(poster via axxomovies.org)
There’s a scene in which under-the-weather-feeling, anti-heroine protagonist Rachel (Kathryn Hahn) describes the way she feels as “shit city.” Afternoon Delight, directed by Jill Soloway, is shit city. This film screamed “rescue project” from the very start. Rachel is a bored, restless, wealthy, vaguely hipster stay-at-home mom living with her husband and young son in the Silver Lake neighborhood of Los Angeles. Her contemporaries are mostly other jobless, Jewish, “hip” housewives who spend their time doing volunteer work, if only to thoroughly document it on social media; organizing play dates amongst their elementary school-aged children, and running something called “Craftacular.” Thing is, Rachel doesn’t like this life and she doesn’t like these women. She wanted to be a war journalist. In a scene near the end she wails, “I was so bored I could have died!!!!” One of this film’s only saving graces is the fact that her therapist is Jane Lynch, whose character is truly the only “delight” Afternoon Delight has to offer.
The 25 ft, record breaking (?) stripper pole in question at Vivid Cabaret (Photo by Jefferson Siegel/The New York Daily News)
Amnesty International gets on board with decriminalization. Unfortunately, Julie Bindel puts in her two cents (though we think they’re worth even less in her case.) Meanwhile, Amnesty’s blog follows up on continuing violence against sex workers in the Honduras’ San Pedro Sula district, “the most dangerous city in the world.”
“Prostitutes Steal Millions and Walk Free“—this crew of “four foxy female thieves,” as the article refers to them, makes us think the rest of us really need to step up our game.
Porn is prematurely announced dead, judging from this year’s sparse AVN awards attendance; the media rediscovers cam work.
More coverage on the future of Canadian sex work post Bedford v. Canada. In that context, Feministe’s Jill Filipovic sticks her nose into sex workers’ business yet again in an Al Jazeera opinion piece: “Despite my philosophical objections to the purchase of sex and my personal feelings of disgust aimed at those who buy sex, I nevertheless think people absolutely must have the right to sell sexual services without fearing abuse, incarceration, marginalization or stigma.” That’s nice, Jill. Thanks for your, uh, support and for sharing your tormented FEELINGS about our livelihood. No1curr.
The new Vivid Cabaret in Midtown, Manhattan boasts a 7.6-meter steel stake, more than twice as tall as most stripper poles. Thanks to Vivid Entertainment’s partnership with the club, a number of porn stars, including Tera Patrick, will be appearing at the club’s opening night. How many porn stars can fit on a 7.6 meter pole? At least three, apparently.
More evidence of Ruth Jacob’s amazing transformation from anti to sex workers’ rights advocate this year in her interview of Tits and Sass contributor Lori Adorable and her interview of trafficking survivor, victim’s rights advocate, and sex worker ally Jes Richardson.
Just a couple of dudes in front of the Booty Lounge. (image via Facebook)
Only eight days left to buy a one dollar raffle ticket for beloved tumblr blog and sex workers’ mutual aid organization Sex Worker Problems/The Pink Phoenix’s give away! Each gift bag is worth over $350, and the prizes include iTunes gift cards, Amazon gift cards, and premium advertising credits at slixa. The proceeds will go towards helping Pink Phoenix with the cost of filing for non-profit status and purchasing care package items for sex workers in need.
Detroit’s mobile strip club, the Booty Lounge, is back in business because AMERICA!
When will they learn? An owner of a couple of strip clubs in Texas is getting sued, by two D.J.s, for — WAIT FOR IT— violating federal labor law.
Do you sometimes suspect that your favorite exotic dancer might be a…super hero? Well, here’s your proof.
Oooh la la! British P.M. David Cameron followed a “high-class” escort agency on twitter. An almost-scandal ensues!
1940 World War II military propaganda poster (Image courtesy of the National Library of Medicine)
I was in the midst of a pretty good day when I received a phone call from one of my non-client lovers. The poor boy had come down with a case of throat gonorrhea, which I didn’t even know was a thing. He was just calling to let me know I had been exposed the last time we had sex, since we had made out with great vigor and he had also gone downtown, like the sweetheart he is. I thanked him for letting me know, told him to feel better, hung up and began to evaluate the situation in the calm and rational fashion that any sex-positive, non-monogamous person might try to evaluate a situation such as this.
Gonorrhea. No big deal, right? I have always expected to contract an STI at some point in my life, and as far as STIs go that’s not such a bad one. I was feeling a little funny in the junk, which I figured was probably due to a yeast infection. It seemed likely to me that I might, in fact, have gonorrhea, and I should probably get tested ASAP either way.
Then I remembered what I do for a living. I remembered that there weren’t just lovers whom I may have exposed, albeit unwittingly, but possibly about three clients as well. Even worse, I remembered that I desperately needed to make the money I was planning on making over the coming weekend— or else I wasn’t going to be able to pay my rent.
In my work as a full-service escort, STIs had always been a sort of intellectual, if abstract, concern. It is something I knew could be a really detrimental thing to have happen to my business, but it hadn’t happened yet, so I wasn’t too worried about it. Now here I was, in the exact situation I had only considered in the abstract. The one where I need to make money but can’t really figure out an ethical way to do so without exposing myself as every client’s worst nightmare: the poxy whore.