Mei’s sexalicious head-chandelier makes these dudes love her to death
My delightful house-guest
Miss Thing Stingray, though she cannot have failed to notice that I have been a bit under the weather recently what with the cancer and the chemo and the more or less incessant nausea and everything, nevertheless turned upon me yesterday a gaze that can only be described as rueful, and chastised me for having failed to update the old blog with any kind of timeliness. Apparently boring old pukey me is no longer as amusing in real life as I am on a computer screen, so would I please get after it?
Actually, I attribute my recent shortcomings as both a hostess and a blogger not to my current infirmity, but to this absurd non-smokin, non-drinkin lifestyle I have been forced to adopt as a result. How many megawatts of fun can a person reasonably be expected to exude when the highlight of her day is a Zofran washed down with a swig of Gatorade and a Simpsons rerun?
But enough about me. What about this Amnesty International poll? The one indicating that " 34% of people in the UK believe that a woman is partially or totally responsible for being raped if she has behaved in a flirtatious manner"?
Or if she is perceived as "promiscuous"?
Or if she has been drinking?
Or if she has worn "sexy" clothing?
Because we did not just roll off the lapdance truck yesterday, this intelligence concerning the persistence of "sexist blame culture" does not boggle the mind. It is no news flash that we, as women, in traipsing about our daily lives as members of the sex class, are the irrefutable cause of massive and unrelenting boners, many of which so enrage those hapless chaps to whom they are attached that assault is the frequent and inevitable outcome.
Sexist blame culture isn’t surprising considering that its parent culture is patriarchy. You remember patriarchy, the fun-loving institution that brings you the fetishization of dominance and submission, the hatred of women, and the global reverence for I-can-kick-your-ass?
Anyway, what surprises me is that this revelation of blame culture surprises Amnesty International. They call the results of their poll "shocking." Maybe they would be less shocked, and would not have to commission expensive polls, and have more of a clue, if they rented popular movies more often.
That’s what Stingray did. Last night she brought home one of those cartoony martial arts movies called House of Flying Daggers. Released in 2004, it stars that tiny Crouching Tiger girl with the red lipstick, Zhang Ziyi, as a hottie who can chuck a flying dagger across miles with pinpoint accuracy straight into your jugular without batting an eye. Of course, this detail is of secondary significance to her overarching sexbottish delicacy. Theoretically she can kick your ass, but, as "a rare beauty," she is primarily an inflamer of boners, so she is necessarily and constantly the victim of attempted rape throughout the movie. Rape, in fact, appears to be the grandest of romantic gestures in this film. The rapists are the two romantic leads who love her. One of them finally kills her because he loves her so much, and then the two rapists try to kill each other.
Nothing in the tone of the film suggests that there is anything the slightest bit off about this. Neither is any explanation is given as to why the Zhang Ziyi character can butcher 47 enemy soldiers with a stick of bamboo but can’t fend off a single rapist. That’s because we don’t need an explanation. This is patriarchy, and whatever else Zhang may be, she is a sexbot first, and loving rape is her job.