Beatrice DeSoprontu's Blog
February 21, 2022
Will Eternals stand the test of time?
Employ some fictional si-fi cultural appropriation to virtue signal diversity that actually upholds an outdated stereotype and what do you get? A silly movie. Throw in big name celebrities and lots of CGI – but forget HUMOR – the mainstay of other Marvel movies, then what do you get? A silly, boring movie that is entirely (or is that eternally?) too long.
The movie begins as a curious Game of Thrones reunion with Jon Snow and Rob Stark fighting for the affections of a girl named Serci (pronounced like “Cersei”) Their group of Eternals include Druig, a warger who uses his possession powers tricks more than lame Bran Stark ever did. (What was Bran doing when Drogon was slaughtering the inhabitants of King’s Landing?) Even Sprite seemed a bit waifish, despite having a plot line similar to Claudia from Interview with a Vampire. Nevertheless, if the characters in this movie are reminiscent of Game of Thornes the writing certainly isn’t. In Eternals moral ambiguity is a fleeting concern, one tossed aside in favor of self-righteous certitude.
Before the plot we get character introductions, lots of them, doled out a pace that makes me feel that I’m Quicksilver watching the world in slow mo. (Could that be a superpower, extra slow speed? If yes, then the screenwriters exhibit prowess galore!) Diversity is the most obvious of the heroes superpowers. There’s a variety of ethnic and racial backgrounds, orientations and abilities to be found among team Eternals. But as cute as it is it to imagine that someone like Kingo, an almost godlike creature would be gyrating to the sounds of bhangra on a Bollywood film set – I couldn’t help but cough out the words “Cultural Appropriation!” while eating my popcorn. Afterall, though actor Kumail Nanjiani, is Desi, the character Kingo is neither human, nor from the planet Earth and nor South Asian. None of them are what they seem because they’re ROBOTS! (Or “synthetics” or whatever the correct term is these days) In that light of this fact, I kept wondering why Makari was created as a Deaf robot. It is just because she’s sometimes travelling faster than sound? Or is this because that Arishem the creator, was just down with the need to represent thousands of years before it became trendy. If so, how come he forgot to represent the people with high BMI (that’s a large group, excuse the pun) old folks, quadriplegics, bald people, people with really bad acne, etc., etc. … Worst yet, all jokes aside, the movie was released without closed captioning in the theaters which was a bit of a letdown to real Deaf fans, most of whom won’t be able to watch the movie in a theater.
Eternals seems to embrace all forms of diverse coupledom, such as the match between Phastos and his husband. (Wait… since Phastos is really a robot are they truly a gay couple, or is this just a guy in love with his walking smartphone?) Phastos gets his love but what happened to Gilgamesh? For a considerable amount of this lengthy movie, I was waiting for Thena to plant a wet one Gilgamesh but nothing happened. (I dozed off a bit but my companion assured me no Gilgamesh kissing occurred) American culture has an undeniable history of fetishizing Asian women. A topic hilariously addressed in the “The Chinese Woman” episode of Seinfeld. Unfortunately, there has been the simultaneous desexualization of the Asian man. For more on this phenomenon, I suggest reading the article, “The Desexualization of the Asian American Male” article by CNN writer Andrew Kung. So, what a disappoint it was to see Gemma Chan ogled by both Stark boys (watch out Gemma “winter is coming!”), yet Don Lee, the beefy actor who played Gilgamesh wasn’t allowed to get any play with Angelina Jolie’s Thena. They shared a deep, pure, and long-term love – perfect in every way minus the pootang. (No hoochy coochy! So sad!)
Sprite faces a similar problem, sort of. She pines for the super strong Ikaris who shoots heat/light energy from his eyes. (Seriously DC Comics, couldn’t you patent that shit!)
Ikaris is of course not interested, being a villain of bad judgement and not a pederast. It’s a problem the child vampire Claudia faced in Interview with a Vampire. The key difference being that when Kirsten Dunst played Claudia she was actually 12 years old, whereas Lia McHugh was around 16 at the time Eternals was filmed. It’s a noticeable difference that left me wondering, how come Sprite can’t just enroll in her local high school and scam a date for prom? In “Interview With a Vampire”, Claudia had to kiss Louis in one scene, an event that the actress Dunst described as “weird” but there were no such explicit scenes for Sprite in Eternals. Why not then cast an actress closer to the physical age of the character if this discrepancy between appearance and emotional development plays such an important role in explaining Sprite’s behavior and motivations?
Aside from the drawn-out character introductions, the rest of the movie plays out like a Thanksgiving dinner. The lovely robot family fight and kill each other just like real families do, but in the end, they pull together to do the right thing. They save their lovable Earth from destruction by the birth of a Celestial. The Celestials are organic lifeforms (at least I think they are) who create the stars that give life to the universe. Without their efforts all of everything would fall into cold darkness, but since you can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs, their emergence leads to the unfortunate destruction of the planet upon which they were born. The Earth being the egg that will have to crack when baby Celestial hatches.
Our robo-heroes come to the realization that they’ve been midwives to this genocide birthing for eons and feel like real A-holes about it. They debate their role in this cosmic cycle of death and birth for a hot minute, before they come to the quick conclusion that it’s gotta stop.
BIG SHOUT OUT to Harish Patel who plays Karun Patel, Kingo’s valet. He adds some direly needed humor with his scene stealing one-liners. During the brief debate about whether the Eternals should stop the Celestial from being born, the normally taciturn Karun blurts out, “We are not going to let every human die, right?” Then adding almost apologetically, “I’m human; I’m a little bit biased.” Adorable!
Karun needn’t worry, baby Celestial is not a soft, plump cutie but a faceless giant as cuddly as a rocky crag. Hence, without hesitation most of team Eternals (at least those we’re expected to root for) vote to rush this baby to the abortion clinic asap! After more unnecessary CGI we finally save the world by preventing the birth of baby Celestial who winds up as an extremely interesting rock formation. (I see a theme park coming.)
Hurray!!! The movie finally ended! The Earth is saved! At least until the Sun dies, which it will one day and the Eternals being good with their Duracell batteries will be around to see it. Oh well, when this happens, they’ll simply move all their lovable humans onto another inhabitable planet. Except that there won’t be any other inhabitable planets, since that Celestial they aborted won’t be around to form any new stars to sustain organic life.
Ooopsie daisy!
September 29, 2020
“Mulan… Too” by Cristela
Rubia, my grandaunt, only used her right hand to wash her face. She would run the water and vigorously splash her face with her right hand while her perfectly good left hand lay limp as if it were on strike. When I asked her about this curious habit she replied, “I grew up without running water.” After decades of having running water Rubia should have upgraded her face washing routine to a double-handed wash, but she couldn’t shake off the habits of her youth.
As I watched the new Disney live action version of Mulan, I thought of Rubia washing her face. We are all products of our time and sometimes these influences lead us to non-sensical actions. Mulan is not a horrible movie but neither is it a good one. This isn’t due to the exclusion of Mushu, as other reviewers have bemoaned. I don’t need to have a talking dragon, not even a really funny one like Eddie Murphy, to make a film enjoyable. A poetic movie, with an engaging plot and strong female characters like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon would be wonderful to watch. But alas, Mulan tried too hard for a current “Me Too” vibe and failed. Instead it was silly, flat and worst of all actually disempowering for girls.
Mulan begins with almost Star Wars The Phantom Menace feel. We see a young Mulan doing a Rocky Balboa training stunt as she chases a runaway chicken. But unlike Stallone, this kid isn’t even breaking a sweat. In fact, she does a spectacular slip, pole stop, surfing combo from the roof into the courtyard only to be greeted by less than enthusiastic looks. The townsfolk, who are all chumps, ignore her gifts, but from this early scene, we know that this one is strong with the force. The screenwriters literally say this, replacing the word “force” with “qi”. (Apparently, they weren’t confident that the amazing chicken chasing scene would be enough to have us realize this.) A point is made of saying that Mulan is just born with more qi than most people, as if she really were little kid Anakin imbued with the force. Now, you don’t have to be of east-Asian decent to find this a bit insulting. “Qi” is a real thing. It has been written about, studied and cultivated for centuries. Martial arts, including Qigong and Taichi, work on the development of qi, which is a person’s life force energy. Everyone is born with the same amount of qi. But being a Disney movie, Mulan’s qi is a “gift”, a special power she has to hide (just like Elsa in Frozen). The reason being that in this “Me Too” parable/ancient China story girls aren’t supposed to have qi. (Which is odd since it is literally in every living thing.)
The film quick shots to the future, when years later when two important events happen. The first is that the baddies arrive. There is Jason Scott Lee, who is sporting some Klingon-like markings on his forehead. (Did he arrive with Keiko O’Brian a.k.a. Mulan’s mom?) Jason plays the bad guy, so he has to wear lots of black eyeliner, black clothes and ride only black horses. With him is the “witch” played by Gong Lee who will never be out done in the realm of eye make-up, and who possesses spectacular fighting prowess as well as the ability to turn into random people and birds. As the baddies make plans to attack the empire, a now grownup Mulan is being auditioned as a potential bride by a woman who does her best to look like a drag queen. Of course, the testy drag lady is none too impressed by the awesome qi powers of Mulan. No matter, because soon other life plans become manifest when the feds come looking to conscript her crippled father into the anti-baddie army. For some reason, it is just assumed that crippled dad would be put forth front and center on the battle lines. The notion that he could be recruited to perform non-combat roles like cooking, cleaning or beating the giant drums that are featured in every battle scene is never considered. Hence, Mulan either due to love for her dad or that surging qi she’s been hiding, takes her dad’s sword and armor, and joins the army as his son. As gender transformations go, she doesn’t make much of an effort at disguising herself. Nevertheless, throngs of qi-less generals and soldiers are incapable of recognizing that the completely feminine looking Mulan is a woman. Even as she sits in the barracks wrapping her breasts in public the power of her qi (and their lack of it) prevents them from taking any notice.
Weirdly even though little Mulan was a chicken chasing, roof surfing goddess, solider Mulan is a bit inept at first. She, like the dudes with her, is unable to carry huge buckets of water up a steep hill. This ineptitude is explained later on by her hiding her qi and her girlieness along with it. Her “I am the Chosen One” moment occurs when she finally utilizes her girl qi to haul those water buckets to the summit. Perhaps the message for girls everywhere is that if you ever fail in some overly strenuous activity do not whine about physical limitations. This was not a failure of physiology, you failed because you didn’t call upon you girl qi. Like Ultron said, “the Earth will crack with the weight of your failure” – but hey- feel no pressure. This is where I think Mulan fails to be empowering for girls and young women. If you make it seem like only one special chosen girl can succeed or that every girl can succeed in even ridiculously difficult physical tasks if they just try hard enough – they you are setting up many girls for failure and self-reproach. In the animated version of Mulan, she uses her brain not brawn (nor special qi powers) to reach the top of the pole. It was a feat that none of the other soldiers could achieve because they relied solely on muscle. Yes, cartoon Mulan could fight but she was a regular woman who used training, determination and intellect to achieve her goals. Ironically, the cartoon Mulan seems more like a real woman, one I would like to hang out with, then this live action one
As this live action movie progresses, Mulan’s worthiness is further highlighted by the occasional presence of a phoenix who looks very much like a kite. (CGI crew what were you thinking?) Speaking of birds, Mulan meets the witch lady. Witch lady is also an ornithophile, who seems to change into lots of black birds when bad (this movie really has a subliminal racial problem) and a hawk when she’s not-so-bad. Witch lady gives her Me Too speech to Mulan mentioning that her girl qi was likewise vilified and offers a Thelma and Louise alliance. Mulan refuses but the audience gets to ponder the whole you can’t be strong if you’re not you message of bird lady.
Brutal hordes of baddies dressed all in black and like Arabs come attacking. (Don’t the Uighur suffer enough without the Muslim stereotypes?) Mulan decides the only way to fight them is to take off her armor and let her hair loose from the “man bun” so it could fall in her face and obscure her vision. (I’m no military expert but I think I would have done the exact opposite before a battle.) She kicks slow-mo flying CGI butt that fails to impress her commander. (Does this mean the offer to marry his daughter is off the table?) She leaves but the kite that looks like a phoenix (or is it a phoenix that looks like a kite?) comes to silently remind her that the movie still needs a climatic fight scene so she returns to the army. She warns the general who now decides to let her lead the forces while he takes a break off screen.
Big battles ensue as many people walk on walls (leading me to wonder how they manage to keep them so clean). The baddies capture the Emperor, even though he is surprisingly bad ass at fighting and in true TV Batman style they plan an overcomplicated execution so that he will have plenty of time to Adam West himself to safety. When he’s not cackling over his evil plan, Jason Scott Lee, aka Klingon head, mocks Mulan as “the girl who comes to save the dynasty” until she gives him a good Me Too girl-qi kick in the gonads. They fight, he shoots an arrow (which we all assume she could just catch) but witch-bird-lady decides to become a hawk (not a black hawk, a brown one) and she takes an arrow for the team. Seething at the murder of her bird-lady frenemy, Mulan bloodlessly dispatches Klingon head to join the other bloodless dead baddies.
Mulan saved the empire. Impressed, the Emperor offers to make Mulan a guard, without contemplating that the entire recruitment standards of the military forces may then also need to be revamped. (A kind of transgendered “don’t ask don’t tell”.) Luckily for his legal ministers who were worried about all those extra hours rewriting the law, Mulan declines due to the family obligations. Mulan returns home a hero which seems to give drag lady a mild heart attack but it makes everyone else happy. No one minds that she lost her dad’s armor, which she decided to drop in order to go styling into battle with a red flowing robe. As a reward for her girl qi efforts, Mulan gets a new souped-up sword to replace the one that got melted along with Klingon head in his Gollum like death. (“My precious!”)
April 21, 2020
Kirkus Review of Vices/Virtues
According to Kirkus Reviews, VICES/VIRTUES is “simultaneously compelling, intriguing, and effortlessly entertaining.” It is an “intricate, acutely psychological opera of dominance and submission interplay…surprisingly introspective, appealingly spicy, and thoroughly original.”
Thank the sweet Lord! Now relax, exhale and clap for joy! I won’t lie, I was hesitant to solicit a Kirkus review. The Kirkus website is strewn with scathing reviews of authors more famous than I. Like scarecrows in a field of corn, they were augurs of peril. Was I willing to lay down a wad of cash to have my precious novel potentially bludgeoned? Yet, to gain the approval of a Kirkus Reviews, a highly-esteemed literary organization was an enticing prize. But should it be so esteemed? After reading about the American Heart controversy I wasn’t sure. I admit I’ve never read the book, and I’m not going to, but the events surrounding it’s Kirkus review were fascinating. American Heart is young adult novel about the internment of Muslims in an imaginary future. Unlike my indie gem, this book was being rolled out with the full weight of Harper publishing behind it. It was vetted and revetted before publication by a bevy of sensitivity readers whose sole purpose were to point out cultural inaccurate and/or insensitive points in the novel. Then the additional protective layer of plasticwrap was added but having the anonymous Kirkus reviewer be a Muslim woman who is an expert in youth fiction. She loved it and gave the story a star rating. However, the Papa Trolls of the internet were not so kind. Soon after the review was released the Internet was ablaze with dissenting opinions, from rants like “fuck your white savior narratives”, to more thoughtful critiques. Blogger Justina Ireland argued that the story was blind to its underlying racism. She pointed out with regards to internment, “There is no mention of whether these are only Arab Muslims or Black Muslims.” I giggled, because she seemed to forget that Muslims come in all colors, even white. I’m not referring to the stray convert but to the millions of people in places like Bosnia, Russia, Kosovo, etc. (Just read “A Biography of Malcom X”!) You might say, “But Beatrice, the majority of Muslims are not white!” So true! The majority of Muslims in the world are East Asian, another group completely ignored. Now getting back to Kirkus. Compelling as the debate about how racist American Heart was, and/or how misguidedly stereotyped the attacks on it were, what was really disheartening was the decision of Kirkus to pull their original review and reissue another with less love for American Heart. After reading about this, I kept thinking why would I want a dancing noodle flailing in the currents of popular opinion reviewing my book anyway? Every time I drive past a car dealership those things frighten me! Still, just like drivers need cars, authors need reviews. So, putting aside my misgivings, I sought out the noodle guy and submitted VICES/VIRTUES for a Kirkus review. My only critique of their critique is that the reviewer was too distracted by the sex bits of the book to focus adequately on the themes of race and class. (It’s like trying to explain Marx’s Das Capital to some guy who’s really just staring at my boobs.) Still, I am grateful it was well-received. Read it and let me know what you think or better yet, read VICES/VIRTUES and give me your review. After all if I value your opinion and you value your opinion then that makes each and every one of you a “highly esteemed” reviewer.
The following Kirkus Review can be found at https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/beatrice-desoprontu/vicesvirtues/A novel focuses on the double life of a Manhattan woman.By day, Cristela Maria Davila is a leasing agent, showing apartments to prospective tenants, but in the evenings, she becomes dominatrix-for-hire “Mistress Clara.” She works at “Belle’s House of Unusual Pleasures,” a BDSM dungeon service provided to customers wishing to indulge their kinkiest fetishes and participate in erotic role play. Clara endured a rough childhood. Her impoverished single Venezuelan mother provided for her and her brother, Alex, through welfare checks and food stamps. The novel thoughtfully examines how that upbringing both affected Clara’s financial perspective and informed her perceptions of men. With chapter headings named for both vices and virtues, the book chronicles Clara’s devilish exploits alongside her co-workers at the dungeon—Virginia, Justine, Sin, and Daisy—all contributing unique intimate histories of their own. Through the interactive, colorfully described fantasy sessions with her clients, Clara begins to become empowered by her simulated dominance of the men who hire her. She separates herself from other classic service providers as her role play, while physical, hypersexualized, and arousing, remains strictly noncoital. In keeping Clara’s narration smooth and her personality curious, clever, and warm, De Soprontu tempers the more risqué scenes with a character who initially enjoys the extra income, but eventually embraces the theatrical thrill of the spectacle. A story of sex, identity, and renewal, the novel effectively intertwines Clara’s past and present lives in a way that makes her tale a simultaneously compelling, intriguing, and effortlessly entertaining read. The provocative nature of the story will, naturally, appeal to readers of erotica as the author never skimps on potent passages of steamy dialogue and racy scenes between Clara and her cohorts. Often their interplay expands outward to include threesomes and foursomes and engages in activities featuring sex toys, clothing, and even food (readers won’t look at a snack cake the same way again). Yet through Clara’s intimately social interactions, De Soprontu imparts views on themes of poverty, class differences, race, identity, self-preservation, strength, and deliverance, all tightly bound within the intricate, acutely psychological opera of dominance and submission interplay.A surprisingly introspective, appealingly spicy, and thoroughly original dominatrix story.March 25, 2020
Author Interview with Indie Reader
As an additional perk to VICES/VIRTUES 4.5 star rating, INDIE READER offered to showcase the following interview. Here are some excerpts:
‘”People don’t regret failure so much as they regret the countless possibilities lost to the impotence of trepidation.”…
What’s the book about? Give us the “pitch”.
On the surface, VICES/VIRTUES is about Cristela Davila, a bright young woman who works at a real estate office by day and moonlights at a professional S/M dungeon at night. However, the intertwining stories explore a wide range of topics. American poverty is placed at the forefront as Cristela, inheriting her mother’s welfare shame, goes to great lengths to hide her own status as a welfare recipient. Race is relative, as Justine, the daughter of a Kenyan heiress and Italian nobleman, is deemed as “white” by her Kenyan side of the family. Agency is shown as Daisy, a daughter of the Florida backwoods, devices a clever way to free herself from abuse. By exploring the interacting lives of this diverse group of women via a series of vignettes, VICES/VIRTUES highlights how very universal the seemingly unconventional can be.
What inspired you to write the book? A particular person? An event?
VICES/VIRTUES is the story I’ve always wanted to read. As an Ivy League graduate raised on welfare, I wanted a story that addresses poverty minus the stereotypes. As someone with a diverse Caribbean background, I wanted a story that treats race/ethnicity as more than window dressing. As woman who has felt a disconnect between lust and love, I wanted to see women take ownership of their sexuality. Finally, as a human being, I wanted to show that flawed as we all are, each and every one of us is worthy of sympathy and affection.
What’s the main reason someone should really read this book?
If you would enjoy a thoughtful look at the beautiful morass of human flaws and virtues, sprinkled with some humor and titillation, then VICES/VIRTUES is the book for you.
What’s the most distinctive thing about the main character? Who-real or fictional-would you say the character reminds you of?
Cristela, lacks the clarity her name implies. Having lived most of her life pretending, she grows up without a clear scene of self. She reminds me of the narrator in Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man” which is one of my favorite books. Cristela, like Ellison’s Invisible Man, is a mutable, elusive character. Both characters journey among various strata of society during their efforts at self-discovery.
…
What’s a great piece of advice that you can share with fellow indie authors?
When you think you’re wasting your time on creating something no one will ever read, don’t give up on your writing! Even if what you fear comes to pass, and your work goes unnoticed, this is still not the worst outcome. People don’t regret failure so much as they regret the countless possibilities lost due to the impotence of trepidation.
Would you go traditional if a publisher came calling? If so, why?
Yes! To all publishers please do call! Writing and publishing are two very different skill sets. Of course, a person can be competent at both, but not me. Personally, I am a much better author than publicist.
Which book do you wish you could have written?
There are SO many! As I mentioned, Invisible Man by Ellison, Notes from the Underground by [Fyodor] Dostoevsky, The Bluest Eye by [Toni] Morrison….I could easily keep going. The very last line of Love in the Time of Cholera by [Gabriel Garcia] Marquez always stuck with me with its open-ended poetic beauty. I suppose that’s why for my own novel, I tried to forge a final passage in the same vein.
(Want the full interview? Check out “INDIE READER March 24, 2020” https://indiereader.com/2020/03/ir-ap...)
February 22, 2020
“Confession of a Sugar Stealer” by Cristela
I am your grandma.
Just like Macklemore…he pops tags, I cop sugar. Nothing pseudo glam like cocaine, just little packets of sucrose you find in any restaurant or coffee shop. Whenever I’m at a McDonald’s or Dunkin Donuts, I give a sly eye look around, wait till no one is watching and shove a few packs in my pocket. You might wonder what’s the big deal, after all they put the sugar there for the customers to take, but what I do is different. I grab the little suckers by the handful even after I already put about 5 of them in my coffee. Once a random stranger caught me at it “Putting sugar on your burger?” he smirked after the he noticed my tray only had a Big Mac. “You could never have too many condiments,” I retorted, moving away from his prying judgement. Could he understand the importance of this horded treasure? Would it be even worthwhile to explain it to him?
The habit is admittedly bizarre, and to some extent messy. On numerous occasions, I absent-mindedly washed my jeans with the packets of sugar still inside the pockets. (Oh, the gloopy mess!) Other times, I left the sugar in my handbag for so long that the tiny paper sack wore thin and ruptured, seeping sugar granules into the crevices of my purse. However, the sugar packets usually end up in their proper location – the bottom shelf of my cupboard. There they become my pantry battery.
Most people utilize some sort of disaster planning. Batteries are kept near flashlights just in case there is a black out. Extra blankets are stored in the closet just in case the heat goes out. These sugar packets serve the same purpose. “Against what?” you may ask. “If you are really just stocking up on food why not buy a container of sugar and be done with it?” Because real food is not the problem. The problem is fear.
As my mother would be the first to point out, no matter how poor we were, we always had food. It might have been “Velveeta processed cheese product” or “KoolAid fruit-flavored drink mix” but there was always stuff to put on the table. (For this my mother has been and always will be a grateful immigrant.) Despite this delectable, if somewhat unhealthy bounty, I was always possessed of the lingering anxiety that food, like other things might not be easily replenishable. Toys were the best example of a non-replenishable item. Break a toy and the toy was gone. When I was 8 years old, my brother Alex and I had a red “Tyco Psycho” with two giant back wheels. It was the coolest remote-controlled car I had ever seen. With his engineering mind, Alex one day dissected the car in an effort to figure out how it worked. Sadly, Alex could get a job at a chop shop but never as a mechanic. That was the end of Tyco. Since toys only came around on our birthdays or Christmas, it was a long time before the Tyco Psycho was reincarnated. In the interim, I was left with a feeling of Want. This capitalized Want is a persistent feeling, and like the ink stain of stains, it leaves a powerful residue. Long after a leaky pen is disposed of and dries up in a land fill, the ink stain it left behind lingers on. The same is true of Want. Even when we eventually got a new car, it seemed so fragile and fleeting. I worried that it too, would eventually slip away from me like the last one. Toys, clothes, books were all like grains of sand (or sugar) falling through my fingers, I had no vault where I could keep them safe. They would all disappear, leaving me with the emptiness of Want.
No one wants Want.
So yes, I am your grandma. Even if reality tells me I can easily purchase some sugar at the grocery store, fearful Want moves my hand. It compels me to act like a thieving squirrel, hoarding packets of sugar. I do this because like the Starks I always feel winter is coming, and with it the scarcity of Want. I have to prepare for this, even if only in my mind.
November 21, 2019
“5 Dominatrix Secrets” by Daisy
I wanted to talk about Florida feet, you know the big feet all Floridians have, because no matter what Cristela says, it’s a good topic. People have no idea what we suffer in Florida. Everyone thinks it’s all beaches and Disney. They forget about sticky humidity and bugs. Folks in New York complain about roaches, well at least they never saw one fly! So yeah, we have flying roaches and sweaty wide feet and I plan to let everyone know about it, but not now. Right now, I’m going to answer the question I always get when I tell people I work in dungeon, “What’s it like being a professional dominatrix?” That’s what people want to hear about, not airplane inventors and Puerto Rican frogs, or whatever the hell Cristela and Justine have been babbling about. So here are the top five SECRETS I learned while working as a dominatrix.
1. Don’t worry about your boobs, guys don’t care about them as much as you think. Sin had droopy boobs with nipples the size of soda cans. (Seriously, like those small six-pack Pepsi cans.) But when she plopped those boobies into a DD Victoria Secret push up with extra support, clients were lining up for breast worship. It’s like my Oma Nica used to say, “pour some gravy on meatloaf and call it Salisbury Steak.” Never underestimate the power of presentation. Men want a goddess to worship. So have confidence in yourself. Don’t fret over patches of cellulite or spider veins, focus yourself on your beauty and power. When you play the role of the goddess, men will willingly play along.
2. Guys do care about feet. The world is full of weird. What most people find unattractive, someone, somewhere will think is a turn-on. Take body hair. People (and I mean even guys) wax and laser and zap hairs out of existence, but there are fetishes out there for the hairy. Once I knew a dominatrix named Lisa whose specialty clients was bush whackers. She used to parade around in tank tops to show off the puff of fluff under her arms. Bush whackers couldn’t get enough of her. So yes, people have different tastes, BUT I have yet to meet anyone who likes ugly feet. I’m not talking about foot fetishists, I’m talking about an average guy. Take off your bra and if your boobs droop a little that’s ok, but take off your boots and start stinking up a room, that’s another story! So scrub your feet to keep them soft and stinkless, because men both freaky and normal appreciate nice feet.
3. Voices are sexy. I dated this really tall football player with a squeaky voice once. It didn’t work out. Whenever he spoke, he reminded me of the little kids I used to babysit. I saw a biography of Lauren Bacall that said she had a voice coach to give her that deep “just whistle” voice which made her a star. So for men and women, keeping your tone dialed down to a bedroom base is a good idea. Another good idea is the tactical use of little sexy sounds. In real sex it’s essential. It’s hard to know whether you doing the right moves unless you get a little verbal feedback. But don’t overdo it with lots of instructions because that will have you sounding like voice directions on Google maps. Keep it to a simple couple of “mmms” and “ahhs”. I heard that these non-word noises are called “vocal say greats” or “voice segregation” – whatever it is, it works. Even while on the job with a client these little hummers come in handy. For example, if a guy is stroking you with a teddy bear (as one of my regulars, Wayne often does) a few of these theatrical touches strokes his ego right back!
4. Stick with your sisters no matter what. I’m not just talking about your real sisters, like my sisters Rita and Frieda, I’m talking about the women you’re friends with, even the ones who sometimes annoy you. Take the girls at the dungeon as an example, Virginia might be bossy, Justine is a know-it-all, and Cristela keeps her nose up in the air, but they’re still my girls. When I need them for a loan, a ride home or even to cover a session, they always have my back. Boys come and go but your girls are like the Floridian heat. You can’t shake the heat and bothersome as it might be at times, without it you’re nothing but cold.
5. Everyone wants to be captivating so that no one would ever leave them. That’s where the word captivating comes from – “captive” as in you can’t leave. Look at Hiro. He wants a girl to strip down to her undies and just sleep near him. No touching, just sleep. Weird right? So this one time, I jumped off the bed and he completely freaked out. He kept saying “no leave me.” I wasn’t leaving, I just went to my locker to get a Demerol, but the way he was whining you’d think I left him stranded by the roadside. I understood then why he wants a girl who sleeps, it’s because sleeping girls don’t leave. Whether sleeping or in handcuffs our clients want a girl they can keep. Even the clients who want a “mean” woman who enjoys beating them can rest assured that at least she won’t leave them. Afterall if you can captivate someone, at least you won’t have to worry about being left alone.
So, there you have it, 5 secrets to relationship success: get a pedicure, not a boob job, go Lauren Bacall with your voice, don’t let your path of seduction mess with your girlfriends and finally, let your guy know that he’s special. Next time I’ll be sharing secrets to winning over a lady’s heart based on my profession experience. I think I’ll title that, “How to chain her heart, not her wrists.”
September 4, 2019
My Interview with Chasing Destino by Beatrice DeSoprontu
Last week I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Ms H. of Chasing Destino. Here are some of the things we discussed
Where would you like to travel next?
India, though that is a pretty big subcontinent, so perhaps I should narrow that down. Maybe Mumbai, I could change careers and become a Bollywood star. (see question #4)
What was the first thing that you remember writing?
Like all small children I wrote pictorial books, aka graffiti on my living room walls. It wasn’t my late teens that I tried writing short stories. One called “The Kaleidoscope Hurts My Eyes” is about three different mixed-race people living intersecting lives.
Do you have a bucket list?
No, I like to live without thinking about death too much.
Should there be an age limit on changing careers?
Absolutely not! People are always growing and in doing so are apt to follow new careers.
What are the top 5 things people should do when visiting New York City?
Go to the Bronx to the more authentic “Little Italy” (and “Little Albania”) on Arthur Ave.
Go to Queens to feast on the best Chinese food in New York in Flushing Queens.
Go to Brooklyn, check out Grand Army Plaza and Lebanese cuisine on Atlantic
Go to Staten Island to visit the Richmond Town Village.
Go to Manhattan and check out a little known place called Times Square
Is there a secret to writing good erotica?
Avoid the word “throbbing” at all costs!
How did you decide to write erotica?
VICES/VIRTUES is literary fiction, that delves into issues of race, class and religion, like all literary fiction the story is character driven. Of course, there is quite a bit of the erotic thrown in mix (the main character is a professional dominatrix after all) but that is just the icing on the cake, so to speak. (See chapter 1 “Gluttony”)
What is your favorite movie?
Lawrence of Arabia – that man liked to put out fires with his fingers, very odd!
What do you want people to know about you?
My artistic goal is to write entertaining stories that leave the reader pondering issues in new ways.
(Want more? Check out “Chasing Destino” https://chasingdestino.com/2019/08/28...)August 9, 2019
“America Has No Class: the lack of poor folks in literature” by Cristela
When I was a kid, I hated summer break. My college friends never understood why. “But summer is so much fun! Camping, swimming, cookouts – what child doesn’t enjoy summertime?”
My answer: a poor one.
I knew about the summertime activities they were referring to because I had seen them on TV, just like I had seen Star Trek – and both seemed just as likely to be part of my everyday life. Without whining (because who likes that?) let’s examine these pastimes one by one. Camping, whether it is the day or even more elusive overnight variety, is a standard of American summers, no? No. Where I grew up no one but no one went to an overnight camp. A few kids did attend day camps, but for me, with a sickly mom at home trying to stay afloat on welfare, this was never an option. Sure, there were a couple programs like the “Fresh Air Fund” that we might have been eligible for, but being an immigrant (and a fairly non-social one at that) my mom simply wasn’t aware of their existence. Hence, no camping and as for swimming that wasn’t happening much either. We lived in Jackson Heights Queens, and like every other poor person in a big city we didn’t have a car. In order for us to get to the nearest beach, we had to take 2 buses or 2 subways. Either method of transportation resulted in a one-way ride of over an hour, lugging our umbrellas, towels, cooler and other beach paraphernalia with us. (Have you ever tried taking a beach umbrella on a crowded bus? Every time you move you risk accidently swinging it in someone’s face and having them cuss you out.) Pools could have been another summer option but private ones cost money (as do swimming lessons by the way) and public ones are seething with kids. At the public pools kids would be swimming next to each other, over each other, under each other – it was like a mass of newly hatched tadpoles. Once I got accidently kicked in the stomach by a kid backstroking past me like a torpedo. Finally, cookouts could be done in some public parks but again you would have lug bags of charcoal, food and other equipment through a maze of stairs, streets and buses just to get to the grilling site. It was easier to make a sandwich at home.
Our summer alternative was to play on the street in front of our apartment building. If we were lucky someone would open a fire hydrant so we could spray ourselves. My brother and I used to play outside when we were very young, but by the time the neighborhood boys grew rough, my mom Griselda kept us in. (This lockdown occurred after Alex was punched in the stomach. It happened as he was walking past this kid and his friends who were gathered on a parked car. Alex didn’t know the guy and they hadn’t exchanged any words, the kid just punched him on a whim because he thought it would be funny.)
Thereafter, most of our summers were spent at home in front of our summer companions: the television and fan. During commercial breaks we would occasionally peel ourselves off the brown vinyl sofa to get a glass of Kool-Aid from the fridge. We had an air conditioner, but since it uses more electricity than a fan, we were only allowed to turn it on after it hit 95 degrees. (How I used to wish for super-hot days!)
My college friends, who lived nice middle-class lives, were always surprised by my summer stories. Even a relatively light story like this one, which though depicting a rather boring and uncomfortable summer, was certainly no tragedy, shocked them. And indeed, this a light poverty story – because a heavier one would focus on instances of real shame and rage – two intertwined emotions also associated with being poor. I never shared those more serious stories with my friends, because they weren’t ready for it and I could see why. It’s because people like me are invisible. For all the talk about diversity in media and books – the poor in America are ignored. You’d have to go back to the Grapes of Wrath to get a fiction book focusing on class issues. If poverty is addressed at all in modern literature, it is subsumed by race and/or ethnicity – and usually in a fairly stereotyped manner.
According to 2018 US Census data http://federalsafetynet.com/us-poverty-statistics.html about 12% of the US population, approximately 40 million people live in poverty. That’s a lot of people, yet outside of sociology texts, they rarely appear in books. Often when poverty is shown in fiction, it accompanies gang violence and/or drug use. The law-abiding poor, who are the massive overwhelming majority of the impoverished, aren’t glamourous enough to make it to fame. (I can just imagine the producers toying with the idea. “So your grandma snags free sugar packets from Dunkin Donuts….yeah, I can see that on NetFlix.”) Of course, everyone and their sugar thieving grandma knows this, but I’ll state the obvious anyway, though poverty disproportionately affects minorities in the USA, the majority of welfare recipients are white Americans who live in non-urban areas. If you wish to read about them go resurrect John Steinbeck.
This all brings me to the title of this rant “America Has No Class: the lack of poor folks in literature”. We perceive a lot of identities: gender, race, orientation, etc. – and so these things are all very real to most Americans. Conversely, categories we fail to see, like class awareness become less so. It’s like that philosophical query – if a tree falls in a forest but no one hears it, did it actually fall? Well, if about 283 million people choose to ignore the approximately 40 million impoverished ones, do we magically cease to exist?
July 22, 2019
“Nyama Choma by any other name is…BBQ” by Justine
Last time I was in Kenya my relatives were discussing
barbeque.
“Guilia we’ll make you some good nyama choma. You must miss
that living in America.”
“We have bbq places in the States too.” I responded.
My uncle Ohon looked at me like with an amalgamate of humor
and disgust. “Giulia, have you turned mzungu? I’m not talking about your
BBQ – I talking about real flavor Nyama
Choma.”
Nyama Choma just means “roasted meat”. Oddly when I speak to
most Kenyans, that act like they invented the stuff. Logic doesn’t sway them
either. I’ve pointed out that roasted animal flesh exists everywhere there are
animals and fire, which is the entire world. Nonetheless, other cultures just
burn meat, only Kenyans know the secret of roasting.
Growing up in the United States I heard that it was here that great things like barbeque, freedom, democracy and the telephone were born. I mention the telephone because I enjoy occasionally goading people into a discussion about Antonio Meucci. Senor Meucci immigrated from Tuscany to New York in the late 1800’s. A genius, but unfortunately for him a poor one, he invented a device that electronically transmitted the human voice. In 1871, lacking the money to apply for a full patent he applied for a “patent caveat” a temporary patent. In 1874 when this caveat expired Meucci lacked the funds to renew. Alexander Graham Bell filed for a full patent of the telephone one year later.
Everyone in Italy knows this, though it seems to come as a surprise to many in the States. It shouldn’t however, since on June 11, 2002 Congress passed a resolution stating,
“Whereas if Meucci had been able to pay the $10 fee to maintain the caveat after 1874, no patent could have been issued to Bell: Now, therefore, be it is Resolved, That it is the sense of the House of Representatives that the life and achievements of Antonio Meucci should be recognized, and his work in the invention of the telephone should be acknowledged.”
Everyone rushes to claim some fame. Whether it’s the prize of best meat dishes or most useful inventions, people by nature want to boast about how their people do it best. Objectivity doesn’t exist. All that exists is a myriad of opposing subjectivities. Just remember that the next time you’re gnawing away at a nice juicy rib. By all means enjoy your barbecue, but don’t try to tell other people how to enjoy theirs.
