Archive for September 11, 2006

Monday Movie Review: Kinsey

Kinsey (2004) 8/10
Biologist Alfred Kinsey (Liam Neeson) decides to focus his research efforts on human sexuality.

Kinsey is an interesting and complex movie. On the one hand, it’s a biopic, making an effort at telling the truth about work that was a breakthrough, and paved the way for an entire field of research. There was no such thing as sex research when Kinsey started, which is why he started, appalled that even the most basic questions about what constituted normal or usual sexuality could not be answered.

In another way, it’s a character study, taking quirky and difficult personalities and looking at them dispassionately. Kinsey is abrasive, disconnected from human feelings, self-important, and pedantic. His wife, Clara (Mac) McMillen (Laura Linney, in a radiant performance), can only be described as an odd duck. By comparison to Kinsey, she is warmth itself, but she, too, is awkward and disconnected, and could not possibly fit in with most people.

The Kinseys had what we’d describe now as a polyamorous relationship, at least at times. It seems most reviewers look at this movie and describe Mac as patient and long-suffering. Not unlike the way that most people describe women in polyamorous relationships, which they assume benefit men and impose upon women. But it seems pretty clear that both of the Kinseys are negotiating difficult emotional and sexual terrain, making mistakes, hurting themselves and each other, and finding some sort of way through. The interpersonal experimentation was probably inevitable in an environment where people were suddenly talking about sex when no one else did. Ultimately, they were also photographing and filming sex, and unsurprisingly, they could not remain dispassionate on the subject of arousal.

The third view of this movie is as a polemic about sexual secrecy, and here I find it most compelling. Kinsey reminds us of a world in which teenage boys were told they would die from masturbation, and were tortured and humiliated to prevent it. Where a woman could believe that “babies came out of navels” until her wedding night, and her husband could believe that oral sex caused infertility and must be avoided at all costs. For all of the flaws in Alfred Kinsey’s methods and sampling, he was a warrior against ignorance. He understood that sexuality was a basic human need and expression, and that to be confused and lost and afraid in regards to it was wrong. In our current era of abstinence-only “education” and purposeful misinformation about birth control, it is worth remembering the kind of world that the far right is trying to revert to.

The Ultimate James Bond Fan Book

Here’s the scoop.

The Ultimate James Bond Fan Book is in Barnes and Noble now, in a special printing done just for B&N. The second printing will be out September 30th.

The special B&N printing was a bit rushed. The second printing will have a lengthy index, missing from the B&N printing, and it corrects a number of typos and formatting glitches.

So I’m torn. I want you flooding B&N and buying tons of copies of TUJBFB. On the other hand, I want you to wait a couple of weeks more and buy the best possible version.

Your Political Profile



Your Political Profile:

Overall: 10% Conservative, 90% Liberal
Social Issues: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal
Personal Responsibility: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal
Fiscal Issues: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal
Ethics: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal
Defense and Crime: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

I am still having fun with Sitemeter

Things I didn’t know division.

Did you know I get visitors from

Krakw, Poland
Sevilla, Spain
Uji, Kyoto, Japan
Athens,Greece
Kasilof, Alaska
(unknown) China

How cool is that?

And today’s weird searches that resulted in vists:

poland fuck “yolanda”
how to paint wall socket covers

Of course, every time I post about this, I improve the ability of people to find me using these particular search terms. The crossdressing thing has yet to die down.

The Hell with Friday Kittenblogging

That bitch Fanty peed in the closet. While I was right there. No kittenblogging for you!

Story of my love

Because I haven’t told it before.

I miss the times when we were together, when we were really being together, but I suspect, in our ten years, those times cumulatively make up three or four. The rest was breaking up, or being together but not being able to get together, or making and cancelling plans, or catching sneaky kisses in elevators.

I loved those elevator kisses.

I hear his voice in my head, even three years since I last heard it. He had a deep rolling voice that hit me like a shot of whiskey; burned the core and then moved through me, warming the fingers and toes.

I miss listening to the things he said, his infinite opinions about the world and the theater and politics and cooking and actors and things that mattered and things that didn’t matter. He taught me a trick for opening a jar and every time I open a jar I hear him.

I miss the presence. He had an aura, a weight, a just being there, sitting on the couch or in the next room or in this room, not talking. Like he generated more heat than other people. No one else ever feels that way to me. I miss that weight.

I miss the idea of the relationship. When I think about other relationships, the idea of it, the abstract, was something important or meaningful or anxiety-producing or delightful. But this one relationship, when I had it, in those moments, was peaceful. I could tell myself that I had Bob, and that was a soothing thing to hear. Even when we were apart for weeks because of scheduling, the in-between times were filled with that peace.

Which he stole from me every chance he got. Maybe it’s a mistake to love an abstract, and I think he wanted both less and more. He wanted me to have more, and he wanted to give me less and so he withdrew it all. What a martyr he imagined himself to be! Abandoning me because I deserved better. Bearing the burden, he could tell himself, of being the bad guy, to spare me. I cannot roll my eyes enough to express the bullshit. Because there was something so crazy there, so pathological, that I cannot even type up a plausible explanation for blogging purposes. He just walked. Just like that.

I miss the gin rummy.

The sex was amazing, fantastic, and my desire for him was constant and infinite, but I don’t miss the sex. If he was here now, I think I’d make him a cup of coffee, and sit across from him and look at him while he drank it, and then sit in his lap. I think about that more than I think about jumping his bones, although undoubtedly I’d jump his bones.

I don’t regret a minute.

What Alternative Paradigm Are You?

You scored as True Alternative. You are a True Alternative! Labels do not suit you well, particularly as you tend to strike your own path and to grow purely via experience. No armchair quarterbacking for you! Originality and creation are your specialities, and sometimes you can even articulate what the hell just happened. Someday you may find yourself drawing the maps for other people… lots of other people.

True Alternative

75%

Magician

65%

Mystic

60%

Spiritualist

60%

White Lighter

55%

Discordian

45%

Aimless Eclectic

40%

Otherkin

20%

What Subversive Alternative Paradigm Are You?
created with QuizFarm.com

Major Announcement

The House, M.D. season premiere is tonight. Be there.

Praise the Goddess!

I finished the index. And how was your three-day weekend?

Sullying the Archetype

Here’s an absolutely terrific article about homophobia among a certain segment of Bond fans (whom the author amusingly terms “Bondamentalists”). (Hat tip to CBn for the find.)

The author rightly points out that a strong voice among Bond fans is disturbingly homophobic. I’d say they see Bond as an “ideal man” and they don’t want that “tainted.” (The anti-Craig freak out, by the way, is about an on-screen kiss between Craig’s straight character and another man.)

During the endless post-Die Another Day, pre-Craig chatter about casting a new Bond, the name Rupert Everett came up many times, and each time, a massive wave of homophobic diatribes was unleashed.

“I’m not homophobic,” they tend to say, “It’s just ‘not Bond’.” Except we’re not talking about Teh Gay on-screen, just in the private life of the star. Who is also, yo fanboys, ‘not Bond.’ So yeah, it’s homophobic. Different than ordinary run-of-the-mill, I’m a snotty teenager who says disgusting things and sometimes beats people up homophobia (which is, I think, mostly what John Ruch encountered on the homophobic anti-Craig site to which I will not link).

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