dear dad

(Backstory - for a number of years, i've been in the group of people my father sends humorous e-mail forwards to. Given that he's a conservative, fundamentalist, pro-military white man who grew up in the mid-20th century, his humor is occasionally cringe-worthy to people with a more progressive, inclusive worldview. During the 2008 Democratic primary, triggered by a "bimbo or Sambo" e-mail, i started responding to any forwards that were similarly embarrassing. I hit the "reply all" button, so everyone could understand why a certain joke might be objectionable. Today, my father removed me from his humor group, triggered by my response to a list of quotes a "brave man" might say about women. The highlight:
#6 - What do you say to a woman with 2 black eyes?
Nothing, she's been told twice already.
I have trouble saying those words aloud, without feeling a little sick. I replied to the group that any man who finds humor in battering a woman is not brave, but a coward.)

Dear Dad,
It is with a mixture of relief and sadness that i find myself removed from your humor group. I'll miss the occasional laugh, but i've always teetered on the edge of asking out, as some of your forwards invoke bigotry and misogyny. Part of the reason i've stayed is that i know at your most basic level, you want to be a good person. That's not an easy road, for any of us. So i want to be a voice of conscience for you. I love you, and have a few questions.
Are there any black friends in the humor group?
Any gay friends?
I don't need to ask whether there are any women. I know there are, because they're the ones who always write to me, thanking me for speaking up when you've shared something ignorant or hurtful.
You've made the point that there is violence inherent in humor. That funniness always involves someone being "kicked", and not always fairly. There is truth in that.
But in this instance, you're missing some bigger issues.
How long did it take for JFK jokes to be funny? For some, it's still too soon. The effect of your joke list was, as a JFK parallel, to make a book depository joke at the very instant Jackie is wiping PIECES OF BRAIN off her face. How many women are being raped this very second? Killed? How many are being battered by a man?
Most men of your generation would agree that raping, battering, or killing a woman is wrong. But what most men of your generation fail to grasp is that these are not the actions of "bad apples". This treatment of women has been systematic for thousands of years. For millenia, society has given men permission to batter, rape, or kill. Sometimes this permission has been overt, on the law books, other times it has been between the lines. But female abuse and terrorization has been as resolute and merciless as a closed fist.
Are these things changing?
Yes.
But those times are nowhere near behind us.
There is no magic machine that can transport any of our 3.5 billion men, inside the mind/body of any of the millions of women being brutalized this very moment. No magic machine can make a man feel what it's like to be a woman in a world where any of those things might happen, at any time. But social change doesn't need magic, just courage. You admire courage greatly, i know. I propose one small act of bravery for you. Read "The War Against Women", by Marilyn French. Read it all. You might find you're not the same person when you come out the other side.
You talk about honesty a lot, since you became born-again. But i sometimes think we have a different idea of honesty. My own idea, is willing that everything i might say or do, be instantly visible to anyone in the world. Is your honesty more confined to just avoiding spoken lies? I ask because i wonder whether you would want that list shared with everyone you know.
My father, you carry the blessing/curse of being a white man of your generation. Avenues of power and comfort were laid open to you...but to accept those rewards, you had to pay a price in insensitivity.
your would-be cricket,
wrob

M*A*S*H, season 9

FOUR STAR
-Death Takes a Holiday
The camp hosts a group of orphans for a Christmas dinner. Charles tries to uphold his family tradition of giving anonymously at holiday time, while BJ, Hawkeye, and Margaret try to keep a mortally-wounded soldier from dying on Christmas day. One of a very small handful of M*A*S*H episodes to prompt tears from two plot lines. Charles' moments are a touch more poignant, as he becomes enraged when the orphan's caretaker (Keye Luke: KUNG FU, GREMLINS) trades gourmet candy for rice and cabbage. Despite the mawkish glorification of charity, Charles' abashedness when he realizes what's happened, ranks among Stiers' finest moments. The wounded soldier dies at 11:25PM; Hawkeye changes the clock's hands.
NOTEWORTHY
-Letters ***
Like a sweet blast from the past, an episode that feels like it slipped through the cracks of the early seasons to suddenly appear, free of overearnestness. Little slices of life, as the camp responds to letters from grade schoolers back home. Potter shoots hoops.
-Father's Day ***
Andrew Duggan gives a seamless performance as Margaret's retired father, "Howitzer" Al Houlihan. On an inspection visit, he reacts with callousness to her need for acceptance and love. He comes to his senses a bit, but not in an unrealistic way.
-Oh, How We Danced ***
Hawkeye and crew prepare a surprise for BJ, who is disconsolate over being alone on his anniversary. They arrange for a home movie sent by Peg. If you're an easy mark for tears, bring the tissues.
-The Red/White Blues **
Every time a white person says "negro", you must take one drink.
-Blood Brothers ***
A towering performance by William Christopher. A Cardinal is due to visit, and Mulcahy is having fits over the camp's "wicked" ways. He spends a night with a soldier (Patrick Swayze) who's been told he has leukemia. The off-the-cuff sermon Mucahy delivers the following morning about the perils of self-absorption, will freeze you to your seat. Swayze too is disturbingly effective.
-The Foresight Saga ***
A letter from Radar tells of great success on the farm, but an accidental conversation with his mom reveals another story. Potter hits upon a plan to send a Korean youth, Park Sung, to live and work with Radar. Sweet.

Stargate SG1, season 9

It was mostly morbid curiosity that drove me to watch this. After being unable to stomach more than the first two seasons of the series, i wanted to know what happened when Richard Dean Anderson left. You know what? As incandescent as Anderson is, his chemistry and mishandling by the writers may have been SG1's fatal flaw, as this incarnation is better. And jumping gingolds, Michael Shanks may have actually taken some of his "look, i'm an actor" money, and purchased acting lessons. The visuals have been kicked up to SGA's level, and new lead Ben Browder loses the faintly ingratiating quality he had on FARSCAPE. Also joining the cast is Claudia Black (FARSCAPE{!}, PITCH BLACK), as saucy recurring character Vala Mal Doran. Lexa Doig (ANDROMEDA) is the new sawbones. Growl. Plus the ever-underrated Beau Bridges as the new SG Command general.

FOUR STAR - none
NOTEWORTHY
-Avalon ***
This two-parter kicks off the season with interest and excitement. Browder's Cameron Mitchell takes over command of SG1, only to be disappointed that the team has gone their separate ways. Fine flashbacks introduce his story. He tries to re-recruit the originals, as Richard Dean drops by to smooth things over. An Ancient communication device from the time of Merlin transports Jackson and Vala's consciousnesses into the bodies of two people a galaxy away. They discover humans who have been granted special powers by a species of ascended beings, the ori, who demand that all mortals worship them.
-Origin ***
Part 3 of "Avalon". Julian Sands (BOXING HELENA, LEAVING LAS VEGAS) is a creepy high priest who begins a crusade to convert our galaxy to ori worship, sending super-powered minions. Frightening and beautifully shot. Plus Louis Gossett, Jr, lending his weight to a recurring role!
-The Ties That Bind ***
A pleasantly amusing episode about Vala's charlatan past, pushed into noteworthyland by...Wallace Shawn! Yay!
-The Fourth Horseman ***
It's wonderful when the staggering number of elements that come together in any television episode, do so this seamlessly. An ori plague is loosed on Earth. They finally learn how to subdue a prior. A myriad of previously-established supporting actors hit just the right notes. Louis Gossett, Jr. gives his life in a literal blaze of (non)glory.
-Ripple Effect ***
A recycled sci fi idea, wherein different SG1 teams from alternate universes must work together...but it's so charming and tight, you might be surprised by your smile.
-Arthur's Mantle ***
Gripping, unpredictable, and deftly woven. You can't imagine how these disconnected plot lines might come together (Cam and Sam get phased into another dimension, while Teal'c investigates a disaster on another planet). When they finally do, hold on to your britches. And how about a little Doug Wert (Jack Crusher, STAR TREK TNG) and Tony Todd (DS9, VOY, TNG)?
-Camelot ***
SG1 races to find an anti-ori weapon created by Merlin, while the fleet assembles to face an invasion force coming through a super stargate. Grand, funny, fun.

janie

We met under the most auspicious and promising of romantic circumstances. She posted a romance ad entitled "FWB/NSA?". The best of both worlds! If she said what she meant and meant what she said, she wanted a sexual relationship with a genuine friend, and made it doubly clear she desired no possessiveness or jealousy.

Hell, she had me before hello.

We enjoyed a week or so of e-mails before we met. She was intelligent and literate and playful. I wasn't feeling any lightning strikes, either in our flirtations or in response to her picture, but there was an agreeable feeling of sympaticality. She was around my age, and had lived most of her life in Italy (if you speak the language, you might figure out her real name). She was a political affairs writer, and dogwalker. An accomplished cook. She'd had her own talk show in her native land. It was obvious the people in her building genuinely cared for her.

The instant we met, she said she knew from my reaction that we weren't going to be lovers - which made for a surprise later that evening, when she kissed me and i responded in kind. There was truth in her intuition, for i hadn't been drawn to her hormonally. But she found me at a time when i was trying to live the way humans had lived before the agricultural revolution, before the poison of enforced monogamy became the prominent feature of our sexual landscape. I knew we all could and should be able to love anyone. Plus, i thought she and i had the potential for genuine friendship, a rarer thing than good sex. So i jumped in.

It was nice being sexual with her. I always responded with hard, ready erections...something i couldn't say for a few other relationships which had had a greater desire quotient (she wasn't my type physically - she'd survived childhood sexual abuse, and like many such, was overweight). During our first post-coital moments, she said something she told me to not take the wrong way - that she had the feeling of wanting to be my lover forever. I enjoyed her enjoyment more than anything i was feeling myself. I knew she'd had a long road to being comfortable in her body. For that reason alone, i wanted to extend our sexual phase as long as i could.

But almost from the very start, it was apparent that would be a challenge.

Had she fooled herself into thinking she'd wanted a relationship under the parameters of her ad? If she'd found someone other than me, could it have gone that way?

I don't know.

But within a week, i was walking on eggs...a dance i made work for at least a month before the shells cracked. At that time, i was starting an investigative series of articles about prostitution, trying to understand the mindset of a john without actually having sex with a stranger. It was my intent to hire a prostitute to hold nakedly. I told Janie about it. Her mind responded with the unhappy thought "Aren't I enough?" An idiotic response on more than one level, but in this broken world, all too understandable.

As i danced on the eggs, i did my best to build something that would survive the shoals i could hear just around the next bend in the river. Our friendship might have endured, given a little more time. She admired my non-materialism. We had similar taste in politics and humor (if you've never seen the FAMILY GUY segment on Italian optometry, get googling). She had a strong accent, and loved making fun of that in others. She'd had quite a journey, coming to this country by herself with almost literally nothing.

Did i mention she was an accomplished cook? Great googily, was she amazing. She would greet me with the most eye-poppingly wonderful dinners in her fancy little Upper West Side apartment. Spinach pasta that melted in the mouth. The most delicious bruschetta i'd ever had (which i happily agreed to never mispronounce americanly again).

We always had our dinner/movie/sex nights at her place. She never visited me, as our time coincided with my grand bedbug misadventure (she only had two fears - HIV and bedbugs). The minute i walked in her door, she always put my clothes into plastic bags and me into the shower. She also bought a steamer to treat her place every time i left.

She had the most wonderful dog. Dorothy. Sweet and quirky.

I did my best, but knew from the start that i wasn't going to have a desire for her that went outside the bounds of the ad that brought us together. At a time when all i needed was simplicity and gentleness, i sometimes endured the opposite, for her sake. The night i suggested we end the romantic part of our relationship, she shouted that she hated me. She tried to bully and emotionally blackmail me into having sex with her one last time. I eventually relented. In the process, i understood firsthand an experience that generally only women ever have to face.

We didn't survive the implosion of our "benefits". Instead of finding the healing and shelter i'd sought, i walked away with another dripping wound...a hurt that literally gripped my chest and stomach.

SeaQuest DSV 2032, season 1

FOUR STAR - none
NOTEWORTHY
-Brothers and Sisters ***
Deep submergence super-submarine Seaquest is assigned with entombing an abandoned munitions depot, which turns out to be populated with the child survivors of a grim accident, who have been fending for themselves for years. Lukas (Jonathan Brandis: NEVERENDING STORY II) has a touching romance with the eldest girl (Kellie Martin, LIFE GOES ON), while Captain Bridger (the redoubtable Roy Scheider) must figure out how to extract a teenage boy holding crew members hostage. The potential of the show comes together.
-Knight of Shadows *
Wretched. If you were to see this episode first, you'd likely never watch another. A Titanic-like wreck is found with, um, ghosts. A celebration of superstitious ignorance from the crew of a science vessel. The dipsy wipsy mystical wystical side of the show, on a steroid binge. Painful.
-SeaWest ***
Davids McCallum (THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E, NCIS) and Morse (ST. ELSEWHERE, THE HURT LOCKER) drop in for this Stacy Haiduk-heavy (that's a good thing) underwater western.
-Photon Bullet ***
Holy howler, batman! Seth Green drops in as an "internex" teen computer whiz. Foreshadowing his time on BUFFY, he's named Wolfman. If that's not enough, how about Tim Russ (VOYAGER) as a svengali genius leading prodigies astray?
-Better than Martians ***
The first personned Mars rocket crashes into the ocean after a faulty landing. Seaquest races to save the astronauts' lives. A fine guest turn by Kent McCord (ADAM-12, AIRPLANE 2, GALACTICA 1980).
-Hide and Seek **
SHATNER!!!
-Abalon ***
Chuck! Chuck Heston!!!
-Such Great Patience ***
Why does it only feel like sci fi if it's in space? Or has a spaceship? Or at least an alien? A massive UFO buried in the ocean for a million years is uncovered. There's somebody inside, and they want to talk to our dolphin. Exciting, visually compelling...and more Kent McCord!
-The Good Death ***
A couple nice moments for underused regulars Marco Sanchez (WALKER, TEXAS RANGER) and Dustin Nguyen (21 JUMP STREET). This is their first real chance to shine, and they acquit themselves delightfully. Plus a little Luis Guzman as a wild-eyed Central American dictator! Indispensable for your next Guzman-a-thon.

chrome sadness

I resisted as long as i could. In the end, that only amounted to a few months.
Not long ago, Blogspot installed new templates for its blogs. The home page may still look the same, but in the pages devoted to site maintenance, much much much had changed. When they first offered this upgrade, they gave the option of keeping the old format. After a glimpse at the new, i quickly clicked "old". The single essential change that spooked me was the data showing site hits. Heretofore, such information came only if you installed the counters. Now, it had become part of the standard layout. Non-optional.
Many people (obviously) love to monitor hits.
Not me. I think that kind of self-consciousness is contrary to integrity. Hopefully, people will read your site, and perhaps even share links to particular articles. But suppose you found out that your number of site hits was much higher or much lower than imagined. Might not that knowledge affect the way you approach your writing?
The trick is to hope that millions read, but write as though none will.
Perhaps other writers don't have trouble maintaining integrity in the face of constant readership awareness. Perhaps some can even use such awareness as a tool in some paradigm of "collective" integrity.
But i don't want to know. It's hard enough dealing with the post comments, which range from flattering to eviscerating, to everything in between. Am i as good as "annaSwedenchick" thinks? Am i as third-rate as "winkyhoohoo61" thinks? The truth is perhaps all those things, or none.
However...
My innocence has been compromised, and i'm resigned to it. Last week, Blogspot sent out a notice that it was linking its services to Google Chrome. Refuse Google Chrome, and your connection to Blogspot will be partially-unsupported.
Partially-unsupported? It chills the spine.
I bit the bullet.
It's not all gloom and doom. The data involving overall hit numbers and graph-related material, are on a page which isn't part of the basic post maintenance. The data i have to see virtually every day, however, are the numbers of discrete post hits. I do an awful lot of site maintenance, there's no way around it. I can stay almost entirely ignorant of how many people visited my home page on any given day, but i'll usually be continually bombarded by how many times recent posts are accessed as individual links. It's pernicious, this knowledge. Maybe others can screen it out. But i sure can't. Many of my posts have a discrete hit number that's less than 10. I HATE knowing that. And i hate being excited when one gets a lot of attention. I HATE knowing that "The Nurules!" has 296 discrete hits! I hate that i now check that number regularly, hoping for just four more hits. 300? Woo-woo!
Sigh.
Tain't easy bein' pure.

prostitution wrap-up

The end of a quest. After months of searching, i knocked out parts 2 and 3 in a two-day span, by moving away from my intent to hire only independents.
The nuru experience? A rush of personal and literary fulfillment.
Holding a prostitute nakedly? Not.
Ohh, the hopes and fantasies i'd built. I dreamt of connecting to this woman and giving her the massage of a lifetime, such that she would forget about money, to come back for my spirit and touch (and perhaps some incendiary carnality) as we started a beautiful journey of enduring friendship. Quixotic? Literally, a bit. I tossed away many opportunities that didn't measure up. When it finally did happen, when i received the call she was on her way, i physically lost the ability to eat.
In the end, the experience i settled on couldn't have been more anti-climactic and asexual. It was no massage for the ages, or spirit connection that lasted much longer than a bad sitcom. I chased a wet dream, a website photo of an asian woman who might have prompted in me a hormone-driven obsession worthy of Romeo's rebound chick. But i didn't get the woman i ordered - literally (avoid http://www.asiangirlnyc.com/, if you have any taste for truth in advertising). Not just that, but i ended up with an experience that was almost puke-inducingly classic "wrob". He hires a prostitute, and they...talk. I was embarrassed by the me-ness of it. Desperation begats inspiration however, and i found a literary angle to bypass all that (see http://unboughtsoul.blogspot.com/2012/05/linda.html).
And when the dust had settled, i realized i'd stumbled onto perhaps the most truthful endquest i could have found. In searching for some more intense version of my nuru experience, i ignored what i already knew.
There is nothing, but nothing, sexy about prostitution.
Almost in spite of myself, i managed to offer to my readers a pair of experiences that approximated the two poles of the sex trade: the self-determined worker on her way, and the worker who is an outright slave (or at best would much, much, much rather be in Philadelphia).
If either of those depictions are off the mark, it's more likely to be the first. My attempt to put even a ha'-happy face on any kind of economic coercion may secure my seat on the barge of the damned.
After these months immersed in the sex trade, i can offer one final insight. The enormity of it all. I wouldn't be surprised if the estimate of forty-some million prostitutes worldwide is shy by a preposterous amount. Not that it's about numbers. If but one woman offers up her most precious commodity, herself, for any reason other than loving, the human race is well and truly lost. But the numbers reveal, this, THIS, is who and what we are. Me. You. Your sister. Uncle Jack.
For some, the sex trade is an abstract idea with no real desperation or blood or jism coursing through it. Yet even i, fancying myself fairly unsheltered, was a bit overwhelmed. The sheer numbers of women who fuck men in the world's alleys because society fails to provide even the most rudimentary sexual satisfaction for ANY of its members...is staggering.
People don't go to whores because they "ain't gettin' enough". People go to whores because whores don't expect them to not fuck other people.
It's time for every brainwashed, fearful wife/girlfriend in the world to stand up and say "i've never been happy". It's time for every hypocritical, fearful husband/boyfriend in the world stand up and stop being victimized.
The knowledge has been lost for thousands of years, but it's time.
Time for humanity to rediscover what we are.