Four years ago, I threw some cold water on the celebration that ensued here in California. The nation had just elected its first non-white President by a considerable margin, but the state of California voted to ban gay marriage.
Last night Americans reelected President Barack Obama and Californians raised taxes to the rich to fund schools and revise that idiotic three-strikes law. All of that sounds good, but they continued to assault the rights of sex workers in the state by passing Proposition 35 and Los Angeles County Proposition B.
I’ll give some credit to the people who wrote up Prop 35. They titled it “Californians Against Sexual Exploitation Act” which upon a cursory glance sounds good and everybody should vote for that.
With the vague definitions used in this initiative, your normal run-of-the-mill sex worker could be locked up and forced to register as a sex offender. And the provisions of this initiative will force all registered sex offenders to report all of their activity on the internet.
All of this to protect human sex trafficking victims who more often than not will not testify against their traffickers, and which this initiative does nothing to help provide more support. Nothing about this initiative focuses on the victims.
The media outlets that endorsed this proposition did so with some reservations. We can all agree that human sex trafficking is bad. But the gnarly bits of this initiative is where there is a lot of problems. And if something is flawed, why vote for it? Let’s get it right from the get-go.
And in LA County, voters have now forced porn actors to wear condoms. Never mind that the porn industry has the most stringent testing requirements. But now we want to spend our tax money to force them to wear condoms?
Some people say that if people in porn wear condoms, it will spread the message of using protection. Think about how stupid that statement is especially since almost no productions that actually uses condoms show the condoms being put on. Yeah, great education potential there.
It’s easy for people to force their will on sex workers because it’s seen as degrading and is often illegal. No one is forcing all women to get mastectomies because of how bad the breast cancer crisis is. We still haven’t outlawed cigarettes even though it’s proven to cause lung cancer. No one is forcing men to have anal sex even though studies have shown that stimulation of the prostate significantly reduce the chances of prostate cancer.
This is an all out assault on sex workers, and it’s time for them to fight back.
The only reason I really look forward to my birthday is that I get time off from work and that I usually rent an Airbnb out in the middle of the desert in the Joshua Tree vicinity with a pool, hot tub, and no one around for 5 acres. So here I am in Landers (or a bit away from it really) whose claim to fame was that it was the epicenter of a 7.3 earthquake in 1992 just hours before a separate 6.5 earthquake centered in Big Bear hit on a Sunday morning. Wild stuff.
I arrived here yesterday, and on the way had to stop to get gas. Since this stupid fucking illegal war with Iran has driven gas prices sky high again, I’ve mostly been back on public transit again because, fuck that. There I was at the Arco station jaw agape as the $30 went to $40 and on up until it landed at $72 for 13 gallons of gas. Yes, the “cheap” gas.
I’m going to be spending most of the time in or around the pool trying to finish Schattenfroh by Michael Lentz. I’m at around page 604, so I have about 400 more pages to go. I’ll be honest — I have no fucking clue what’s going on in the book. It’s a slow, slow read and demands your attention but not in a painstaking way. It’s a very enjoyable read, but I honestly don’t know how we get from one part to the next. Instead of trying to make sense of it, I’m just riding the wave, going where it’s taking me and try to make sense of it later.
I’ve started working on a couple of things with myself and hope to get better at as I begin my 48th year on this planet: I have started to journal more. It’s the most mundane scatterbrained thing. I hope it doesn’t cause someone’s head to explode when they go through my journals after I’m dead. (How cute. I think I have any importance that people will actually read what I write rather than just dispose it like they should.)
I need to curb my YouTube addiction. I don’t watch tv shows. I don’t watch sports all that much. I don’t use TikTok. I only doomscroll through Facebook at 3 am after I have woken up to take a piss. I am no longer perpetually online. But I will sit down and waste hours upon hours watching YouTube videos. I really need to get that in check.
That’s all I’ve got. Overall, I’m not happy, but I’m not completely depressed. Let’s just call it nonplussed. For someone who feels like a stranger in his own country, I guess that’s about as good as we can hope for.
Occasionally, after reading certain books, when his disgust for daily life became particularly marked, he longed for the lenitive hours immersed in a cloister…
There is just a clause in the above sentence in the first chapter for J.-K. Huysman’s The Damned (Là-Bas) that really stuck out to me: “when his disgust for daily life became particularly marked.”
I had to go back to work today after two weeks off. The first week I did a road trip that culminated in being in a cabin for two days in Choteau, Montana that had a hot tub. It was nice to sit in the hot jets while it was 18F (-8C) outside. Then I meandered my way home before just doing nothing for the second week. Just sitting with my cats, sleep, and tell myself I was going to mop my floors before doing none of that.
After these weeks of doing a whole bunch of nothing, to my horror it was time to go back to work. The dread of walking into my office which I liken to a monkey cage at the zoo, plugging in my laptop and opening Outlook. Emails filled with complaints. That was the dread that was inside of me.
So I get it when Huysman’s protagonist Durtal has a “disgust for daily life.” It’s certainly reassuring that not a lot has changed over the last 130 or so years.