Susie Bright's Journal

Mad Men, Ft. Hood, & the Stupak Amendment: Connect the Dots

 I can't be the only one to make the connection. 

For those of us who who are devoted to the American tele-novella Mad Men, the recent psycho-shooting at Ft. Hood had an eerie plot echo.
 

(Spoilers ahead).

In Mad Men, which takes place in New York of 1963, there's a fictional character named Greg, an aspiring surgeon who disgraces himself so badly in the operating room that he is forced to go into, shame of all shames, psychiatry. 
 

Since I've placed my life in the hands of a therapist more than once, this reaction came as a surprise to me! 
 

Yet among Greg's colleagues at the hospital, the psychiatry career path is considered a "fail." The deep background on Greg is that we already know he is a messed-up dude, a rapist with serious issues who is the LAST person you'd want to be talking to on a couch. 

As the season closes, we learn that Greg has joined the Army where they're desperate enough to take a loser like him and give him a surgeon's scalpel and a badge.
 

 He's so ignorant he doesn't have a clue that Vietnam is his imminent destination.

Meanwhile, in real life, Nidal Malik Hasan, the deranged Army psychiatrist who went on a shooting spree at Ft. Hood, also turns out to be… a failed surgeon. The detail that caught my eye was the anecdote revealed by his uncle, who said that Hasan went into psychiatry after he FAINTED in the O.R. during a routine childbirth. The sight of a baby emerging from a woman's vagina sent Nidal over the edge.

With that clue, something in me snapped.

This was a guy, who by all accounts so far, has never been on a date, and routinely complained to his mosque's imam that he couldn't find a woman "pious" enough to marry, a virgin who would wear a veil around the clock.

Hassan is being scrutinized for any potential ties to espionage, fanatical religious beliefs, and vicarious PTSD from treating so many broken soldiers.

 But this man's craziness is more clearly understood in the context of his severe and distorted sexual repression.

In the midst of this reality-fantasy convergence, another piece of patriarchal-creep rocked the country— this time, affecting more people than Ft. Hood and Mad Men's viewership combined. We witnessed the Orwellian "health care reform" process become derailed by what I call "The Stupid Amendment," a wildly successful Vatican intervention to make sure that whatever health care plan comes out of Congress, it will be engineered to control women's wombs. 

 In other words, health insurance for men, not for women. 

The Stupak Amendment is ostensibly about preventing women from using their insurance coverage to pay for abortion procedures. But making a rule that women's healthcare below the waist is subject to moral review is outrageous. 

Would any of these politicians consider making a health care exemption to the complications of a man's penis? His prostate? His semen? His scrotum? His urethra? Would urologists, like abortion surgeons, be treated like criminals whose entire knowledge base should be wiped out of existence? Would any man be put on parade to prove "rape, incest, or imminent death" in order to prove that he needed a procedure about ANYTHING?

"Pro-life" rhetoric is now used across the aisle, with even the President proclaiming that the federal government will never fund abortions. 

 

Afghanistan annihilation, yes! Abortion, no!
  
 

 Our war-lovin', misogynistic culture cares so little about "life" that the candlelight vigil for the Hasan's victims at Fort Hood had the air of a rote exercise. Here's Wade Goodwyn, from NPR, talking last week: 

The thing I was struck by was... that the vigil was a well-established routine. 

 

I mean, this was a pretty big moment for me, but I could tell that the attending crowd had done this before. 

And when we interviewed people, the soldiers and the families, after the vigil was over, they'd tell us, "I've been to too many of these already."

This country cares little about killing all life forms and even less about the welfare of its children. Our atrocious infant mortality rates, hungry children, uneducated children, children with birth defects and developmental disabilities treated like trash… my blood's turned cold.  Watching Congressmen gleefully cheer on the passage of the Stupak amendment, for me, was like watching Greg rape Joan— and worse, to witness her acceptance of it.
 

It reminds me of something I wrote in The Sexual State of the Union:

American boomerangs from "Fear of a Black Planet," a Youth Revolt, a genderfuck coup, to the opposite horror: that of a lone man with a big gun. 

Meet the older, privileged, "had-all-the-opportunities" kinda guy who comes equipped with a bomb, no dates, and a pathologically self-centered attitude. Oh, we'll wish he had only been in the Crips! If only he'd been a drag queen, if only he'd pierced his dick and gotten high on dope! Any of these would be preferable, a million times more humane. 

We can diss a counter-culture, but what are we supposed to do with a counter-human? We can't stand to look at the cult of alienated masculinity and wonder how we got here.

Where the Wild Things Are: Alison Bechdel in Susie-Stitched Pajamas

via dykestowatchoutfor.com

Every year I get inspired by a book or two. Inspired, as in, "If I only had one life to live..." inspired. I usually buy a whole carton and hand them out to my friends.  Sometimes I know the author; sometimes I have to look them up on wikipedia and wonder what I've been missing all these years. But I know one thing: it's rare that authors hear from anyone, besides prisoner requests, about the effect their work is having. So I always write a letter, too. 

I've never had the same author shatter my literary coma two years in a row. But Alison Bechdel did it. She's an old colleague of mine from the days when queers only had secret underground lairs to publish in. I thought she was just like me, one of our talented gang of rabble-rousers. She's not— she's a genius. 

The past couple years she released two books: her graphic memoir, Fun House— AND a compedium of her legendary comic strip, The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For.

I contacted Alison and proposed that I could make her a tailored men's shirt, as an homage to her greatness. Then I realized I couldn't pull that off without demanding she come in for multiple fittings while I wrestled with my seamstress inadequacies. She lives in Vermont but even if she lived next door to me in California, I think she'd go crazy with my methods.

So I said, "How about flannel pajamas?"

She liked that idea. She picked out the grizzly bear print from some samples I sent her.

And then.... a YEAR went by. I guess I'm not the world's greatest fan, after all. But this September, I did it— and mailed them after the Labor Day weekend. Alison emailed me to say they arrived... on her birthday. Magic is in the air!

And they fit. And they're cozy. And she's grizz-tastic.

"Lutherans to Allow Sexually Active Gays as Clergy"

MINNEAPOLIS (AP) -- The nation's largest Lutheran denomination took openly gay clergy more fully into its fold Friday, as leaders of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America voted to lift a ban that prohibited sexually active gay and lesbian people from serving as ministers.

via www.nytimes.com

This is wonderful news, from a progressive church that has stuck their necks more than once. It's the same church that George Tiller belonged to. Lake Woebegon can be proud.

I have to laugh at the headline... "Lutherans Allow Sexually Active Gays as Clergy"? How active do you have to be to make the cut?

Think of all the heterosexual and bisexual ministers who may or may not be BUSY. Do ministers need to be thought of as nimble bed-nymphs— "active" or "not active?" Can't people just mind their own beeswax?

The news will make some married folk scratch their heads. "Gee, do people think we're sexually active? I haven't been in the missionary position in months."

The puritanical mind always imagines that gay people are libidinous, as if the mere presence of a romantic partner guarantees sexual frequency.

 If only!

Mary Kay's Night Out

Last week, I heard an outlandish announcement: the famous Seattle schoolteacher who ran away with her seventh grade student— and eventually bore his children in wedded chaos— was, after all these years, sponsoring a "Hot for Teacher" night at a local Seattle bar, featuring her husband as DJ.

Mary Kay Letourneau's story has been exploited ad nauseum— mostly by people other than herself or her family— but it is truly an unusual tale.

Her dad was an extreme right wing Catholic politician who ran for President on a "nut-job ticket." Her mother was a rabid acolyte of Phyllis Schafly. It was a "What-Goes-On-Behind-Blonde-Doors" sort of thing.

She married at 22 and had four kids with her husband Steve, before she first met the 13-year-old, Vili Fualaau, who decided she was hot— and whom she, at 34— couldn't say "no" to.

She and Vili had a torrid affair right under people's noses for some time. It finally blew up, a triangle with Vili's mother pulling the trigger after a period of "watch and wait."

Next, MK was given a lenient jail sentence— but blew the terms of her parole by meeting Vili  on the sly— where they conceived two children. The two kids were initially raised by his mom, who continued to either sue or defend Mary, depending on the week.

Mary was under a court order to never see Vili again, after her stretch in the pokey. Seven years is some hard time.

After sleeping with a bunch of other people and getting busted on DUI's, Fualaau came of age and successfully petitioned the court to see Mary again.

They got married a tabloid-sponsored million-dollar affair. If you had told me Tonya Harding was the maid of honor, I wouldn't have been surprised.

But I was surprised by this: they stay married. They have two daughters. Even stranger, Mary's oldest son by her first marriage lives with them, and her second-eldest comes to visit most every weekend. The two youngest are not of age and still live with their father, the mysterious Steve. He seems to be the only person who hasn't said something about this to the press, which makes him look rather sterling. It's certainly one of the greatest cuckolding stories of all time.

I recount these observations as part of the fractured fairy tale, not as a defense or cause celebre. It's unfair to strike a moral posture on The Letourneau Affair,  because their story defies all predictions.

The couple seems to live in a delicate but impermeable bubble. They live off of, and yet apart from, their infamy. Those who know them, find the couple "warm," "real," "down-to-earth." They fit, in their set. If you watch these videos, you get a glimpse of that.

Those who don't know them are grossed out by the recorded history. They think she's crazy, deluded, and reckless— and that he must be hot mess who'll dump her as soon as he grows up but will never dump his damage.

In interviews today, MLT seems strangely doll-like and submissive after all these years — like she wouldn't last seven minutes in prison, let alone seven years. Vili still sports the same machismo and juvenile "I can rationalize anything" affect he's had since middle school.

MK remembers how great it was when Vili turned 21 and they could both go out and order a drink. Is the whole family just swimming around at the bottom of a glass? I have no idea.

They don't "influence" anyone outside their intimate orbit, as much as they insult propriety. MLT is not leading a trend or setting an example for anyone. The two of them are outliers.

When I was a young teacher, leading classes of college students not much younger than me, I was terrified of their crushes. I didn't find them attractive; I found them threatening. I felt as if they could flip a switch from adoration to fury with one wrong look. I wanted as much detachment and authority as possible.

On the other end, I always had teacher crushes myself— a little transference here, a little swooning there. I don't think I caused anyone worry, if or I did, they never let me know. I think the fantasies were a gesture of "looking up" to someone, idealizing a mentor, of wishing to grow up.

I liked having teachers on that pedestal; I didn't suffer the distance. The couple of teachers that I ended up having post-grad friendships with, evolved over many years, with our intellectual rapport leading the transformation. If they are a little parental with me now, I enjoy it.

I asked my friends on Facebook if any of them would trot out to "Hot for Teacher" night and report back. I didn't ask for any political ID. Two people, Professor Tom and Litsa Dremousis, filed quite different reports.

Their one area of agreement? Apparently Miss Mary has spectacular gams. And neither of them could stand the gig for more than half an hour.

Professor Tom at "Hot For Teacher" Night:

Mary Kay LeTourneau Fualaau appeared to be a sweet, happy, gregarious, vision of beauty with an aura of compassionate, motherly care.

The event went like this: "She served her time for the crime and now that we're all adults, it's time to PARTY." 

Vili seemed like a young man who has found a pot of gold. He spun hits for the massive crowd in a pro DJ style that could've been pumping in any one of the steamy clubs of downtown Pioneer Square. 

These days we all carry cells and Pods as a prop— so instead of standing there with a drink, the infamous couple (mostly Mary) were surrounded by people holding their devices up in the air, trying to capture that rare image or sound bite— or calling their friends and streaming online.

Vili didn't rap or talk to the crowd of well-wishers but kept a hand on the mixer and laptop sound system. He was animated, smiling.

Mary was tan, slim in a strapless short black dress, and heels. She has great legs. The T-shirt for the event didn't show her golden-blond straight hair, beautiful complexion, or bright red lipstick. 

She did not address the gathering of her fans from the mic, but she did hold center stage with a genuine smile while everyone hugged her and got their picture taken.

She bubbled more like a giggling schoolgirl than any schoolmarm.

I talked to a guy who said he was Vili's friend and that Mary is always around (presumably kickin' it) and is very happy— a regular person.

A woman from San Diego told me she might go to hell for being here tonight— or for accepting these folks for who they are. She said it was unthinkable for her nine-year-old son to experience this at age twelve.

Not everyone knows that MK and Vili didn't get caught in the van in the school parking lot by the security guard. The police didn't respond for a year to eyewitnesses. It was Vili's mother and aunt who finally insisted the case be heard. This was in a closed door, upscale, quiet neighborhood.

So much for our educational institutions turning out cookie-cutter worker drones for the military industrial complex.  

Back in the fifth grade, I fell in love with my teacher named Heather Danniker. This was about 1970.  Heather looked like Ali McGraw from The Getaway. She was young for a teacher— probably fresh out of college— but that was older woman for me.

There were times at the end of class when I had to come up with a reason to stay seated to avoid embarrassment from a protruding encumbrance brought on by studying the color, texture, light and shadow of Ms. Danniker's pantyhose.

I'll never forget her sitting in a chair with a book in front of the class where I would patiently wait for her adjust her crossed legs one way or another providing a glimpse of natural science. 

-- Professor Tom

Litsa Dremousis at "Hot For Teacher" Night:

“Really?" my cabdriver asked, sensing I’m not the type to frequent Seattle’s cheesy downtown sports bars. "Why are you headed to Fuel Sports?”

“I’m going to 'Hot for Teacher Night,' that thing with Mary Kay Letourneau and Vili Fualaau,” I replied— referencing the infamous convicted Level 2 sex offender and her onetime underage victim, now adult husband of the past four years.

“I’m covering it, though. It’s not like I plan to make new friends tonight.”

“I don’t know,” the driver said. “If you look at the fact they started over a decade ago, they’ve lasted longer than most marriages I can think of. They really seem to want to be together.”

True, they had been “together” in some form for over a decade, no small feat. But most great love stories don’t involve one party’s family suing the school district and police department for failing to protect their son and for child support of their two children.

We arrived at Fuel; I paid my fare and hopped out. A truly vile dance mix of Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida” blared from inside and engulfed the sidewalk, drowning out the commotion gathering outside the entrance. A man in his 40s wearing a softball shirt and wire-rim glasses yelled at three security guards while two local television stations filmed the exchange.

“She’s a child rapist!” the man shouted. “You’re making money off of sexual assault!”

“She served her time, man! She served her time!” the security guards shouted back, all bald and clad in black leather.

“You guys could have had One Dollar Beer Night instead! There are other ways to get a crowd!”

Two of the guards lumbered to their motorcycles parked on the street and summarily revved them as loud as they could, obliterating the man’s words and ruining the stations’ footage.

The man moved a few yards away. The guards, none of whom seemed to realize the extent of their clichés, finally ceased the revving and menacing. I asked the protester if he would like to discuss the evening’s theme. He said his name was Joe and that in the course of his career as a police officer in California, he had worked with dozens of sexual assault victims of both genders. “This whole evening is an atrocity toward domestic violence and rape. They’re profiting off the pain of others.”

I thanked him for his time and got in line. When I arrived at the front, I saw a sign reading, “No media or press not approved earlier this week.” A guard asked for five bucks and my I.D. “I saw you talking to that guy. Are you a reporter?”

“No,” I fudged, neglecting to mention that, also, I thought he was an asshole.

“Then why were you talking to that guy? I saw you asking him stuff.”

“I felt like talking to him. That’s allowed, isn’t it?” I replied, my sarcasm thick as his skull. A second guard checked my bag and eyed my notebook suspiciously. I met his gaze and said, “I carry one sometimes. So?”

Stumped, they took my money and let me in. Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy” blasted from the sound system and I edged towards the mostly-empty dance floor and spotted Fualaau onstage with his MacBook, ostensibly serving tunes but mostly providing spectacle.

Patrons sporting a stunning array of crunchy and outdated haircuts crowded the bar and U-shape of surrounding tables, viewing Fualaau as if he were a zoo act. He didn’t look up and appeared almost timid, as if he weren’t quite sure how to proceed.

Letourneau was nowhere to be found and I asked a table of college girls with a giant inflatable pink penis on their table what they thought of the evening so far. “We’re just here for my bachlorette party!” one of them replied, adjusting the strap on her pink shiny halter dress. “We thought it would be fun!”

A thunderous cheer tore through the crowd— not quite the kind that met Barack Obama on the campaign trail— but more than, say, Jimmy Fallon might expect to elicit.

I turned and saw a woman with almost-daffodil yellow hair and superb legs. It took me a second to realize this was the once-frumpy schoolteacher I’d seen in countless hours of news footage. She beamed as dozens of camera phones flashed like popcorn-ing rhinestones.

“Mary Kay!” an older woman in walking sneakers and capri pants yelled. “Make sure and tell Vili I’m the one who sent the baby book!” Letourneau smiled and returned the hug when the woman embraced her.

 A nearby reveler pointed at Mary and asked his friends, “Can you imagine if she had been a guy teacher? Alcatraz, baby! Al-ca-traz!” His female companion answered, “I know it sounds weird, but I always thought she was hot.”

The bachlorette throng rushed Letourneau as if she were a long-lost friend and the woman who launched a thousand punch lines responded in kind. On and on it went, each customer  more rapturous than the previous. A Fuel employee sold autographed “Hot for Teacher!” t-shirts and posters at a nearby folding table, looking slightly queasy. “How much is the merchandise?” I asked.

“Seven dollars for a poster and twenty for a t-shirt. We’ve sold a lot so far.”

“How do you feel about them making money like this?”

“I’m dating the owner’s cousin. He asked me to help out tonight and I couldn’t tell him no.” She paused, as if concerned someone would hear our exchange. “I’m neutral about Letourneau, but you don’t say ‘no’ to family.”

A half an hour later, I was back in the  cab riding home— and the driver asked me, 'Hot for Teacher' Night? What’d you go to that thing for?”

-  Litsa Dremousis

Bios:

Litsa Dremousis’ work appears in The Believer, BlackBook, Bookmarks, Esquire, Filter, Hobart, McSweeney's, Monkeybicycle, MovieMaker, Nylon, Paper, Paste, Pindeldyboz, Poets and Writers, Seattle Magazine, Seattle Sound, the Seattle Weekly, and on NPR. She is writing her first novel and blogs inconsistently but with great good will at http://theslipperyfish.blogspot.com/

Thanks also to Litsa for her photos!

Professor Tom is at large in Ballard.

Dear Meghan McCain... Let's Understand Sex Even Further!

Dear Meghan McCain,

You sure set the woods on fire, girl... I just read your blazing editorial for The Daily Beast: "The GOP Doesn't Understand Sex."

Good golly.

You demanded that conservatives get real and support birth control!

It took ovarian nerve to do this.

Congratulations! You're the first adult child of a Presidential candidate to not pretend you're an unmarried virgin.

Many of your readers got goose bumps as you wrote it: "Daughters of Republican politicians aren’t expected to have sex, let alone enjoy it— as if there were some strange chastity belt automatically attached to us female offspring."

We love to hear you smash that ball and chain.

You decried the spectacle of Bristol Palin promoting abstinence when only weeks ago, the young lass admitted on national TV that abstinence "wasn't realistic."

I'm sure you'd rather never hear another Palin Bedtime Story  again... but it was, sadly, your father's campaign who decided to put blow up the Palins' Sex Life like  a balloon at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

But let's get back to your frank declaration: Birth Control = Good Idea.

You write: "My parents raised me to know that, regardless of the mistakes I might make, they would allow me the dignity and courage to make my own choices. That’s the kind of trust my parents have always placed in their children—yet the GOP still needed to get involved and have a say in what I did with my body."

I believe you! I know you appreciate all the power that having control over your uterus brings to your future. I know you're embarrassed that the GOP religious zealots have exploited this issue to sadistic proportions.

There's just a couple hitches. I can't be the first to point them out to you.

You say, that "As a Republican, I am pro-life."

Huh?  I think you need to have a little talk with your ghost writer. The GOP doesn't have a membership requirement that its voters oppose abortion.

Furthermore, ff there were a test to eliminate Republican voters who had abortions, or helped pay for abortions, your party would be wiped out. Miscarriage, accidental pregnancy, abortion, birth, all of these are normal experiences over the course of human life.

You seem like a bright woman—  how can you write that "using birth control and having an abortion are not the same at all."

!!!

Surely you understand when one attempt fails, the other becomes a possibility.

Meghan, how many of your friends say, "I don't use regular birth control— I just get an abortion whenever I get knocked up. What a breeze! Me so horny!"

This carefree ditzy abortion-floozy doesn't exist except in the patriarchal nut-job imagination.

You're adamant that your privacy and dignity are essential. It's no one else's business. What you describe in terms of your self-determination is known in the field as "pro-choice."

The pro-life rug doesn't match your drapes.

Your  progressive candor is repeatedly interrupted by the oddest outbursts, like when you wrote that, "True, abstinence is the only way to fully prevent pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases."

Whoops! That is false! I'm sorry, you've just lost the final round!

Abstinence is an intention, a vow— not a method to prevent pregnancy. As a practice, it's  the absolute WORST, most failure-ridden notion of "birth control" ever recorded. Even a dried-up old "Today Sponge" is better than abstinence!

Can't you see where this is going? If you're on the Pill, even if you have regretful sex, or get "carried away," you won't pregnant. If you use a condom, even if you're drunk or distressed, you won't get pregnant. Your IUD or diaphragm won't "fail" even if things get messy. With an actual "method," you're 90-something-percent likely to prevent pregnancy no matter what you "believe." 

If you have faith in fairies or abstinence, however, your odds go down the drain.

What if you were raped or coerced into sex? Most annoying of all, what if you had an accident that impaired the birth control you did use? It happens all the time, especially to married couples, Meghan! Ask your parents!

In any case, I bet you're aware of Plan B, the pill that prevents the fertiized egg's implantation. It's one of the most important pharmaceutical developments of your generation.

You're not joining some idiotic "abstinence" junket. So take the next step. If you're for birth control, then you understand the cycle of life and that abortion is an event that could occur in any woman's life. You understand that if you take "birth control" seriously,  it's not a church and chastity belt.

It must be sweet for your parents to hear you say, "The key [to ending unwanted pregnancy] is communication between parents and children." But I don't think you'd want to be stuck behind a locked door if the  "communication" failed.

Let's cut the infantilization crap; I know you want to.  A great many of the people having "unwanted pregnancies" are full-grown adults in longtime relationships— marriages!— who are not having a chat with their parents about what to do next! 

Even if isolated teens were your only concern, the chats with mom and dad are no help if there isn't public policy that supports sex education and reproductive health in women's self-interest.

I'm impressed you walked away from the Vatican, James Dobson, and Phyllis Schlafly.  You damned the WASP torpedoes and declared "sex is natural." We aren't used to Republicans saying wild and crazy things like that! A young woman no less...

You'll take the standard slut-beating for this little editorial— and feminists will be the ones who have your back.

Your birth control lovin' sister,

Susie Bright

Photograph: KPA/Zuma/Rex Features

Josh Marshall & Talking Points Memo Talks with Susie Bright!

Do you know whether or not you are a prostitute?

by Laura Agustín

That’s the question raised by a sign seen at Zapata’s Mexican Cantina in Shanghai.

I’ve been worrying about prostitution qua prostitution only since the early 1990s. Before that I didn’t read books about it— I didn’t go to conferences, I had no academic acquaintances of any description— and I didn’t know it to be a big issue," either in Latin America, the US, or Europe. You could say I was uncontaminated by ideology; any opinions I had were casual and uninformed.

On the other hand, I have had people in my life who sell sex going back to the 1960s, way before I began to think about prostitution.
My friend Mona had sex with a lot of men and took money from them to help with her rent. But she didn’t call herself prostitute, hooker or call girl, and I doubt she’d call herself a sex worker now that the term is available. Mona had special talents that suited her to a certain kind of prostitution, but she never earned much money— and, many will point out, she scarcely had a professional attitude. Her tenement studio was tiny and dingy, so the rent she got guys to help her with was low.

Another of my friends of that era, Scotty, played the piano in joints all over town, changing his appearance and repertoire to get more gigs. I admit that once, after running into him looking like Count Dracula with purple hair on the corner of 57th Street and Broadway, the thought that he was prostituting his talent crossed my mind. Not fair, but then I didn’t think prostitution was anything bad, either.

Years later, I suspect I must have read everything ever written about the sex industry. I published a book about migration and trafficking (Susie’s interview with me is a great introduction).

I invented a new field of study called the cultural study of commercial sex, in which any type of exchange involving sex and money (or benefits, gifts, etc.) can be examined without moralizing and without  calling and condemning everything as "prostitution." My idea is that we need a lot more information about what goes on in sex-money exchanges before we rush to pass laws and regulate everyone involved in all of them. A special edition of the journal Sexualities is full of examples written within this liberating framework.

Most of the heat in conversations about commercial sex goes to the idea of prostitution – whether it can ever be a normalised profession called "sex work" or whether it is by definition "violence against women." Some people think marriage is prostitution; others think all paid work is.

For myself, I wonder how people imagine there to be a clear line between commercial and non-commercial sexual transactions, since all of life seems saturated with both.

My curiosity was piqued when I saw the above photo from Zapata’s, a middle-class bar-restaurant located in Tongren Lu, a popular Shanghai nightlife area. It’s not the kind of place where I’d expect to see a sign about prostitution. Trying to figure this one out led me into the expat world, where only insiders— most of the vocal ones men—  understand what’s going on. I hung around Internet forums where this sign made the rounds and explanations ranged from "it was the bar manager’s private joke" to "the place is filthy with prostitutes; decent girls won’t go there." 

There are discussions of the many types of predatory women loose in the city. ISpyShanghai mentions "entertainers,Tiger girls, bar girls, butterflies, hostesses, chickens, and those girls on Tongren Lu who will literally jump into the taxi with you if you don’t shut the door quickly enough."

Discussants at forums like Shanghaiexpat say too many "pros" get past bar bouncers and warn each other about falling into the clutches of girls who try to get you inside talk-talk bars, where they will only flirt and promote your buying of drinks.

Some call such bars fronts for prostitution. Others make a class distinction between talk-talk bars and hostess bars, the latter being more upscale. There are also warnings about ladyboys, transvestites and other "non-real" women, who are even said to form the majority of female-looking customers in some places. 

Could Zapata’s managers be trying to keep single women out? Certainly not; Ladies’ Nights are common in Shanghai, where each time the door opens, hundreds of eyes fix on the arriving guests, hoping that they have breasts.

So, what have we got? A commercial bar scene where men with money want females to be available to them for picking up, flirting, and perhaps going somewhere to have sex. Yes? Those women may accept gifts of drinks, food, taxis, and flowers without losing their shine. In another popular, mainstream, local example, KTV (karaoke television) venues invite men to come in groups and hire the services of women to drink and sing with them in small private rooms.

The taint comes when women do exactly the same things with the addition of asking for cash.

It’s subtle and confusing, isn’t it? When is it legitimate for women to take money or accept drinks? What about the customers— why is there no distinction amongst them? They take out their wallets in all kinds of situations— and that’s considered fine— except when they position themselves as victims of predators. On the other hand, they discuss which KTV place has the "hottest/most fun girls."

Zapata’s managers and bouncers are male, so maybe it makes sense that they would put up such a blunt, sexist sign telling prostitutes to keep out. But what does it mean to say If you are unsure whether or not you’re a prostitute, please ask one of our friendly security guards to sort it out for you?

Presumably a professional knows that the sign refers to her or him-self and has no need to consult anyone about it. Which leaves whom?

What if I go to Shanghai alone, get dressed up, and appear alone at Zapata’s bar? Is it okay as long as I don’t talk to any men or am seen to be paying for my own drinks? What happens if the barman brings me a parasol-decorated margarita on behalf of the guy across the bar, who's already paid for it? Should I now feel worried about being bounced? In case anyone thinks this is unlikely, one of the expat discussions involved a woman who was asked to leave Zapata’s although she was there with girlfriends. 

She was said to be "Taiwanese." Some of the participants in expat forums specify that they are Chinese. Bouncers might or might not understand different kinds of regional Chinese. Someone said prostitutes don’t have to look Asian. Since ho-style is in fashion, clothes aren’t the key to this conundrum. I think I’m better off not going out, or sticking to an old-fashioned hotel bar where I’m allowed to accept a drink from a stranger— or offer one to someone else.

P.S. Zapata’s is still supposed to be the place to be on Wednesdays – there are free martinis for girls.

My Presidential Platform in 15 Minutes

I spent fifteen minutes on my podcast today about what I want to see as a BRAND NEW SEXUAL DAY in the Obama administration.

Is there anything you'd like me to add before I let Michelle and Bar off the phone?

Really, Tom Dascle ain't got nothin' on me.

Listen to an excerpt

Listen to the whole show: Link

$2 a show, for a year; why not? LINK
 

Also on today’s show, Syrian lingerie. I want some for Xmas.

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions— plus requests for free samples and blog banners!— to susie@susiebright.com

Photo: Alan Brown, Portland State University Vanguard. I was speaking on this same topic to a very thoughtful PSU/Bitch Magazine audience this past week.

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If You Could Watch Anyone Have Sex for an Hour…

Today, on my In Bed podcast, features three big topics: voyeurism, sexual myth-making, and uncircumcised men.

Inspired by my sex advice guru, Cory Silverberg, I made myself honestly answer the question, "who would I like to watch having sex, if I could have my pick?"  Frankly, Cory is my first pick, because if he fucks as with as much empathy he writes, I'd be enthralled.

But on the tabloid gossip front, where there's a lot of glamour-pusses to choose from,  I have an unusual reason why movie stars "Brad and Angelina" make my top five: 

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Listen to the whole show: LINK

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Cory's column, which got me thinking about all this, was about the myths we make up about what "great sex" really amounts to. He predicts that no matter who we chose to "watch perform," we'd get bored within an hour— and I think he might even be overestimating it. 

Finally, in my Try This at Home mailbag, a worried listener asks: "Do women really turn up their noses at uncircumcised men?"

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions— plus requests for free samples and blog banners!— to susie@susiebright.com.

In Bed... with Sarah Palin!

Are you ready for my All-Sarah, All-Sex, All-Alaska joyride?

On my audio show this week, I get under the covers with "Caribou Barbie."

What's up with Sarah's own story of pre-marital sex, drug binges, and teenage pandemonium? How does having a Down-syndrome baby qualify you as a role model for the right-to-life campaign? Should the governor always use law enforcement to wreak revenge on marital infidelity? And what's wrong with banning "My Friend Flicka" from the library if it doesn't follow the her church's doctrine?

All this, and how Sarah manages to "hug" McCain on the podium without appearing to be groped.

Listen to an excerpt

Listen to the whole show: LINK

$2 a show, for a year; why not? LINK

Finally, in my Try This at Home mailbag, I respond to a listener who wonders if he can introduce his favorite sex toys to his favorite call girl. I'm sure Sarah could weigh in on this, too!

UPDATE: After you've listened to me and had a few laughs, or poured yourself a highball of absinthe, sober up and listen to Gary Hart on the Palin insanity... I couldn't agree more with him. I think what's missing from his analysis is not only does the GOP elite "disdain" the notion of governance, but more importantly, they disdain democracy, because they have no intention of having ANY elected fool run "their country"— that's all to be done from an undisclosed location by people who rarely show their faces. McCain, Bush, Reagan... they've all been idiots, "America's Top Model," one and all. Palin is just the newest joke.

Illustration: This is an actual scene of Sarah Palin's life from a few years ago, when dinosaurs roamed the earth— that's according to her pastor in Wasilla!  For more exciting Stone Age comix, see here...

Sometimes You Eat the Bear, Sometimes the Bear Eats You

The first thing I thought when I heard a foxy female governor from Alaska was anointed as the McCain's running mate was:

"Wow, they didn't have single man on their short list who didn't have a freakazoid, wide-stance, hooker-party sex scandal on his rap sheet— they HAD to pick a woman."

But I was so naive. Sarah Palin has enough scandals of her own, sexual and otherwise, to make a sailor blush.

I feel a bit sorry for her, as I do for all the photogenic "spokesmodels" that the GOP specializes in recruiting for jobs that they prefer to be handled by professionals behind the scenes. The neo-cons have no respect for government; it's just a business they've enjoyed deregulating. They put up the the most useful idiots on the ballot that they can launder, and smirk at every sucker they take in. After all, Karl Rove's an atheist who's made a career out of manipulating the religion vote!

For all the squawking about Sarah Barracuda's lack of experience, I am certain Palin is smarter than George W. was at any age, and she can READ better than he ever will, on or off a teleprompter. She earned a bachelor's degree at the University of Idaho that she made the grades for, all by herself— without anyone pulling a string. She can shoot a grizzly between the eyes at 100 yards, and is a lot better "close in" that Dick Cheney will ever be.  Let's face it, Palin's an L-Word fantasy writ large, and the perfect example of why butch straight women set hearts aflutter no matter where they appear.

But despite her fantastic hide-your-own-caribou upbringing, there is one way that Sarah Palin betrayed her classic Alaskan heritage and that is by being such a two-faced prig.

I only spent one youthful summer working in the 49th State— but the impression I left with is that Alaskans care about whether you pull your own weight, and mind your own beeswax. That's it. How you spend your personal time, and what you believe in, is entirely up to you.

Like everyone else in Alaska, Sarah Palin had "premarital sex." Like every other Alaskan of my generation, she smoked weed. She lived close to nature and was familiar with the unsentimental cycle of life, death, and birth. She works hard and plays hard. It's no joke that there's nothing much to do in those months of darkness besides fuck, hunt, fish, smoke, and drink. Her teenagers are apparently following in their parents' footsteps... they too, are having sex, and now one of them, Bristol, is said to be pregnant, for the first time. (Her boyfriend says on his MySpace page: "I don't want kids.)"

No one would give a whit about any of the Palin peccadilloes if Sarah hadn't made such a spectacle of herself campaigning as a pro-lifer, gay-hater, abstinence-monger, Creationist-dork. Where does she get off mandating public policy that tells anyone how to live their life?

Sarah's been under the Crony Club impression that's there's one set of rules for stupid voters, and another life of privacy and privileges for the elite. Is it so hard to imagine that Sarah also has family members who are gay, or who've had an abortion? When she was earning her B.S. at Idaho State, I bet she had the sense not to stuff Genesis fairy tales down everyone's throats in Biology class. I can guarantee her family doesn't preach abstinence around the Moose Stew.

A number of people spent the weekend wondering if young Bristol is already a mother, of the mysterious "Trig" who she holds so devotedly to her chest. The idea that mom Sarah might've faked a pregnancy to cover up the family's shame is a real Alaskan Gothic. It's parallel to a doping scandal. Politicians have to "dope up" their family history to make the impossible seem believable. Of course normal flesh and blood family members are going wreak havoc, especially the teenagers. Of course any candidate's life will fail the Leave It To Beaver test. 

It's obnoxious on every side. The way the Democrats spin Obama's home life makes my eyes clench shut. I don't want to know! I don't care if they're crabby or delightful or close-knit or estranged or cute or ugly... SHUT UP already.

I only care about one thing, and that's the politics the candidate is fronting. I expect them to be held accountable to the will of the people— and that's not a profile you'll find in a tabloid magazine. We're the only country in the world that makes our presidential election candidates into a beauty contest. Did "Miss Wasilla" say that she longed for Whirled Peas when she accepted her Miss Congeniality crown? I don't think so.

Why doesn't she just take a big breath of icy Northern Air and tell the truth: Sarah Palin got picked for this job like a two-bit player at a casting call. What McKook doesn't understand is this: Barracuda is an ambitious Sourdough ballhandler who isn't going to let anybody's brats— nor the GOP— stand in her way.

Susie's SexPosi-FemiNisty Blog Carnival-- With Sticky Treats and Prizes!

Hey guess what? I'm hosting my very first Sex-Posi blog carnival!

Send me your nominations by August 20th, and let's knock everyone's eyes out...

This carnival, inaugurated in March, has a very long name:

The Feminist Carnival of Sexual Freedom and Autonomy!

Some of my favorite bloggers have been hosting this year's editions so far... here's the emmient list. Take a look around for inspiration, but please note that we can stretch all boundaries!

I'm giving my edition a nickname:

It's The SexPosiFemiNisty Carnival With Sticky Treats and Prizes!

Readers are the key to any Carnival's success. I may be annotating your nominations, and throwing in my two cents, but there's no substitute for your roving eyes and critical insights.

Please email me any sexual-politics-related blog stories you've read this summer that you thought were well-written, original, funny, touching, outrageous, furious—and again, WELL WRITTEN.

It can be visual, too, come to think of it. Floor me!

You can certainly send me more than one link... I love seeing your tastes. You can also post your nominations below, in the comments. I'll tak'em by bird, plane, any mode you choose.

I'll read all your suggestions, and pick my favorites to feature and write about. I'll publish the winners the first week of September!

And one more thing: If you suggest a "winning" blog post, not only will I credit and link to you with admiration, I'll also send you the latest ebook of Best American Erotica. —I told you it was sticky! Send me your URL if you want to be praised with a link.

Thank you so much to Caroline Shepherd for inviting me to do this in the first place...

Spend Your Last 9 Months Floating— Finish Off as an Orgasm!

I found out from Paul Krassner that George Carlin's daughter, Kelly, quoted my obit during her family memorial.

I'm so touched! It's just not the same without him around.

Carlin had the most perfect last words on dying:

"The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A Death! What's that, a bonus?

"I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you're too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating......and you finish off as an orgasm."

On my audio show this week, I reminisce about Carlin, and then— on another subject!—  talk about the past and current state of "inter-racial" porn, which is like The Theater of the Absurd, antebellum-style:

Listen to an excerpt

Listen to the whole show

$2 a show, for a year; why not? LINK
 

To my amazement, John McCain has decided to make his entire TV campaign about stimulating the imaginary, yet titillating "horror" of Obama sullying the specter of white, and particularly, blond, womanhood. Any one of his ads that juxtapose Barack with Paris or Britney feel like they came right out of a peep show arcade. It's out of the Karl Rove playbook, to be sure. This is the guy whose entire "oeuvre" consists of perverse race and sex baiting. Focus on the other guy's cock, and your election is in the bag. I can't wait 'til he dies, and the "Rovian Porn Archives" are revealed. I'm sure his rivals the Vatican's.

Finally, in my Try This at Home" mailbag, I get a letter from a listener who asks, "Hospital Sex. Am I crazy, or does it really happen? Is it weird to be horny while recuperating from surgery?"

Darling, it's the most natural thing in the world...

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions and feedback about the show to susie@audible.com. (Episode 352, Aug. 8, 2008)

Photo Credit: Laurel & Hardy in The Battle of the Century, 1927. Over 4000 real pies were employed in the climactic battle of the custards.

The Questions No One Ever Asks About Open Relationships

Susie Bright Interviews Tristan Taormino: What's the Deal with "Open" Relationships?

Download this free sample of In Bed with Susie Bright!

Here's the iTunes link.

Tristan Taormino, Vivid Video's celebrated movie maker, author of Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women and editor of the Best Lesbian Erotica series, has done it again: she's written a hands-on book, titled Opening Up, A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships— about how to deal with all the issues that come up with non-monogamy.

Susie puts Tristan to the test! What if your lover throws a jealous fit at every play party and then denies it? How do you have kids and stay the course in a poly family? What if one partner is on the prowl and the other couldn't care less? Why do monogamous folks think they're doing any better?  These two get a little carried away.....

If you like this sample and want to hear more, you can subscribe (for $2 a show) to my weekly show at Audible.com. I'm offering a 12-episode season on iTunes to give new listeners a taste.

Painting by: John Weiss. I got a wild hair to illustrate this story with photo stills of the old TV show, "Three's Company," but this portrait by popped up in my search. They're so much deeper.

Elizabeth Pisani on Sex, Drugs, and AIDS

Today, on my In Bed podcast, we look into the politics of AIDS, and why "telling the big lies" is endemic to every funding and policy opportunity.

I interview author and epidemiologist Elizabeth Pisani about her new book The Wisdom of Whores: Bureaucrats, Brothels and the Business of AIDS— a bracing look at how AIDS is perceived, sexually and politically, around the world.

I asked Elizabeth, if "number of partners" really does count, in certain situations, how do you do prevention education that isn't religious, moralistic, or hypocritical?

Listen to an excerpt

Listen to the whole show: LINK

$2 a show, for a year; why not? LINK

Finally, in my Try This at Home mailbag: What do you say to a listener who asks; help, my new husband is forty years old and he's completely in the dark about sex!

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions and feedback about the show to susie@audible.com. (Episode 350, July 25, 2008)

The History of "Black" and "Inter-racial" Porn Videos

Yesterday I heard from a feminist PhD candidate who is looking into the history of black actresses in porn.

To my amazement, she'd discovered that a million years ago (1986!) I'd written a story about the phenomenon of "black and inter-racial" videos in the porn biz for Adult Video News. She asked me if I could dig up a copy.

In traditional porn parlance, "inter-racial" used to imply "Black And White." Period.

Before the 90s, you didn't have any such thing as "multi-culturalism" in porn. There weren't any scenes with a Latina actress/Asian actor— or a bi-racial triad. This was before the amateur explosion, before the Internet, before DVDs.... you know, the Jurassic Age. "Black" sex movies were a tiny niche that were primarily sold to regional markets; no one talked about them.

All the directors of these films, at that time, were white— often people who dreaded their assignment:

Drea remembers her astonishment when she found out that a lot of her viewing audience assumed that she was black. In fact, Drea is a blonde who grew up in a  segregated Chicago neighborhood. She remembers, "When Harold Washington first got elected (Chicago's first black mayor), my father was going to get a gun and shoot himself."

"After every black video I'd make," says Drea, "I'd always say, 'I'll never shoot another Black video again. Never.'"

In porn starlet interviews from these early days, they'd pose questions like, "What Won't You Do on Camera?"

The most common reply from a blond ingenue would be, "I don't do anal, and I don't do blacks." Instead of greeting that statement with laughter or disbelief, everyone would just say, "Oh yeah, of course."

As for black actors, the situation, as you'll read in my story, makes Blacksploitation film look like William Lloyd Garrison's Liberator.

And... the real treat in all this, if you hunt around, is the single "Black Power" porn film that was made in 1974, called Lialeh. It was produced by Aretha Franklin's drummer at the time, Bernard Purdy. Purdy furnishes a soundtrack that puts most porn films to shame, as you can imagine. (See video clip here). Classic Woodstock Soul Meets The Panthers! I can watch this cult classic today and still get the biggest kick out of it.

When I started researching the story, I was taken aback by the prejudices and superstitions in the business. Everyone was so frank about their own racism, frustration, and cynicism. Porn biz people were outspoken about what Hollywood people had learned to keep to themselves, and off the record. If any of it blows your mind, don't imagine that these industry diehards were exceptional!

In 1987, no one wrote about porn for the mainstream press. I was the first to interview many of these people on any topic, let alone politics. AVN was produced in Pennsylvania at the time, just a small operation, and they were horrified by what I turned in. They killed the original story, and ran an aborted-version instead. It's a trade magazine, designed to promote and champion the industry— they weren't interested in critical views. I was... 20-something, naive, crushed.

So here it is, the quaint original...  I hope you'll forgive my youthful stylings and typewriter errors, but it sure has a lot to savor:

Download Susie's  Inter-Racial and Black Videos.pdf (6198.5K)

Also, if you're interested in this subject, and want a little more analysis, read my own favorite story on the subject, "White Sex".

My Daughter, My Sister, My Mom— The Porn Star

Today, on my In Bed podcast, I've made a special hour and a half compilation of my most personal interviews and oral histories of women in the porn business.

The Bizarre Destiny of Linda Lovelace,

Peep Show Secrets with Carol Queen,

Masturbation Guru Betty Dodson on her insights into younger lovers,

How Candida Royalle went from "shut up, you're just a porn star," to the pioneer of women's erotica,

The Truth About Traci Lords,

How Tristan Taormino made the first Anal Sex movies with a Woman's Point of View,

Greta Christina on fisting, the nature of "extreme" porn, and why the porn industry gets nervous about just how far women's fantasies go.

Listen to an excerpt

Listen to the whole show: LINK

$2 a show, for a year, why not? LINK
 

It starts with my memories of Linda Lovelace, whom I encountered in some of those "Only in LA" moments that define the 1970s for me. I witnessed her crowning stage moment at Cal Jam 1 on my first acid trip, in 10th grade...just for starters!  The phenomenon of her career and my own early impressions of porn are inseparable. I recorded this before her untimely death.

Another personal history here is my memories of Traci Lords. I covered Traci as a Penthouse film critic, (and, bizarrely, appeared with her in the same movie, The Grafenberg Spot), before her revelations that she was working as an underage performer.

The other audio segments are frank interviews with my friends about their personal and professional lives in the sex business.

I've been sisters and colleagues with these women for many years... we don't put on an act, or dress up the facts. There's no politically-correct, cheerleading for porn—trying to make it cute for the mike. You may have never heard women talk about sex this way, and if you have, you're going to feel in very good company!

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions and feedback about the show to susie@audible.com.

Photo Credit: Honey Lee Cottrell, 1984, Kathy Andrew's first leatherwork studio, for On Our Backs

No Sex, No Pity

Today, on my In Bed podcast, I take a look into the darker side of the Sex and the City phenomenon.

You know, I wouldn't care so much if those four neanderthal-ettes showed you how to shop for sexual insight— if that's their forté— but they even fail at that.

An unintentional erotic moment in the movie makes the point quite bitterly: three of the girlfriends realize that their fourth, Miranda, has neglected to shave her bikini line.

The camera shows a close-up of a couple of errant bright-red pubic hairs curling out from Miranda's upper thigh.

Her BFFs excoriate her: How can she destroy any hope of a sex life by refusing to shave! She must be turning her back on men altogether!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is what red cunt hair, the most prized of all genital details, has been reduced to.

When the film debuted, I spoke to Susannah Breslin at Salon, about the nausea of SATC:

"Did you see the recent New Yorker essay, "The Fall of Conservatism," by George Packer?  It paraphrases social theorist Eric Hoffer: 'Every great cause begins as a movement, becomes a business, and eventually degenerates into a racket.'

"Sex and the City is the 'racket' part of what once was recognizable as the sexual self-emancipation of the feminist movement... I can't watch these women, you know, make asses of themselves and be so petty and small-minded about sexual possibility. I take it too personally."

Listen to an excerpt

Listen to the whole show: LINK

Get the show free for a month: LINK

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In the second half of my show, a news story in France catches my eye- can a traditional marriage can be annulled because the wife isn't a virgin?

And finally, in my Try This at Home mailbag, I answer a letter from a worried mom: "My son is way too sexually precocious, and it's causing me alarm..."

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions, and feedback about the show, to susie@audible.com. (Episode 347, July 4, 2008).

Photo Credit: This image is the top hit when you search Google for "Merchandising."

"Usually Tight" — Barnard Girls Go Wild in the Gilded Age!

While cleaning out my desk this past week, I discovered a wonderful "sex shock" news clipping that a friend in Boston found for me in her collection of early 20th century newspapers.

There is no annual date on the story. I'd guess it's from the late 20s, given the use of flapper language like "getting tight" and "tipplers."

If you recognize the newspaper or can pin down the year, let me know!

The culprit in this tabloid shockeroo was The Jester, a campus humor magazine, founded in 1901. But that the student editors published this survey at all, given the era, was quite scandalous:

Girls Answer Quiz on Purity

Barnard Students Admit Necking and "Soul Kissing"

New York, Oct.22— Answers to an amazingly frank "purity test" taken by girl students at Barnard College were published in the Columbia Jester at the university today. Shocked professors immediately ordered the magazine suppressed.

Within 45 minutes, however, the ban was lifted by Dean Herbert E. Hawkes. He made no explanation.

The test went to the ultimate of candor— and in publishing it, the authors of the Jester article inferred that some of the questions were too hot to print. 

They reported that: 51% of the 70 girls considered "one or more propositions to be contrary to their honor; that more than 50% indulge in necking; that 34% practice the "soul kiss"; that 49% had kissed ten different men; than 29% have gone out with other women's husbands, and that no one would answer the question: "Have you ever swum nude in mixed company?"

Of the group, the authors reported that 80% were smokers and 66% tipplers. Answering the question: "Have you ever been tight?" 38 wrote "no," 32 wrote "yes." Of those answering in the affirmative, 14 said they had been tight once, 14 said they had been tight often, and four said that they were "usually tight."

Susie and Kate Bornstein Break a Few Gender Plates

 Susie Bright Interviews Transgender Outlaw Kate Bornstein

Download this free sample of In Bed with Susie Bright!

Here's the iTunes link.

When it comes to turning boys and girls upside down, and shaking up every orgasmic assumption you ever had, no one does it better than transgender author, playwright, and performance artist Kate Bornstein.

Susie and Kate discuss Bornstein's latest book, Hello, Cruel World: 101 Alternatives to Suicide for Teens, Freaks and Other Outlaws, as well as gender hierarchy and depression. 

If you've ever wanted to hear the un-cutesy truth about how people stay alive when all seems lost, this is it.

If you like this sample and want to hear more, you can subscribe (for $2 a show) to my weekly show at Audible.com. I'm offering a 12-episode season on iTunes to give new listeners a taste!

Photo Credit: Poster by Kath Moonan and Alexandra Lazar  from the International Festival of Transgender Arts.