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Sex with a Side of Fry

November 2, 2010 by

I’m not sure why I feel compelled to comment on recent events surrounding Stephen Fry but I reacted rather strongly to reports of his thoughts on women and sex and the backlash that appears to have caused him to give up on Twitter in a dramatic [if queenly] ‘Woe is Me!’ fashion.

For those who aren’t so much in the know, he was reported by the Guardian having said in an interview with gay magazine Attitude he believed most straight men felt that“they disgust women” as they “find it difficult to believe that women are as interested in sex as they are”.

He goes on to say, “For good reason, if women liked sex as much as men, there would be straight cruising areas in the way there are gay cruising areas. Women would go and hang around in churchyards thinking: ‘God, I’ve got to get my fucking rocks off’, or they’d go to Hampstead Heath and meet strangers to shag behind a bush. It doesn’t happen. Why? Because the only women you can have sex with like that wish to be paid for it.”

Finally, “I feel sorry for straight men. The only reason women will have sex with them is that sex is the price they are willing to pay for a relationship with a man, which is what they want,” he said. “Of course, a lot of women will deny this and say, ‘Oh no, but I love sex, I love it!’ But do they go around having it the way that gay men do?”

To which I reply Mr Fry, you are an absolute pillock.

Such statements are ridiculous sweeping generalisations about how both straight men and women think and behave, which, for obvious reasons Fry is woefully unqualified to make and that he does so with an insufferable presumption of authority on the subject beggars belief.

Men and women are motivated differently. While girls may not be out in Fry’s church yard looking to score their next orgasm from whichever faceless Tom, Dick or Harry is nearest they may well be lifting their shirts and skirts for some other Joe or Jock who told them he loved her. Heck they may even be putting up with sexual/physical/emotional abuse because they doesn’t feel like they’re worthy of being loved any other way or by anyone else. Just because the men like sex to feel powerful and women like sex to feel loved doesn’t make one or other motivation better than the other.

Fry’s suggestion that men think women are disgusted by men, may in some cases be true, but it would also be fair to say that there are men who are disgusted by women who offer sex indiscriminately; this doesn’t stop either gender from taking advantage of sex offered when the opportunity arises. It’s sides of the same coin and while neither motivation is wrong, cheap sex for whatever reason or by whichever gender/orientation is a distortion of the ideal; sex within a loving committed relationship. The mistake Fry makes is that assumes motivation and enjoyment are one and the same. I suggest consenting parties don’t have to be motivated to undertake the act for the same reasons for either or both of them to enjoy it.

The irony isn’t lost on me that I, as a self confessed celibate (who is rather less qualified to comment than Mr. Fry) am offering my twopence worth to the global conversation, but for all its salacious content the situation is an interesting study in celebrity, social media, and public opinion. I don’t have the article to be able to read the whole interview in context but if what was quoted above is what Fry said (and by extension meant) there’s no question he cocked up royally. The thing I’m amused by is that in a fit of pique (or more likely, raging embarrassment) Stephen has headed for the hills and withdrawn from the public [specifically, his Twitter followers, of which I am one] rather than face the backlash.

We all say things we regret, Stephen is no less human than the rest of us (for all his eloquence and cleverness) and it is clearly rather humbling that in this day and age what you say can reach both the other side of the world and millions of people in the blink of an eye.

I do hope Stephen returns to Twitter (as he has done before), but suggest he that returns suitably chastened and with a thicker skin.

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Situation Normal

October 29, 2009 by

This studying business has been doing my head in… as I write this I ought, in fact, to be completing my last written assignment before I plough into my last assignment all together, a flash project… however, I am, instead, reflecting on the fact I made my first (and may it ever be my last) visit to a neurologist this afternoon.  (Oh, and the beer addled brain probably has something to contribute to my waning enthusiasm for writing a linguistics research proposal as well…

however, where was I?)

Oh, right… the neurologist.

So, a couple of months ago I started to experience some recurring symptoms of pins and needles in my hands and feet.  At first, I blew it off as chiropractic in nature, I mean, I get sciatic tingles now and again when my back is out so it seemed less than far fetched that the genesis of these tingles were any different.  However,  in the back of my mind was some distant recollection from one of those ghastly Hallmark movies or some such book on which they’re based, that tingly hands and feet was a primary sign of MS. Multiple Sclerosis.

Fuck.

(sorry Jesus… but I was thinking it… so I had to write it too).

I survived a few days with the MS thought in my head but decided that I needed to check it out to put my mind at ease so I went to see Dr Cliff whose only reassuring noise was “It could be nothing” and who proceeded to order up a slew of blood tests.

During this time I strictly avoided checking things on the internet for fear that they’d confirm every scary thought I was having and I continued trying to console myself that the statistics against it being anything truly ghastly were strongly in my favour… however, during that week one of my friends was diagnosed with bowel cancer at the ripe old age of 32 so suddenly,  the stats looked a lot less friendly.

Once the bloods were done and dusted (and with remarkably little pain, all due respect to the phlebotomist – (actually, I put that bit there because I only wanted an excuse to write that utterly wonderful word) and the results were back I was pronounced all within normal range and was referred to the neurologist for nerve conduction tests.

Of course, getting in to see a neurologist is not exactly like showing up any old time for a walk in appointment like I do at my medical clinic (yeah, none of this make an appointment business there…) and so I’ve been wondering for about the last 3 weeks as to if, in fact, I was facing a whole new set of life changes… I started some anyway, just in case;

I started eating properly… for I hadn’t been doing so well at that while focusing on the amount of work I had on my plate.

I started sleeping more and turning off the computer earlier in the evening instead of trying to exist on 4 hours sleep or so.

I started taking multi vitamins because I’ve been meaning to for ages and just never got around to it.

I bought health insurance for the very same reasons.

I read my Bible looking for reassurance that I was going to be fine, and I found it, but I still wondered if maybe my friend who is 32 and has bowel cancer had also done the same and found out that he still has cancer. So it was helpful, but it I also was being realistic that it may be something instead of nothing and even if it was something,  God knew about it and he would work it out… everything would be alright… whatever definition of alright that was.

And then the tingles stopped, so I stopped being worried and thought it was all in my head and that, realistically, I am more of a stressed out bunny than I have EVER been before and it was probably stress.

And my friend Daisy said “Oh right, neuropathy” like it was nothing, and I worried a little bit less.

And then I googled peripheral neurpoathy and I read that it could be stress related and I felt a little bit better.  Because, did I mention? I’m stressed… like,  REALLY stressed.

And then, on Wednesday I was down at my local mini mall and had set up all my stuff in my fave corner of my 2nd fave cafe and after working a while I took a break to check my messages and as I did I met an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in a while so I stopped for a chat.

The chat lasted 45 mins… (those poor guys watching my computer… I bet they were so tempted to mess with my screensaver…) And the conversation was amazing, and if you’re a God person you will know those kind of conversations when it feels like God is there talking and listening too, and  you come away from it feeling like he set it up in the first place.  We ended up talking about my impending visit to the neurologist and she knew all about how I was feeling, because she’d been through EXACTLY the same thing.. and when she gets stressed EXACTLY the same thing happens to her hands and feet.

So I felt a lot better, and for whatever reason, call it intuition, call it God, I just knew what the neurologist was going to tell me today.

He told me I’m normal.  Everything is normal. I even swore when one of the tests made my arm jump 6 inches and scared the crap out of me (and him). 

Totally normal.

I’m glad.  Maybe it is stress, maybe it is something else. But deep down in my guts where I feel like God tells me stuff it all feels normal and I don’t feel like I have to be afraid.

And that can only be good.

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What the Blazes Were They Thinking?

February 9, 2009 by

You’ve probably seen the news, or if you follow any Australian Twitterers you’ve likely heard mention of the Victorian Bushfires (link to Google map of the fires) that are burning up the Victorian landscape in the South East corner of Australia.  Today the toll stands at 108 and it won’t end there as parts of the large fire areas still haven’t been entered by fire crews.  People have died in their homes, in their cars as the tried to flee, people have died trying to escape. It’s utterly unbelievable to see every news item on the tv, every radio announcement, every Australian blog I read, and every online news distributor rail against the callous and ignorant fools who light these fires on purpose.

On.Purpose.

It boggles my mind that people put their impulses for thrills, power, control and sexual excitement well above the sanctity of human life, above the respect for fellow Australian’s homes, businesses, land, environment, wildlife.  It beggars belief.

I saw an interview with a woman on the show ‘Sunday Night’ whose whole home had been destroyed, she showed us around her property, the worst for me was watching her break as she showed us her dog’s kennels and runs, lovingly situated in the “best part of the section” and to hear her tell of her helplessness to know her precious animals died helpless as the fire-front rushed over their property.  It’s just so heart-breaking.

By the time this is all over I would find it very surprising if there was not one person in Australia who doesn’t know someone, or someone’s relative or friend who has been touched by the fire. For me, I have a friend whose cousin has lost their home, our Kelley from Magnetoboldtoo actually lives in country Victoria and has friends in affected areas. In a disaster like this everyone knows someone.  And if, as a reader you know us, then you too are touched in a small way by this heinous situation.  I implore you, if you have any means to offer assistance, please do what you can.

  • If you can give even a small amount financially please follow this link to the Australian Red Cross in Victoria and make a donation.
  • If you want to add messages of support to the Twitterstream tag your tweets with #vicfires
  • If you’re in Australia and are eligible (I am not… WAH) to give blood, please do so.
  • If you want to hear from other Australian Bloggers or you’re a member on the Aussie bloggers’ forums you can check in to see what’s happening or to add your messages of support.
  • If you’re of the praying persuasion, to whomever you pray, please keep in your thoughts, your prayers and hearts all of those in Victoria, particularly those valiant men and women, many of whom are volunteers, who are working day and night to bring an end to this disaster. And for the future, pray that the recovery, physical and emotional, would be gentle and would be swift.

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Reasons to Believe in a Benevolent Deity #101

January 11, 2009 by

— The Fortuitous Return of Lost Things —

Our story begins, dear reader, with our heroine’s need to dispatch a
couple of important errands the like of which required the attendance
at a branch of the BNZ (that’s the Bank of New Zealand for our foreign
readers) and the Post Office (which I believe is unlikely to require
translation).

It seemed sensible to park the car between the two venues which were
separated by a distance of about 500 metres and this done, she
proceeded first to the BNZ where the required deposit was made to
ensure that her life insurance was up to date and then to the Post
Office where a disc of photos was sent to her aunt documenting the
family party on New Years Eve. In all, this took probably a total of 20
minutes, once the distance was walked and the queues endured. The
errands were duly done and the last on the long list of jobs to be done
while on holiday was finally sealed up.

However, it was upon leaving the Post Office that our heroine realised
that she no longer appeared to be in possession of the car keys. A
dilemma in anyone’s books, but particularly disconcerting as the
alternate set of keys were some 1127 kilometres (700 miles) away in
possession of the car’s actual owner on holiday herself in the town of
Ashburton.

It is no small thing to have a spare, to be sure… but for it to be so
far away was a challenge in that a) the car was parked on a busy main
road and would be towed if left too long and b) the car was our
heroine’s means of transport to the airport at 3.15am on Sunday to be
left there to in return to be the means of its owner’s transportation
home from the airport at 4pm later that day. No question, the car
needed to be accessible BEFORE then or all manner of costs would
accrue…

Without deferring to an initial position of panic a quick pivot on
one’s heel was executed to go back to the Post Office to collect the
item which was surely left on the counter only minutes before…

Er…

That being so it seemed logical instead to duck back to the bank to collect them then from there…

Er…

And so, back to the Post Office, via the car to make sure they hadn’t
been left inside… a situation which would not have been ideal but
would have been better then than not being able to get to them at
all…

Er…

It is at this point that the exclamations started to get a bit more
agitated, when a few of them had a panicky edge and which alternated
between, “Oh shit, what am I going to do if they don’t show up?” and
“Oh God, please get me out of this mess!”.

Breathing deeply our heroine went once more to the Post Office,
scanning every bit of pavement on the way in case it transpired that
they had in fact, been dropped from her hand/pocket/purse… still no
luck.

The Post Office employees were alternately concerned to see her
reappear and helpful in turning the public areas upside down in the
hope they would appear… and all areas where she had stepped were duly
retraced, the package she had posted was also reopened just in case
they’d been posted across town… still no luck.

*good air in… bad air out… good air in… bad air out… oh…shit… oh… God… oh… help…*

Finally, giving up, the poor girl asks the Postal Officer for a pen and
paper and writes down her contact details, just in case someone comes
in with them… a faint hope… and she starts a text message to her
sister, one that started with “Don’t Panic”… (another faint hope, as
it happens) and just as she did the door opened and a man with a
Canadian sounding voice approached the counter asking,

“Have you had anyone come in looking for their keys? I’m embarrassed to
admit I picked them up and put them in my pocket absently thinking they
were mine!”…

Our relieved heroine turned to the older gentleman and took them from
his hand confessing that she was torn between kissing him and crying
her eyes out (but did neither) and walked out the door with him
thanking him profusely as she did… and uttered a prayer of thanks and
a huge sigh of relief returning to the car and hurried home for a stiff
drink and a breather.

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