Monday, May 05, 2008
Quake
A little while ago whilst in bed with a lovely man, I was informed by him that my orgasms were “incredible”.
“What, because the aftershocks I have can reach 9.5 on the Richter scale?” I joked.
“No,” he replied, “quite a few women have those. I meant your actual orgasms: they're very, um, intense...”
When he made that remark, I thought he was referring to the fact that I ground my teeth together as I came; or that I dug deep scratches in his back with my nails; or how my body went rigid at the height of my climaxes.
I didn't give it much more thought at the time because I was a bit preoccupied, given his fingers were between my legs and I was headed towards yet another pleasurable seismic event.
But I've just realised that he might have been insinuating something else entirely: frequently, when I'm pushing down hard with my pelvic floor muscles as I orgasm, I fart.
And not from the ‘front bottom’, neither.
Excuse me while I go hide myself away and cringe in private.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Blogging
In other non-sex news, I just learned that a piece I wrote on blogging, copyright and why newspapers don't have the right to steal bloggers' content for free, is over here today. If you're a blogger, you should know that you own all creative rights to your writing, regardless of it being published on the internet, and that anyone using your work without your permission is breaching copyright. There are some interesting comments about this on the post: go read.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Mayor
Right-winger Boris Johnson has been voted in as the new mayor of London.
I'd crack a joke about how I'm planning on leaving the country (which I am) but I'm so depressed about this news, I could cry. Or hit someone. Hard.
Boris voters, what the fuck were you thinking?
London is FUCKED.
I'd crack a joke about how I'm planning on leaving the country (which I am) but I'm so depressed about this news, I could cry. Or hit someone. Hard.
Boris voters, what the fuck were you thinking?
London is FUCKED.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Hungary
“And so if I raise my eyes to the heavens and clasp my hands together in humble servitude, the God of Cock might appear?”
I wish I could read Hungarian: I've no idea what the piece says, although I recall the (excellent) questions asked during the interview. Further captions for the photo are welcomed.
I wish I could read Hungarian: I've no idea what the piece says, although I recall the (excellent) questions asked during the interview. Further captions for the photo are welcomed.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Budapest
I'm currently in Budapest, Hungary. Tomorrow I'll be at the Budapest International Book Festival, talking on a panel, "No means no" alongside the director of Hungarian Amnesty International and the editor of Hungarian Cosmopolitan magazine; the topic of our discussion will be rape.
I've written about this subject previously and believe me when I say, it was incredibly difficult for me to publish the post I wrote. For over a decade I had kept silent about my experience, but I had been wanting to write about it since I began blogging more than four years ago. Whilst it would have been easier - much easier - to have written something whilst I was still anonymous, I finally decided to post something in spite of the fact that everyone now knows who I am; that doing so would reveal far more about me than I might feel comfortable with; and that in the semi-public domain in which I now work, it would leave me feeling even more exposed.
But I still felt I needed to post it. Not because I wanted to reveal my vulnerability; not because I wanted sympathy or attention; and not because I wanted page hits to the blog. The reason I posted about my experience of being raped was because, like much of what I've written about over the years, I hoped it would provoke debate. Talk may be cheap, according to the cliche, but communication and better understanding can still help effect change. If there is one thing that needs to be transformed, it's the depressing reality of rape.
And the result of that post was incredible. Not only the hundreds of comments, where women and men shared their experiences of rape, sexual assaults and abuse, but also the scores of private emails I received, where people expressed gratitude for my talking about the subject, because it helped validate their own feelings on the matter.
So when my Hungarian publisher invited me to Hungary to participate in this talk and do a book signing, I agreed, believing that no matter how difficult it might be for me to talk about it in public, there are hundreds, if not thousands of other women out there who are, for whatever reason, silenced, and if I can use my public platform to highlight and bring attention to this 'unsexy' topic, then I should.
Of course, it's less than twelve hours to go until the talk and I am currently in my hotel room, petrified. It's one thing to type words onto a computer screen and hit 'Publish'; it's quite another to be on a stage in front of an audience, and then in press junkets, talking openly about something that is still painful for me to think about.
Still, I'm a Brit: we've got that stiff upper lip thing going on, so I'll be doing my best to hold it together tomorrow - and have, what I hope will be, a stimulating debate.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Vote
For those that don't know, or who haven't read all of this blog's archives (I can't blame you for that, much of it is dull as fuck), the title "Girl with a one-track mind" was always supposed to be mildly ironic. As in, yes, I'm a woman who always thinks about sex, but, by god I obsess about other things in a singularly-tracked way too. So my nerdy (and dull, to most of my friends) knowledge of which particular cinematographer filmed a 1982 sci-fi movie, is as fixated upon by me as my enthusiasm for having a threesome with two men (sadly still an unfulfilled desire of mine). It just so happens that I chose to write about the latter more frequently. (I admit to finding blow jobs more interesting to talk about, than the depth-of-field in a close-up shot.)
So it ain't all sex, sex, sex (well, it is in my head, of course, but I care not in sharing all of my masturbatory fantasies on here anymore, since I know certain members of my family read this blog now. Hello there, relatives!). No, nowadays, when I am not navel gazing, or unsuccessfully attempting to impress some poor boy with my stupid witticisms, I get hot around the collar about other things. Like, for example, who is going to be the next London Mayor.
All you non-London people, feel free to yawn right now; believe me, even I am bored shitless of the bullshit pissing contest that is our upcoming Mayoral election. And I'm planning on leaving this damn miserable city soon, so really I shouldn't give a shit who gets in and fucks up the capital even more than it already is. But I do. Call me stupid, but I do give a damn; London will always be where I was born and bred, so I'm prone to rose-tinted nostalgia about it, I suppose.
Anyway, the main two contenders are a bit dire, to put it mildly. Should Boris win, the result will be, as Charlie Brooker states eloquently,
"Picture the expression Piers Morgan makes when he's especially pleased with himself, then multiply it by 10 million, and imagine it looming overhead like a Death Star."
Which obviously is everyone's version of hell.
In order to prevent Boris, the racist twat getting in, it appears one has to vote for Ken, but he's not innocent either: it's hard to forget his open support of a homophobe. Do we really want either of them running our city?
There are alternatives, as London Strategic Voter highlight, and through them Londoners can find out if it is recommended that they vote tactically (to prevent the Tories gaining power) in their local ward. But the Mayoral elections also have further implications, as LSV point out:
"[Our aims are] to use these elections to help build a strong base of London progressive voters ready, willing and enabled to vote strategically to get rid of pro-war, anti-environment and pro-privatisation New Labour MPs across London at the next General Election - as part of the overall national Strategic Voter objective strategy of achieving a hung or “No Overall Control” parliament followed by electoral reform."
It's not just about buses or the Congestion Charge or whether one arrogant arsehole has a more affable personality than another; it's about changing the way democracy in this country works. I urge all Londoners reading this to check out the LSV site and ensure they go to the polling station on May 1st, and cast informed, rather than apathetic, votes.
[/party political broadcast]
So it ain't all sex, sex, sex (well, it is in my head, of course, but I care not in sharing all of my masturbatory fantasies on here anymore, since I know certain members of my family read this blog now. Hello there, relatives!). No, nowadays, when I am not navel gazing, or unsuccessfully attempting to impress some poor boy with my stupid witticisms, I get hot around the collar about other things. Like, for example, who is going to be the next London Mayor.
All you non-London people, feel free to yawn right now; believe me, even I am bored shitless of the bullshit pissing contest that is our upcoming Mayoral election. And I'm planning on leaving this damn miserable city soon, so really I shouldn't give a shit who gets in and fucks up the capital even more than it already is. But I do. Call me stupid, but I do give a damn; London will always be where I was born and bred, so I'm prone to rose-tinted nostalgia about it, I suppose.
Anyway, the main two contenders are a bit dire, to put it mildly. Should Boris win, the result will be, as Charlie Brooker states eloquently,
"Picture the expression Piers Morgan makes when he's especially pleased with himself, then multiply it by 10 million, and imagine it looming overhead like a Death Star."
Which obviously is everyone's version of hell.
In order to prevent Boris, the racist twat getting in, it appears one has to vote for Ken, but he's not innocent either: it's hard to forget his open support of a homophobe. Do we really want either of them running our city?
There are alternatives, as London Strategic Voter highlight, and through them Londoners can find out if it is recommended that they vote tactically (to prevent the Tories gaining power) in their local ward. But the Mayoral elections also have further implications, as LSV point out:
"[Our aims are] to use these elections to help build a strong base of London progressive voters ready, willing and enabled to vote strategically to get rid of pro-war, anti-environment and pro-privatisation New Labour MPs across London at the next General Election - as part of the overall national Strategic Voter objective strategy of achieving a hung or “No Overall Control” parliament followed by electoral reform."
It's not just about buses or the Congestion Charge or whether one arrogant arsehole has a more affable personality than another; it's about changing the way democracy in this country works. I urge all Londoners reading this to check out the LSV site and ensure they go to the polling station on May 1st, and cast informed, rather than apathetic, votes.
[/party political broadcast]
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Churnalism
Bloggers, have you ever seen something you've posted on your blog, copied and pasted in a publication with no credit for the source –eg. you– given?
Readers, have you ever read an article in a newspaper and got the feeling you've read the exact same story somewhere else, perhaps even word-for-word?
Journalists, have you ever been sent blurb from PRs and felt pressured to report it as "news"?
I've just discovered The Churner Prize (via my Twitter followers list) and, whilst relatively new, this blog has still had me giggling due to its sharp, snarky, swipes at the lazy journalism it mocks. The journos writing it expertly highlight the unoriginal recycling of content and the frequent lack of sources –not to mention attribution– given by those who churn out articles; and it gives those of us who've been bitten on the arse by the media, another outlet in which to moan.
Course, I've got my own personal gripes about particular elements of the press: In August 2006, after rejecting money from the Daily Mail to give them an 'exclusive' (fascist past, anyone?), I did my first ever face-to-face interview with the Guardian (for free). So when I discovered that the Daily Mail reprinted my Guardian interview as their own (with photographs) and then from that, quoted me entirely out of context to fit the angle on the story they decided to run, I was absolutely gobsmacked. Journalism? Hardly.
If I'd been more together at the time (ie. not been hiding from the Daily Mail's photographers), I would have written about how they'd misrepresented me. And if it had happened now, I would certainly submit the article as an outstanding piece of Churnalism. The Churner Prize makes for some fun (albeit slightly depressing) reading; I'm looking forward to seeing how the blog develops.
Readers, have you ever read an article in a newspaper and got the feeling you've read the exact same story somewhere else, perhaps even word-for-word?
Journalists, have you ever been sent blurb from PRs and felt pressured to report it as "news"?
I've just discovered The Churner Prize (via my Twitter followers list) and, whilst relatively new, this blog has still had me giggling due to its sharp, snarky, swipes at the lazy journalism it mocks. The journos writing it expertly highlight the unoriginal recycling of content and the frequent lack of sources –not to mention attribution– given by those who churn out articles; and it gives those of us who've been bitten on the arse by the media, another outlet in which to moan.
Course, I've got my own personal gripes about particular elements of the press: In August 2006, after rejecting money from the Daily Mail to give them an 'exclusive' (fascist past, anyone?), I did my first ever face-to-face interview with the Guardian (for free). So when I discovered that the Daily Mail reprinted my Guardian interview as their own (with photographs) and then from that, quoted me entirely out of context to fit the angle on the story they decided to run, I was absolutely gobsmacked. Journalism? Hardly.
If I'd been more together at the time (ie. not been hiding from the Daily Mail's photographers), I would have written about how they'd misrepresented me. And if it had happened now, I would certainly submit the article as an outstanding piece of Churnalism. The Churner Prize makes for some fun (albeit slightly depressing) reading; I'm looking forward to seeing how the blog develops.
