So i go to this demo(to save to Jerusalem pool from being razed and turned into another parking lot – unbelieavable), and who do i see?Well, what, not who.

A 16 yr old kid with some toy camera taking pictures, looking all serious. After a few times that i bump into him i decide to ask him if he’s working for anyone. He says “yeah, YNET”. Surprised as i am, i ask him how come i haven’t seen him before, to which he replies that he’s new. And then he drops the bomb : I’m really working for the credit on the site. The reporter is a friend of mine, he says, and i’m trying to get into the business.

At that point i flip. Flip, and embark on a whole lecture of why he’s wrong to do it, and how he shouldn’t let them exploit him, and how he’s cutting off the branch we’re all sitting on.

At some point the reporter (who can’t be older than 19)approaches us, and starts accusing me of being cynical and callous, and too materialistic…Not everything is money, he tells me, that’s the problem with people like me, we only think about money, instead of focusing on what’s really important, like doing what you love for a living.

This is where i knew i had no chance to convince him of anything. Reason and rationality shrivel in the face of teen ideals, i’m afraid.

I wanted to tell him that two years from now, when he’s got both feet inside the industry, another 16 yr old will come and rob him of his livelyhood, but didn’t. I wanted to tell him that while he’s out here playing news photographer for free, the real YNET photographer who has a family and rent to pay, is sitting this paid job out, but i knew there was no point. Finally, i wanted to tell him that money IS what is really important in life because it allows people to pursue what they really want and because all the love for the profession and all the ideals in the world aren’t worth a dime if your pockets are empty and your kids are hungry, but i knew i’d be wasting my breath.

Our profession is dying, and i know it. It saddens me deeply, but it seems there’s nothing we can do. Standards are falling by the minute, customers aren’t willing to pay for anything, salaries are cut all the time but for some reason all this doesn’t deter new photogs from prostituting themselves and pull the rug from under everyone else, as they try desperately to put their name under a picture on some god forsaken website.

Rarely do I agree with Dana Milbank, liberal reporter for the Washington Post, but his portrayal of the 100 members of the United States Senate in todays edition is classic: Mr. Milbank wrote:

“Landrieu and Lincoln got the attention because they were the last to decide, but the Senate really has 100 Blanche DuBoises, a full house of characters inclined toward the narcissistic. The health-care debate was worse than most. With all 40 Republicans in lockstep opposition, all 60 members of the Democratic caucus had to vote yes — and that gave each one an opportunity to extract concessions from Senate Majority Leader Harry M. Reid.”

For those unfamiliar with the work of Tennessee Williams’ Street Car Named Desire, Blanche DuBoises was a prostitute. The portrayal seems consistent with the screwing that the legislators of both parties are giving all of us.

–– Week 17 ––

“Get back here and sing for your supper!” – Anonymous

It’s not possible for me to afford seeing the working girls each week, with that in mind i walked the main strip Friday and Saturday night. These two nights have helped me meet some of the  regular guys i always see sitting and observing people from the bus benches on the side of the road. First I met ‘Wombat’ from Cooma, New South Wales “That’s my nickname” he mumbles through his thick aged silver beard. Unfortunately i had to do a lot of naive nodding and i found myself laughing as soon as he did even though i had no idea what the poor man was saying as it was very hard to hear Wombat.

I also met ‘Ramon’ who is from Queensland. “What’s your name mate?” “Ian” I replied. Ramon continued ”My best mates name is Ian… a very reliable name”… I naturally agreed. Ramon is a very gentle benign man with a warm smile. His voice brings comfort to the surroundings. I kneeled beside him taking photos as he talked away freely digging deep into his empirical observations. Both ‘Wombat’ and Ramon loved to talk and i had to politely excuse myself to take more photos but they where more than happy to see me again.

I really enjoyed Saturday night, i went out at 11.30pm and finished at 4am. The crowd was slowly but surely fading away just like the night and staying till the sun came up was going to be a big ask when the streets where becoming empty. The street buskers are great magnets for capturing a photo and most people didn’t mind their photo being taken. In front of me i saw a young man passed out in the gutter with his two mates by his side. One of them was holding his head up while the other rolled him onto his side. It was was great to see so many people come up and offer help but the other people who had plenty to drink would laugh and and raise their hands in celebration of the young mans accomplishment of being passed out. There are countless sightings of heavy intoxicated people but i’ve never been tempted to take a photo as it’s too easy to capture the vulnerable. Friday night introduced me to a group of young men from Venezuela who were on the sreet preaching the message of God. I was approached when taking photos of them at work and asked if i believed in God, to which i replied “No”. “What will happen to you when you die?” the young man asked. I told him i wasn’t interested in what he was selling and i insisted he stop as it’s a waste of time. He left me by saying “When you die, just imagine there is a Hell… God Bless” I thought… That’s it?! That holds no water. Oh, and also, how very Christian of him to resort to fear. If i can imagine there is a Hell, then i can imagine when i die i’ll live on the bottom of the ocean with the great Sea God ‘Whalsurus’. Dribble.

So, as there were mostly incoherent and religious jibberish conversations this week, i’ll let the photos do all the talking.

Nineteen year-old Jorge Steven Mercado dreamed about working in the fashion industry. He was also a volunteer in organizations advocating for HIV prevention and gay rights. But, last week his body was found dismembered, decapitated, and partially burned, in a rural area in Guavate, Cayey, Puerto Rico. Activists from the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) community in Puerto Rico immediately described this brutal slaying  as a hate crime. Not a single crime has been processed under the Puerto Rican Hate Crime Law since it was approved in 2002. Penalties are higher if the Hate Crime Law is applied.

Days after the murder, 26 year-old Juan Martínez Matos confessed. According to local news reports, Martínez Matos said he went looking for a prostitute in the streets of Caguas, Puerto Rico, when Steven approached him. Martínez Matos said he “didn’t know” Steven Mercado was a man until they arrived at his apartment in an another town (the victim was allegedly dressed as a woman). Gay activists Ada Conde and Pedro Julio Serrano have publicly stated that the sector where Steven Mercado was picked up is mostly frequented by transsexual and transvestite men. Martínez Matos said he killed Steven in “self defense” after they got into a fight. He then mutilated his body, and left it in a desolated area miles away from his house. Martínez Matos also stated he hated homosexuals because he had been raped when he was in jail for committing domestic violence.

Gay activists were outraged when the police officer in charge of the investigation said: “Someone like that, who does those kind of things, and goes out in public, knows full well that this might happen to him.” They have demanded the officer’s immediate removal from the case. Martínez Matos has been charged with murder and bail was set at $4 million USD.

Since Puerto Rico is a United States territory, federal laws apply. Two Puerto Rican United States Congress Members from New York have asked for this crime to be prosecuted under new federal hate crimes laws. The Federal Investigations Bureau (FBI) is monitoring the investigation. In the 1980s the serial murderer Ángel Colón Maldonado, known as the “Angel of the Bachelors”, killed 27 homosexuals in the Island. Recently, gay actvists have also warned about another murder against a gay man in San Juan, the country’s capital.

Bloggers have reacted to this terrible crime. The human rights actvists and spokesperson of the LGBT organization Puerto Rico para Tod@s (Puerto Rico for Everyone), Pedro Julio Serrano [ES], condemned the religious leaders’ and the politicians’ silence:

We are before one of the most horrendous murders committed in the history of this country, therefore the silence of political and religious leaders is even more shameful. They should feel embarrassed for not expressing their solidarity with Jorge Steven’s family and friends. They should feel embarrassed for not expressing solidarity with the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) community for the hatred that this crime has produced. They should feel embarrassed for not condemning the police officer in charge of the investigation. They should feel embarrassed for having forgotten their constitutional duty of defending equality for every human being.

This Sunday there will be a vigil in New York City in remembrance of Jorge Steven Mercado.

QUITO – Mentre in Italia si torna indietro nel tempo e si multano prostitute e clienti, in Ecuador il governo si pone all’ascolto delle associazioni delle lavoratrici del sesso. Loro non vogliono un trattamento speciale, ma semplicemente una normativa che tuteli i loro diritti come qualsiasi lavoratore. Questa è la via della legalità, che vuol dire anche lotta alla tratta degli esseri umani.

Esiste un paese in cui i politici incontrano le prostitute per discutere con loro, di giorno e con i pantaloni ben allacciati. E’ l’Ecuador di Rafael Correa. Il 13 settembre scorso il presidente dell’Ecuador e vari ministri del suo governo hanno pranzato con una dozzina di lavoratrici del sesso per conoscere la problematica della categoria. La delegazione ricevuta dal presidente rappresentava 17 organizzazioni locali distribuite in 14 province e riuniva più di 18.000 donne che esercitano lavoro sessuale. Dopo quell’incontro, la situazione per le donne che operano nel settore dell’offerta sessuale è in processo di cambiamento. Il ministero della Giustizia e il ministero della Salute stanno lavorando congiuntamente con i rappresentanti della Redtrabsex, (Red de trabajadoras sexuales), rispettivamente per evitare discriminazioni per chi esercita il mestiere più vecchio del mondo e per elaborare un piano di prevenzione delle malattie a trasmissione sessuale. In seguito alla riunione, avvenuta il 22 ottobre scorso tra la delegazione delle lavoratrici e il presidente dell’assemblea parlamentare, Fernando Cordero, è allo studio la modifica dell’articolo del codice penale ecuadoriano che sanziona con multe da sette a quattordici dollari e con la prigione da due a quattro giorni chi “staziona per molto tempo e senza motivo plausibile all’angolo della strada o in altro luogo non destinato al tempo libero degli abitanti”. Articolo con il quale in numerosi casi la polizia minaccia e trattiene le lavoratrici sessuali. E a fianco di una richiesta di maggior rispetto per le donne che esercitano questo lavoro, Redtrabsex sta incentivando progetti di formazione per microimprese al fine di offrire delle opportunità alle donne non più convinte di questo lavoro. E’ comune che chi si prostituisce per vivere, lo faccia dovendo mantenere figli e parenti, senza alternative di sussistenza. L’obiettivo finale della Redtrabsex è di eliminare la discriminazione sociale e la repressione della polizia nonché permettere alle lavoratrici del sesso di accedere ai programmi di sicurezza sociale riservati ai lavoratori. E anche dar loro una scelta.

Alessandro Ingaria

I know that I rant and rave about the mass media today and the terrible state it is in. I know that many of you might find my commentary on the 2010 gubernatorial election for Governor in California as bias and crudely thrown together. You might find that my commentary on the social implications that both the media and politics have today are tightly bound by a generally accepted social contract, for good or ill. It is a rare occasion that I get an opportunity to speak on a subject as this one. As few of you know, I am sure, a personal aide to State Att. Gen. Jerry Brown recently ‘resigned’ after a bit of an unfortunate situation with a journalist, recordings, and a lack of candor that proved to be too much for him to overcome, leading to his resignation from his position. What you may not know is the unfortunate timing of this overblown situation of ‘illegal’ tapings and the Att. Gen.’s possible action against the ‘pimp n ho’ ACORN tapes that were released a while back as being illegal and possible entrapment. This all sounds very complicated I am sure to those of you not in the know and not as obsessed and quite possibly addicted to the little ins and outs of the emerging candidates and campaigns in the 2010 election for governor of the most populous state in the union. What has transpired here, and what may transpire is nothing short of a wonderful moment for me to connect Nixon to Reagan to Brown, and I will do so in the most eloquent and demonstrative way possible.

A few weeks back an aide to Jerry Brown named Scott Gerber made a call to the San Francisco Chronicle pleading for changes to a story they did on Brown citing some very extensive quotes from the interview reporter Carla Marinnuci did with Brown. The red flag went up when he was able to quote to an almost impossible length contextual quotations from the interview and what was said. He was present at the interview with Brown, as were others, and it became clear that he could only have recalled such minute details if the conversation had been recorded and he were reading from a transcript. Turns out the conversation was recorded by Gerber without the consent of the reporter, or as they claim, even Brown. Gerber had apparently taken it upon himself to record the interview for posterity and for the express purpose he used it for, to refute inconsistencies or falsehoods in the ensuing article.

Jerry Brown, as any good unofficial candidate would do, claimed no part in the event, claiming no knowledge of the taping at the event. Jerry Brown pulled a classic Reagan and Nixon-esque move with complete deniability in the situation. He had no idea what his aides and subordinates were doing and did not approve the tapings. Just like Iran/Contra incident under Reagan, Brown claimed that he did not have anything to do with the event, and I’m sure, would not have approved such an action without the express consent of the reporter. Just as with Nixon during Watergate, Brown did not know what was going on, and holds Gerber in the highest regard and respect and that the actions taken were taken in the best interest of Brown and the parties involved, though the judgement of Gerber was questionable, his intentions were not.

Old Gerber stepped down under what has turned out to be a bit of an overblown situation calling the taping ‘illegal’ being the state of a very ambiguous statute in California legislation stating that you cannot secretly tape confidential conversations and meeting, without the express consent of all parties involved. The salacious media is picking up on the vague nature of the phrase ‘confidential conversations’ and blowing it out of proportion, as Peter Scheer of the Huffington Post illustrates. This was a conversation with a journalist for the express purpose of providing information that was expressly going to be used in the public sector. This interview was not a confidential conversation, there rarely, if ever, is such a thing as a confidential conversation with a reporter or journalist. Where this incident falls is somewhere under the guise of a broken social contract that reporters don’t secretly tape interviews and vice versa. It is not really ethical and not something done today; reporters are generally very open, honest, and frank in asking permission to record a conversation for accuracy and posterity sake. The real issue was the Gerber did not disclose that it was being recorded, and then he made the mistake of quoting way too much from the conversation for it to just be from memory; poor judgement clearly, but illegal, not at all.

I think the reason that this has become an issue, and it was necessary for Gerber to distance himself is two fold: One is that with a burgeoning campaign and still running unopposed as Brown is for the Democrats in the 2010 election, this kind of ‘scandal’ (which it isn’t) cannot be associated with his current position as the lawman looking to protect the people. Secondly, it is really poor timing as the Att. Gen. is making plans to prosecute the ‘pimp n ho’ filmmakers that ran the sting on ACORN earlier this year, for illegally taping and entrapping the offices that they visited in the state of California.

With this campaign getting seriously close to needing to become official the Jerry Brown camp knew, that if this situation continued is could become an issue to come out officially under this scandal growing, so they needed to nip it in the bud. Jerry Brown didn’t file any charges against Gerber as the internal investigation was scrapped, to the chagrin of proponents and the elation of those critics trying to get anything on Brown. In response Brown has called for n outside investigation in to the situation to cover his ass. This thing needs to disappear quickly if he plans on announcing his candidacy by the end of the year. Brown is currently enjoying great approval numbers and simple name recognition right now without having done a damn thing to campaign, so if this situation festered it would get this team on the defensive the moment they stepped on to the field.

The other issue is his possible prosecution of the whistle blowers that secretly taped meetings with ACORN employees to find a way for the pimp to do his taxes and the prostitute to do hers so as to make their income sound legitimate in the eyes of the government. Now this is a much more slippery slope these filmmakers treaded. They went in to confidential meetings, under assumed identities without disclosing the recording they were doing and lured the ACORN employees under false pretenses to give them legal advice for fake occupations. In essence they could be accused of illegally taping confidential meeting, entrapment, and possibly other charges Brown can drudge up on them. This case, though similar to the Gerber incident lends itself much better to a judicial proceeding in that the meetings, on tax information, are assumed confidential, and the use of those recordings were for public use without the express knowledge of all parties involved; the key word is ‘all’. There is also arguing the entrapment since the parties posed as fake personas and illicitly asked for the advice they wanted, not that they were approached, they asked for specific advice of an illegal kind, under illegal pretenses. I would go as far as to argue that those tapes are not legal evidence in a court case that may try and prosecute ACORN because the means by which they were obtained is on shaky ground to say the least.

The situation and the timing of these two events is cause for a little bit of questioning. Could it be that a secret taping scandal just pops up at the same time Brown is getting ready to attack the filmmakers of the ACORN tapes? I find it a little odd, but I am no conspiracy theorist so I won’t go there, but I do find it interesting that these two issues are coming to bear at a pivotal time in the Brown campaign. With Whitman on the GOP side spending enough money to match the GDP of a small country, and getting some poll numbers to show it is working, a little, Brown is in a precarious spot to either go official or continue to stay out of the limelight to some extent. Is it better for him to get in the ring and start campaigning, getting the fallout of the Nixon-esque recording scandal through Reagan-esque deniability out of the way, dealing with it now and letting the short term memory of the public relegate it to the past as his campaign chugs along? Or should he stay out of the limelight, let this thing go away, never directly addressing it to the public and instead letting it disappear until it comes up in a smear-campaign TV spot put together by Whitman, or possibly his not-yet-decided possible opponent? I think the latter is the way to do it because I think it is going to come up in some debate in the future and it will look fishy to the voting public if it is the first they are hearing about it, as if Brown was trying to hide from it and then looks cornered as a non-secret appears to the public as an all out scandal that we are so far removed from the fact sifting will take to long and cost more to the campaign than getting out ahead of the issue.

The resignation of Scott Gerber was the first, and most important step in letting the Brown campaign distance itself from this little hiccup and in turn gives Brown the option of still going after the ACORN filmmakers all the while giving him deniability, and even the ‘appearance’ of an outside investigation insulates him from allegations of a double standard and hypocrisy, not to mention what may be phrased as an ‘abuse of his power’ and ‘doing favors for his friends’. Now, what the public will hear is ‘secret recordings’, ‘allegedly illegal’, and other terms used to further vilify the actions taken by a single man, and Brown will claim ignorance and be able to say that an outside panel was assembled to investigate and that Gerber resigned after ‘a lapse in judgement’. The fact of the matter is what Brown’s aide did, with or without the consent and knowledge of Brown, was NOT illegal specifically, it is in a gray area at worst, and just a bad call in reality.

The Brown ‘campaign’ should be up and running by the end of the year, it really should, so that it can get out ahead in the democratic voter’s eyes so that they can deter any possible opponents from running. If Brown can get a head of steam now, or at least soon, anyone that might have thought of running would not be able to afford the kind of fight it would take to gain ground AND overtake a man so solidly planted in the state of California. Brown has made a good decision by not running officially yet; he has been able to skirt criticism and early campaign fighting, letting one man, Newsom, defeat himself already. His campaign could use one Republican dropping out though, before he jumps in. How nice it would be for Brown to see Poizner drop out before he got in the race, or Campbell, but I doubt Poizner with all his money is willing to roll over just yet, and Campbell is enjoying some numbers close to or equal to Whitman’s by spending next to nothing, so he will probably stay in for a while, if not to the primaries, though it depends greatly on his funding. Whatever happens one thing is certain, Brown has done a great job with this first ‘scandal’ by copying the best plays from Presidents across the aisle; He sacrificed his close aide as Nixon did with many of his men, and he has total deniability to insulate him from too much criticism as Reagan did. Brown just seems to have done it better than both of those Republicans, and that puts him right up there with one of the great Democrats, ol’ Bill Clinton, a scandalous hall of famer.

It’s the most confounding thing, being in my rural home town and maintaining myself as a sex worker. Unless I line up a bunch of gigs down in Boston for a weekend trip, I’m inactive, completely without an outlet for my sexual professionalism. You should see my armpit hair! I feel my physical maintainence slipping by the day…when I do go to the city, it takes three times as long to shave, pluck, brush and paint everything back into a high standard.

It’s not that there isn’t work for me up here. In fact, if I were to open shop and put up an ad on Eros, I believe that I would do very well up here in the hills. Trouble is, I have this new fangled 9-5 job that puts a big crimp in my scheduling. Oh, and I don’t have a proper space to host my patrons. That, and this is my home town…the wiser side of me is thankful that I don’t have the time or resources to start whipping ass in my backyard. I’m sure that there are advantages to screening; I would certainly know many of my new applicants and wouldn’t even need to take a deposit from them. I can see it now:

“Oh, hi Mr. Lambardi, calling to get your cock tied? Of course I know who you are silly, you came up on my caller ID. How’s Margaret?”

“Of course, Jim, my pleasure. You really are a stunning submissive. So attentive! I always knew you had this streak in you, ever since you coached me in soccer, actually.”

“Really, Jack, this has got to stop. Not only are you my co-worker and neighbor, but I saw James last week and Jordon is booked for next Tuesday. I appreciate the business, but honestly, I have little interest in becoming the family Mistress. If I have to hear you all squabbling over ‘who’s taking mother shopping’ one more time, I’m going to dismiss you all. Oh, hold on…Jeff left his hat here, could to give it to him for me? Thanks….”

Yes, being the local pro could have it’s social downsides. Perhaps it’s best that I stay busy and bury myself in my office work, music, yoga, family and friends. That’s not a bad life! So what’s my problem? Why do I sit at my desk and so often gaze, in a daydream, over the thousands of cars racing by my small town? The town where the major highways intersect; the perfect place for a dungeon or parlor.

That’s enough, put it out of mind. Oh, and look, late for work. Late for my grown up job, longing for my adult job.

Pregnant Prostitute Brooke Phillips of HBO's 'Cathouse' Killed

The main suspect behind the brutal murder of 22-year olds Brooke Phillips a prostitute featured in the HBO reality series “Cathouse,” and three other people,turned himself in to authorities on Tuesday, police said.

The murders and subsequent arrest happened in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

The AP reports that an arrest warrant was issued earlier for David Allen Tyner, 28, of Locust Grove, on six murder complaints, because authorities say two of the victims – 22-year olds Brooke Phillips and Milagrous Barrerra – both were pregnant.

Tyner has not been formally charged with any crime.

The Metro Fugitive Task Force and the Oklahoma County Sheriff’s Office have been trying to locate Tyner since the bodies were discovered in the fire. 

Four adults and two unborn children were killed on Monday November 9th.  Their bodies were found in a Southwest Oklahoma City home that was deliberately set on fire. An eyewitness inside the house at the time of the shooting who survived the carnage, had identified Tyner, 28, as a suspect in the incident.

Phillips and Barrerra both died from gunshot wounds, police Sgt. Gary Knight said.

A quote from NEWSOK.com reports that…Phillips had worked at the Moonlite Bunny Ranch, a legal brothel near Carson City, Nev. that is featured in the HBO series. 22-year-old Brooke Phillips, one of the stars of HBO’s “Cathouse” series, a reality show about life at the Moonlite Bunny Ranch, a brothel near Carson City, Nev. Phillips was a licensed prostitute who was taking time off in Oklahoma because of her pregnancy…

Police have not determined a motive in the killings, but said Tuesday investigators believe there was more than one suspect.

“We don’t believe he acted alone,” a police spokesman said. “We’ve identified the one suspect, but that doesn’t yet tell us what his motive is for doing this.”

The others that perished in the fire and murderous rampage are-Jennifer Lynn Ermy, 25, who was a dancer at Night Trips, a topless bar where Phillips also claimed to have worked; Barrientos, 32, had spent time in custody after pleading guilty, in 1996, to being the driver in a drive-by shooting.

Barrera, 22, was also pregnant, and shot several times before the house was set ablaze.

Tyner surrendered to the Mayes County Sheriff’s Office and is expected to be returned to Oklahoma County later Tuesday, Knight said. He said he does not know if Tyner has hired an attorney.

Efforts to identify the victims has been slow because all four bodies were badly burned, Knight said.

Police interviewed 31-year-old Jose Fernando Fierro, who rented the home and was the only person to survive the fire, but said he is not a suspect, said his attorney, Shawn Jefferson.

Jefferson said Fierro was lucky to escape, but declined to discuss details of what Fierro told police or other aspects of the investigation.

Here is a You tube clip from a local news station in Oklahoma reporting on the murder of pregnant prostitute Brooke Phillips, star of HBO’s ‘Cathouse’ series…

http://airamerica.com/breakingnews/3467/

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5iqql14RsUmtRv897vLwmGpo_LDGAD9C1D6V01

If you haven’t heard about it here is a link: http://www.youm7.com/News.asp?NewsID=155127&

Here is short summary in English: A Christian guy was stabbed to death, by some of the local people in Malawy, Minia. A governorate in upper Egypt. These people stated that they attacked an apartment they believed to be a whorehouse, found the Christian guy with a Muslim prostitute.  So they stabbed him. and then there were protests in the streets, against the Coptic families in Malawy.

I really wasn’t sure of my impression after reading about this incident, so I will just randomly share all of the thoughts that came on my mind then:

• The first thing that shocked me, that some of the comments on the previous news article actually approved these actions, they liked enforcing the _Shari3a_(Islamic law) by themselves and using force. I wonder how many people in Egypt really approve these sort of violent and irrational actions!
• I really spent some time thinking about the other Christians reaction in this town, they were afraid so they closed their shops and stayed at home, fearing some attacks targeting their shops!! I can’t imagine  how the lives of hundreds, may be thousands, of Christians looked like during these periods. Are we really that weak? we just get terrified and stay at home waiting for things to be better one day!!
• I think that if Egyptians got to know how many places in Egypt running prostitution as a business, there will be a war all over the country if they reacted in the same way!!
• I think that we are becoming day after day more overreacting, more prejudiced, and more extreme. I wonder if the guy in this incident was Muslim, will they react in the same way? or do we have double standards for equal citizens of our country.
• One example of overreacting, that some Muslims think that this is an organized movement from Christians to have sex with Muslim girls!! I really don’t buy this nonsense, So what will we gain from this??
• I will leave you with a comment that really pissed me off: “العيب فى حسنى مبارك وليس فى النصارى لأنه بصراحة شديدة النصارى أخذوا صلاحيات كبيرة جدا فى عهد هذا الرجل – ومع ذلك ينتظرون المزيد -على الرغم من أن أقباط المهجر يقذفونه ويتظاهرون ضده فى زيارات لأمريكا ، ورحم الله الرئيس السادات كان رجلا حقا”  So he basically states that Copts shouldn’t have the same rights as their Muslim co-citizens! _Ya 7alawa 3ala elmowatna!!_.

Friday. Up nice and early. I’m going to head into town on my own for the first time. No help from swedish people or bashir or nothing. I’m pretty excited because I’m also going to get a tour of the clubs with that Ugandan “up and coming” rapper Sammo tonight, then tomorrow morning Bashir is going to take me to his family home so I can meet his wife and kids and get to know the traditional African shtyle life.

At breakfast I check my map and decide I want to walk up the main street known as…. Kampala Road, check out an Indian restaurant on Dewinton Street, an Irish pub on Acacia Avenue, and the Uganda museum on Kira road. And I’m gonna do it all on foot. No mean feat, but traveling through the city on foot is the best way to get to know it, immerse yourself in the culture. Walking is the only way. So I grab a boda boda into town, (yeah I know I cheated but I’m doing it all on foot FROM THE TAXI PARK…) It’s not too mental a ride as it’s early enough and the traffic is pretty light. Twas quite enjoyable actually. Flying down roads on the back of a bike with no protective gear at 9am gawking at random market stalls and people-watching and the whole shebang. Everybody seems to own a shop or stall or at least has a few bits and bobs to sell.

After a few days in Kampala, one develops a sixth sense. Mzungu sense. You get a tingle and you turn around and see a white person, and you stare at them like a real Ugandan. One day I might even shout MZUNGU at them… But seriously, I do be like the only mzungu for miles and miles.

The boda boda leaves me off at the famous taxi park. Kampala Road is somewhere on the other side, so I walk through the chaos. I think I did pretty good, I looked like I knew what the hell I was doing. I didn’t really though and found my way out of it by pure poxiness. I think to myself “now you’re doing well if you can find Kampala Road without looking at your map…” so I head off in an uphillwardly direction. Walk up a few dodgy looking streets and head into a shop run by an Indian guy to get a bottle of water… I take a sip in the shop… take a breather then head back out. I get stared at obviously but it’s not too bad, it’s not as if everybody on the street turns around in unison once you happen upon the scene. Just a bit of gawking here and there. But the kids really do stare at you in total amazement like WOWWWWWW with big bright eyes, so much so that the parents usually tell them to stop.

I last 10 minutes in the streets and I have to stop and ask a policeman for directions to Kampala Road. Once I reach Kampala road I begin my solo tour of the city. Kampala Road is like any capital citys main street. All the big banks and clothes shops and electronics stores are there. I throw a 100 shilling coin to a blind guitarist guy. I did my part for the day. Most shops have armed security guards outside who look bored stiff. I have my camera with me but I’m too afraid to take any pics, even though I feel totally safe walking around. Some day I’ll pluck up the courage to take a few busy streetscene shots but for now the camera stays snug in my bag.

I still have a few stray euros on me so I head to the Crane Bank to change them. Guarded by two AK-toting guys of course, and the doors only allow one person in at a time. You press a button, the automatic door slides open, you step in to a little hall/capsule/escape pod thing just big enough for one person, the door closes behind you. It’s nice and quiet for about three seconds then the door in front of you opens and lets you into the bank. It’s dark in there, and air conditioned, people are talking gently and there’s some nice elevator music – a welcome change from the hectic streets on the other side. As I’m changing my euros I notice an Obama picture beside yer wan behind the counter. Africans absolutely love Barack. I ask her “So you like Barack yeah?” and she goes yeah he’s great. I say “but he’s a mzungu” and she’s like “NOOOOO he’s black!!!!” He is fairly white though. The whitest black dude I know anyways. Aside from Michael Jackson. I tell her that he’s like a quarter Irish, so he’s from my country really and she tells me that she loves Ireland and the leprechauns… I have a bit of a laugh and then feck off back to the street.

I eventually find the Indian Restaurant on Dewinton Road, just off the end of Kampala street. It was a long bleedin walk and I’m looking forward to a nice curry and some coca cola. My Lonely Planet book is raving about this place so I had to check it out. Indian Chaat house it’s called. I buy a newspaper off a dodgy guy outside and head in. I try to open the paper but the fecker stapled the pages shut! Anyway, I’m in the restaurant and the first thing I see are a a load of shelves chock full of pirate copy films. One dvd is called “Movies of the year 2009 – 70 movies in Total!!” Now that’s the most pirate-copyness I’ve ever seen on one disc! After the curry I head off in the direction of Bubble O’ Learys Irish Pub.

There are a good few beggar kids on the street, some are as young as two years old. The parent leaves the kid on the street and runs off and hides somewhere. They come back an hour or so later to collect whatever money people have thrown to the child, and then they run off and hide again. The cops are trying to put an end to this though, the kids are so young they can’t even talk or walk. They’re just put down in the middle of the filthy path and left there in the heat with no water or anything. If the mother is caught she gets done for child negligence.

It starts to rain on the way to O’ Learys so I pop into Garden City to buy an umbrella and bump into Josef, the guy who works in the cinema. I ask him if he’s working today and he says yeah I’m working now… but yet again he’s hanging around the mall like a vagrant. If it weren’t for the Cineplex t-shirt I’d be calling shenanigans. I tell him I’m heading to the Ange Noir nightclub later on. He gives me his three numbers from his three phones and asks me to tell him how I get on the next day. Off I go with my umbrella to the only Irish pub in Uganda. I absolutely can’t wait for a good pint of Guinness.

A half hour walk through the rain later and after getting hassled by some Rwandan refugee looking for money I arrive at O’ Learys. Just have to cross the road in one piece and I can snuggle up to a pint of Guinness. I walk through the beer garden out front, it’s pretty nice and Irishey, head into the pub, straight up to the bar, point at the Guinness tap and with a fierce thick accent I ask for one POINT O GUINNESS PLEEZ. Paul the bartender tells me that they only do draft on Paddys Day, and it’s not even real draft, they import draft cans. The taps at the bar are just for show…. I feel like crying. I tell him I’m from Ireland and I’m really disappointed. He seems a bit ashamed. It’s like an Indian Restaurant with no curry. What’s the point? He offers me bottled Guinness at €1.20 a pop. It’ll do I suppose… He tells me that I should come back when the managers are here, I just missed them. One lad from Kerry the other from Dublin. I had a very strange “what the hell is going on/glitch in the matrix” moment when I heard the words Kerry and Dublin coming from a Ugandans mouth in an Irish pub in Sub Saharan Africa. I finish up my Guinness and hit the road in search of the Museum. Bashir and his younger sister Zahara are going to meet me there. A nice family day out!

Boda bodas are beeping like mad at me and shouting mzungu, I keep having to swat them away, they’re like mosquitoes.

I’m walking along anyways and this lady is jogging down the path, she seems to be looking at me with a big smile… and then she shouts “Sean!!” I’m totally confused. I’m trying to remember who this woman is… I think I recognize her… “Sean what a surprise how are you?!!” … hmm … “Hello…. how are you?” I say as we shake hands. Still no clue who she is. I don’t know many people in Uganda so I’m now scanning through any black people I know in Ireland. Maybe they like to jog in Kampala of a friday…. “It’s me, Maureen from Hotel Triangle!” Aaaaahhhhhhhh yeah, yer wan with the daughter in the hotel lobby a few days ago! A bit of a coincidence… So we talk for a while, she’s training for a marathon, she’s also a dance instructor and she want’s to teach me salsa. I say I wouldn’t mind a few free lessons. We agree to meet up sometime next week as I’m off to Masaka tomorrow. Sound. Off she goes jogging. Bit of a milf that one.

Finally arrive at the museum after a good couple of miles walking. Bashir introduces me to his lil sis Zahara. Nice girl. *half an hour later* Museum was ok. A bit run down, but the tribal archeology section was cool with all the weapons and whatnot. There was a display of traditional tribal games which had a shtick and a ball that looked like a hurley and sliotar…

We made tracks back into town.

Bashirs sister Zahara is sound, nice girl, studying Business Administration in… Mkebo University? Had a good chat on the way back in. I said I was heading to Ange Noir club and she said she’d tag along for the laugh. We stop along the way to help some lost yank. We’re standing around for about 5 minutes giving directions and talking small talk. The yank goes on her merry way and we turn around to find a tall skinny guy in a fairly tattered shirt standing beside us. “May I know you please?” he asks me. “What the hell does that mean?” I wonder as I walk past the nutball. Was already harassed by some Rwandan refugee earlier on and I vowed to ignore any other person that comes up to me on the streets. He asks Bashir and Zahara the same question: “May I know you please?” Bashir starts talking in Luganda and seems to be giving out. Then they change to English. It seems that this tall skinny dirty shirt guy is part of the military police guarding some sort of prison we’ve been standing outside of for the last 5 minutes. Turns out we’re not allowed stand where we’ve been standing, he’s treating us as suspicious, and now he want’s to interrogate us. So “May I know you please” means show me your documents. Bashir says he ain’t showin’ shit until he sees skinny dirty shirt guys documents first. How does he know he’s a security guard? He could be any old nutcase. Skinny shirt man won’t show us his ID, but instead tells us to come down to the prison where I can see a few army guys looking up at us. So we walk down the road and in the gate.

He brings us down to a table outside a shack, there are three soldiers at the table and two more at the gate. One of them looks exactly like LL Cool J. Bashir is still trying to explain to yer man exactly what we were doing standing there. We were giving directions to an American person, and it took a while as we had a bit of small talk. The lads don’t seem to be buying it though. The guy in the shirt said something like “I can take this further and you can go to prison”… and I immediately thought about all those banged up abroad programs on Sky1. Bashir was arguing with the other guys in Luganda and I was just there totally lost and hoping to feck that this guy wouldn’t “take this further”… I was getting ready to have to fork out hundreds of euros in bribe money. He asked for my passport and phone number, and which airport I would be flying out of. Entebbe I told him. “Ok maybe we will ring Entebbe and tell them not to let you leave the country”… Ah for feck sake. They all had a look at my passport, pretending to officially scrutinize it but they probably just wanted to see a nice shiny foreign passport. They didn’t even check for an immigration entry stamp which is pretty important. The worst thing about all this was that the Irish embassy was on the same street as us, like 5 minutes down the way. I had a look at all the AK47s and wondered if I could do a legger to the embassy. I’d probably make it three and a half meters. He told me to empty my bag, and he went through all the pics in my camera. More arguments in Luganda. They asked for Zaharas ID. She said she didn’t have it. They were like “So you’re a third year student and you don’t have your ID with you??” “Nope” she said. More deliberating. The army lads have thick heads on them, LL Cool J is staring at me acting the hard man and my mind is racing 100mph. I have a feeling this will be ok but I’m still a bit scared. Eventually dirty shirt man turned to me and said “Everything is cleared up now, you can all go. Just don’t stand there again.”

Thank shite on a stick.

We had a bit of a laugh about it on the way back into town. I was still a bit jittery though. Zahara told us that she actually did have her ID card with her, but it had a bad hairday photo so she didn’t want to show it to the army guys. The feckin cheek! Anyways we arrange to meet up later on for the club and we all go our separate ways. I feel proud to have walked miles through town on my own. No stabbings or muggings. I didn’t even see anyone else getting stabbed or mugged. Kampala is sound.

So it’s 9pm and I’m in the hostel playing pool with Sammo the rapper when Zahara arrives. Myself and Sammo try some freestyle rapping using the table as a drum, I fail miserably. Zahara and me talk about Ireland and drinking and Islam. She’s a muslim and I’m trying to buy her a drink Mrs. Doyle style “Ah go on go on go on go on” but she’s having none of it. Sammo told me he was 19 so I said here I’ll buy you a beer for offering to show me around town and he looks up at the bar and says “Hmmm maybe later, not now”. OK so.

Bashir rings me and tells me he wants to come along as he doesn’t trust this Sammo guy I told him about, he said he might have a gun or something! You don’t know with these youngsters. So Bashir arrives and we’re all a big happy family getting ready to have a few games of pool and some beer when the power cuts off, leaving us all standing around in the dark… so we get a taxi into town for 20,000. Bashir doesn’t seem to like the cut of Sammo, and Sammo is acting a bit weird, he’s not talking and he seems to be worried about something.

We arrive at Ange Noir at about 11:30pm. Seems like a pretty decent place from the outside. Neon lights outside, old blaxploitation movie posters are hung around the front door. It’s “Oldies” night. A guy in a black trench coat with an AK47 is wandering around the footpath bopping to the loud reggae blasting from the casino across the street. Lots of people are arriving in taxis. It’s a nice warm night. It’s gonna be a pretty good.

We head in and pass through the metal detectors. I get in fine, as does Bashir and Zahara. Young Sammo however sets it off. I’m like oh shit, maybe Bashir was right about this guy having a gun! They pull him aside and start searching him. The bouncers come up to me and start asking me if I know this guy … I don’t really know what to say, if I know him do I get in trouble? I just tell them that he came in my taxi… a vague enough answer but it seems to satisfy them. There’s a bit of hustle and bustle and jibber jabber and one of the bouncers fecks Sammo out the door. I aks Bashir “So did he have a gun??? What were they saying?” and Bashir was like “Nah, turns out he was underage!” Ah! The fecker told me he was 19. Oh well, what can you do? We head up to the club, I get a Nile Beer for myself and some coke for Bashir and Zahara. I’m the only mzungu in the place…

I get a call from Sammo and he says that he forgot his ID card and that’s why they wouldn’t let him in. I ask him what age he is and he says 18. Hmmm, a few hours ago he said 19. He probably thought heading out with a mzungu would get him into the club. I ask him what he’s at and he said he’s walking home – a 4km walk through Kampala at night. I tell him to come back so I can give him 1,000 for a boda boda or something. So we meet up outside and I spark up a smoke and we skit and laugh for a while. I give him the money and he tells me I should come to his church some day and see his uncle singing. I say shur why not yeah, next week sometime. He starts to walk off and I’m standing outside the club on my own when two ladies smoking cigarettes and leaning against a car are like “yoohoo hi mzungu whats your name come here and talk to us” so I saunter over and chat away for a while. At first glance they’re pretty enough… one of them asks me to bring her into the club and I’m half thinking of it, fondling the coins in my back pocket checking if I have enough when somebody from across the street calls me “HEY SEAN!”… I look over and it’s Sammo. He motions for me to come over. I jog over and he tells me that those two ladies are prostitutes, more than likely riddled with diseases. They wait outside the club either asking people to bring them in or asking people to take them home. They’ll feel you up on the dancefloor and fleece whatever is in your pockets. He says the club is full of them too. He pats me on the back and heads off. I walk back towards the club and have a good look at the two women… they do look a bit prostitutey now that he’s told me. Ugandan womens skin is absolutely perfect by the way, naer a blemish. But these girls had a certain go about them. There’s a bit of a learning curve in trying to figure out who’s a slut or prostitute or not. The two girls shout to me“Hey don’t listen to him, bring us in to the club” … “Nah not tonight ladies”.

I head back in to dance with Bashir and Zahara. Myself and Zahara try some salsa moves for a while but we cant’ figure it out, we try loads of different things that you see on TV like the spinning around and hand movements and all that but it just ends in failure every time and we nearly fall over. We were bursting laughing though it was good craic. We go back to normal dancing style. There isn’t one bad dancer in the club, except for Mr. Mzungu.

I go up to the bar again for a drink and some woman catches my eye and she calls me over. We start small talking and bla bla bla what’s your name how do you like Kampala etc. Her fat dirty friend shouts at me “Do you want her?” … I’m like what? “Do you want her now?” For feck sake. Another feckin’ prostitute. “Maybe later” I say, trying to reject her nicely. Feckin hell, Sammo was right.

I grab my beer and coca colas and head back down to Bashir and Zahara. I sense somebody following me, I’ve got a tail. I look around and see a tall woman honing in on me, stumbling around a bit. I head over to Bashir and ask him if that one is a prostitute too, he laughs and says yeah obviously. As she gets a bit closer I see that her eyes are glazed over, she be a crack ho. She moves into our circle of dance-ness and I grab Zahara and start dancing with her. It seems to scare the hooker away … she goes and latches onto another group. It’s like a fecking zombie movie here. Night of the Living Crack Ho’s. I’m going to bring a hurley next time so I can bate them off my back. Bashir says it’s time to leave, we’re catching a 9am bus to his village tomorrow and it’s 3am. So we head off, dodge the prostitutes outside and hop into a taxi. Twas an interesting night, just wish the Crack Ho’s had a badge or something so I didn’t waste any time talking to them. I ask Bashir and Zahara how do I dance? They said I dance just like my uncle Donal. I treat that as an insult.

I fall into bed back at the hostel and look forward to sampling some traditional country life in the morning. Four days of Mad Max Kampala would sap the energy out of you.

Enrique Iglesias’s new single, ‘Sad Eyes’, directed by LaChapelle. Nice, in every way (song excluded, but who needs to listen to a song when watching such a video?

«Belle de Jour» si rivela: sono una scienziata. «Non sono piu’ anonima». Domenica 15 no­vembre, sei del mattino: «Belle de Jour», apre il suo sexy-blog, quello che ha fatto perdere la te­sta agli inglesi e racconta la veri­ta’. «Belle e la persona che ha scritto di Belle sono rimaste per troppo tempo separate, dovevo ricongiungerle». Sembra un gio­co di parole e non lo e’. Dietro a «Bella di Giorno», ex bellissima squillo che incon­tra gli uomini, che scrive un best-seller, dietro a questa Bel­le de Jour che si e’ ispirata al film con Catherine Deneuve protagonista e Luis Bunuel regi­sta (1967), dietro a questa mi­steriosa firma dell’erotismo in­ternettiano c’e’ un fior di scienziata. «Sono io Belle de Jour». Nome: dottoressa Brooke Ma­gnanti. Prima professione: escort, ragazza da accompagna­mento e da letto. «Quanti clien­ti? Alcune centinaia, trecento sterline a serata».

Seconda pro­fessione: narratrice che si e’ pre­sa burla di critici letterari capa­ci di filosofeggiare e conclude­re che «Belle de Jour» era un uo­mo. Terza professione, la vera e ultima: ricercatrice impegnata sul fronte del cancro e degli ef­fetti che producono i pesticidi. In laboratorio al mattino: ovve­ro Brooke Magnanti, scienziata. Poi a casa davanti al computer: «Belle», ricordando il tempo che fu da escort, riportandolo all’oggi come se presenza e cor­po fossero ancora in vendita. Il mistero e’ svelato. La ex pro­stituta che, ricorrendo allo pseudonimo, ha fatto da sogget­to alla serie televisiva trasmes­sa da Itv e da Sky, titolo italiano Diario di una squillo, l’inquie­tante Belle, colei che nessuno sapeva chi fosse, ha deciso che basta, era il momento di alzare il velo. Nemmeno la giornalista In­dia Knight del Sunday Times riusciva a credere che «Belle» fosse quella affascinante bion­da, davanti a lei per la confes­sione. Poi si e’ arresa e ha steso il racconto per il giornale della domenica. E Belle all’alba, sem­pre della domenica, ha annun­ciato nel suo blog: «Ho sempre pensato che la parte della mia vita di cui ho scritto sarebbe un giorno evaporata. Che l’avrei cacciata in una scatola. Total­mente separata dal real me, dal mio essere reale».

Voleva tener­selo dentro, sotterrarlo, trasfor­marsi da Belle in dottoressa Ma­gnanti, passare da un’identita’ all’altra uccidendo lentamente la prima. Impossibile. «Belle sa­ra’ sempre una parte di me». Ed ecco, alla fine, lo scoop-rivela­zione. Come comincio’? Per noia, per provocazione, per soldi. Brava studentessa d’universita’, ormai alla tesi, Brooke, di buo­na famiglia, voleva mantenersi. E allora contatto’ l’agenzia Bar­barella, facile capire cio’ in cui era specializzata. Un colloquio di lavoro. E lo riportiamo con l’avvertenza che e’ un po’ sopra le righe, ma che persino il Sun­day Times non lo ha censurato. «Hai fatto gli A-levels? ». Per chi non lo sapesse gli A-levels , a grandi linee, sono gli esami conclusivi della scuola superio­re. «Oh certo, molti anni fa». So­spiro della «datrice di lavoro». La «A» stava per «anal». «Oh, giusto…». E cosi’ nacque Belle che si laureava, si specializzava e la sera si accompagnava. Naturalmente la carriera da escort duro’ per un po’, fino a che la dottoressa Magnanti arri­vo’ al laboratorio, il Bristol Ini­ziative for Research of Child He­alth.

E li’ la scienziata penso’ che forse quel passato avrebbe po­tuto incuriosire chissa’ quanti inglesi: allora via al blog, al li­bro, alla serie televisiva. In inco­gnito. Un caso editoriale. Con giornali e commentatori, esper­ti di letteratura erotica, a chie­dersi: chi e’ mai? Ipotesi fanta­siose e deliranti. Un segreto che dal 2003 nessuno ha infranto. Forse negli ultimi giorni la mamma aveva intuito che nel­l’aria c’era una fiaba, una farsa, con una sexy-blogger e scien­ziata protagonista. La figlia le aveva sussurrato: «Sentirai par­lare di qualcosa di importan­te ». Alla giornalista del Sunday Times Belle ha parlato in una stanza d’albergo a Soho, distesa su un letto. Domenica, 15 no­vembre, ore 6. Sul suo blog si e’ congedata con una parola: «Lo­ve».

Articolo di Fabio Cavalera – Corriere.it

Mi e’ stato chiesto un commento su questa “importantissima” notizia che sta facendo il giro di tutte le agenzie del mondo (ne parla persino il Sole 24ore), molto piu’ di quella relativa al fatto che oggi moriranno di fame piu’ di 17 mila bambini e che poco faranno per risolvere il problema coloro che oggi, riuniti a Roma per il vertice FAO, si ritroveranno probabilmente a cena nei migliori ristoranti della Capitale.

Essi’, perche’ questa “rivelazione” pare essere davvero qualcosa di epocale e, sono sicura, mettera’ in pace alcuni lettori di Belle de Jour da anni affetti da compulsione masturbatoria che, nella tristezza del loro post coitum pipparolo (Post coitum omne animal triste est), probabilmente si ponevano dei dubbi sul fatto che a scrivere, invece di una stragnocca (a giudicare dalle foto neppure cosi’ tanto – ndr), poteva esserci un peloso ragioniere londinese. Meno male! Adesso costoro potranno finalmente guardare in faccia i loro figli con orgoglio e dire: “Sappiate che vostro padre non e’ gay!”

Immagino che anche qualcuno dei lettori che frequenta questo blog abbia fatto dei parallelismi fra me e “Belle” ed immagino che, in parte, la notizia che la blogger londinese non sia un uomo lo rincuori. Non credo sia edificante pensare di essersi masturbati (mentalmente ma anche no) leggendo le esperienze sessuali fantasticate da un “ipotetico ragioniere bergamasco con i baffi”, e questa confessione di “Belle” in qualche modo da’ la speranza che anche io sia cio’ che dico di essere da quasi dieci anni. Magari non cosi’ stragnocca come voglio far credere, ma almeno donna!

Pero’ i parallelismi fra me e “Belle” non sono poi cosi’ numerosi come sembrano essere a prima vista. Se si escludono tre o quattro cose in comune (l’avere un blog, un passato da prostituta, studi abbastanza simili ed un nickname composto), tutto il resto diverge, e non di poco. Prima cosa il motivo che ci ha portate, me e lei, ad esporre in pubblico i nostri pensieri, raccontando le nostre intimita’ e mettendo al corrente dei perfetti estranei di fatti che, normalmente, non si direbbero neppure alle persone piu’ vicine. E poi c’e’ la finalita’, il risultato che ciascuna di noi voleva raggiungere. Una finalita’ per me ancora indistinta, fumosa; per lei, invece, abbastanza palese.

Buona fortuna “Belle”, che la vita possa offrirti tutto cio’ che non ti ha potuto dare in passato e che tu, da oggi, possa sentirti a posto con te stessa e con gli altri. Perdonami pero’ se in questo giorno in cui rinunci al tuo anonimato, vengo assalita da una sottile malizia. Sono da sempre convinta che le persone si identifichino e valgano per cio’ che fanno e non per cio’ che raccontano in un blog, e sinceramente credo che la tua “confessione” sia stata dettata piu’ da esigenze di copione e commerciali che da altro.

«Belle de Jour» si rivela: sono una scienziata. «Non sono piu’ anonima». Domenica 15 no­vembre, sei del mattino: «Belle de Jour», apre il suo sexy-blog, quello che ha fatto perdere la te­sta agli inglesi e racconta la veri­ta’. «Belle e la persona che ha scritto di Belle sono rimaste per troppo tempo separate, dovevo ricongiungerle». Sembra un gio­co di parole e non lo e’. Dietro a «Bella di Giorno», ex bellissima squillo che incon­tra gli uomini, che scrive un best-seller, dietro a questa Bel­le de Jour che si e’ ispirata al film con Catherine Deneuve protagonista e Luis Bunuel regi­sta (1967), dietro a questa mi­steriosa firma dell’erotismo in­ternettiano c’e’ un fior di scienziata. «Sono io Belle de Jour». Nome: dottoressa Brooke Ma­gnanti. Prima professione: escort, ragazza da accompagna­mento e da letto. «Quanti clien­ti? Alcune centinaia, trecento sterline a serata».

Seconda pro­fessione: narratrice che si e’ pre­sa burla di critici letterari capa­ci di filosofeggiare e conclude­re che «Belle de Jour» era un uo­mo. Terza professione, la vera e ultima: ricercatrice impegnata sul fronte del cancro e degli ef­fetti che producono i pesticidi. In laboratorio al mattino: ovve­ro Brooke Magnanti, scienziata. Poi a casa davanti al computer: «Belle», ricordando il tempo che fu da escort, riportandolo all’oggi come se presenza e cor­po fossero ancora in vendita. Il mistero e’ svelato. La ex pro­stituta che, ricorrendo allo pseudonimo, ha fatto da sogget­to alla serie televisiva trasmes­sa da Itv e da Sky, titolo italiano Diario di una squillo, l’inquie­tante Belle, colei che nessuno sapeva chi fosse, ha deciso che basta, era il momento di alzare il velo. Nemmeno la giornalista In­dia Knight del Sunday Times riusciva a credere che «Belle» fosse quella affascinante bion­da, davanti a lei per la confes­sione. Poi si e’ arresa e ha steso il racconto per il giornale della domenica. E Belle all’alba, sem­pre della domenica, ha annun­ciato nel suo blog: «Ho sempre pensato che la parte della mia vita di cui ho scritto sarebbe un giorno evaporata. Che l’avrei cacciata in una scatola. Total­mente separata dal real me, dal mio essere reale».

Voleva tener­selo dentro, sotterrarlo, trasfor­marsi da Belle in dottoressa Ma­gnanti, passare da un’identita’ all’altra uccidendo lentamente la prima. Impossibile. «Belle sa­ra’ sempre una parte di me». Ed ecco, alla fine, lo scoop-rivela­zione. Come comincio’? Per noia, per provocazione, per soldi. Brava studentessa d’universita’, ormai alla tesi, Brooke, di buo­na famiglia, voleva mantenersi. E allora contatto’ l’agenzia Bar­barella, facile capire cio’ in cui era specializzata. Un colloquio di lavoro. E lo riportiamo con l’avvertenza che e’ un po’ sopra le righe, ma che persino il Sun­day Times non lo ha censurato. «Hai fatto gli A-levels? ». Per chi non lo sapesse gli A-levels , a grandi linee, sono gli esami conclusivi della scuola superio­re. «Oh certo, molti anni fa». So­spiro della «datrice di lavoro». La «A» stava per «anal». «Oh, giusto…». E cosi’ nacque Belle che si laureava, si specializzava e la sera si accompagnava. Naturalmente la carriera da escort duro’ per un po’, fino a che la dottoressa Magnanti arri­vo’ al laboratorio, il Bristol Ini­ziative for Research of Child He­alth.

E li’ la scienziata penso’ che forse quel passato avrebbe po­tuto incuriosire chissa’ quanti inglesi: allora via al blog, al li­bro, alla serie televisiva. In inco­gnito. Un caso editoriale. Con giornali e commentatori, esper­ti di letteratura erotica, a chie­dersi: chi e’ mai? Ipotesi fanta­siose e deliranti. Un segreto che dal 2003 nessuno ha infranto. Forse negli ultimi giorni la mamma aveva intuito che nel­l’aria c’era una fiaba, una farsa, con una sexy-blogger e scien­ziata protagonista. La figlia le aveva sussurrato: «Sentirai par­lare di qualcosa di importan­te ». Alla giornalista del Sunday Times Belle ha parlato in una stanza d’albergo a Soho, distesa su un letto. Domenica, 15 no­vembre, ore 6. Sul suo blog si e’ congedata con una parola: «Lo­ve».

Articolo di Fabio Cavalera – Corriere.it

Mi e’ stato chiesto un commento su questa “importantissima” notizia che sta facendo il giro di tutte le agenzie del mondo (ne parla persino il Sole 24ore), molto piu’ di quella relativa al fatto che oggi moriranno di fame piu’ di 17 mila bambini e che poco faranno per risolvere il problema coloro che oggi, riuniti a Roma per il vertice FAO, si ritroveranno probabilmente a cena nei migliori ristoranti della Capitale.

Essi’, perche’ questa “rivelazione” pare essere davvero qualcosa di epocale e, sono sicura, mettera’ in pace alcuni lettori di Belle de Jour da anni affetti da compulsione masturbatoria che, nella tristezza del loro post coitum pipparolo (Post coitum omne animal triste est), probabilmente si ponevano dei dubbi sul fatto che a scrivere, invece di una stragnocca (a giudicare dalle foto neppure cosi’ tanto – ndr), poteva esserci un peloso ragioniere londinese. Meno male! Adesso costoro potranno finalmente guardare in faccia i loro figli con orgoglio e dire: “Sappiate che vostro padre non e’ gay!”

Immagino che anche qualcuno dei lettori che frequenta questo blog abbia fatto dei parallelismi fra me e “Belle” ed immagino che, in parte, la notizia che la blogger londinese non sia un uomo lo rincuori. Non credo sia edificante pensare di essersi masturbati (mentalmente ma anche no) leggendo le esperienze sessuali fantasticate da un “ipotetico ragioniere bergamasco con i baffi”, e questa confessione di “Belle” in qualche modo da’ la speranza che anche io sia cio’ che dico di essere da quasi dieci anni. Magari non cosi’ stragnocca come voglio far credere, ma almeno donna!

Pero’ i parallelismi fra me e “Belle” non sono poi cosi’ numerosi come sembrano essere a prima vista. Se si escludono tre o quattro cose in comune (l’avere un blog, un passato da prostituta, studi abbastanza simili ed un nickname composto), tutto il resto diverge, e non di poco. Prima cosa il motivo che ci ha portate, me e lei, ad esporre in pubblico i nostri pensieri, raccontando le nostre intimita’ e mettendo al corrente dei perfetti estranei di fatti che, normalmente, non si direbbero neppure alle persone piu’ vicine. E poi c’e’ la finalita’, il risultato che ciascuna di noi voleva raggiungere. Una finalita’ per me ancora indistinta, fumosa; per lei, invece, abbastanza palese.

Buona fortuna “Belle”, che la vita possa offrirti tutto cio’ che non ti ha potuto dare in passato e che tu, da oggi, possa sentirti a posto con te stessa e con gli altri. Perdonami pero’ se in questo giorno in cui rinunci al tuo anonimato, vengo assalita da una sottile malizia. Sono da sempre convinta che le persone si identifichino e valgano per cio’ che fanno e non per cio’ che raccontano in un blog, e sinceramente credo che la tua “confessione” sia stata dettata piu’ da esigenze di copione e commerciali che da altro.

Her identity as Belle de Jour has been one of the great literary mysteries of the decade after the publication of her memoirs was turned into the TV series “Secret Diary of a Call Girl.”

The author’s true identity has been finally revealed when Dr. Brooke Magnanti, a British research scientist who works as a specialist in developmental neurotoxicology and cancer epidemiology at St. Michael’s Hospital in Bristol, came forward and unmasked herself as the writer behind the pseudonym Belle de Jour.

Six years ago, in the final stages of her PhD thesis, she ran out of money and turned to prostitution. Already an experienced science blogger, she began writing about her experiences in a web diary that led to a best-selling book “The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl,” which was adapted  into books and a television drama starring Billie Piper.

The scientist, a petite 34-year-old who lives in Bristol said, anonymity had become “no fun.”

“It feels so much better on this side. Not to have to tell lies, hide things from the people I care about. To be able to defend what my experience of sex work is like to all the skeptics and doubters,” she wrote on her blog.

“Anonymity had a purpose then – it will always have a reason to exist, for writers whose work is too damaging or too controversial to put their names on … but for me it became important to acknowledge that aspect of my life and my personality to the world at large.”

Science girls are sluts too
15 November 2009

I’m not sure why this is supposed to be surprising, but Dr Brooke Magnanti recently came out of anonymity, revealing herself to be the Belle de Jour blogger.  Belle de Jour acts as a blog of a London, UK call girl, detailing her scintillating and salacious experiences.

I’m more baffled at the shock people have upon reading she was/is a respected scientist, as if scientists couldn’t go through the same experiences as other women who become prostitutes.  Prostitution doesn’t exactly imply stupidity or ignorance, it simply means someone is willing to sell their body for money.  And lots of need money, from scientists to aspiring actors to liberal arts students.  So let’s just get over this and move on.

Nota di Pao: E’ un’ovvietà, lo so, ma per arginare il problema sarebbe sufficiente non andare con le prostitute… E se proprio non si può farne a meno, usare il profilattico. E’ anche vero che contare sull’intelligenza (o buonsenso) del singolo, è pura utopia. Fermo restando che i singoli messi insieme formano la Società civile…

°°°

Una prostituta o transessuale su due a Milano può trasmettere il contagio da virus Hiv. Lo ha detto Giampaolo Landi di Chiavenna, assessore alla Salute del Comune di Milano, nel presentare le iniziative dedicate alla giornata mondiale contro l’Aids prevista per il 1 dicembre. «È sieropositivo il 50% delle prostitute e trans della città – ha sottolineato Landi – ed è quindi necessario un maggiore controllo del fenomeno della prostituzione anche in città come la nostra, dove ci sono persone che pagano anche di più per avere rapporti non protetti».

Ogni giorno a Milano due giovani si infettano con il virus Hiv, su un totale di 11 casi registrati quotidianamente a livello nazionale. Già il 30 ottobre scorso, commentando questo dato, l’assessore Landi aveva auspicato la riapertura delle case chiuse, in versione cooperativa: «È necessario togliere la prostituzione dalla strada e creare luoghi controllati dal punto di vista giuridico, sanitario e fiscale – ha detto -. Per me la soluzione migliore sono le cooperative autogestite di professionisti. Non bastano le ordinanze contro i clienti delle prostitute».

«Il problema viene sottovalutato – ha detto Landi – a Milano e in Lombardia ci sono dati allarmanti. Milano è la città italiana con il maggior numero di infettati con Aids, la stima è di 9 mila portatori sani o sieropositivi ma riteniamo siano almeno 12 mila, perché molti non si rivolgono a centri di cura pubblici.

Sta inoltre crescendo la sieropositività nei giovani al di sotto dei 20 anni, perché proprio i ragazzi si ritengono spesso invincibili, e di essere al di sopra del rischio». I dati preoccupano gli esperti anche quando si parla più in generale di malattie sessualmente trasmesse, come sifilide o condilomi: «Su circa mille persone che si rivolgono a un centro di malattie infettive – ha aggiunto Landi 12 sono giovani con meno di 12 anni.

Solo un terzo dei giovani ha rapporti protetti, mentre due terzi li ha non protetti: quindi servono campagne di sensibilità sociale, anche perché, ad esempio, le ragazze pensano che la pillola protegga dalle malattie infettive come fa il preservativo. Non voglio fare terrorismo, ma la situazione è effettivamente grave e preoccupante».

Non esiste una fascia d’età al sicuro dal contagio. «Molte – ha sottolineato Landi – sono le persone di una certa età che hanno rapporti sessuali non protetti e diventano portatrici di questa infezione anche nelle loro famiglie. Paradossale il caso di una signora che, recentemente, a 74 anni ha scoperto di essere sieropositiva: era stata contagiata dal marito che aveva intrattenuto relazioni non protette con prostitute».

Anche per sensibilizzare al problema delle malattie sessualmente trasmesse, domenica 29 novembre verranno distribuiti a Milano 20 mila preservativi gratis, nel corso di due distinte iniziative organizzate dal Network persone sieropositive (Nps), con il sostegno del Comune. Sempre domenica, fuori da alcuni stadi in cui si svolgeranno partite di serie A, volontari distribuiranno 60 mila preservativi e brochure tra i tifosi.

Infine, alla discoteca Alcatraz di Milano prenderà via la seconda edizione di «Hivideo Spot Award», un concorso rivolto a ragazzi tra i 16 e i 26 anni per realizzare uno spot sulla prevenzione delle malattie sessuali. «Il messaggio che si ritiene importante trasmettere – ha concluso Rosaria Iardino, presidente di Nps – è che al di là di alcune semplificazioni operate dai mass media l’Aids è ancora un patologia esistente e colpisce inesorabilmente, nonostante sia possibile evitarla a partire da un uso responsabile del preservativo».

Il Comune di Milano, come annunciato dall’assessore Landi, ha pensato per il 2010 «un kit contro le malattie infettive che contenga un preservativo ma anche un etilometro: non si può ragionare a compartimenti stagni, e pensare che questi problemi non siano correlati al consumo di alcol e di droghe».

Fonte: www.corriere.it

Shaw Clifton

The general of the US Salvation Army, Shaw Clifton is on a five day trip to Haiti to look into the problem of human trafficking in the Caribbean.  Especially around Haiti to the Dominican Republic but also Belize and Jamaica.  He said that there was forced prostitution going on.

I’ve written on this blog before about the problem of prostitution and the Haitian women in Jamaican go go clubs.    

Yardflex reported last year how an influx of Haitian women in the clubs was causing tension between them and the locals, but I think they’re missing the point about the choices available to these women and the decision to become prostitutes. 

Last year, there was a planned protest by Haitian prostitutes in the Dominican Republic, many of whom were later deported.   Their voice seems to hardly ever be heard.

The extent of the problem of human trafficking, like everywhere else, is not known.  There was some research into it, but it did not throw much light on the problem, but this woman – Sheila Nicholson who was a programme director of an organisation called People’s Action for Community Transformation (PACT), which worked with young Jamaicans at high risk of becoming victims of human trafficking, probably would be a good place to start to find out more.

If you’ve ever been into one of these go go clubs, sometimes they have hotels attached - I stayed one night at one of these hotels (I needed a cheap hotel!) , but Kingston and Jamaica have loads of them, it would not be hard to start uncovering some of the stories behind the darkened glass and flashing lights.

I’ve been hesitating to write this one. I’ve been considering the potential of this information to do harm. I’ve been considering the opposite sex. I’ve been considering whether it’s wise to make this sort of information public in the nominal anonymity of the internet. However, I have to give in. Most of the time a male true introvert lacks any fellow human beings with which he has anything in common. Most of the time there are absolutely zero even mildly suitable female partners in his immediate circle of acquaintance. Attempts at internet dating are no less hellish. The only option(short of everlasting celibacy) within mainstream society for men who don’t fit in is to try to ‘game’ females for which he has no personal affection. This activity involves lying to someone else. For an introvert, it must involve a fair measure of lying to oneself. It is yet another scenario where the introvert’s need to conceal his true personality is critical. This approach is destructive and/or unethical for several reasons. It:

-Acknowledges and reinforces the larger society’s belief that introversion is a mental sickness.

-Reinforces a lifetime of having to conceal one’s true self.

-Reduces one to lying for one’s own selfish purposes. Forces one into a lifestyle of operating under false pretexts and diminishes one’s character.

-Consumes huge amounts of time and money. Becomes a distraction from the acquisition of knowledge, the sharpening of the intellect, from every other pleasure life has to offer.

Every time I was faced with the dating scene and how I would have to lie, lie, lie to get anywhere, I thought of how devoting myself to such a toxic environment would diminish me and force me to deny myself. I never could bring myself to truly devote myself. Yet, like most men, I was unwilling to live a life of celibacy. I had my needs, the unfulfillment of which proved another annoying distraction in my life. There had to be another solution. A solution that consumed a minimum of time and resources while being as ethical as possible. Mainstream persons might be shocked at the answer that occurred to me:

prostitution.

Perhaps the main appeal was simply the stark honesty in it.

-There is no lying or misunderstanding. Both parties are absolutely clear in their intent and motives. There is no possibility of misleading or deceiving someone. One need not stoop to becoming a deceiver.

-There is no need to act like someone else or hide one’s own personality. One need not suffer the indignity of denying oneself in order to get the prize carrot at the end of the stick.

-The cost of a prostitute is usually going to be less than the cost of dating.

-The cost in time of a prostitute is always going to be much less.

-Once again, honesty to oneself and to others. Unless a man feels genuine affection and affinity for a girl he mostly wants just one thing. Lots of men on the dating scene have to lie to themselves about this, but it’s the truth.

I was already in my twenties and still hadn’t lost my virginity. My body had lusted ceaselessly since my earliest teens. After a decade of eternal unfulfillment, I’d had enough. I needed sex, but I was both unwilling and unable to trick a girl into doing the deed with me. What I needed above all, even as much as intimate physical contact, was to have the knowledge of what sex was actually like. All I had to go on was the obviously distorted images of it in hollywood movies and TV shows. To lose my virginity was to engage in exploration, same as reading a book on a new subject. It was also to attain another degree of separation from my birth society. I needed my own definition of sex in my head apart from all the televised nonsense.

I finally got my chance in Amsterdam’s red light district while travelling across Europe. It is illegal for the prostitutes there to have pimps, most I’m told are independent agents just making money for themselves. They are just like any other self-employed people under the law of their country and can get themselves checked for diseases whenever they like. I chose this place in particular because I wanted to reduce my risk and be sure I was going to be with someone who was in the business by her own choice. The experience was very satisfying but it didn’t feel extraordinary at all. Yet, I felt as though I had been cheated all my life of something integral to human existence. It felt like one of those normal pleasures that ought to be daily and routine like eating a good meal or taking a good dump. It was just as natural as eating. In fact, I best enjoyed it on an empty stomach and then I’d go eat at a restaurant with that pleasant buzz still in my body. The experience confirmed what I had already known. The hype in pop-culture is completely undeserved and it exists because of the simple fact that sex makes money. It makes money because it is so hard to find a desirable partner in real life. People tend to want what they can’t have, even if it’s not deserving of such intense desire.

I am aware that what I did would be considered by most people to be ’sleazy’ at best.   Some of my friends were horrified when I admitted what I had done(they asked). However, I still understand what I did to be the most ethical solution and that is why I’m writing about it today. The majority culture in English speaking countries strongly disapproves of prostitution. Yet the same culture is perfectly OK with men who just want sex deceiving women who are searching for long term relationships.  It seems rather warped to me. Just another indictment of my silly birth culture. Just another reason to turn away from the accepted orthodoxy. For the most part, people aren’t trying to be ethical. They’re just mindlessly following whatever they were taught and reacting to the values of the majority of others so they don’t get crushed.

In any case, I benefited greatly from my experiment. The experience helped put things into perspective that my birth culture had distorted. I had known intellectually that women, like men were creatures of flesh and blood but until I educated myself, I had not known this truth on the visceral level. After this experience, women had far less power over me. As a result, women were far more attracted to me.

I hadn’t the luxury of thinking about fine cuisine until I had escaped famine conditions.  Once I knew I had some potential outlet for basic sex, I could turn my mind to the possibility of actually building a relationship with a woman for the first time in my life. Because I had an appreciation of just how ordinary sex is, I was able to pursue my private studies without any doubts that I was indeed missing out on something unfathomably great. I was more focused in my solitude than ever before and more content. I could finally look on all the extroverts who always seem to pair up with ease without any particular envy or insecurity. All because of a few nights not very good sex.

And when I say not very good, I mean it. You can pick any girl you want, but I have to warn prospective johns. She will try to do as little as she can for as much money as possible. You should haggle over the price and be 100% sure that it is mutually understood what you’ve agreed to do together. It’s not very good sex because one must constantly be on guard against being cheated. Also because a guy has a strict time limit to finish up. Knowing that the clock is ticking doesn’t make for the most relaxing of sessions. It’s not very good sex, but it is sex and with whoever you want.

And something that goes for anywhere in the world: DON’T USE STREETWALKERS. Most of them are under the control of pimps, might even be sex slaves, might be trying to fuel a drug addiction or all of the above. They’re also one of the best ways in the world to catch a disease.

While in a puritanical English speaking country, the best bet is undoubtedly to call up escorts and gradually find out which ones work out best.

A very important thing to know: If you are a virgin, don’t EVER tell them that you are a virgin. It’s the equivalent of going to a car dealership and telling them you’ve never bought a car before. If she knows you don’t know anything, she will use every trick in the book to quickly separate you and your money. If she thinks she can get away with it, she might even try to extort you once you’re too far along to easily stop. These ladies are not the victims they’re portrayed as in the movies. They’re tough and they’ve seen it all. They are quick to manipulate and intimidate when they think it will get them somewhere. The john and hooker relationship is not one-sided and it’s more complicated than moral puritans realize.

The bottom line: take all the cautionary measures you would if you were making any other purchase. This is business and male introverts who remember this will get the basics of what they need, what has always been impossible to get within the hostile confines of their birth society.

Most important of all:

Ability to satisfy the basic male need for sex without being forced to subjugate oneself to the standards of the accepted orthodoxy.  Sex no matter how uncool one’s hobbies are or how divergent one’s personality and interests.  Sex without having to spend months learning courtship procedures all the other guys learned as a part of basic socialization.   For introvert men, this means removal of the last great means of leverage society still has on their lives.  It is a form of emancipation; the ability to simply bypass all the usual onerous steps and get to the truth and purpose of the matter.