Delayed Spring Break, Complex Geometry, Handguns, Vibrators, ORGASMS!, War Machines, 17 a Day- and the Cunning Fennec Fox

13/14 August 2014

0739 hrs

(c)  Properfessor

Good Morning, Patient Reader . . .

(c)  Properfessor

(c)  Or Smth

(c)  Misuteru

       Last night was the first night in a while where I spent it sans Shmarla . . . it was lonely and it was quiet and she was there only in memory and in her scent left on her pillow.  

          Weird how absence really does make the heart grow fonder.  We did speak on the phone for a bit, and that was good, but still . . .

At any rate, we are still getting
 together this weekend.  I’m not sure what plans we have, but the term is over and we are off for the whole month of September.  Pretty great.  We all (students and professors alike) could use the break.

   So what is going on in the world?  

          Jesus.  In addition to The Vagina Monologues, which I recommend to anyone who has not seen it, y’all should check out the accompanying Until the Violence Stops.  Pretty eye-opening stuff . . . I’ll try to post the response paper I wrote for the Monologues portion of the assignment.  I hope you find it interesting, but if not well, y’all know that you can fug the bejesus outta yourselves . . . 

          except for you Faithful Patient Reader; you CFFers all know the score.

Well, the BBC tells me that France is
 supplying weapons to the Iraqi Kurds, 

          doubtless thanks to pressure or promise from the U.S. govt.  We have already been sending CIA “advisors” back to Iraq,

though Pres. Obama insists that he will not be re-deploying troops themselves.  I hope not . . . the longest war with American involvement needs to fucking end already.  I mean, how much blood can we trade for oil in the first place?  

            How many of our youth and innocent Iraqi civilians must die before we drain the oilfields dry?  Let’s try to not find out, OK?  Can we just do that?  Pretty please?

            Six people, including two
 journalists, were killed in Gaza when an Israeli missile exploded amid attempts to dismantle it.  That’s great . .

          Five climbers’ bodies were found on Mont Blanc (15781 ft.; 4810 m) 

          though the guide is still missing.  Those freak storms that come up at altitude without warning . . .  If you haven’t already, read Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer, arguably one of the best journalist authors of our time.

Hey!  Maryam Mirzakhani

 won the Fields Medal due to her work in Complex Geometry,

and is the first woman to do so.  Yay, math.  Thanks for finally recognizing that you don’t have to possess outdoor plumbing to do it.  Welcome to the Twentieth Century.  Bastards.  And yes, obviously, beautiful women can be and often are geniuses, too.

            A Swiss train was derailed outside St. Moritz . . . by a landslide.  Thanks, god.

Christie Mack, an “adult actress,”

 was allegedly assaulted by her ex-boyfriend, an MMA fighter who goes by the name, “War Machine . . .”  Hm.  OK.

Butch Hancock of the Flatlanders Band wrote: "Life in Lubbock Texas taught me two things: one is that God loves you and you're going to burn in hell. The other is that sex is the most awful, filthy thing on earth and you should save it for someone you love."

            This is the attitude in the
 Pentecostal mindset . . . what there is of a mind they have in the first place.  Fucking Zealots.  

All the vibrator pics I tried to get were in use . . . sorry . . . this IS a family blog, fuckers!

            You know, it’s interesting to note that it is illegal to sell vibrators in Alabama (Roll Tide, Roll!), Georgia, Mississippi, Texas and Ohio.

            Handguns are available readily and legally in these states, however.  How many mass murders have been committed by vibrators, and would that really be a horrible way to go out?

ok . . . so I found some

           Now look.  I am not one of those anti-gun liberals that make up the majority of the Party with which I associate.  I actually like guns, having grown up with them.  I am quite the shot, too.  Iron sights, I mean . . . anyone can use a scope.  But I believe that the most fun is in shooting cans or coins or bull’s-eye targets (as opposed to the man-shaped silhouette targets we see most fucks shooting at . . .)

 and I believe killing people is wrong.  Maybe something is wrong with me?  Probably so.  But I don’t have the right to take the life away from any living creature, even the life of another human being whether they deserve it or not.  Yes, I know a lot of humans who really do need killing . . . I say in (partial) jest, but let fate drop a piano on them or something cool and gushy like that.  People certainly don’t need to kill one another.

           

            But c’mon, folks!  Let’s set the
 vibrators loose.  Let’s have Dildo Day and bring a little more peace and understanding to the species.  And all you homophobes or insecure men who are afraid of these devices, swallow (haha . . .  I said swallow) your fears and your pride and get one for your partner, and bring it into the bed with you.  Not to try it on yourselves (unless that is your thing and there is nothing wrong with that- it could provide a night’s relief on the 14 year old Korean boy

 you have secreted away in your Dungeon of Play and burn with cigarettes

 out of sadistic frustration when you can’t rape him with your impotent Repub, sister-fucking

 xian peckers- no judgment),
but to entertain this significant other and introduce him/her into the world of pleasure that vibrators . . . and only vibrators, can provide.  

          I envision world peace when the day comes that men are too busy pleasuring their lovers to design and build war machines and other instruments of destruction.

17 orgasms a day, is my philosophy.  Sure, we may die of malnutrition, but we’ll do it a-smilin’.  Really, Make Love Not War, is not as crazy as it sounds . . . and it makes perfect sense to me. 

digital alterations by Properfessor

            What is so bad about pleasing
 one another?  Why is giving pleasure to someone who is kind and generous enough to share themselves with you in the first place such a scary and yes, evil, prospect?  Oh yeah.  Because you are selfish misogynists

 and women don’t deserve orgasms . . . if they can even have them in the first place, you neglectful and abusive fucks.  Good sex, you know; no violence, coercion or intimidation, guilt or fear, is not bad sex.  It is not violent, no matter the variety, if communication and consent are Omni-present.  Coming is almost always better than going. 

            I guess orgasms are good
 enough a subject with which to close the rant for today . . .  can y’all think of a better one?    So let’s all go out and make someone smile.  Let’s all be kind to one another today, and try again tomorrow, shall we?  Splendid!

My Vagina Monologues Paper:

            For this

assignment I watched The Vagina Monologues.  This is a live, on-stage one-person show written and performed by Eve Ensler.  In it, the writer/comedienne performs skits; vignettes based on interviews she did with hundreds of women of all ages and from all over the world in regard to their thoughts and feelings based on their vaginas.

            The main topic was, of course, vaginas, but really it was about violence perpetrated against women of all types found in the cross-section of humanity.  The cultural differences of each made no perceptible change to the outcome, as I saw it; life for women, their struggles and trials a common thread that ran through the body of her work.

            Before I

 watched this movie, I felt . . . apprehensive.  I am not the squeamish type.  In fact, I have always been proud of the fact that when it became too tough for everyone else, it was getting just right for me.  In my line of work, I have been wrist-deep in other’s brains at times, and nary a batted eye did I convey.  In fact, I was the first neurodiagnostician called when the scene was gruesome, much to the relief (or hopes and wishes) of my colleagues.

         I have seen things humans should never see and have often planned the speeches that I would give loved ones of the patient’s condition, even as I was trying to wrap my own head around it myself.

            I had heard of

The Vagina Monologues when it first came out. The media did a good job illuminating the pros and cons, and NPR had a series of stories centered on Ms. Ensler and the theme of the film.

            This movie

 relates to society in that half of the world’s population has a vagina.  A majority of the other half have no idea what happens there, but wants to be a regular visitor, nonetheless.  Some of us, the Y chromosome variety as well as those of the XX, want to experience as many vaginas as possible.  At any rate, this wonderful, mysterious organ has been in the forefront of thought for what has to be millions of years.  Knowledge of vaginas and the possessors of them; their views and feelings and limitations imposed by themselves as well as society’s, is tantamount to the continued evolution of our species.

            The topic of

 vaginas has come up in class, primarily in the exercise (the one I referred to in a tongue-in-cheek fashion as something related to fecal matter) wherein we assigned all of the, pejorative, as it turns out, vocabulary of the vagina, as well as other disembodied and objectified sex organs pertaining to the order Mammalia.

            I am a large and imposing figure and have, in the past, intimidated, whether intentionally or not, others of my shared species.  Today, I am conscious of this much more than I was in my youth.  Today, I never use my powers for evil- it is unnecessary and counter-productive and I feel it hinders both my own evolution and that of humankind.  I try, in my own way, to obtund the effect of my overbearing appearance through compassion and empathy.  

         It is for these reasons I try to put myself in the position of women and the perception, real or imagined, of a six-foot two-inch, 220-pound man walking toward them on the sidewalk.  I almost always cross the street, and I do my best in giving the night back to women.

            I must admit,

 much to the detriment of my grade, that I did not complete watching the film.  This goes back to the squeamishness to which I referred earlier in this paper.  I became increasingly saddened by the stories Ms. Ensler told, and I found myself unable to complete the vignette of the raped women during the conflict in the former Yugoslavia.  I got a taste, and my glossopharyngeal nerve pair withdrew in disgust.  I reached the limit of my patience in humanity, for in war, and the treatment of women and children in it, humanity is remarkably absent.  I shrink from the horror of ourselves.

            When I was a child I knew instinctively that women think differently from men.  I knew that I could go to my mother or sister and receive an opinion or observation of which I had not thought.

As an adult and diagnostician, I am acutely aware of changes in my body and mind, and am able to diagnose whatever ails me.  I know what it is and what I can do to ameliorate my symptoms.  But I also know my limitations.  To this day I choose for my personal physicians, therapists, and other health care professionals, women exclusively.  I do not mean to come across as sexist, nor do I wish for my opinions to appear as such, but I know that when I consult a woman, there are seven different options I hadn’t even considered.  Simply put, Women know more than Men, and I am a more effective and healthy person when I heed their advice.

       In conclusion, Ms.

 Ensler found a vehicle in which to convey, through humor and profound insight, the importance of women in our world, and the way they are seemingly . . . eschewed and dismissed when there is so much that they contribute- something we men would see if only we could open our eyes and see the action of our sexism and the consequences of not seeing the ramifications of it.  All because of the vagina . . .

       I liked what I

 saw, even the part where I had to stop watching, and I was provoked to introspection and compassion for myself and all others as I sank deeper into the film.  I will finish the film one day, perhaps when the depressive part of my cycle begins to wane and I am better able to cope mentally with the subject matter.  I meant to return to it this weekend, but found that my heart could not take it.  Perhaps I should make an appointment with a cardiologist . . . I know many of them who are women.  

And Always I Remain . . .

The Cunning Fennec Fox