So those who helped secure an abortion for a NINE-YEAR-OLD are bad, evil people. Meanwhile, I haven’t exactly heard that the RAPIST of said nine-year-old has been excommunicated. I mean, why should he? He was just helping the little girl fullfill her duty as a human vessel! Sheesh, don’t be so hard on the wee wittle rapist.
My own Eastern Orthodox church is, sadly, no more intelligent on the subject. It’s one of the reasons I choose not to go to services, to be honest. These people who would force a rape victim give birth, whilst crowing about the “sanctity of life” (whose life? Certainly not the girl’s) no less – honestly? They just get off on the rape. They get off on forced impregnation. They get off on the idea of a female body as this kind of thing – this sinful, but delightfully pliant thing that can be twisted this way and that in their gnarly hands, and torn apart in a hundred different ways, for the “glory” of God, supposedly.
These people are sick. I pity them.
P.S. For more about this on Feministe – go here and here.
P.P.S. I’ve been thinking about this today, and I have to say – why not just hearken back to your roots and admit that you hate women? Just get back to your element. Don’t worry your pretty heads about making the hatred palatable anymore. No matter how many times you roll a turd in sugar – a turd remains a turd.
It’s Thursday evening in Amman, which means that the weekend has officially begun. Time for creative output and much corporal cuddling of kitties.
You know, today, I was sick to my stomach already when I hailed a cab to go to First Circle. The cab was driven by a man who was 120 years old, by conservative estimate. His long life had not endeared him to the earth. In fact, by the end of our cab ride, I was convinced that there few things in this world that he would not creatively swear at.
We were stuck in traffic, and because of the jolts and stops, my sick stomach turned into a virulently sick stomach. I kept thinking about what would happen if I puked on the upholstery – if a sparrow briefly hopping up on the hood provoked his ire – what would vomit inside the cab do? I don’t know about you, but whenever I need to vomit, I start missing mom. When I was a kid, she was always the one to hold my hair back, and put her palm over my forehead. How did I manage to grow up so suddenly – develop breasts and a bank account and a sad little wrinkle at one corner of the mouth?
In the meantime, my fears were somewhat assuaged when, upon noticing that I was turning the colour of pickle and pine, he courteously brought down all the windows in the car. Together, we smelled rain clouds, and new grass, and forgotten days, and exhaust fumes.
A cop on the sidewalk was having his picture taken with an antique rifle. “Why not me?” I thought jealously.
“Idiots!” The driver exlcaimed in the direction of the cop and rifle (he was swearing mostly in English, for my benefit). Or perhaps he was shouting at a group of rude schoolchildren darting through the traffic. I could taste something very unpleasant in my mouth. Was it my own tongue?
I thought about the fact that I had never before puked in public. I hadn’t even NOT made it to the bathroom – not ever – except for that one time… A cream-coloured Mercedes pulled out violently in front of us.
The driver screamed many things – “bedun” among them. I broke out in a cold sweat. An SUV with Saudi plates, full of boys who didn’t look a day over 20, nearly sideswiped us. I cannot translate what the driver screamed at them on this blog. I will admit I joined in. For all of my troubles with Arabic, swearing horribly is not one of them. Does that say something about me?
The driver crowed approvingly.
“See?” He told me in Arabic. “You DO speak Arabic!” I had insisted, earlier, that I did not.
I thought about how normally, I believe that claiming to “know” a language means being able to read, appreciate, and interpret its poetry. But I’m not at a very poetic point in my life. And anyway, I used to be able to read Goethe in the original German – but I sure as hell couldn’t scream at a man about what exactly I want him to do with his mother (yes, this is sexist – at least sexist in a way that the word “motherfucker” is, or used to be). I can sing a children’s song in Arabic – but I don’t think that actually counts.
I was still swaying a little when the driver dropped me off a little way’s past the First Circle. “You will be OK,” he told me, and his fingers floated in the air, describing something intangible, but, I think, pretty. What, in my future, could possibly be pretty? An errant strawberry shortcake sunset I might actually notice? A very good drink? I did take his gesture as a kind of prophecy. The universe will right itself. The Arab romantics will crowd my bookshelves. I’ll stop getting carsick, heartsick and headsick.
Until then, Patrick Wolf takes care of my needs when I crawl home and put a damp cloth on my forehead:
I know he talks about a Monday morning, but this is just as applicable for a Friday morning (or a Saturday one, for those of you on a different week) – or any morning at all.
Do make sure to fix a really good screwdriver and wave it around in the air as you listen to this. I do think that the best screwdrivers are made with Nemiroff pepper vodka and a bit of fizzy water to dilute the orange juice. Pop a few ice cubes in as well.
Because, surprisingly, it is spring-time. The sparrows, and the cab drivers, and the cops, and the children – they all know it. Even my cats know it. They nap energetically. The skies know it. They ripple brilliantly with clouds and hail. Amman opens like a rusty locket – swears and smiles and shimmers, bursts with birds, hunches hill over hill, cries brake-fluid, purrs traffic – its insides like locks of hair from all of your loves, present and gone.
1. You used to live in the Carolinas, now you live in Amman with frequent visits to the Ukraine. Why did you move and will you be going back to the US anytime soon?
I was in a pretty nasty situation in the States, due to student debt and not really being able to find a job that would allow me to make the requisite monthly payments (this was before the crisis, mind you – with higher interest rates). Also, my Boyfriend and I were facing some problems – I couldn’t really find an entry level job in Canada as an American, he had a similar problem as a Canadian in the States. So we started thinking about a place where we could both work. Then I got the offer to edit this magazine – and the chips just fell into place.
I want to be back in the States within a couple of years – either that or Europe – but I want to be in a stabler financial situation first. And I want to keep working on the magazine. It’s pretty much my dream job.
2. Who are your top three fantasy boyfriends?
This is a VERY important topic…. Well, first of all – Legolas. Not necessarily the movie version (although I loved the shield-surfing and whatnot – shut UP haters, your opinions have been noted and filed away a number of years ago). Just you know – a hot, brave, occasionally snarky Elf. Orlando Bloom’s natural dark hair probably suits Legolas more, btw. So a hot Elf with dark curls. Perfect.
Then there’s Ewan McGregor – whose films pretty much made me into a woman.
And finally – where would I be without at least one great footballer in my life? I know we’re supposed to think of footballers as egotistical dumbasses – but my aunt used to be married to a Ukrainian one, and he was a doll. I refuse to think he’s the exception. So which one would I pick? Iker Casillas – another Greatest Hit from my childhood.
Runners-up include everyone from Anton Chekhov to James Purefoy, from Viktor Tsoi to Chiwetel Ejiofor. I have a lot of fantasy boyfriends. We all need them in these dark and troubling times.
3. Money is no object. Describe your dream holiday.
A dream holiday should be – part frivolity, part bonding, part beauty, part learning experience, and part crazy-ass shit. So I think I’d go to New Zealand. With friends. And hopefully also see some people there that I have wanted to meet for a while.
4. Obama’s been in office for five weeks. Give him a report card, and give reasons for his grades.
Cant I just give him a B+ overall? Because I think he’s doing a good job, and I also think that he has inherited a mess, and a lot of that mess isn’t even controlled by the President’s office, but some of it is, and it is all quite confusing. I don’t think he’s buckling though. Not at all.
5. Which book have you just finished reading, what are you reading now and what’s next on the TBR pile?
I’ve just finished reading The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher by Kate Summerscale. If you’re interested in detectives – both fictional and real-life, you must read this nonfiction account of a murder in 1860’s England, and the hysteria it caused. There’s a tremendous darkness within it, but it’s a darkness that’s worth it. This book will stay with you for a long time.
Right now I’m reading Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. It’s an oldie – but when it came out, I was not old enough for it (I didn’t even speak English, back then). I’ve been on a Neil Gaiman kick for a while now, and am omnivorously consuming everything by him. It’s love. The writerly kind.
Next I’d like to dip into some horror stories – I just bought the anthology Gathering the Bones. I also recently realized that as much as I had loved The Virgin Suicides, I’d never gotten around to reading Jeffrey Eugenides’ follow-up: Middlesex. I recently spied it on a friend’s bookshelf, and now it is mine, mine, miiine.
Want to participate in the meme? Drop me a line in the comments section, and I will e-mail you some questions.
For all our differences, Nine Deuce, I expected better from you. Allowing your commenters to rip into BDSMers, whilst using bigoted language no less, as you sit back and insist you’re encouraging debate on the issue? Didn’t expect anything different. Couldn’t bother with it.
Nine Deuce as one of my favourite LOLcats
Your latest comment and attempts at justifying it, on the other hand – deserves some verbiage. And LOLcats.
“Stop comparing your situation to the plight of homosexuals. And stop comparing my arguments to those of asshole homophobes.”
I’m neither gay nor kinky, but I think it’s fairly obvious that there are some parallels here. Many homophobes do exactly what you and your commenters do, ND, be it a) Assuming that TEH GAYZ are “sick” people who can one day “see the light.” b) Acting threatened and/or angry because this group doesn’t fit into their particular ideology. c) Believing that the group is full of dangerous perverts.
Oh, speaking of which…
“Why are people getting fired for being into BDSM? Ever heard of sexual harassment? Talking about sex at work isnât cool, whether youâre straight, gay, into BDSM, or celibate. Itâs just not appropriate.”
ND, you don’t realize that it is the outing (as opposed to zealous over-sharing) of kinky people that directly contributes to most of these firings – or else you are just being deliberately obtuse. I’m willing to bet it’s the latter. But you have nothing in common with homophobes, is that right? The same homophobes that assume, for example, that there should be no gay people in the armed forces because they’re icky bastards who harass the straight population…?
“And to be honest, if I were a parent, Iâd be concerned if my childâs other parent were into BDSM because I wouldnât want my child exposed to it. Itâs absolutely ridiculous to think you ought to have the right to normalize that kind of behavior in front of children who havenât got the critical thinking abilities to understand whatâs going on.”
Every family must have a Nine Deuce on call to ensure appropriate behaviour at all times. Get yours today!
Naw, this isn’t at all similar to the familiar GAY PEOPLE CORRUPT OUR NATION’S YOUTH.
ND, for someone who prides herself on her superior intellect – can you not see that any parental extracurricular can be taken to an extreme?
Example: some parents abuse their animals, beat them, chain them outside and do not allow them to be socialized, and then act surprised when said animals attack a child.
On the other hand, you have my dad. He got us a Doberman when I was in the first grade. She was trained as a proper guard dog. She was tough to handle at times, but she was a much-needed addition to our family. She rescued my mother twice. She allowed me to have a lot of independence when I dealt with trauma – because I could go anywhere with her, and I slept soundly in my room knowing she was outside. This animal was loved – and it loved in return.
Men like my father have little in common with individuals who deliberately turn their animals into psychotic killing machines – but by your own celebrated logic, ND, my father had no right to have custody of me either.
BDSMers are no different. Some make great parents, some not so much. Issuing blanket statements on the matter is pure bigotry.
When someone, Antiprincess to be precise, calls you on your bullshit, saying:“tell you what, then – Iâll just bring my little boy around by your house, and you can raise him, to spare him the horror and indignity of the possibility of being âexposedâ to the tragedy of my life as a kinky person.”
you know it's bad when you have to dust off the George W. Bush administration to illustrate your point as to the epic-ness of said fail
– You don’t even give this woman the dignity of a proper response. You know why? Because you can’t. You can dodge the subject, speak in generalities, have your commenters point out “but here’s this one case where a BDSM father was abusive!”, and otherwise shut down and divert discussion – but you can’t honestly respond to a woman who’s telling you “here’s my child, whom I love and care for, and who the hell are you to imply that I deserve to lose him?”
Go ahead, put your money where your mouth is. Offer to give this woman’s child the same love and protection that his mother gives him. Because you care so much (as opposed to the fact that you are willing to engage in crassly inappropriate insults of an entire group of people that reveal how much “examining” you probably need to do of yourself in your own spare time – and being unwilling to admit as such when confronted directly with the absurdity of your claims).
On your “About” page you have the following to say to your readers:
“If you happen upon anything you find terrifically offensive, consider the possibility that it might be a joke or a rhetorical device. If both of those alternatives seem unlikely, youâre probably either a crybaby or an asshole that Iâm not worried about offending.”
Go ahead, call Antiprincess an “asshole crybaby.” It will be like the delicious icing on the cake o’ fail. Everyone knows that only asshole crybabies object to having their children ripped away from them. And after you’ve chased away everyone willing to engage in debate with you, I hope you enjoy the echo chamber.
“[ND] wants fame for having the most massive ovaries in bloglandia, which she has confused with having (or trying for, anyway) the most viciously thoughtless fingers in bloglandia.”
Hate to say it about someone whose Philip Roth takedowns I had enjoyed – but I agree.
Natalia A. 