Unfriends (2)

So I lost a couple more friends on the facebook not long ago. I know who it was: a few students I’d played for this past year. I don’t know if they unfriended me because of this blog, or if it was more of a spring (summer) cleaning, a general unfriending, as I won’t be around to play for them or even to say hi occasionally this coming school year.

The rate of my facebook unfriending has certainly slowed significantly. The first few months after I started this blog (and started posting it on the facebook) it was considerably more than a trickle. But not lately. And I actually sort of miss it. It’s almost like if I’m not offending somebody I must be doing it wrong.

Now, this blog isn’t intended to offend. But, just like I don’t try to flash people, yet I don’t mind if people happen to see me naked, I’m not actively trying to offend people, yet I don’t have a problem with it if someone is offended.

In fact, maybe people need to be offended sometimes. Certainly if it gets them to think then it’s probably a good thing. Although, I suspect most people who get offended just sort of shut down any analytical part of their brain and just ignore or go into rant/talking-point mode.

So...hey, here’s a picture.

Or two.

Yeah, two! Boom.

Feel free to be offended. 

Not Facebook-able

Well, I’ve been feeling restless, antsy, maybe even frisky lately. I’m sort of just waiting for the next few weeks to be over. I’m not doing much of anything much of the time. So the other day I was getting brave about exactly what I post on the facebook. You could say I was pushing the envelope, but I would say I wasn’t really aware of any envelope-pushing. At any rate, the envelope pushed back.

I’ve been blocked from posting on facebook for a few days because of this picture from a few days back:

I kinda figured it’d be okay. Or maybe on some level I didn’t. Maybe I’m just bored, and I was trying to liven things up a little. I don’t know.

But if I was gonna be blocked for posting a picture, I should’ve posted something a bit more extreme. Something like these:

Much more offensive than mine, right?

—         —         —

Not being able to post stuff or comment on stuff has made me very aware of just how much I've been doing that lately. Too much, probably. It’s the main form of contact I have with “the world” i.e., most people I know.

Quite a few times the first day of being blocked I had the impulse to check facebook. But I didn’t have it open. Not being able to post or comment or even like others’ posts, I didn’t see much point in staying logged on. Usually I keep facebook open on my computer all day if I’m home, which is most days lately. I’m starting to get over that impulse, but at some point later day I’ll be able to post and comment again. So, it’s not unlikely that the previous behavior will return.

Oh yeah, they also took this opportunity to switch me over to the “timeline” on my profile, or at least to tell me that it’ll take effect soon—August 6th. Somehow I’d quite happily avoided it for several months now. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, however I will view this as an extra little “fuck you” from the facebook people. 

The Story of “O”

There’s this woman I sort of know. She’s a good friend of a woman with whom I did a show earlier this year. I don’t know the woman from the show very well, but I guess we’re friends. We’re facebook friends anyway.

So, this good friend of hers, who I shall call “O”—not the “O” from the novel The Story of O, which is strange and interesting, although this “O” is also a little strange and interesting—sent me a friend request on the facebook some time ago.

I thought, yeah sure, why not? And I became facebook friends with O, whom I’d never met. We chatted some and often “liked” and/or commented on each other’s facebook posts.

I met O in person once, at a party her friend threw. O and her friend both live in the next town over. I don’t get over that way much, and O doesn’t get over this way much. So, I actually went to this party mostly to meet O. And that experience just added to the strangeness and interestingness of O.

Before that party I’d had two distinct versions of O in my head, based on our facebook interactions. And I’d been hoping to get some clarification—which version was accurate?

Well, at that party I saw a brief glimpse of the beautiful version with whom I thought I could have a real conversation... And then was the loud, tough, slightly scary, tattooed lady that seemed to block out any attempt to connect. At least that’s what I saw. And those 2 aspects of O correspond quite well with the 2 versions I already had in my brain.

Obviously neither of those versions is actually her, though they were based on her...parts of her...aspects, I guess. Probably we all have various aspects which are hard to reconcile.

—     —     —     —     

The thing that I really wanted to write about here is that for a while O was posting on the facebook a sort of “sensual thought for the day”. It was a daily comment or whatever that sometimes seemed like life advice—not sexual advice exactly, but thoughts about being a sensual person, enjoying sensual experiences. And these were always accompanied by a sexy picture, usually black and white, very professional-looking, typically a woman in lingerie—or more accurately, part of a woman. There was never a face, which made me wonder if they were pictures of her or not. Some of them I feel probably were, but others I’m not so sure.

Anyway, that doesn’t matter. The point is that I started looking forward to these posts, looking for them every morning. Perhaps that desire to see her posts speaks to the lack of sensuality in my life. Or maybe it’s more that I really wish I could take great looking pictures like those.

Well, just after that party where I met her, she stopped posting her sensual thoughts. I asked her about it, and she said that she’d be on facebook much less for a while and that I was probably the only one who really enjoyed them anyway. I was briefly disappointed by this absence. But I got over it.

So now, a few weeks later, it seems she’s starting to post the sexy pics again. That’s cool. But, having gotten over the disappointment of their prior disappearance, I’m just not as interested this time around.

It may also have to do with the fact that she was one of the women who turned me down a few weeks ago.

Despite the 2 versions—one I found appealing and one I didn’t—I was still interested...attracted, I should say. Well, of course I was. She’s a beautiful brunette (I like brunettes) with great eyes and who seems to say what she thinks, or at least posts cool stuff on facebook without apology.

Very sexy. Very appealing.

And too busy right now to go out with me.

It’s just as well. I’m likely not her type. Something she said once.

Oh yeah, and I’m leaving soon. 3 weeks. (Whoo.) And I should probably not get involved now with anyone here. 

Fun at airports (2)

This man, John Brennan

(not to be confused with John O. Brennan, the chief counterterrorism advisor to President Obama), was arrested this spring after he stripped at an airport.

In frustration over the increasingly invasive security procedures, he took off all his clothes at the Portland International Airport.

Last week he went to court. His defense was that his nakedness was a protest and, as such, was a type of legally protected free speech. Apparently the judge agreed. He was found not guilty of indecent exposure. 

I say this: if they just went ahead and had everybody strip naked and ride airplanes naked, maybe they wouldn’t worry so much about concealed weapons.

NPR article

Fun at airports (1)

Okay, I don’t know why this is news. But... 

A few weeks ago this guy was stopped and frisked by a TSA (Transportation Security Administration—part of the Dept. Of Homeland Security—you know, airport security) employee. (Or are they TSA agents? That sounds more sinister. Anyway...) 

That’s clearly not news. But, this guy was Jonah Falcon. 

Jonah holds the world record for having the longest penis. It’s not in the Guinness Book of World Records because they supposedly don’t record such things. 

(Do they actually still publish a book?) 

Well, he was stopped and frisked at San Francisco International Airport due to the suspicious bulge in his pants. His “suspicious bulge” is supposedly around 9 inches or 23 cm when flaccid and 13.5 inches or 34 cm when erect. 

It’s hard (no pun intended) to find decent pictures of Jonah’s penis online. But here’s are some: 

Supposedly him. This one was from
some random penis thread, so who knows?

Of course, he’s had offers to do porn, but he has so far declined. And obviously there are people who’d pay to see his penis. But apparently he just doesn’t do many naked pics. I guess he did a few when he was younger. 

He probably wants to be known as more than just “the guy with the biggest dick”. 

I can totally appreciate that. ‘Cause I too don’t want to be known just as “the guy with a huge penis”. 

Oh wait...I’m not. 

Ah, right. I don’t want to be known as just “the naked blog guy”. 

Here’s the Huffington Post article which alerted me to this guy and this story:

Huffingtonpost.com

That, by the way, led me to another article that contained a slideshow of “naked crime”—people who were arrested while naked, or in at least one case, for being naked in his yard. But it pissed me off that this was paired with a slideshow of “Potty Issues”—crimes having something to do with a person urinating or defecating or farting or having drugs in one’s ass. It bothers me that they’d make that connection, like somehow being naked is like taking a shit. 

Why

I have a new idea about why I started this blog last fall.

Yes, I was bored and wanted to do SOMETHING.

And yes, it was a sort of expression of who I am, i.e., a “naked person”.

But it occurred to me last night that perhaps it was that I felt no one really saw me. I don’t mean no one saw me naked, although that is true. I mean no one saw ME. I was just “the guy who plays the piano”, or more accurately “A guy who plays the piano”. Or maybe a music director or a playwright or a guy who writes musicals. But not me.

Of course, I’m also not just “A naked guy” or “that naked guy”. So maybe, if that indeed was a reason to start this blog, it wasn’t successful. And why would it be?

Of course, this wasn’t a motivation I was aware of at the time I started the blog. I don’t recall there being a really strong reason to start the blog. Just more of a strong but vague feeling of wanting to do something. And I still have that.

Changes.

Re-thinking (...or re-doing?).

Working on it. Of course, I can change locations, but I also have to change me. That’s the thing. 

rant (wish I had a better title)

I’ve mentioned the TV show, Skins, a couple of times before in this blog.

Something that occurred to me about the show is that no matter what these kids do, what happens to them, or what they bring on themselves—whatever trouble or drama or heartache they deal with—they have each other. They go through it all with their mates. They fight and cry and eventually laugh and have a few drinks with each other. The only time they get into really horrible, awful, terrible, life-ruining shit is when they aren’t together, when they keep something from the others for a long time—like, more than 2 or 3 episodes. 

I was thinking about this the other night, while lamenting my life, my lack of mates. (In fact, I started writing this the other night, while drinking. Now, in the sober light of day, I’m not entirely sure how this connects. It was quite clear before.)

Anyway...a few days back I was turned down (for dates) by 2 women in 2 days.

Yes, I asked a few people out. What? It’s not that surprising. I was thinking, enough of this sequestering, this hermiting myself. Okay sure, I’m leaving town soon. But I don’t have to just mark time until moving day.

(That’s what I’ve been feeling like lately: that I’m marking time or treading
water until I leave; like there’s not much point in trying to change my life
here now that I’m leaving.

Oh, and on that point...I’m thinking I may make a very small tour the first
week of August, between North Carolina and Mississippi. I need to go there
for a few days to look for an apartment, and I’ll need a place to stay for a
few days. Also, at least one night between here and there I’ll need to stop
somewhere. So if anybody wants to put me up, let me know.)

Well...maybe I do have to mark time. I can’t seem to get a date. I wasn’t even looking for anything serious—just thought it’d be nice to hang out with somebody. These weren’t random women I walked up to on the street or something. They were people I’d been chatting with, exchanging banter on the facebook.

(Sigh.)

I’ve not made a big deal about this move. I’ve told a few people, but not everyone.

My feeling about it is a bit like my birthday. I don’t really like hearing “happy birthday” from a bunch of people to whom I’m not close, because it just emphasizes my lack of connection. Where some people are “overwhelmed” by the “outpouring of love” from so many people on their birthday, I have the opposite reaction. If someone wanted to do something to actually make it a “special day” I’d love that. That would be awesome. But it doesn’t happen. And while I don’t like nobody saying anything about my birthday (pretty-much like last year) I think it’s not quite as bad as everybody saying it.

Anyway, the whole move thing is like that. I don’t really want people telling me “we should do something before you go” ‘cause that’s what’s been lacking here. And if they don’t say something like that, I’d want them to.

Yes, it’s fucked up. Yes, I’m fucked up.

I don’t know who said this but... “Some people build walls not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.” I guess that’s me.

I remember once when I was in college, or maybe just after, getting drunk at a party and walking off sort of sulking, and then sulking even more because the girl I was interested in didn’t follow me to ask what was wrong. Well why would she? How is someone supposed to know the difference between when I actually want to be left alone and when I want someone to come after me? They both look the same, right?

Well, this has been a bit of a ramble. Well, to wrap it up, or summarize, I suppose...being alone too much can cause problems; I am and have been alone too much.

And...here’s a picture of me naked. You know, just in keeping with the theme of My Naked Blog.

But what do you really mean? (or, Subtext)

I’ve been watching, on the netflix, this British (E4, not BBC) show, Skins. 

It’s a drama in which a bunch of teens are having sex and drinking and using drugs, plus occasional outbursts of violence and other criminal activities.

Some time ago I watched the first few seasons, and a few days ago I started watching the 3rd season. Toward the end of this season there’s an episode in which several characters get upset when they find out that somebody they like had sex with somebody else and didn’t tell them about it. Basically, their lies and stupid behaviors were revealed and everyone was upset. It reminds me of a lot of sitcoms, except on this show, it’s not supposed to be funny.

I’ve written about stupidity and lying on TV shows before. It occurs to me that this is sort of connected to another topic.

Subtext.

I feel like I’ve written about subtext before, but maybe not.

Subtext is what a character is thinking or what they really mean as opposed to what they are saying.

As a writer of plays and musicals, I rarely think about subtext. My characters tend to say what they’re thinking. I’m sure that has everything to do with how I feel people should be in real life. Just say what you mean.

I want to think that people are honest with me. I’m honest with them. However, I’ve learned that most people aren’t honest. Sometimes that makes me sad, sometimes it makes me angry, sometimes it makes me not want to deal with people.

I don’t mean that people are constantly trying to deceive everyone about everything. Maybe some people are, but mostly no. Certainly some people may lie out of embarrassment about some stupid thing they did. But I mostly mean that people will lie to spare your feelings all the damn time.

Seriously, I would rather know the truth up front. Sure, it might hurt my feelings a little. But I really do want to believe you, so when I figure out that you’re lying, not only are my feelings hurt, but now I think of you as a liar. Now maybe I have less respect for you than I would if you’d’ve just been honest.

Unfortunately, this has contributed to my cynicism about people. I never used to do this, but now sometimes I’ll wonder if someone is telling the truth or if they’re lying to avoid “conflict”. And that keeps me at a distance. It’s hard for me to want to be closer if I’m always suspicious of you.

Having studied psychology, I’m aware that may be deeper psychological issues involved with “lying”. But when I’m thinking about psychological motivations, I tend to think that people are either unable to see the truth or just unwilling to deal with it, not that they’re consciously lying. Actually, I think I’m pretty good at getting a feel for a person when I talk with them a bit, maybe seeing through to what’s really going on. 

I had a roommate who called it “leap-frogging”. Maybe not the most accurate term, but he meant that I sometimes jump over all the little points between A and Z, or maybe I see A, B, & C, and then I’m ready for Z. He also suggested that I “use my power for good instead of evil”. I think he thought I was kind of evil. Of course, he was an extremely repressed Christian-type, who regularly prayed a lot and felt guilty after having (reportedly bad) sex with his girlfriend.

I had, for a while in college, thought I might become a counselor. My degree is actually in psychology.

Anyway, maybe my thinking about, or lack of understanding of, or lack of engaging in subtext in a play has been wrong. I’ve often felt like subtext was a lot like lying. But maybe it’s more like having an unconscious psychological issue—maybe something repressed, that you can’t accept, you can’t say out loud or even to yourself. 

Perhaps I should, in the future, craft characters that are all “crazy”. I don’t necessarily  mean the clinically, diagnosably, put-‘em-in-the-nuthouse kind of crazy. Just the everyday, lying-to-themselves, actually-believing-the-bullshit-they’re-saying kind of crazy.

lend a hand

Well... Good morning.

So yeah, this has been going on.

Off and on for a few days, actually. And, sadly, there’s no one around who can lend a hand with it. Or lend any other body part.

I’ve been told several times in the past several years by several people that I just need to go get laid.

But I can’t. I just don’t work that way.

Okay, I’ve never really tried to go out and meet someone in order to have sex with them. So, maybe I could do it. But I really doubt it. I just can’t wrap my brain around it.

Of course I want to have sex. It’s been way too long. But with many women, even if I find them physically appealing, when I get to know them I don’t find them particularly attractive anymore. I like women; it’s just that as I get to know them I find a lot of them to be stupid or crazy or shallow or religious (yes, I’m intolerant of religion) or conservative (also intolerant there). And mostly the ones who aren’t at least one of those things which I find unappealing are either married or otherwise “taken” or a bit on the young side.

Now, young might be okay, except that I’m 41, and I’m not sure that I want to get involved with someone half my age. And I get the feeling that when they know how old I am they don’t want to get involved. They just don’t even see me as a possibility.

There are some young women who’ve told me “age is just a number”. But, then again, no one who’s ever said that has expressed any interest in dating or even in just having sex with me.

Anyway, the point is that I’m just not really okay with the idea of fucking somebody I don’t know and don’t care about. Whether or not I could actually do it, I don’t really want to do it.

This reminds me of a brief, unsuccessful fling I had several years ago. It was with a woman I’d known for a little while. I think we were both just lonely. But some part of me—subconsciously or whatever—knew that it wasn’t a good idea, that I shouldn’t be with this woman. She was kind of crazy. Not like really crazy, just...I don’t know, having some issues at the time.

So, I couldn’t “be with” this woman. I mean, it didn’t work...my penis. So we never actually “did it”. I worried a little about it—that maybe it was symptomatic of a larger issue. But in other prior, successful relationships, I occasionally had some performance issues (to a lesser degree) when things weren’t going great in the relationship, that is, generally when I didn’t feel things were “equal” in the relationship. Like one of us was more invested in the relationship than the other.

It seems that for me relationship problems lead to sexual performance problems. Clearly it’s connected to my lack of interest in having sex with someone I don’t care about. As some people have suggested, maybe that’s a good thing. But, then again, there’s no one in my life that I care about and who is interested in having sex with me. So, maybe it’s not so great.

Ug.

So, I guess it’s up to me.

teary-eyed

Lately I’ve noticed I tend to get emotional over movies or shows I’m watching.

I’m thinking about it, because I just had one of those reactions to a movie I was watching: The Lake Effect. 

It’s not like I’m crying outright, but I get a little teary-eyed.

The thing that gets me is when there are characters who struggle and are in pain or, especially, are lonely, but then in the end it changes. It’s not that they are necessarily happy, but they discover that they have other people and therefore they have the potential for happiness, or contentment, or something like that. Maybe struggling and pain will still happen, but they don’t have to do it alone.

That’s what gets to me. That’s what got to me in the movie I just watched.

It’s because I feel very much alone. That’s nothing new. And I’m starting to fear that it’ll always be this way.

I never used to think I wanted to get married and have kids and all that typical stuff that everyone seems to just assume they’re gonna have because it’s what people do. People do way too many things just because that’s how things are, that’s what “normal” people do.

Anyway... Now, I’m not sure. I’ve thought about it. Mostly I just want a real connection.

I don’t feel that I have people. I have relatives who I just don’t seem to connect with very well. I don’t feel that I really resonate with them, or vice versa. And I know a bunch of other people, but there’s no one close. Most people I know I think of as “acquaintances” or “colleagues” more than friends.

Occasional banter on the facebook is one thing, but are we really friends if we live in the same town and almost never see each other? There was a colleague of mine a few years back with whom I thought I would become friends. But she just never had the time to get together, hang out, or anything.

Forward to today, and she & I never interact, even on the facebook.

There are “facebook friends” with whom I interact. We comment on each other’s funny posts. But I guess nobody wants to hang out with the naked guy. Well, there’s the occasional emails from somebody who’s seen my blog. Always a guy (except possibly the “fan mail” from last week). And the gist is generally: You like being naked, me too; let’s hang out naked. Maybe it’s a sincere, non-sexual invite, but somehow it always strikes me as kinda creepy. I guess I’d rather hang out naked with some of those “acquaintances” or “colleagues” that I already know and know that I like, know that I have something in common with them.

But, again, I guess nobody wants to hang out with the naked guy. A lot of my “acquaintances” or “colleagues” unfriended me when I started this blog. And there are many who just don’t ever say anything at all about it. Like, if no one mentions it, then it doesn’t exist.

Oh, yeah, I do have another friend who seems to want to tell everybody about how I love to be naked and I have a blog and she’s really proud and supportive of the blog...except she doesn’t really want to read the blog or actually see me naked; oh, she’s totally cool with nudity...unless it’s actually happening around her.

Sorry. A little off topic.

Wait, what is my topic?

Oh yeah. I’m alone.

God, what a boring topic.

And I go on about it way too much.

So, I’ll not continue it. 

fan mail

Yesterday I got an email from someone saying that they like my blog and that they liked being nude. And they included a picture.

So I wrote back asking if they wanted me to post the picture as a “submission” here on the blog.

Then I thought this could be some picture that somebody got from some porn site, so I did a google image search. I found the exact picture on a couple of sites. It was one of a set of the same 10 or so pictures of (I think) the same girl on both sites—a couple of those young hot chicks sort of websites.

Meanwhile, this person wrote me back saying not to post it on the blog, that they’d rather it be between us. And that they think I’m hot.

So, of course, I wrote back mentioning that I’d just found that picture on a couple of sites. This person responded with surprise and wondered what the websites were, which I told them. And they replied with “omg wtf? thanx 4 lettin me know”.

So. I’m not gonna post the picture, in case this person is legitimately the person in the picture.

But I refer above to this person as “they” (I know, grammatically problematic but less awkward than using “he or she” over and over) because I don’t know if the person is who “she” appears to be.

It would be nice to hear that some cute young woman thinks I’m hot. But this could be from an unattractive middle-aged dude. I suppose that is also flattering, but it’s not really my thing. Maybe I’m just cynical to be suspicious. But it did turn out that the picture is posted elsewhere. So, maybe I was rightly suspicious?

I don’t know.

Anyway...

If “she” is legit and is reading this: hey, how’s it going? Did you really not know those pictures were online somewhere? Write me again and send me a picture of you that’s not online somewhere else.

And if “she” is not legit and whoever sent it is reading this: seriously, if you actually read my blog you’ll know that I value honesty. So, what the fuck!?

And for everyone else reading this: although I haven’t mentioned it lately, I am still open to “submissions”. If you want to send me a picture to post here, or if you want to write something about nudity, etc. send it to me at misterchrister@live.com.

The Worst...

So, in keeping with two recent themes from this blog...

I was watching a TV show on the netflix recently in which a particular character needs to be more open and honest. (Being open & honest is one theme. Stuff on netflix is one theme; I watch way too much netflix; I need a life.)

The show is The Worst Week of My Life (series 2 & 3). It’s a BBC sitcom from several years ago.

The main character, Howard, is sort of an idiot. He’s clumsy and socially awkward. He keeps getting into trouble. Sometimes it’s due to his awkwardness, and sometimes that’s funny. But at least half the time he just makes it worse and worse and worse by lying and lying and lying. Eventually, when he tells the truth about the mistake he made or the misunderstanding or the accident or whatever it turns out okay. People understand. But the lying is totally ridiculous. I realize it’s just a dumb TV show, but it kind of makes me mad. I keep watching, because the funny stuff is funny. Plus I’m bored. (See above about my needing a life.)

Another issue in the show pisses me off a little: it’s that the family in the show is rather well-off. And I keep thinking how ridiculous their whole life is. The mother-in-law gets upset because the landscaper can’t show up on some special day due because he had a heart attack or something. Ridiculous. They have this huge house full of fancy shit, some of which gets broken or whatever. Ridiculous. And they’re often worried about impressing all the right people. Ridiculous. Nobody needs that big a house nor that kind of money. It’s completely ridiculous.

These are probably the bastards running the world, fighting wars and all that shit.

Oh...sorry. I was watching a documentary called Zeitgeist earlier today. (It’s unrelated, except for that the too much netflix-watching thing.)

Anyway yes, there’s a little nudity in The Worst Week of My Life. There’s an incident where Howard, the idiot, gets kicked out of a house while naked.

Hahahahahahaha! Nudity = hilariousness.

Not really.

And there’s a scene where he bursts in on a woman receiving a bikini-line waxing. And then he later tries to comfort her by saying how he didn’t see any of her “doo-dah”.

That’s right, “doo-dah.”

Ug. An adult...saying “doo-dah”.

I believe you mean “Vagina”.

Stupidness. 

nude nuns

I had started watching some artistic foreign film last night, but it was sort of slow and it just didn’t keep my interest. So, I looked for something else and found this:

Nude Nuns with Big Guns 

Yes, there is such a movie. And yes, I did watch it.

Yes, there are nude nuns in it. And yes, there are some guns. (They’re not tiny, but they’re not all that big.)

Yes, there is some bad acting in it. And also some mediocre acting.

It’s about a nun who, after being exploited by drug trafficking priests, becomes an “avenging angel”.

It lags quite a lot in the middle, I think mainly due to a lack of story development—a lot of attitude and no plot, perhaps a failed attempt to build suspense. And some weird editing effects. And a lot of prominent “background” music.

It’s not great. Then again, it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever seen.  

At one point I had the thought that perhaps it’s trying to be Kill Bill with nuns and bare breasts. And if that was the intention, well, it didn’t come close.

Oh, hey...I learned a new word: nunsploitation. It’s not in the movie; it was in some review I skimmed.

(Asun Ortega as Sister Sarah)

Bully for them

Last night I watched Bully.

(Not the more recent documentary film.)

It’s a film based on a true story about a group of teens who plan to kill a friend who is a bully.

I found the acting often dull and unengaging. But I think it may’ve been a conscious choice by the director—a way of showing these teens’ lack of connection with “normal” emotions.

Or maybe I just found the characters annoying.

Anyway, the film was okay. I think the film’s use of nudity was quite interesting.

There were a couple of sex scenes with nudity, but I found the nudity there to be rather un-sexy. Again, that may’ve been a directorial choice to show that these characters had sex, but it wasn’t especially exciting or urgent or anything.

Or maybe I’m just reading that into it. I was kind of tired last night. 

But there were other times in the film where a character, one in particular, was just naked—in the bathroom, or getting out of bed, or once talking on the phone. And that choice seemed to me to be very reasonable, normal, realistic. But, as this was a movie, I was aware that other viewers might find it unusual. I suppose most folks just aren’t naked much, despite my numerous calls for it here in my naked blog.

“Lady doctor” 2

So I’m continuing to watch Bramwell.

It’s good.

A lot of the British shows I’ve been lately watching on the netflix are good. I’m sure there are mediocre British TV shows. Of course, I know there are tons of mediocre American shows.

(Started out very promising; half a season later, not so much.) 

Anyway, yesterday I said (wrote) “I don’t expect there to be any nakedness in the series...”

Well, I was sort of wrong. I mean, there’s what I guess would be considered “nudity” in an episode I just finished watching. In this episode, there’s a woman who has breast cancer. Now this show, Bramwell, is not a blood spurting, showing lots of injuries and such type of show, although sometimes those things are shown. In this particular episode, they do show the woman’s breast during a couple of exams.

Well, the thing about this episode which I find most worthy of comment is this: the husband of this character with breast cancer is a doctor, (There are lots of doctors in the show—3 who are main characters, but various others come and go.) and it becomes evident that this husband and wife simply don’t really talk to each other about important stuff.

I just don’t understand that. I mean, I realize that at times we may find it difficult to talk about stuff, but to consistently keep everything hidden—important stuff about yourself, your health, you children, whatever—from your spouse, particularly when he or she is capable of dealing with such things, makes absolutely no sense to me.

Okay, yes, this TV show is set in Victorian England.

But I have the sinking feeling that this behavior is still common today. I remember when I was a teenager and seeing a therapist; there was a woman I knew who was seeing the same therapist and who complained how the therapist kept asking her about stuff she didn’t want to talk about. Well, duh. That’s the whole point, right?

People! Talk about shit. Seriously. Be open and honest and direct with the people you care about.

The only reason to hide things or lie is if you’re a disreputable type trying to pull something over on someone or deliberately hurt them. And if that’s the case, shame on you. Don’t be such a selfish bastard.

“Lady doctor”

I started watching Bramwell last night on the netflix. It’s a British TV series from 1995-98.

It’s about a woman who is a doctor and the difficulties she faces as a woman and due to her attempts to help the poor in late Victorian England.

Jemma Redgrave as Dr. Eleanor Bramwell

The first episode kept reminding me of the recent Michigan “Vagina” controversy that I wrote about yesterday and several days ago.

There are these older, white, male establishment doctors who keep performing ovariectomies on women for various conditions such as “female hysteria” (a very common diagnoses in that time) and refusing to discuss a diagnosis of syphilis because it’s improper, especially for a woman to discuss.  

After Dr. Bramwell challenges all this, she gets kicked out of the hospital, banned from working in its wards.

Sounds ridiculously familiar. When watching this sort of thing in a TV show, it’s obviously wrong and stupid and pig-headed and blind. Perhaps the Republican leaders in the Michigan State House should watch it. But that may be unlikely, as it’s the sort of liberal “claptrap” they show in other countries, or maybe on PBS.

I don’t expect there to be any nakedness in this series, but it relates to other stuff I’ve written about, so...why not, eh?

Anyway, here’s what I have to say to late Victorian England: Vagina, vagina, vagina!

Oh wait, no... HERE’S what I have to say to late Victorian England: Let that “lady doctor” do her thing. She’s right. You’re not.

Michigan Vagina 2 (update)

So, if you don’t know about the recent “Vagina” controversy in Michigan, just google it, or see my post from a few days ago. 

So here’s what’s new:

Last night a reading of The Vagina Monologues took place on the steps of the Michigan Statehouse. Performers included several female Democratic  state lawmakers and Eve Ensler (author of The Vagina Monologues).

Michigan State Rep. Lisa Brown

Eve Ensler

Huffington Post article 

I said it then, and I still say it now: Vagina, vagina, vagina!

Or, to misquote Patrick Henry, “Give me vagina, or give me death!”

Stripping Natasha

“Strip Me” by Natasha Bedingfield 

AAAHHHHH!!!!!

This song demonstrates part of what I hate about contemporary popular music.

It’s just so fucking repetitive.

If you strip it down to its basics, except for the bridge, I think it’s pretty-much the same 3 chords over and over and over. But you don’t ever really hear the chords that much. What you hear is vocals and drums, and much of the rest of the “accompaniment” is like repetitive background noise.

I listened to another song by the same singer (“Pocketful of Sunshine”). It’s similarly, annoyingly limited in musical variety, when you “strip it down” to the basics. It’s mostly 3 or 4 chords.

That’s what popular music has been for a while. A few chords plus attitude.

I think the audience has become more technologically sophisticated and wants new and more and better—look at movie special effects. But I think we’ve become so much less sophisticated in terms of our understanding of or our desire for content.

The basics are so damn basic that you have to throw a bunch of shit on top of it. Forget well-crafted songs. Just give us a lot of attitude and a decent-sounding voice (which is likely edited and manipulated in the studio), then layer a bunch of annoying sounds on top of it so it seems like something is happening.

Oh yeah...don’t forget the pretty face.

I don’t know, it just seems a bit like waving your arms and yelling “Whoo-whoo-whoo”, flashing lights in people’s eyes and calling that great dancing.

“Strip Me” lyrics

(from: lyricslike.blogspot.com)

INTRO

La-la-la-la-la La-la La-la-la La-la-la La-la
La-la-la-la-la La-la La-la-la La-la-la La-la

VERSE 1

Every day I fight for all my future somethings,

A thousand little awards I have to choose between.
I could spend a lifetime earning things that I don’t need.
That’s like chasing rainbows and coming home empty.

PRE-CHORUS (This is just like a chorus, but it’s followed by another chorus, so we call it a “pre-chorus”.)

And if you strip me, strip it all away,
If you strip me, what would you find?
If you strip me, strip it all away,
I'll be alright.

CHORUS 

Take what you want, steal my pride,
Build me up or cut me down to size.
Shut me out, but I’ll just scream.
I'm only one voice in a million but you ain't taking that from me.
(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that from me.

(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that from me.

(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that from me.

(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that.

VERSE 2 (abbreviated—probably nobody notices much, or minds, because it’s all the same repetitive stuff)

I don't need a microphone to say what I been thinking.
My heart is like a loudspeaker that's always on eleven.

PRE-CHORUS

And if you strip me, strip it all away,
If you strip me, what would you find?
If you strip me, strip it all away,
I'll be alright.

CHORUS 

Take what you want, steal my pride,
Build me up or cut me down to size.
Shut me out, but I’ll just scream.
I'm only one voice in a million but you ain't taking that from me.
(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that from me.

(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that from me.

(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that from me.

(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that.

BRIDGE

‘Cos when it all boils down at the end of the day
It's what you do and say that makes you who you are,
Makes you think about, think about it, doesn’t it?
Sometimes all it takes is one voice.

CHORUS

Take what you want, steal my pride,
Build me up or cut me down to size.
Shut me out, but I’ll just scream.
I'm only one voice in a million but you ain't taking that from me.
(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that from me.

(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that from me.

(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that from me.

(Oh oh oh) you ain't taking that.

REPEAT CHORUS

FADE OUT (intro)

La-la-la-la-la La-la La-la-la La-la-la La-la
La-la-la-la-la La-la La-la-la La-la-la La-la