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I was going to write a voluminous post about Without a Trace, CSI, and Numb3rs, but that was before I spent six hectic hours wrangling with my fair city's public transit, two hours in a Wal-Mart, and two hours glowering at the weather, which pissed rain from 1:30 until 7PM. I've been up since 6:30 this morning, and after a day of being marginalized and ignored, I'm tired. So the meta I'd planned for Trace will have to wait.
I can say that the show's first two episodes this season haven taken a dramatic upswing and regained the punch and bite of S1 and S2. The ridiculous personal drama and endless rounds of Be My Baby Daddy between the agents that have so hampered previous seasons are on scant view for now, and I'm loving it.
Tomorrow, when I'm more lucid, I'd like to pontificate on the victimization of Hannah and the unpleasant issues it raises concerning the devaluation of women, and more specifically, the asexualization of obese and disabled women by society. According to last night's episode, obese women invite sexual assault and humiliation by ignoring the inert overtures of the nerd who's willing to "settle" for them and daring to dream that Prince Charming McStudmuffin might choose an ugly stepsister over Cinderella. Any fat woman who seeks out sex with anyone-much less a partner deemed "out of her league"-is a "bitch" who deserves to be raped and ridiculed.
Actually, the prevailing sentiment of everyone except the Feds and the victim's family was that obese women don't deserve to have sex, are aberrant for having sexual inclinations toward anyone but other fat people and societal castoffs, and should be pathetically grateful when and if the opportunity to have sex presents itself. Factors such as love and comfort level are secondary at best and to be disregarded at worst. They should accept the proffered cock with a smile.
Sex is for the thin and beautiful. The fat and broken are lucky to serve as sloppy seconds or the Nothing Better fuck.
And what applies to obese women goes doubly for disabled women.
I'm going to stop here because my brain is riding on rims, but I'm going to continue this line of thought in tomorrow's post, wherein I'll offer up my own experience-limited as it was and is-with sex and the sexual attitudes with which I've contended since the first stirrings of sexual awareness as a preteen.
I know I've been heavy on the personal introspection of late. I'm not sure why, except to say that the advent of my thirtieth year has made me examinate. I'm writing these thoughts and notions down as a time capsule of this period in my life; if LJ is still here five years hence, I'd like to reread these entries to see if I've changed, or if I've settled at last into my skin and soul, a house settling into its foundation with the creaking, sanguine surety of age.
I can say that the show's first two episodes this season haven taken a dramatic upswing and regained the punch and bite of S1 and S2. The ridiculous personal drama and endless rounds of Be My Baby Daddy between the agents that have so hampered previous seasons are on scant view for now, and I'm loving it.
Tomorrow, when I'm more lucid, I'd like to pontificate on the victimization of Hannah and the unpleasant issues it raises concerning the devaluation of women, and more specifically, the asexualization of obese and disabled women by society. According to last night's episode, obese women invite sexual assault and humiliation by ignoring the inert overtures of the nerd who's willing to "settle" for them and daring to dream that Prince Charming McStudmuffin might choose an ugly stepsister over Cinderella. Any fat woman who seeks out sex with anyone-much less a partner deemed "out of her league"-is a "bitch" who deserves to be raped and ridiculed.
Actually, the prevailing sentiment of everyone except the Feds and the victim's family was that obese women don't deserve to have sex, are aberrant for having sexual inclinations toward anyone but other fat people and societal castoffs, and should be pathetically grateful when and if the opportunity to have sex presents itself. Factors such as love and comfort level are secondary at best and to be disregarded at worst. They should accept the proffered cock with a smile.
Sex is for the thin and beautiful. The fat and broken are lucky to serve as sloppy seconds or the Nothing Better fuck.
And what applies to obese women goes doubly for disabled women.
I'm going to stop here because my brain is riding on rims, but I'm going to continue this line of thought in tomorrow's post, wherein I'll offer up my own experience-limited as it was and is-with sex and the sexual attitudes with which I've contended since the first stirrings of sexual awareness as a preteen.
I know I've been heavy on the personal introspection of late. I'm not sure why, except to say that the advent of my thirtieth year has made me examinate. I'm writing these thoughts and notions down as a time capsule of this period in my life; if LJ is still here five years hence, I'd like to reread these entries to see if I've changed, or if I've settled at last into my skin and soul, a house settling into its foundation with the creaking, sanguine surety of age.
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