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Wisconsin: Day One

On Wednesday (the 15th), I hauled myself out of bed at 3:30am, showered, and trudged the mile uphill to the bus stop, dragging my suitcase and cursing at being up and about at such an early hour. Mind, it was my fault that I hadn’t gotten to bed until midnight as I hadn’t even really given a thought to packing until that very day. I firmly believe that the best work is that which is done at the last minute, even if it means accidentally forgetting items like deodorant and cell phone chargers and needing to acquire these items on the other end of the trip.

I had expected the bus to be rather empty at that early hour, and was shocked when I stepped onboard to see that there was only one seat left, way in the back. Tired, large people were spilled out into the aisles, and I smacked every single one of them with my suitcase en route to the back and received more than a few glares for my efforts.

At the airport, tiredness flipped into irritation–the e-ticket machine wouldn’t allow me to check in, the United woman treated me like a moron when I told her the error message I got, even after she received the same error, and, predictably, my midget fury rose when I had to pay $15 to check my bag, and was even denied the pleasure of doing so by check so that I might’ve written ‘extortion’ in the memo field. Granted, I knew that one was coming beforehand, but it seems silly to me to split flights into ala carte selections–bump ticket prices by $50 and it covers luggage and meals both ways, and then you get to project the image that you take care of your customers instead of attempting to stick it to them in every way possible. I also take umbrage with paying specifically for checked luggage when the airline still refuses to take responsibility for taking care that nothing is broken or stolen, so in essence, I’m paying for the privilege of having someone paw through my personal belongings like some sort of starving raccoon. I practically snarled at the TSA agent who checked my ID, and I think the only thing that saved me from a cavity search was that I wisely stepped in line behind some guys in turbans, who took the honor for me. Profiling much?

After replacing my belt, shoes, phone, wallet, and pocket change, and repacking my liquid items and electronics into my carry-on (seriously, the terrorists have won), I headed downstairs where I got to take the subway train to the N terminal. When I flew to Taiwan, the flights were San Diego to Seattle to Tokyo to Taipei, and I’d had to take the subway at that time as well. I thought I’d misremembered it as I’ve flown out of Seattle many times since and hadn’t even seen signs for it…which explains how I very nearly missed the flight to Tokyo because I couldn’t find my terminal.

I slept through most of the flight; I had some talk radio programs on iDirtyRobot, which work better than white noise for snoozing, let me tell you. After the flight, I ran to grab my bag and hauled tail outside to find the Wisconsin Coach bus that was to take me to Milwaukee’s Mitchell airport. I actually SAW that bus pulling away, I ran in front of a bunch of cars to stop it, and when the driver opened the door, my brain stopped working and I asked him if he was going to MIDWAY airport. When he said no, I walked away, and as soon as he drove off, I realized what I’d done. I didn’t want to go to the rinkydink airport in the middle of a corn field where the air traffic controller is a Mexican waving around two carrots, I wanted to go to MITCHELL…where they don’t even have the carrots. I attempted to run after the bus again, but my suitcase flipped off the curb and I nearly went flying over it…so I decided to just wait for the next one.

My bus driver was, well, a character. He made it quite clear that he didn’t want to be driving the bus, but if he “fucks it up enough, they won’t ask [him] to do it again.” Within a minute of pulling away from the station, he claimed to be lost. Angry and befuddled: I hadn’t realized that John McCain drives buses these days. He alternated between cursing at the road and traffic and construction workers, and having a conversation with the dude across the aisle from me, who was gnawing down on an entire pizza and explaining the intricacies of operating Walgreens stores, and that Pick & Save had bought out Jewel-Osco and blah blah blah. This was a guy who took his grocery and drug stores SERIOUSLY.

The first stop was at the Brat Stop in Kenosha–I was surprised to see that the nearby outlet mall had been knocked down, as I remembered how big of a deal that mall was when it was first built, which doesn’t seem to be all that long ago to me, but I suppose is something like twenty years ago now. True story: during one of their tent sales in the late 80s/early 90s, I bought a black t-shirt with the word ‘NOT!’ printed on it in bright neon bubble puff-paint letters, which I wore with one of those t-shirt ties that easily facilitated stretching out and wrinkling your clothing on one side. Oh yeah, you bet I was cool!

While we stopped at the Brat Stop, I asked the driver if we could also swing by Mars Cheese Castle, and that’s when he finally perked up. “Yeah, we should go on a big shopping trip! That’s one thing you don’t have to ask me to do twice, I love shopping,” which were honestly the last words I expected to hear coming from him.

Eventually, we arrived at Mitchell airport, I hopped off, grabbed my suitcase, and hopped into the car with bellachiara6, who went on to cook me One Damn Fine Macaroni & Cheese. We then watched what may be the worst Bruce Campbell movie of all time, and then I crashed out for the night at something like 9pm.

Day one: fin

Touch My Body

Here are (and I’m sure you’ve been awaiting it anxiously) my thoughts on the Open-Source Boob Project (OSBP). I’m loath to link directly to someone so clearly looking for Internet Fame, but if you want to go to the source and read it, I’m sure Google can help you.

For those of you unfamiliar with the OSBP, basically, a guy and his group of friends went around to a couple of conventions and asked women if they could feel their breasts; it’s indicated that this was mostly done in a circle of friends, though some strangers were asked; at a future con, they devised a system wherein women would wear green or red buttons signifying that “Yes, you may ask to touch my breasts” or “No, you may not ask to touch my breasts”, respectively, stressing that this program was ‘opt-in’ and those not wearing buttons would ‘never be asked’, and that women wearing green buttons could always refuse. (How are you going to recruit more women to your party, one might wonder, without asking non-button-bedecked women to opt-in?) In his posts, the author also indicated that the group approached women who were ‘dressed to impress’…so I guess it’s opt-in unless you’re just too goddamn hot or dressed like a whore and therefore ‘asking for it’.

Here is why I think this whole thing is dangerous. I have no problem with a group of people who want to get together and grab each other’s boobs. Cthulhu knows that Laura and I had a field day at Dragon*Con in the room party judging the ‘best ass contest’, so I’d like to make it clear that I’m not intending to come off as a hypocritical prude. Have fun. Go nuts. Grab nuts.

I have a problem with taking an experiment done mostly with friends, and extolling its virtues in a large con environment where results are likely to be MUCH different. Many people are far more comfortable around their friends than they are around strangers, and so with friends, you can push comfort boundaries a bit and people are less likely to end up hurt, offended, terrified, or worse.

If you were a single woman ‘dressed to impress’ via cosplay or simply a nice outfit, and you were approached by a group of strange men who asked you straight out for a favor that was sexual in nature, how would you feel? Even in a con environment, with hundreds or thousands of people milling around nearby, there is still a huge power shift in favor of the group of males, who could, in all fairness, quite easily drag you off. If you give them what they want, will they go away? Or will they ask for more? If you deny them, what will happen? Is it more or less dangerous for you to acquiesce?

I don’t disagree that men can be sexually assaulted and even raped, and that the double-standard shouldn’t exist (just look at the difference between the way that males have to treat female strippers versus how females treat male strippers–men can look but not touch, while women practically ATTACK the men). However, in this instance, I don’t think it’s unfair to discount attacks on men from the equation entirely, for the following reasons: When a group of men approach a woman and ask her for a sexual favor, men are most decidedly the aggressors, and furthermore, there is no reciprocity in the OSBP. Oh, sure, some men offered to allow women to feel their chests or grab their bum, but there is no direct male equivalent for breasts. Penis-touching was disallowed because it was ‘too sexual’ in nature, whereas boob-fondling….is not? There we have it, folks: This is merely a guy’s elaborate excuse to get his hands on some titties, and if you refuse him, you’re the one with the problem, so bound are you by social mores!

Furthermore, this is a direct quote: “Unfortunately, I can’t decry the process of “asking repeatedly,” mainly because it’s the only stimuli a lot of women respond to. Frankly, I think any woman who has to be begged fifteen times before she eventually accepts should be drug into the back alleyways and beaten, because her rampant need for a string of pleadings trains the wrong sort of men that no doesn’t mean no. And then we should go beat up the men for good measure.” (edit: This is a quote from 2005 and was not stated in reference to the OSBP. I apologize for the error, though I still believe it is an important insight into his character and demeanor towards sexuality.)

Yes, there exists a subset of women who want you to PROVE how much you want them before they give in, and I’ll further agree that the women who do that train men that if they ask repeatedly, a future answer is more likely to be ‘yes’. HOWEVER, not decrying it within the scope of the OSBP is tantamount to saying that everything he said earlier about the project being opt-in is a load of freshly-shoveled manure, since he does not truly believe that no means no. So at conventions, does the red button on one’s chest mean NO, or in this guy’s mind, does it mean ‘No until you ask me often enough’? Far from teaching that subset of women anything, I believe that it further reinforces the idea to MEN that it’s ok to ask ad nauseum as it improves your chances, with the originator of the project’s blessing.

The greatest evil from this madness, unfortunately, is that even though the author has posted and NOW suggested that people not try to recreate his experiment, is that you can’t put the cat back into the bag. Even if this schmo doesn’t attend any convention in my area, there are plenty of people who read what he had to say, buy into the idea that second base is totally ‘freeing’ and ‘healing’, and want to grab some titties themselves. How many people are going to ask to touch your boobs at San Diego Comic-Con? At PAX? At Dragon*Con? At GenCon? Will they be more or less respectful than the originators of the idea? Is this something you should *have* to be concerned with when all you wanted to do was drool over Jamie Bamber a little bit, and maybe run up to Kevin Sorbo clapping your hands and squealing ‘Hercu-LES! Hercu-LES! Hercu-LES!’?

You want to grab some titties? Fine. Just keep it to your rooms. Do you really want to give attractive women another reason not to attend conventions?