Now *that's* interesting... I filled out this online petition and, using my pathetic French skills, looked up my 'circonscription' (which is apparently my voting district). What's my riding? WESTMOUNT-ST. LOUIS!
Yes, folks, I am a Westmounter. Of sorts. Of course, I can't fucking vote in Canada, being a dirty American, but that just makes me laugh. I live in the riding where most Prime Ministers hail from. And apparently I still have something in common with my Westmount apartment-dwelling ex.
Creepy.
Speaking of creepy, today I think I saw a window washer who fell to his death. I saw a ton of police cars and a body splayed out on the pavement for about 2 seconds before I quickly turned away. There was a crowd of gawkers, of which I definitely did not want to be a part. I felt the temptation to cross myself, even though I've been a lapsed Catholic for 5 years or more. Instead, I changed my iPod's tune to Mozart's Requiem. It was all I could think of at the time, feeling like some gesture ought to be made, aside from clicking my tongue with the rubberneckers.
Further creepiness continues in Sasha's column this week, where she discusses a previous column's glib talk about fucking your dog and the hatemail she received about it. She defends herself by saying that fucking your dog is not equivalent to raping an adult woman or molesting a child, as women and children are not dogs, and bestiality is a topic that needs to be addressed rather than swept under the rug as 'just feeling wrong.' Well, yes, I'd agree with that, but I'm not sure that telling people to go ahead and fuck their animals is the right way to do that. She argues that many dogs have humped her leg and she hasn't felt violated by that, so why shouldn't the reverse be okay? My feeling is that sex with a dog IS a bit like having sex with a child, because neither can say no or understands the act in the way that an adult human does. Perhaps the dog isn't going to be psychologically scarred when it gets older, because it won't be able to think back and realize that an older, wiser person took advantage of it, but if we start down that path, you start to rationalize fucking children as well. I don't want to argue in favour of sex with children, especially since this opens up another bunch of issues, like the age of consent laws, ideas about what constitutes rape or molestation, and maybe even talk about pornography. That's too much for one discussion.
Still, I think Sasha does actually have a point, in that taboos change over time. I think Edward Albee did a better job of addressing bestiality as a topic of concern in his play The Goat, or Who is Sylvia?, but at least she had the guts to bring it to a lowest common denominator type of audience, whereas Albee is only going to be seen by the types of white-haired folks who have season tickets at the Half-Man/Half-Horse theatre.
The other sex-columnist in town, Josey Vogels, printed only a sliver of my Worst Sex Story, but that's okay. I was curious to see what the other winners had to say about their relentless sagas of woe. She did get some of the details wrong, though:
1. we did not dance at a bar, but at a party
2. we ended up at HIS place, not mine. I dunno if I would've been quite so forgiving if he'd pissed in *my* bed.
This may not be the case, but it looks a bit like I won because Josey also had sex with a guy who wet the bed. Ah, the pity vote! But hers was a revenge fuck, and it happened in high school, so that's not quite the same.
Anyway, I wonder if I'd have won if I sent her my BEST sex story? And on that note, I think it's time to get back to the transcription.
Yes, folks, I am a Westmounter. Of sorts. Of course, I can't fucking vote in Canada, being a dirty American, but that just makes me laugh. I live in the riding where most Prime Ministers hail from. And apparently I still have something in common with my Westmount apartment-dwelling ex.
Creepy.
Speaking of creepy, today I think I saw a window washer who fell to his death. I saw a ton of police cars and a body splayed out on the pavement for about 2 seconds before I quickly turned away. There was a crowd of gawkers, of which I definitely did not want to be a part. I felt the temptation to cross myself, even though I've been a lapsed Catholic for 5 years or more. Instead, I changed my iPod's tune to Mozart's Requiem. It was all I could think of at the time, feeling like some gesture ought to be made, aside from clicking my tongue with the rubberneckers.
Further creepiness continues in Sasha's column this week, where she discusses a previous column's glib talk about fucking your dog and the hatemail she received about it. She defends herself by saying that fucking your dog is not equivalent to raping an adult woman or molesting a child, as women and children are not dogs, and bestiality is a topic that needs to be addressed rather than swept under the rug as 'just feeling wrong.' Well, yes, I'd agree with that, but I'm not sure that telling people to go ahead and fuck their animals is the right way to do that. She argues that many dogs have humped her leg and she hasn't felt violated by that, so why shouldn't the reverse be okay? My feeling is that sex with a dog IS a bit like having sex with a child, because neither can say no or understands the act in the way that an adult human does. Perhaps the dog isn't going to be psychologically scarred when it gets older, because it won't be able to think back and realize that an older, wiser person took advantage of it, but if we start down that path, you start to rationalize fucking children as well. I don't want to argue in favour of sex with children, especially since this opens up another bunch of issues, like the age of consent laws, ideas about what constitutes rape or molestation, and maybe even talk about pornography. That's too much for one discussion.
Still, I think Sasha does actually have a point, in that taboos change over time. I think Edward Albee did a better job of addressing bestiality as a topic of concern in his play The Goat, or Who is Sylvia?, but at least she had the guts to bring it to a lowest common denominator type of audience, whereas Albee is only going to be seen by the types of white-haired folks who have season tickets at the Half-Man/Half-Horse theatre.
The other sex-columnist in town, Josey Vogels, printed only a sliver of my Worst Sex Story, but that's okay. I was curious to see what the other winners had to say about their relentless sagas of woe. She did get some of the details wrong, though:
1. we did not dance at a bar, but at a party
2. we ended up at HIS place, not mine. I dunno if I would've been quite so forgiving if he'd pissed in *my* bed.
This may not be the case, but it looks a bit like I won because Josey also had sex with a guy who wet the bed. Ah, the pity vote! But hers was a revenge fuck, and it happened in high school, so that's not quite the same.
Anyway, I wonder if I'd have won if I sent her my BEST sex story? And on that note, I think it's time to get back to the transcription.
I don't understand the whole gawking thing myself, or what people hope to get out of seeing something so tragic.
At least some law enforcement agencies and ambulance techs are trying to fight the problem, especially when it slows down traffic. Police in and around Boston have started using seven foot tall shields that prevent passing motorists from seeing anything.
As for gawking, the word stems from what people once called their little-used left hand - their "gawk hand". It soon became a synonym for ungainly people: louts, oafs and all around meatheads and lummoxes.