A pact between four straight high school boys to have sex by any means necessary.
A male character masturbating into a pie.
A humorous depiction of filming a high school aged girl in a sexual situation without her knowledge or consent, and broadcasting that to the entirety of her peer group and presumably the world. This tragically results in her humiliation and deportation, which means that the male character who filmed her will not be able to have sex with her in time to fulfill the pact (which is why it is tragic). (In a subsequent installment of the American Pie series, the girl returns and is not only not angry, but still amenable to a sexual relationship with said boy.)
But I’m A Cheerleader features:
A satirical depiction of a traumatic and harmful practice known as ‘reparative therapy,’ colloquially ‘degayification,’ with special attention paid to the fact that it doesn’t really work.
One sex scene between female characters, not fully nude, shot mostly using close ups on the actress’ faces. Everyone is consenting, and no one has lied in order to receive consent.
One female character suggested to be masturbating, not shown.
The MPAA gave American Pie an R rating, without hassle.
But I’m A Cheerleader initially received an NC-17 rating. This rating was only lowered to R (thus opening the film up to distribution) when the director agreed to cut a scene featuring the lead female character masturbating. Through her clothes. While thinking about a person, and not a pie.
Female sexual pleasure is considered not OK for teens to watch. Male sexual pleasure is
Male sexual violence is more appropriate than women’s sexual pleasure.
^^^^^^^
Watch the documentary “This Film is Not Yet Rated” for more info on this double standard! The director of “Boys Don’t Cry” talks about how she couldn’t include a female orgasm without getting an NC-17/X rating, and yet the film was able to depict rape, violence, graphic murder and homophobia/transphobia and still keep an “R” rating.
Seconding the suggestion to watch “This Film is Not Yet Rated”! It’ll change the way you think about the film industry and MPAA.
Who wants to hear how I rekted a straight boys ego in gym class today? Because in really fucking proud rn
*is waiting*
*cracks knuckles* okay nerds listen the fuck up.
So I’m in a special gym class for the swim team, so it’s coed with the boys and girls swim team for my school. It’s leg day, and I was setting up my rack for squats. Now I don’t usually go hard in gym because I don’t fucking care and I’m a 3 season athlete, I don’t actually need extra fuxking exercise. I only put maybe 10 pounds on the bar, and this fucking twig looking punk ass comes from fucking nowhere and starts laughing. Mind you I’m taller than fucking everyone in this class, I towered over this twerp. I ask him why he’s laughing, and he says, WITH A STRAIGHT FACE, “Women are so weak” and I almost decked his ass right then but I bite my tongue. For no fucking reason he decided to continue, “Why are women even in sports, they can’t do anything! What’s your max, 50 pounds?” And all his friends are laughing and telling him how cool this he is. So I challenge him to a squatting challenge, I want to see how much weight he can squat. He’s all reluctant now, saying how that wasn’t safe for me, how I might hurt myself, but my swim coach comes from behind and says she would like to see it so he’s like “Fine, whatever, if you get hurt it ain’t my fault.”
He proceeds to put fucking 100 pounds on, my ass is trying not to laugh because wow that’s “a lot”, and the whole time he is struggling, groaning and making gross ass male noises, and only got 4 reps in. He sets it back on the rack and looks at me with this fucking smirk, surrounded by his douche group, and omg I’m about to just drop kick his ass, and he does that stupid hand motion towards the rack.
I walk over and my team members ask me how much I want. I tell them to double it. Everyone stops and my coach is smiling cause she knows how much I can squat. My teammates are like “… Are you sure?” And I tell them how I’m fucking ready. So they put 100 more pounds on, making it now 200 pounds, and I tell them to back off. I then walk over and add 50 more pounds, the whole time looking at this white trash. He looks like a dead man, crusty lookin ass about to pass out. The bar now has 250 pounds, and I get 15 reps in. I set it down and I walk up to him, not having broken a sweat, and just pat him on the cheek before continuing on with my workout. My teammates are all freaking out, telling me how cool that was and how they never knew, but the boys team looks like they’re going to cry. I’m really fucking sore but I regret nothing.
That’s the story how I went up in weight for my squat with the pure determination of breaking up fuckbois dreams @ask-elizabeth-holly-hamilton
Okay I was looking back on this because we were maxing today and my coach said that wasn’t my max and I’m like??? What, and I realized I never accounted for the bar, so that makes total weight was 295.
There are moral dangers here. To take what might seem an “objective,” macro-economic approach to the origins of the world economy would be to treat the behavior of early European explorers, merchants, and conquerors as if they were simply rational responses to opportunities—as if this were just what anyone would have done in the same situation. This is what the use of equations so often does: make it seem perfectly natural to assume that, if the price of silver in China is twice what it is in Seville, and inhabitants of Seville are capable of getting their hands on large quantities of silver and transporting it to China, then clearly they will, even if doing so requires the destruction of entire civilizations. Or if there is a demand for sugar in England, and enslaving millions is the easiest way to acquire labor to produce it, then it is inevitable that some will enslave them. In fact, history makes it quite clear that this is not the case. Any number of civilizations have probably been in a position to wreak havoc on the scale that the European powers did in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Ming China itself was an obvious candidate), but almost none actually did so.
Debt: The First Five Thousand Years – David Graeber (via
Like i think about this in relation to Pasifika history – we crossed the biggest ocean on the planet and. lived there. we didn’t leave a barren earth behind us like technocapitalised societies have.
So yesterday was a big day for us; on Tuesday, with no warning at all the movers rang and said “can we deliver your stuff tomorrow, please”. This was a surprise as we’d been told it’d be a few weeks, last time I spoke to our broker, and had no other updates at all. Still, gift horse, mouth, and all that. So we organised for the stuff to be delivered yesterday morning, and then I ran up to collect Rebecca today.
So at 8am (they did say ‘between 8 and 10’), the lorry pulled up with our little tiny shipping container (20 ft is really not much) and the guys proceeded to unload it. It took them a while to grasp that this really is all our stuff. That we’ve sold, given away, or thrown away everything else, more or less. Our entire life, including 50% of our cars now fits in a 20ft container. Freaky.
Anyhow, Our poor piano, much abused, landed up in the lounge, along with the vinyl. Our books all landed in the office. And tools and kitchenware is all thrown into the garage. Fun fun.
We now have to go through each box and check for damage and mould. Particularly as the first box we opened, which contained my gramophone, was packed really badly. The gramophone has a scrape on it, and the box consisted of random objects (enamelled lampshade, anglepose lamp, dremel clone, gramophone, mandolin) all shoved in the box with essentially no packing. There was a bit of wedged cardboard. There was a bit of export wrap around the mandolin. Otherwise…nothing. Which is terrifying.
Also, the gramophone had mould. Not a lot of mould, only as far as I can tell on the velvet of the turntable, but still. Mould. Feh.
So every box needs checking now. Which will be a project in itself, because there’s about 80-some boxes.
Today was, of course, Rebecca-collecting-day. As should be marked on everyone’s calendar. It didn’t start to auspiciously, with the movers ringing calling me to say that she wouldn’t start. But the description sounded like I’d left the immobiliser on (and, to be honest, most of my tools were in her boot trunk, anyhow) so off we went. I arrived and found some shipping damage – the things packed around the car had rubbed through the paint on the rear wing. Which is pretty tedious and upsetting.
However, she started first try and drove back beautifully.
‘course then I went to get her titled and it all went pear shaped as someone, somewhere in the chain has failed to forward the documentation I needed. That, however, gets to wait until Monday afternoon (unless I get a reply tomorrow on e-mail).
With stuff in the house it’s become apparent that I hadn’t really realised the extent to which this house is bigger. I mean, I know America’s bigger. When I was looking for a car, that became rapidly apparent. I rack up 26 miles just getting groceries. The run to go to the vehicle licencing place is in double figures and it’s in the same town we’re in. So, yeah, it’s bigger. But I think I’ve kind-of not really realised how much bigger this house is, for example. So our piano used to fairly dominate the room in Bristol. It took up most (well, probably half, but once the shelves and door were taken into account, effectively all) of a wall in our lounge.
It looked ‘big’.
And now, it’s up against a wall in the lounge of the house that we’re sharing, alongside a big table and a large flatscreen TV on a TV stand. And it looks *small*.
It’s quite odd.
The other thing that I’m missing, slightly (other than people. I’m missing friends from work and outside work), is the closeness and hidgledypigldey buildings. You just don’t see that in this bit of the states. The crushed in streets filled with a random mixture of buildings from the 1700s up to the 21st century. All next to each other, all smooshed in together.
I do miss that.
On the other hand, I love seeing the mountain. I love that whilst I was feeling a bit stroppy on the way back from my failed adventure in auto licencing, I crested a bridge and there was Mount Ranier glowing in the evening sun, it’s top brushed by clouds. I love that we’re out here and apart from the occasional passing car, all we hear is the wind chimes. I love the open space, and the air smelling clean. And at night, looking up and seeing so. many. stars.
So, I picked up a slightly sad Technics SL-6 turntable off ebay. It was my post-move treat. A new turntable to replace the two that I’d sold in the UK. As we left I’d been prodding at the idea of a linear tracking turntable, just because it was interesting conceptually. Then I discovered these entertainingly technology based “Oh god, CDs are going to kill us” automatic turntables, slot loading, programmable, sometimes play both sides (and probably dance for you) ridiculotrons. And I thought, that’d be fun. After a period of questing for such a beast I gave in, I couldn’t get a slot-loading linear-tracking turntable at a price I was willing to pay.
Especially since I can’t quite decide if it’s a novelty item, and given my past history of DJing and clubbing, (and my crappy hearing thereby obtained) I probably couldn’t really tell the difference between a really good linear tracker and a 1970s BSR deck in a stereogram.
But I did find a slightly foxed SL-6. And it said the speed was very variable, but otherwise it worked. But handily there are many people who’ve fixed record decks, so I broke out google and found that the Vinyl Engine had the service manual and the youtubes had the ‘look, just clean the switches and variable resistors and it will all be well’. And I decided that I should have the slightly foxed SL6. And it did arrive.
And so I went to Rainy Day Records and raided their 98¢ bin and came back with totally inappropriate records to speed check a deck (Bob Newhart, Allan Sherman and Tom Lehrer), but at least I could see it working.
And the deck did come without a plattermat, so I ebayed a second hand platter mat. And everything was here. And I realised that I was a fool, because the SL-6 has a built in 45 adaptor, and the plattermat did not. But I test assembled it, placed the record on the turntable and off it went. Played, selected tracks, but wow was it wowy. Well, it probably was, because I’d not hooked it up to the amplifier. But even to the naked eye the speed variation was visible.
So today I headed off to get some sewing machine oil, that being the conveniently available record-deck-oil replacement, especially in Oly which seems to be devoid of electronics shops. I had already completed the quest to get some switch cleaner (car shops, they sell switch cleaner).
And then I stripped it down, at least a bit. After an epic battle with the turntable platter I managed to get it off (wiggle it, that’s the key). The center spindle was, indeed, a bit graunchy. Then off came the base.
And out came the main board, and to work I went cleaning contacts.
When I was satisfied I reassembled it, gave the outside a clean, trimmed the plattermat to fit and turned it on. A quick visual check revealed that it seemed to be spinning at a more consistent rate. On with the record.
And the record seemed to be slowing again at points.
And then I realised.
The random cheap used plattermat? It’s about 0.2mm too thick. It causes the record to foul a piece of the case.
Still, with that removed I could at least test it. Only…
Whilst our house-stilling house has an amplifier with a phono input, it’s not actually connected to any speakers, because they don’t use that amplifier anymore.
…and whilst I have speakers, I don’t have any cables to connect them, because they were built into the walls in our house in Bristol.
Gaaah*.
* Obviously, I also still need to buy it a new stylus too, but that can wait until I can actually hear it and check it’s actually working okay and has no other hideous hideous problems.
There are no decent normal-shop-like electronics shops in Oly. There is, however, a bizarre contractor/specialists every-bit-you-could-want store that looks like a freakin’ warehouse, out past the community college which is out past my house. They’re called ERI (Electronics Resourcing Incorporated).
I suspect that you’ll need this information sooner rather than later. :)
This is potentially enormously helpful information. I shall go and explore. Thank you muchly! I was beginning to feel slightly angsty about the absence of local electronics places.
