Brief Thoughts on a Manic Monday #5

ITEM: Yesterday I read horror stuff all day, more or less, watched a couple of slasher movies in the evening and had a late supper of red wine and borderline rancid cheese, then snuggled down into my bed and waited for whatever nightmares would come, but if they came it’s something of which I have no memory this morning.

I did however wake up with a smoking hot idea for a themed collection of erotica.

Deep down in my psyche there are some wires that are seriously crossed.

ITEM: Last year on Valentine’s Day I watched the film Wild Orchid in which a wealthy man with sexual hangups owing to an event in his past is redeemed and brought back into the vanilla fold by the love of a good woman (good = young, pure, virginal, innocent).

This year in an effort to get in The Imaginary Girlfriend’s good books (euphemism), I read a hundred or so pages of Fifty Shades of Grey and, you know what, there was a horrible feeling of deja vu about the exercise.

ITEM: Staying with the VD theme, when I opened up my care package from TIG, as well as the expected confectionery treats, it contained twelve flavoured condoms – two each of mint, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, blueberry and banana.

I’m interpreting this as a hostile act. The woman knows how addicted I am to the taste of chocolate and is probably anticipating that I’ll put my back out trying to duplicate porn star Ron Jeremy’s party trick.

ITEM: The headers given to items on Yahoo news continue to delight me. Last week I was bemused to see ‘Sport dropped from Olympics’, but on closer inspection it turned out the only sport being dropped was wrestling.

ITEM: So last week I met a friend for lunch and before meeting her I purchased a cheap Britney Spears DVD.

Friend: Which one was it?

Me: I don’t know. Didn’t have my glasses with me and so couldn’t read the title. I’d have checked it out and gone back later, but there was only the one copy. She’s wearing a black bikini get up on the cover.

Friend: And I suppose that’s why you bought it?

Me: Yeah. I’m not only thinking with my dick nowadays, I’m letting it use my credit card.

Friend: I expect the sales assistant was delighted when it tapped in your PIN.

ITEM: On a political blog where I sometimes lurk to watch and rub my hands in glee at the sight of the ConDems getting roundly berated, I was pleased to see the site owner reprimand one poster for use of the term ‘bitch’, which he considered sexist, but on the same site the word ‘c**t’ is regularly used with no criticism, a state of affairs that got me thinking about our terms of abuse.

Yes, I agree that ‘bitch’ is sexist – invariably it’s addressed to women and used when they’re exhibiting qualities that would be regarded as admirable in a man.

‘C**t’ isn’t quite as clear cut though, in that it’s applied to both genders and the meaning seems to have become divorced from its origins as a slang term for the vagina, and yet it’s still regarded by many as the most offensive insult in the English language.

On a personal note, though I don’t have a problem with others using it, I tend to avoid the word except when in a non-pejorative context. Its usage as an insult though is something I have to consciously guard against, is not something that comes naturally to me – I am a product of my background, a culture in which misogyny was often unquestioned (as a child I remember getting on the school bus to invariably be met by a chorus of ‘Morning c**t’ from my peers, and greeting others in a similar fashion). If I’d come from a different background I think I could drop the C-bomb as indifferently as many others manage, without the cultural baggage, but I hate to think of myself as a slave of that background, dropping into the language of my youth without exercising any internal censor. Self-control is key.

For characters in my stories though, ‘c**t’ is often the insult of first recourse. In psychological terms, I believe this is referred to as sublimation.

I’ve objected to the word’s usage in a work of fiction only once that I can recall. It was a story in which the ghetto of a fantasy city was referred to as ‘The C**t’, which was neither here nor there for me, but the writer kept referencing how smelly and disgusting the c**t was so that eventually I started to wonder WTF is this guy’s problem.

ITEM: Life moves on. As a child horror stories would often scare me shitless, but I had no qualms about going on rickety old roller coasters, such as the wooden one at Yarmouth Pleasure Beach and the Wild Mouse at Butlins, Bognor Regis.

As a fifty eight year old adult, horror fiction holds no terrors for me, but just thinking about going on an amusement park ride fills me with trepidation.

Risk assessment is the key.

ITEM: How we feel about one aspect of a person, can effect how we relate to them in other areas of life.

At the weekend I watched a U2 concert video. There was a time when I delighted in Bono’s swagger and showmanship, and applauded when he lambasted the politicians of the day for their shortcomings. Now he just seems such an arrogant, cocky little man, and I really don’t want to be lectured on making poverty history by a multi-millionaire tax dodger.

My perspective has changed, and it’s not something I can help even though I know that it isn’t only good people who fight for good causes, and that making music (or writing fiction) that stirs the emotions isn’t the prerogative of saints.

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2 Responses to Brief Thoughts on a Manic Monday #5

  1. Ray Cluley says:

    Okay, I’ll be the one to ask – what’s the themed anthology idea and when can we see it in the shops? (Who thought I was going to ask about the condoms?)

    As for the reversal of what scares us, I’m completely with you – I went on this weird up down round and round machine with my step neice and it was me screaming all the way around (and up and down). I sincerely thought I was going to die. Did. Not. Like.

    • petertennant says:

      Finally catching up on my emails, including notifications that people have commented here.

      Anthology? Nope, collection, and I never share my ideas in public, or at least not until I’m certain I’m not going to use them.

      Last ride I went on that left the ground, was when I visited Lowestoft’s Pleasurewood Hills with a friend and her children, and she assured me that the golden galleon only went up a little way, so I could take the kids on it. A ‘little way’ proved to be a 90 degree tilt. The kids enjoyed my obvious displeasure even more than the ride, and I’ve never trusted that friend again, as she stayed on the ground laughing her head off.

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