, Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, Poetry, Sex on November 9, 2010| 25 Comments »

Anyone else noticing it’s been too heavy around here lately? All this blah, blah on
time and religion, and I’m heading ’round the bend.

So … time for a bit of verse. Some of this stuff is new, but some has been sitting around for a couple of weeks, so if you think I’m up to something fishy … well … today’s post is just for the halibut.

Hope Flings Infernos

When the going gets tough
so gnarly and rough
and nothing is working out right
what can a girl do?
just sit there and stew
or fuck it and put up a fight

It’s exhausting, it seems
that so many dreams
end up like a punch in the nose
What appeared to have hope
ends up in a ‘nope’
and you just have to roll with the blows

Cuz hope flings infernos
so cover up your nose
and breathe through the space in your fingers
remove glasses rosy
stop being so dozy
and work toward something you know lingers

The “y what rose joe” is an intentional mess inspired by exposure to the punctuation-impaired in a comment on an article about politics:

y what rose joe
(or punk28 2 c)

little joe didn’t make it
he died in the war toendallwars
but jack did he make it
preferring the stars toendallstars

young rose was defective
so joe made a directive
to get her life lobotomized
while kath was being criticized
for falling for duke protestant
and eunice married sargent

patty did the star thing too
and broke that old divorce ground
while bobby had a zillion kids
he had the catholic rules down
jeans quiet and so still around

ted bridged the generations
politically for family
60some years veneration
that dc has a kennedy

Can’t do verse without angst now, can we?

Grim … and bear it

The idea has come niggling that
a thought I should be giggling at
might actually have merit

That you and I should suck it up
and try not now to fuck it up
and see if we can wear it

It seems it’s been not all that great
since what was ‘us’ succumbed to fate
but, Lordy, could I bear it?

You say that if I marry you,
yet promise not to harry you
on women when you share it,

perfection would be happening
we both could have our little fling
but that would be the rare bit

If giving all that in and out
while putting yourself all about
means I cannot care, it

seems it may not be so wise
to do this drastic compromise
for what can I inherit?

Oh, yes, I get to be the Queen
but what that gives me can’t be seen.
With what shall I compare it?

Two artists living as they will
by different rules, but yet there’s still
the worry: Can I bear it?

And, of course, we get down to the meat of the matter:

Spank the Monkey

Got a hank, hank, hankerin’
For who? I don’t know who …
sigh …
So a wank, wank, wankerin’
seems just the thing to do …
my! …
Give a thank, thank, thankerin’
if it happened to be you …
guy …
but not bank, bank, bankerin’
that a promise would come true …
sly …
There’re those skank, skank, skankerin’
bitches with their brew …
sty …
that you drank, drank, drankerin’
since it’s all about you, you …
lie …
simply blank, blank, blankerin’
but this we know you knew …
fry …
So we sank, sank, sankerin’
until all was painted blue …
cry …
But this hank, hank, hankerin’
is through and through and through…
why? …
So I’m spank, spank, spankerin’
the monkey till we do …
try …

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2010: The year I was rated XXX

Posted in Loss, love, Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, Sex on November 4, 2010| 10 Comments »

LIFE

Since we’re heading toward the end of another year, I’m starting the mental wrap … and rap … of 2010 and coming to some compelling conclusions. Yes, I’m sure I’ll be sharing more of these than is possibly wise over the next weeks, but there’s one that hit me upside the head this morning that cannot go without being harvested for blog fodder.

It has come to me in some weird bolt of lightning from a clear sky … it is lovely here today, but that’s merely an aside … that at the beginning of this year my love life officially received the XXX rating.

Although some might be ashamed to find themselves rated XXX, while others would be bursting with pride, for me it’s nothing more than the way it is. Neither an achievement, nor a humiliation, one thing leading to another, as it goes, leading to this.

Perhaps it’s my present work writing erotica that prompts this specific self-labeling, but there is no denying the assignation … or designation for those sidelined by the “ass” bit in a post about the Triple X … and I do know that I’m far from a rare woman in having earned three of the bloody things. (My mother is XXXX, so there’s something in the genes, perhaps.)

It has taken a lot of fortitude and no little imagination to reach the point where XXX marks the spot I inhabit, and that tendency I was born with to throw caution to the wind and indulge passion. Sure, it turns and bites me on the ass … and, yes, sometimes I even like that … but living and loving any other way has never seemed an option.

I put too much into it. I know this. Too often I’m full-bore, heedless, yes, yes, YES!

Three of those yeses earned me my X1, X2 and X3. In order of appearance: Stan, Scott and Mark.

Sorry, if you want to read about graphic sex buy the next book when it comes, but this post is about having been married, then unmarried, three times, and if you feel that I’ve lured you in with hints of satisfaction … well … welcome to the club … that’s happened to me three fucking times. Okay … three times that involved paperwork … more that never got that far.

Yes … yes, yes, yes led to ex, ex, ex, and although there’s probably a poem in there somewhere I’m in no mood to put this to verse today.

Rather, I’m pondering the possibilities of ever again contemplating heading toward the end of the alphabet that begins with M and ends in X, since that has been my only Xperience … although I’ve done bloody well with everything up to about F. (I did do the E thing for some years, and still have the ring, thankyouverymuch, but it hit L and that was that.)

It could be best that I take my XXX rating and rest on my laurels. Okay, rest won’t happen since I’m not one for ZZZZZZZZ as a steady diet, but I have no desire to add another X.

I now have a toy I call by the anglicised version of what in Spanish is pronounced Haysoooose , so named because, although I am far from religious, calling that out comes natural when I do. It is true he’s not much of a conversationalist, no challenge at all and missing all but the one limb, but I know where he is and what he’s up to, and we do have our rating in common.

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Chilean miners and that thing about holes …

Posted in Men, News, Sex, tagged , on October 15, 2010| 13 Comments »

Sigh …

I have been trying so hard to veer away from writing on the propensity for philandering in males … really, I have … but the topic keeps popping up, as such things do. The sneaky buggers happen across my path even when I’m busy looking at another angle of a story, so, being mine and all, my fingers head for the keyboard and the sighs happen in black and white.

While the world has been enthralled with the plight and eventual rescue of those 33 Chilean miners, I followed the story along with everyone else. Horrified by the idea of being trapped beneath tons and tons of Planet Earth for weeks and weeks and weeks, who didn’t imagine the terror? And when they began emerging from that living grave, who didn’t at least mentally applaud the efforts of the rescuers and the fortitude of those who’d lived those weeks?

Well … turns out there may have been quite a few who’d have voted to bloody well leave them down there.

From The Telegraph, this headline, “Mistresses and wives clash over trapped Chilean miners” could lead one to believe some of those guys might be needing another bolt hole, and needing it soon.

At least five wives have been forced to come face to face with mistresses whose existence was kept from them by their husbands, who have been trapped more than 2,300ft below since a cave in on August 5.

One miner has four women fighting over him in an effort to claim compensation offered to the families of those facing between three to four months underground until a rescue shaft can reach them.

FFS!

One miner, who has not been named, has a first wife he never divorced, his live-in partner, a mother of a child he had several years ago, and a woman who claims to be his current girlfriend all visiting the camp.

Seems it’s the case that the only time wives may have been sure their husbands weren’t dipping their wick in another woman’s well was between the 5th of August and yesterday. (Not going in any direction toward what may have been going on between consenting guys down there in the darkness …)

I do get that Latino men have that macho thing going that needs some putting around to prove manliness or attractiveness or dickness or whatever and that dudes who make a living digging around in the bowels of the earth may not be too picky about dropping into any old hole, but five out of thirty-three THAT WE KNOW ABOUT ALREADY?

Come to think about it, given the results of the informal poll I conducted a while back, that number seems impossibly low, and most likely is:

“Some of the men have children from numerous women and all of them have arrived here to stake their claim. I’ve met five families in this situation but I’m sure there are more.

… “Those that truly love their men have slipped away quietly not wanting to cause any more pain to the families but others are putting up a fight.”

The hilarious aspect of the story … to me … is the way the concern over the stability of the trapped miners has played out.

The team of psychologists charged with ensuring the mental welfare of the men below ground are attempting keep such developments from the miners.

“We read all the letters before they are sent down to make sure the miners do not experience any extra anxiety,” said Alberto Iturra, head of the psychological team.

You think these guys are so stupid that they didn’t have a clue that up top their wives were meeting their girlfriends and a whole lotta talkin’ was goin’ on? I’m guessing, probably. Surprise, surprise, boys … your cover, like your dick, has been blown! “Extra anxiety” … ya think? Let’s just call it … hm … what? … consequence? Paybacks be a mo fo? You might as well leave your balls in the hole, Dudes, cuz they’re toast now?

Of course, there will be open arms waiting since forgiveness is a virtue and these guys have suffered, although not for their sins.

One of the trapped miners, Yonni Barrios Rojas, who is using his first aid training to treat medical problems underground is among those who faces difficult questions when he finally makes it the surface.

His wife, Marta Salinas, 56, discovered he had a mistress when she came across another woman holding a vigil for him. The other woman, Susana Valenzuela, said they met on a training course five years ago and he was planning to leave his wife for her.

“He is my husband. He loves me and I am his devoted wife,” insisted Mrs Salinas. “This other woman has no legitimacy.”

I’m hoping Señora Salinas takes her compensation check and spends it on a holiday with a 28-year-old toy boy who will make her feel ways … and things … she hasn’t felt in many years and that Susana wins the prize that is Yonni for the month it takes for the next popped tart to show up.

Are there lessons to be learned from this? Sure. Will anyone learn them? Nah. Will women who have no other option welcome their man home, cook him up a big pot of caldillo de congrio,tuck him into bed and join him gratefully. You bet.

Sigh …

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Line in the sand …

Posted in Entitled to opinions, Friends, Gay rights, News, Religion, Sex, Smarten up on October 10, 2010| 6 Comments »

Tolerance. I’m all for it, or was. Embracing diversity, respecting the views and beliefs of others, giving plenty of room for different strokes, live-and-let-live and all that hooey.

Yep. No expectation that folks should think like I do just because I’m right, now is there?

I’ve managed a lot of years on this attitude, but I’m just about done with it and feeling a need to start drawing lines in the sand; un-crossable, non-neogtialble lines dividing me from them.

What’s brought on this uncharacteristic lean toward leaning away? Short answer: I’m reacting to reactionaries. I’ve had it with different strokes reining down on heads, arms, legs, and those who limit “let live” to only their own ilk.

A far too steady diet of news stories like this has strained all limits of forbearance.

The attackers forced the man to strip to his underwear and tied him to a chair, the police said. One of the teenage victims was still there, and the “Goonies” ordered him to attack the man. The teenager hit him in the face and burned him with a cigarette on his nipple and penis as the others jeered and shouted gay slurs, the police said. Then the attackers whipped the man with a chain and sodomized him with a small baseball bat.

This, of course, following right on the heels of the deaths of Alec Henrison and Tyler Clementi, Asher Brown, Seth Walsh, Justin Aaberg, Raymond Chase, Billy Lucas … and on and on.

I’m done being shocked and sad. I’m through cutting slack to those who are just too invested in whatever-it-is-stupid-agenda that makes it okay to label gay people as “less than” or “abominations”, to carry signs insisting that “god hates fags” or to judge in any way something that has NOTHING to do with them.

Although I will continue to be amused by kind-hearted and humorous get-backs like this video posted on facebook … ‘like’ them here … and I’ll wear purple on the 20th in support of efforts to raise awareness, I will no longer sit back and listen to anyone wax on about being entitled to harbor even the hint of condemnation for a segment of the population that has been segmented off because of who they choose to love.

Nope.

People like the moronic Andrew Shirvell get nothing by my wrath and “anti-gay activists” are deemed evil incarnate, especially those who who use their stance to hide behind their preference for behinds.

I won’t limit myself to simply encouraging people to support organizations like The Trevor Project, but now take to vilifying any and all who don’t.

My tolerance is gone, and I don’t give a flying fuck if someone thinks it’s within their rights to disagree over the rightness or wrongness of homosexuality … it’s NOT. Don’t like the idea of gay? No one cares. Keep it to yourself, or, better yet, get a grip, stop spending time conjuring mental images of acts that are none of your damned business and get it through your head that gay people are not only as good as you are, they are very often a whole lot better in all the ways that count on the goodness scale.

Here are some truths that might help with that:

1) Homosexuality is NOT a choice. Some people are blond, some people are Black, some people are gay. (Some are blond AND black AND gay … not always a good look, but nobody’s place to judge.) And who the fuck would choose to be gay in this world? Anyone worried that they might make that “choice” may just want to take another gander at their motivation for condemnation.

2) Gay people could give a shit whether or not you approve. What is important is whether or not you deny rights, and if you do, you’re an asshole.

3) For those who fall back on religion as an excuse to cast aspersions, keep in mind that the story goes that Jesus had two dads, and he turned out okay, and any belief that any god should care what people do with their god-given bits shortchanges that god by reducing him to pin-headed moron status.

Feel free to add to this list …

Yes … I’m pissed off today, even more than I was yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. I’m afraid for so many I love so much, terrified someone will hurt them because of who and how they love. I’m crushed with the thought that fear is growing around them, turning them into hermits when they should be flying free and joyfully. I’m furious that some are forced into hiding themselves behind a mask of heterosexuality, denying their true and lovely natures and their loves.

I’ve tried it other ways, but it’s not worked out so well, and now I’m fighting intolerance with intolerance. So, to anyone who disagrees with me … fuck you. Sandra hates self-righteous homophobes.

Line drawn. Cross over to the good side or stay well away.

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What a tool …

Posted in Gay rights, News, Sex, Smarten up, tagged , , on October 8, 2010| 4 Comments »

Although a useful tool, a vital instrument of communication, a bridge between people and cultures, a marketing dream, an unparalleled method of widely dispersing information, and on and on and on with the positive applications that come with, the Internet is also a toy. In the hands of those of limited scope … usually sporting their own personal joy stick … what can be found within the confines of their screen is reduced to a video game.

Like the logical extension of Pong, moving from a virtual Atari ball to dot-munching smileys to aim-shoot-drive-take-over-the-world gee-those-guys-look-realer and realer, the step to webcam ease-of-play can feel a natural progression in the gaming world.

It’s not. It’s different, and it’s time peeps got with the programming.

This Slate Mag article illustrates only too well the potential outcome of aiming a cam with the intent to damage.

Tyler Clementi wanted privacy. Like countless college freshmen before him, he needed a place to make out, but he had a roommate. So he asked his roommate to clear out of their Rutgers dorm room for a couple of hours.

The roommate, Dharun Ravi, obliged him. But Ravi left something behind: his computer. It had a webcam and an Internet connection. That’s how Ravi got back into the room, according to police. He never touched the door or window. He just tapped into the webcam from a friend’s computer down the hall. Through it, he saw Clementi making out with a man. Ravi tweeted his discovery, inviting 148 of his closest friends to access the webcam. A day later, Clementi jumped off the George Washington Bridge and died.

The idea that images that show up on a screen are somehow less than human is prevalent in today’s world. Virtual vultures clog Skype, MSN, Yahoo, Google and iChat with artificial wooing on a point system whose payoff is a peak at privates … SCORE! then move along to score again. “It means nothing. It’s just virtual,” is a common refrain when the practice is called into question and consequences … well … what consequences? After all, these people aren’t real. It’s a game.

Fact is, however, it is a real person on the other end of the connection, a person who may have other ideas and not be scoring according to the same card. A positive response to “Will you respect me in the morning?” is an easier lie when it’s a simple matter of defriending or blocking, and what’s the worry when the sense is that there’s nothing more to that than to choosing Bugs over Daffy? After all, does Minnie mind if folks decide to spend time with Daisy? Of course not. She has no mind to mind with.

Don’t get me wrong … if gamers choose this version of PokeHeMan, share the rules and are over the age of consent, who cares? Mutual agreement on the unhuman nature of the other players can establish an avatar-to-avatar relationship with no holds barred and no potential outcome but outscoring. That seems to me a waste of life moments, but they’re not mine so it’s not in my realm to give a shit.

Unfortunately, it’s more often that dehumaning happens without someone realizing they’ve become a cartoon character.

Of course, voluntary relinquishing of privacy is something completely different than turning on a webcam surreptitiously. That is truly malicious, yet in the case of Tyler Clementi the on-screen-so-not-real aspect seems to fit.

No doubt, Ravi is a nasty prick, but also most likely a spoiled brat raised on video games that encouraged the disconnect it would take to invade another person’s personal life, then broadcast the invasion as widely as possible.

Ravi was watching him from a computer down the hall. You’d think a guy peeping at his roommate through a webcam would understand how public the Internet can be. But Ravi, too, was blind. “Roommate asked for the room till midnight,” he typed. “I went into molly’s room and turned on my webcam. I saw him making out with a dude. Yay.” Then Ravi hit a button, posting the message to Twitter.

Then, later:

Ravi’s exact tweet was: “Anyone with iChat, I dare you to video chat me between the hours of 9:30 and 12. Yes it’s happening again.”

The technology is new-ish, and perhaps hearts and minds will eventually catch up, incorporate the projected person with the human in the cam’s eye. We can hope. That can’t happen too soon, as it’s already too late for some …whether it be some pitiful chick thinking she’s found love only to learn she means nothing because she “means nothing, is just virtual” or a Tyler Clementi

It turned out that he wasn’t a username, an avatar, or some random two-dimensional dude making out with another dude on a video feed. He was flesh and blood. His body hit the water. He died.

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Childbirth: The most fun a girl can have!

Posted in Children, Family, Health, Nature, science, Sex, tagged on September 19, 2010| 7 Comments »

Eight and a half months of pregnancy, feeling puffy, exhausted, grumpy as hell, with a belly that not only turns your feet into complete strangers, but also decides to rumba every time you want to sleep. The rest of your body is well into the drama, shooting you up with mega-hormonal gushes to set your head spinning, your temperature rising, your moods swinging like a fruit bat in a cyclone and your cervix thinning.

Thinning right along with cervical tissue … patience. Can’t wait to get your body back and meet the little human you’ve been gestating? Well … that’s coming up on the dance card after just a few more sambas, a cha-cha and the bunny hop.

Excited? You bet! Primed to have your personal premises vacated? Sure nuff! Looking forward to a reintroduction to your waist? Deffo! Jazzed about mastering the art of Pamper-ing? Yeah, even that.

It’s all going to happen. There’s just one little thing you have to do first.

There’s more than one reason making a person from scratch takes almost a year. Sure, there’s the baking process that brings the little bun from Open Sesame! Seed to full sweeter than CinnaBun form, but that’s just the biology bit. The really vital thing about the duration of gestation is getting you to the point that you’re so sick and tired of being preggers that the idea of evicting your womb renter sounds really, really good no matter the mess you have to go through to get the bugger out.

Intimidating? Well, yeah, but here are a couple of things to keep in mind over the next days:

1) You’re not the first to go through this. Heck! If your mother could do it, you can certainly pull it off, and with style!

2) Birth is a natural process, neither an illness nor a contrived torture, but finite in its duration and what you were built for.

3) You are the star of the show, so can be as demanding, bitchy and whiny as you want and no one will do anything but applaud at the end of the performance. Plus, you go home with a prize more valuable than any statuette could ever hope to be.

4) It’s a bit too late to change your mind.

Doctors can explain the reasons for the pain in the birthing process … and, yes, it does hurt … and it helps to know why it seems someone is cranking the rack way beyond all limits of even the most sadistic persecutor, so make them tell you exactly what’s going on, and in detail. Focusing on what’s happening where will help, and understanding your body’s responses can bring you into the picture rather than leave you screaming from the sidelines.

This is, after all, an active process. You are not a victim birthing is happening to, but the whole damned team for the only game in town.

Not that it’s play. Oh, no! This is WORK. That’s why they call it LABOR. And it’s a job that you do, then finish. Preparation is important, and you’ve had months for that (See above), so the early pangs of labor won’t come as a surprise.

“It’s time …”, may be your first thought, but don’t panic — you’re ready. Your body is ready. Your baby is ready. And whether you know it or not, you ARE ready.

You’re young, fit and strong. Your muscles know what to do without you having to even think about guiding the process. All you have to do is let it happen and do the work.

It’s a marathon and quitting is not an option, so pull on your Big Girl Panties … crotchless is good in this circumstance … and get ready to sweat. You’ll be running hills and valleys, so let yourself coast when you can, then pull your guts out when the going is steep, the exhaustion sets in and your body starts screaming at you to pull over and throw in the towel. That AIN’T GONNA HAPPEN! You WILL win. You WILL conquer. And all those wimps inside snidely suggesting you’re a loser will eat your dust.

If someone offers some comfort and ease along the way, take it. Having fans shout encouragement is good, too. But you’re in this alone and no one can carry you across the finish line. That you do alone, and for that you get the glory. For that, for the rest of your life, you earn the best title ever bestowed on any woman anywhere: Mom.

I’ve given birth, and it was … hands down … the most exciting experience of my life, and the most fun I’ve ever had. I envy you your upcoming adventure!

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