Week 8 (23)
It’s,
you know, about the benjamins.
Saturday, 09:42
This is a sobering interview (even as I make more jokes about John “Jugs” Ashcroft) with First Amendment attorney Larry Walters, on the (he feels) very real threat of renewed obscenity prosecutions. (Hey! Ashcroft! Caught that anthrax guy yet?)
On the other hand, I’m currently taking bets that none of these big-money–backed shows will ever be targetted by John “Ta Tas” Ashcroft’s God Squad.
(Links swiped shamelessly from Daze Reader.)
“Well,
what did you expect in an opera?
A happy ending?”
Saturday, 7:57
Chuck Jones is dead.
An
evil thought concerning John “Hooters” Ashcroft.
Saturday, 07:29
I wonder if the (rather infamous) last item on the (rather infamous) Cambria List (no black men white women themes) (or next to last, really, since “Animal” is scribbled at the bottom of this particular copy), anyway, I wonder if this particular item has anything to do with a certain Attorney General’s well-known racism and pro-Confederacy leanings.
—And: Salon also suggests Ashcroft had a hand in helping push for the execution of Joseph Amrine, who is all set to become a martyr for the Governor of Missouri’s political aspirations. See? There is a liberal bias in the media, after all.
A
braver man than I.
Friday, 05:19
Well, actually, I don’t know that for sure. I’ve talked about a number of terribly personal and perhaps even embarrassing topics herein, yes—but still. Were I to watch Dawson’s Creek on a regular basis (and I don’t; I want you all to realize that: I don’t, I have never even seen an episode, even been tempted, I don’t even know what episode guides to recommend—a sure sign, you see, that I don’t even really know anything about it, beyond the fact that, you know, it’s not really a show I want to see), I’m not entirely certain I’d have the guts to admit it to the world the way Michael Dalton has.
Yes, indeed; another blog. David Chess begat mine (in a manner of speaking); I, in turn, sort of begat Lisa Spangenberg’s (along, apparently, with others), and now MichaelD’s. I feel oddly proud. —Plus, with Michael’s, you get some more of that wholism I’m threatening to whinge on about, that approaching the world with all the tools in your artistic kit, even if (perhaps especially if) you’re a pornographer by trade: not leaving the sex out, but bringing the world in, nonetheless. Michael, after all, is rather famous in some circles for his naked cheerleaders—and you know, taking that into consideration, his pop culture fascination with such cultural ephemera as, say, Dawson’s Creek, suddenly comes a little more into focus.
Not, mind you, that I know enough about Dawson’s Creek to be able to ascertain the truth of that little insight to any degree. You know what I’m saying?
Canada
smash!
Wednesday, 05:18
“ . . . no other country is known to have targeted the mere act of surfing the Web for underage smut.”
Well, there’s a reason for that. It’s a dumb-ass idea.
(Then, so is criminalizing luring children online for sexual encounters offline—why on earth criminalize something that specific, when the basic action you’re attempting to punish and prevent is already a crime, and anyway, why would a pedophile go to all that trouble? Hey, Kenny, come online so I can chat with you and convince you then to meet me behind the school tomorrow? —Maybe I’m being naïve. But there’s also the question of what happens if you link to a site and then later, unknown to you, the site puts up something that falls under Canada’s definition of child pornography [which isn’t given in the article, but I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s rather broad, and perhaps even vague], well, hey. You just broke the law, even though you didn’t do a damn thing wrong.)
This, of course, is the sort of law which isn’t designed to do anything so much as convince everyone with great huffery and puffery that something is being done about it. So don’t worry. Oh, and if you are arrested, it gives the prosecutor more options to tack on to your charges so they can then offer to whittle some away in return for a plea bargain. One of those lovely ancillary benefits that keeps the machinery of justice humming merrily along. Not, mind you, that I’m all that aware of Canada’s attitude towards that sort of thing. But that’s how we’d do it, south of the border.
The
exhausted rooster.
Monday, 19:39
Which is about the funniest thing I can think of at the moment, being that my grandfather (an editor and freelance writer, so that much runs in the blood; of course, he wrote nasty letters to Ford about the draft dodging pardon—nice to know some things do change), who was big in the Elks or maybe it was the Eagles or the Moose or the Oddfellows or one of those sub-Masonic lodge-type men’s clubs that don’t pretend to business-like respectability like the Kiwanis and the Rotary (geeks) and anyway, the leader or president of this particular lodge thing (“thing,” an Icelandic lodge-type community meeting, heh) (okay, now I’m getting punchy) was known “formally” as “Exalted Ruler,” which was always jokingly turned into (and I think it’s a snarky reference to droit du seigneur and other members’ wives, but the only droit the seigneur ever really claimed was to other members’ cocktails) and now, after all that build-up, here it comes: “Exhausted Rooster.”
B-dump bump!
Thank you. Look, I was going to say something meaningful about wholism and community and not partitioning your life and how Scarlet Letters has just taken a good, nay, an important, an incandescent, a staggering, no, that’s bad in this context, since the next word in this overly long metaphor is “step,” so maybe, something graceful, gazelle, what the heck, a leaping step in that direction by opening itself up to arts and letters of every stripe and not shoving the smut back into the shadows while it does so, and how cool this is, and I still might, but I’m tired, and this thing has got me so fucking angry I can’t see straight, and did I mention I’m tired? Exhausted, even. Oy.
And never mind about “leaping step.” It sucks.
nicholas urfé
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