Susie Bright's Journal

Have You Hugged Your Abortion Provider Today?

Those of you who screamed your way through my TV clip of SD Congressman Bill Napoli, as he discussed his rape preferences— I have the antidote.

There was another interview in the same segment, with a woman who had the opposite effect: Dr. Miriam McCreary, the surgeon who flies from Minneapolis to Sioux Falls once a week to perform abortions because no one who lives in the state dares to.

Wasn't she great? Her matter-of-fact courage and diehard commitment, at age 70, choked me up.

"WHO is this amazing woman?" I asked. She looks like an bespectacled physician, modest in her presentation, and yet she's the hardcore last word in walk-it-don't-just-talk-it feminism.

I work at Regents Hospital and have taught ob/gyn residents ever since Roe v. Wade became legal. I've worked there a half a day a week teaching residents abortion procedures. So I've trained about 50 or 60. I would say less than ten of them are now doing abortions.

This is discouraging because you spend time training people and then they go into a practice and their practice partners say, "Oh, you can't do any abortions." And I've seen this over and over again with the residents that have graduated from the program where I work.

One of them in particular, he had a private practice near Fargo and was planning to do abortions and set up his own abortion clinic and he was harassed so much by local people that he had to close his abortion clinic and stop doing abortions. And this happens over and over again...

...Somebody picks me up at the airport and then when we get to the clinic, they take me in through a back door, so I don't have to walk through the picketers in the front and that prevents the picketing population from seeing me face-to-face. One day somebody was in the back though, and snapped a picture of me, I suppose for publication in their anti-choice literature, which I wasn't too happy about. But I said, "Well, I'm here. I'm doing this. I'm taking chances. If they publish a picture of me, that's the way it will be."

I'm hoping that there will be more and more doctors who are willing to provide abortions. Passing the torch is very important. There have to be doctors who are willing to do this and there have to be clinics who are willing to provide the service and willing to stand up to the protestors and not be intimidated by protestors and anti-choice people. I think young medical students are part of the future.

I found an interview with her, on a site devoted to a documentary film called "Voices of Choice: Physicians Who Provided Abortions Before Roe Vs. Wade." I'd like to see the whole feature; the excerpts are excellent. You can write Dr. McCreary from the same site and thank her from the bottom of your heart, too!

I Can't Wrap My Vulva Around This

You never know what people are going to occupy themselves during a court martial. To your left is a photo of Sgt. Jennifer Scala, a witness in a military prosecution of alleged Abu Ghraib guard misconduct.

The uniformed Sergeant was photographed by the Baltimore Sun, leaving the military tribunal with her well-thumbed copy of  Inga Muscio's  Cunt: A Declaration of Independence.

The Sun's readers just about lost their cookies when this photo was published on page A3, as if it was just another boring Monday.

I myself went from laughter to confusion. The usual Cunt-reader, of which there are legions, are ardent feminists who would say that Abu Gharaib is a not-unique example of how the dogs of war train young soldiers to dehumanize their enemies through fear, deep racism, and nationalism. Inge Muscio would be the first to scoff at ideas that Abu Ghraib was a rogue act.

So is Jennifer Scala coming to her senses, and ready to stick it to the man? Or does she just like pissing people off whenever the occasion comes up?

Her role in the trial was that she worked with the sadistic dog handler and his mutt... she had let the same dog lick peanut butter off her breasts on some bored-out-of-their-minds occasion they shared together.

From the trial transcript, you get the impression of a Abu Ghraib Rat Pack, indulging in hi-larious hi-jinks one moment, segueing to sadism in the next. It turned on less than a dime.

The soldier who sic'ed the dog on the Iraqis, Army Sgt. Michael J. Smith, apologized for the peanut butter incidents, but he didn't have the same remorse for torturing the prisoners. He only wished he had gotten permission in writing to do that, instead of taking the fall.

Detecting Fellatio & Other Sex Dilemmas

You've all heard the jokes about vice squad cops who try to trick massage parlor girls into giving them some illegal thrills.

But in Spotsylvania, Virginia, things have gotten so out of hand the sheriff had to call a press conference to announce that from now on, public funds will not be spent willy-nilly on investigative blow jobs.

The cops on this detail visited the same women numerous times to "secure their conviction." One time the officer left a $350 tip. Such a gesture before an arrest!

In Bed with Susie Bright #242: Sex on the Job

After my vice squad thrashing, I decided to catch up on my letters to the show for this episode, and answer more than my usual fistful.

The first mail I read is from a woman listener whose sex life is drying up just three months into a new affair. I'm glad she wrote me in these crucial first 90 days!

If you are getting DANGER! WILL ROBINSON! NO ONE IS FUCKING! messages early on in a relationship, the worst thing you can do is "hope it will just get better on its own."

It's not just flu bug or passing moment of ennui. The couple is right in the thick of establishing their template.

I'm radical on this topic, probably extreme. I can think back to the first date, the first bedding, of any long-term relationship I've had, and in hindsight, see that all the clues for our future were there, in the first 24 hours.

My second and third letters came from a young woman who wonders if she really is as bisexual as she "feels" and why are all of her friends acting grossed out by anal sex.

I found from her letter that I couldn't tell how much of her sexual exploration was to live up to her boyfriend's fantasies, or how much was driving her from within.

And it's tricky, isn't it? We're all familiar with the coercive story of an older guy pressing a younger woman into doing something kinky she doesn't actually dig. Pictures of Jane Fonda and Roger Vadim are prancing in my head!

But in some cases, when you're the "young" one, you are so happy that someone else is taking the lead, giving you confidence to take an initiative, inspiring you. And although coercion vs. inspiration seem like an easy I.D. to me now, I was a lot more fuzzy in my youth. One of the few ways I could really test my gut was to reflect on my own masturbation fantasies, which are more truthful than what I might have "said" in public.

As for the dopes who think anal sex is "icky," I tried to give our adventurous heroine a list of punchy retorts. Someone is always going to say a certain kind of sex grosses them out, and it's sort of like a schoolchild spitting out a gourmet treat. You're just going to have to allow for the development of their palate!

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions, and feedback about the show to [email protected] (Episode 242, March 24, 2006) Lots of fun pulp magazine covers like the one above at Pulpworld.

Wrap Me Up In Bound Remainders

The current DVD edition of Bound is no longer in release. That means when the current copies are off the shelves, that's it, finito.

If that makes you feel sweaty or panicky, I would order one today. I'm going to!

Usually when they put a title on "moratorium" with DVD retailers it means they are planning a new special edition. But I haven't heard any news to that effect. I also wonder what would be any more "special" that the current DVD, which is uncut, and features the audio commentary with me, the Wachowskis, the lead actors, and the film's editor.

You might ask, "Well, why don't you have any inside information?" Unfortunately, I don't. I haven't heard from Larry or Andy since The Matrix premiered, coincidentally on my birthday, several years ago.

That was a lot of fun, but I had no idea it would be the final curtain! I remember standing with Andy, just before we got in the car to drive to the theater, and he turned to me and said something to the effect that if this didn't work, if people just sat there and scratched their heads, then to hell with it.

They'd worked on it, exhaustively, for so long. He'd rather go back to plumbing in Chicago. And a couple hours later, it was clear that was never going to happen!

A lot of people have asked me since then about Larry Wachowski's divorce, and the stories about his gender identity or relationships. I'm not privy to it, but if I was, I wouldn't be blabbing!

The only thing I do observe is how the mainstream media treats  such a story that raises gender issues, and kinky sex. It  hasn't changed much since the days of Christine Jorgensen, or when Bettie Page was prosecuted for dirty bondage photos.

The subject is treated like a circus act. Any non-vanilla sex is portrayed as a terrifying departure from conformity, and the loss of security that seems to imply. They conjure up a spectacle that is little more than the type of thing you'd see in a before-and-after picture in a weight-loss ad, as if to amaze us that this could be the same human being.

It's an insight-free deposition.

There's part of me that wishes Lana, TAFKA Larry, would be a defiant loud-mouth bitch who would blog, podcast, and parade down the street. But that cracks me up, because the idea of my old director not being SHY is far more transgressive than any genderbending I can think of. 

Meanwhile we do have a lot of defiant, awe-inspiring, genderfucking loudmouths who are well worth a listen. My friend Kate Bornstein for example. Or Max Valerio, whose new book, The Testosterone Files, is the most poetic, heart-crunching memoir of "sex changes" I've read yet.

That's me on the Bound set, "waiting for my close-up" as the bar girl Corky tries unsuccessfully to seduce. It's ten years ago this year!

The Keys To Konsciousness

About a year before my aunt Molly died, she sent me a little cardboard box filled with thirteen antique keys.

These ornate brass lockbusters looked like they opened the door to a secret garden— or maybe Bluebeard's worst room!  It was like receiving a box of jewels.

I asked Molly what they opened, exactly. She didn't answer. That was typical! In my family, you have to make up your own answers.

After fondling them for awhile, I got the idea that I wanted to string the keys on beads, like rosaries, and then make some kind of mobile out of them.

Today I finally did it, on my birthday eve. I found a cascading shell lamp for sale at CostPlus, one of those "island romance" numbers you're supposed to hook up as a lamp. The metal grid that holds the strands of shells is just the kind of "solar system" design I needed to suspend my secret keys.

Jon hung my mobile just above my bed, in front of the window light. He used fishing line and hardware store "spinners," so it will twirl without getting twisted.

There's something about these old keys that make me smile, in spite of my curmudgeonly approach to a birthday. They have this funny way of insisting, "Hey, there's always another way in."

And speaking of birthdays... big kiss to all of you who've sent me postal greetings! I love tearing open those envelopes! I have something to send y'all, too, but you might have to wait a week for me to cram myself into my shipping closet again!

Special embraces to those girls at "BadButtons," who made me a whole baggie full of itty-bitty "Clits Up" buttons that are AWESOME. I'll take a picture of them next week, something artful and astounding.

You know, if I had a rubel from everyone who clicked on my naked ice skater, I would never have to ask for another donation. I could just get my own web server, a raft of elves, and be done with it. The traffic I got on that ice-dancer link from Russian language web pages was unbelieveable.  It even dwarfed the JT Leroy kerfuffle.

"Naked Ice" still comes up in my list of most popular key words associated with this site. I am so mystified every time I look at the "key word" hit list for this blog. It changes every day, of course, and  it's like a found poem.

Today we have:

orgasm
clitoris
big red one
vietnam
michelle tea
lesbian nipple pullers
press corps and male escort
prison new orleans

Yikes! I'll need every secret key I've got to jimmy my way out of that one.

Librarians: 1; Vice Squad: 0

I'm singing the praises of librarians everywhere after learning of this startling incident at a library in Bethesda, Maryland. They're the sex-positive vanguard of free speech, and they never get the kudos!

Two "Homeland Security" anti-terrorism cops walked into the main reading room at the Little Falls branch library, and shouted that everyone working on the public computers was not allowed to look at "porn."

In Bed 241: Porn Persuasion

I guess they didn't get the kindergarten memo about using a "quiet voice" in the library. Neither did they reveiw a copy of their job description, either, in which they would find out "obscenity enforcement" is not part of the gig. Perhaps the saddest part is that they don't seem acquainted with Momma's favorite reference title, the First Amendment!

Meanwhile, back at the library, the officers demanded certain library patrons step outside with them immediately, as if they were about to make an arrest.

But instead— in an unnamed act of heroism that is typical of librarian valor— one of the staffers called their bosses upstairs, and then she took these two H.S. hoodlums outside to read their beads. 

The library patrons, presumeably, went back to their wild porn site surfing that is so typical of public reading rooms these days.... COUGH!

Public libraries figured out long ago how to deal with internet mischief. For one, there's a time limit on how long you can be online. You're in the middle of the room, and there is NO WAY you are going to be masturbating to your favorite Suicide Girl in this fishbowl. You have very little privacy at all. My experience on library computers is that there are always a dozen little boys milling around who want to kick me off so they can get on to play games... not very relaxing.

Some people are looking up info that might be upsetting for any number of reasons... like war casualities, for example. But no one from Homeland Security makes a stink about that.

Has this outrage awakened the ire of the good citizens of Bethesda? I would give anything to send a medal to that librarian— and if any of you know who she is, write me! 

The second half of my show concerns the old debate about how porn-loving partners can win their dubious lovers over to their cause.

The thing I hate about this subject is that it's always framed as: Male Porn Dog vs. Tearful, Angry Jealous Girlfriend Who Will Never Understand.

Why is it, that NEVER ONCE do we hear a story about a woman who likes to mastubate, but her boyfriend has a meltdown because he caught her with a copy of Best American Erotica, or watching Tristan Taormino's House of Ass?

But we don't hear that story... instead we are media-peppered with bizarro boyfriends who are buried under 500 hardcore videos and can't dig themselves out. Yeah, right, I've seen them all on Oprah, and the herd is NOT THAT BIG. 

There are so many women who are afraid of masturbation, whereas the number of OCD men with porn compusions pales by comparison.  This is a gender bias issue, a women's liberation issue, and I'll be happy to see the day that perspective rules the reality check.

Of course there are nice reassuring things you can say if your lover is jealous of your solo erotic life. You basically SHOW them how much you really, really like them! 

But I think a more sound place to combat this insecurity is to tap into the jealous person's own fantasy well. What do THEY fantasize about? What do they like to masturbate to in their mind? If they are orgasmic, they're going to admit there's something there, and it's precious to them.

If they are NOT having orgasms easily or regularly; there you have your culprit. How can they understand what a solo sex life is like if they don't have one— and are afraid of it?   

Finally, in the last part of my show,my mailbag, a man writes in who loves "cuddle sex" and wonders if it's legit.  Squeeze me, and let's find out!

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions, birthday cards, and feedback about the show to [email protected] (Episode 241, March 17, 2006).

Mommy Was A Psychedelic Witch

Have you ever seen the popular refrigerator magnet that says, "Mom Took Acid?" I laughed the moment I saw it, and had to slap it on my freezer.

Some of my friends have asked, "What's the real story behind the punchline?"

It's a worthy question. Women's sexuality all on its own is a familiar taboo- but women, sex, and our relationship to entheogens is truly an unspoken story.

Let's break the ice!

This June, I'm going to a one-of-a-kind weekend gathering called SheShamans, and I want all my girlfriends on this blog to come too.

For my part, I'm doing a workshop on sexuality and the erotic from our first-hand altered experiences. How have menarche, motherhood, or menopause affected our relationship to "drugs and sex"? 

I'm using all the quotation marks because the topic is so loaded. One person's perfect crystal psychedelic moment is another person's bottomless pit. But there's everything in between, too.

This isn't going to be a rah-rah session— I have more to learn than I have to say. I'll lead a workshop and discussion about the female side of the altered erotic experience, and what I'm looking forward to is the candor, insight, and generousity that I've seen already with so many women I met at the Sacred Elixirs conference a few months ago.

The SheShamans weekend is bringing together some incredible women, and I hope you'll be sorely tempted to be part of it!

We have April to "sell tickets." and see if we can pull it off. It's happening in Mendocino County, in Northern California, and your admission pays for lodging at a beautiful retreat center, meals, and all the workshops and fun we're planning. 

If you wanna go, register now on the web page, don't sit around. We have until the end of April to make the down payment on the retreat center, and it would be good to breathe a sigh of relief-- and pleasure, that we can look forward to such a sweet occasion.

Fire circle? Check.
Dancing at all hours? Check.
Best sex talk you ever had? Check.
Ocelots? Apparently!

Attendees are invited to offer presentations, discussions, circles, you-name-it, as part of the scheduled sessions. Confirmed presenters include: Kathleen Harrison - Cynthia Palmer - Valerie Corral - Jane Straight - Linda Rosa Corazon - Karen Vogel - Macha Nightmare - Patricia Winters - Rev. Anne Zapf - Sandra Karpetas - Lou Montgomery - Adele Getty - Diane Darling.  See site for more...

Side Two, Abbey Road, Gobsmacked

And, in the end,
The love you take...

This is Chris Bliss. And here is a large version of the same thing, if you want to open your eyes even wider!

Please Send Krauthammer a copy of The Ethical Slut

Nausea/Belly Laugh: You Decide!

In today's Washington Post, we have: Pandora and Polygamy, by Charles Krauthammer—One of Those Conservatives Who Knows Nothing About Sex But Feels Free to Spout Forth.

And now, polygamy.

Not the icky patriarchal Mormon kind, but The Ethical Slut kind, Charles?

With the sweetly titled HBO series Big Love, polygamy comes out of the closet. Under the headline "Polygamists, Unite!" Newsweek informs us of "polygamy activists emerging in the wake of the gay-marriage movement." Says one evangelical Christian big lover: "Polygamy rights is the next civil-rights battle."

Big Love... will this be another feminist visionary series like Sex and The City?

Polygamy used to be stereotyped as the province of secretive Mormons, primitive Africans, and profligate Arabs.

Fan yourself, Chuck!

With "Big Love" it moves to suburbia as a mere alternative lifestyle.

You mean nice white people?

As Newsweek notes, these stirrings for the mainstreaming of polygamy (or, more accurately, polyamory) have their roots in the increasing legitimization of gay marriage.

No, they don't. Sexual liberation advocates the end of criminalization for consensual behavoir and family arrangements. The end of discrimination. Social justice, that sort of thing. Not all of us want to get married. We just want you to bug off.

In an essay 10 years ago, I pointed out that it is utterly logical for polygamy rights to follow gay rights.

Ten years ago, my, my.

After all, if traditional marriage is defined as the union of (1) two people of (2) opposite gender, and if, as advocates of gay marriage insist, the gender requirement is nothing but prejudice, exclusion and an arbitrary denial of one's autonomous choices in love, then the first requirement -- the number restriction (two and only two) -- is a similarly arbitrary, discriminatory and indefensible denial of individual choice.

This line of argument makes gay activists furious.

No, it doesn't. Who are you talking about?

I can understand why they do not want to be in the same room as polygamists. But I'm not the one who put them there.

But if only you were invited, Charles!

Their argument does. Blogger and author Andrew Sullivan,

Oh dear...

who had the courage to advocate gay marriage at a time when it was considered pretty crazy,

Mary, Please!

has called this the "polygamy diversion," arguing that homosexuality and polygamy are categorically different because polygamy is a mere "activity" while homosexuality is an intrinsic state that "occupies a deeper level of human consciousness."

Andrew Sullivan is neither role model nor leader for sexual liberation. He's a conserva-queer who shames other gay people while he put his own kinky ads in the personals and hoped that no one would find out. He can go stick his head in a five-tier wedding cake.

...Posit a union of, say, three gay women all deeply devoted to each other.

Been there! Loved it.

On what grounds would gay activists dismiss their union as mere activity rather than authentic love and self-expression?

None.

On what grounds do they insist upon the traditional, arbitrary and exclusionary number of two?

We don't. You need to get out more.

In case you're wondering, Krauthammer favors a popular vote on questions such as gay marriage. Thank goodness he wasn't around for interracial marriage legislation... that STILL wouldn't pass today.

Papist Girl Sing-Out!

The Old Orange Flute

In the county Tyrone, in the town of Dungannon
Where many a ruckus meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived there, a weaver by trade
And all of us thought him a stout-hearted blade.

On the twelfth of July, as it yearly did come
Bob played on the flute to the sound of the drum
You can talk of your fiddles, your harp, or your lute
But there's nothing could sound like the Old Orange Flute.

But the treacherous scoundrel, he took us all in
For he married a Papist named Bridget McGinn
Turned Papish himself and forsook the Old Cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.

And the boys in the county made such a stir on it
They forced Bob to flee to the province of Connaught;
Took with him his wife and his fixins, to boot,
And along with the rest went the Old Orange Flute.

Each Sunday at mass, to atone for past deeds,
Bob said Pater's and Ave's and counted his beads
Till one Sunday morn, at the priest's own require
Bob went for to play with the flutes in the choir.

He went for to play with the flutes in the mass
But the instrument quivered and cried,"O Alas!"
And blow as he would, though he made a great noise,
The flute would play only The Protestant Boys.

Bob jumped up and huffed, and was all in a flutter.
He pitched the old flute in the best holy water;
He thought that this charm would bring some other sound,
When he tried it again, it played Croppies Lie Down!

And for all he would finger and twiddle and blow
For to play Papish music, the flute would not go;
Kick the Pope to Boyne Water was all it would sound
Not one Papish bleat in it could ever be found.

At a council of priests that was held the next day
They decided to banish the Old Flute away;
They couldn't knock heresy out of its head
So they bought Bob another to play in its stead.

And the Old Flute was doomed,
and its fate was pathetic
'Twas fastened and burnt at the stake as heretic.

As the flames rose around it, you could hear a strange noise—
'Twas the Old Flute still whistlin' The Protestant Boys:

"Toora-lay, toora-lee,
Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donnahadee."

YIP!

Wanna hear the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, with Pete Seeger, sing The Old Orange Flute, live at Carnegie Hall? This is a big download, so don't attempt it without a broadband connection. But it is FABULOUS. And here's Shamrock fruit crate label.