Last night I met up with a girlfriend at a cafe to do some writing. Not too long after I arrived, my girlfriend suddenly wanted to leave. I grabbed my things and followed her outside. Charging down the street, she began yelling:
Dude, I just got cocked out!
Apparently some dude had been staring at her from across the room the entire time she was at the cafe. Like, he was really creeping on her. She decided it was time to hit it when he got up and sat down next to her.
I’ve got to find a better way to deal with this. Running away is unacceptable.
I didn’t know how to advise. I don’t ever remember reading an article in Cosmo or even Bitch about the appropriate thing to do when you’re getting cocked out.
I myself have gotten cocked out in the past, and never felt satisfied with my response. For some reason my most immediate reaction is to feel sorry for the cocker-outer. I think about the hard life he has probably faced and the pain of rejection that I will present him with. Manhood is so fragile.
Of course there’s always also the chance that causing this person any humiliation will put him over the edge and trigger him to do something tragically insane. Getting cocked out is about fear as much as it is about pity.
So what is the acceptable way to respond to someone who is cocking you out?
When it comes to romantic desire–both wanted and unwanted–I’ve always been torn between politics and compassion. I ignore my discomfort and identify with my oppressor. It seems cruel to politicize the personal, but it’s undeniable that the personal is political.
How do you respond to getting cocked out? Do you have a comfortable resolution for political acts and human compassion?
Half-built jail in the middle of Detroit. Photo from FADED DETROIT
Wayne County Chief Financial Officer Mark Abbo proposed a new budget that includes cutting $1 million of funding for what he referred to as “low priority” initiatives like testing evidence from the Detroit rape kit backlog. High priority initiatives include allocating $81 million dollars to the county’s waste management facilities so it can be turned out for future profit, and fixing other failed projects like the new Wayne County jail, which is currently sitting half-built in the middle of downtown Detroit, looking much like one of the city’s famed abandoned buildings.
Wayne County Executive Robert Ficano put construction of the new jail on hold after blowing through $170 million and needing a $91 million budget increase beyond the original $300 million estimated cost. The County is currently talking to Quicken Loans CEO Dan Gilbert, who wants to add the jail to his fast-growing collection of Detroit city property.
The rape kit backlog, discovered in 2009 and dating back to 1991, requires an estimated budget of $5 million to rectify. Prosecutor Kym Worthy is currently suing Wayne County and Ficano’s office for that amount. In the interim, Wayne County has restricted her ability to further test the rape kit backlog unless money comes from external grants. On March 9th, the Prosecutor’s office will hold a fundraiser to support continued testing of the rape kit backlog. Mariska Hargitay of The Joyful Heart Foundation and the television series Law & Order: Special Victims Unit will be speaking at the event to promote Worthy’s efforts to eliminate Detroit’s rape kit backlog.
Since this is a blog and not a newspaper, let me reiterate a few numbers:
Abbo & Ficano take $1 million away from sexual assault victims to put toward an $81 million project–their second of two get-rich-quick schemes involving turning out Detroit contract services. $1 million doesn’t mean shit to these guys–it’s just over 1% of their new proposed budget. This is how little Abbo & Ficano care about the 11,000 rape victims who have spent decades waiting for justice.
My brilliant friend TRPLBLK released a new music video on the Museum of Sex blog today: ”DOM-estic Violence.” The song is from Big Dick Niggas Eat Pussy Too, a Curtis-Mayfield-ish-spoken-word-R&B album all about the man’s love for lady parts. I swear, TRPLBLK is the only man who can pat my pussy and rub my head at the same time. The lyric “She pull out my dick and she slap herself with it” should be an automatic nomination for songwriter of the year. Seeing TRPLBLK’s work acknowledged by the Museum of Sex makes me tingle all over. Fuck yeah. If you want to tingle, too, watch the video here and then read TRPLBLK’s interview on the MoSex Blog.
This week I watched Style Wars, a 1983 documentary about street art that was emerging in the Bronx at that time. Emerging is actually an enormous understatement. By 1983 every train in New York had been tagged inside and out, graffiti fans in far away towns would wait near the train tracks and cheer for new work by their favorite artists. Street artists worked independently with the same mission: They were given a name and their job was to “get it out there.”
By 1983, aesthetic wars were already at foot amongst the artists. There were unspoken rules broken and upheld by the artists in the name of respect and preservation. Stylistic hierarchies emerged and the notion of authenticity was introduced. By 1983 street art held a firm place in the New York gallery circuit and was adored and collected by the nouveau riche. A new class of street art came forth that was created specifically for gallery exhibition and commercial sale.
There was also a war being declared against street art by New York city officials such as then-Mayor Ed Koch whose abhorrence to the onslaught of hip hop imagery drove him to build two barbed-wire fences to keep vandals out of the subway yards. Koch kept wolves in the space between the two fences as an extra measure of intimidation. He launched a public service campaign against street art featuring champion boxer Macho Camacho: “Take it from the champs, graffiti is for chumps.” Other officials offered pleas to New York’s creative terrorists, offering full privilege to paint the outside of the trains in exchange for laying off the interior walls.
Ed Koch with his star-studded anti-graffiti propaganda
30 years after the birth of cool in California and 30 years before the death of street art in Detroit, cool was alive and well, living in the Bronx. Style Wars is a beautiful document of this cool, and an essential watch for anyone interested in art, hip hop, marketing, cultural history, or just wants to see some incredibly beautiful cinematography. You can watch it in full for free on YouTube.
This weekend I find myself in Vancouver, BC, working at the Taboo sex show, a consumer sex industry expo that travels throughout western Canada. I am here representing Revel Body, the brilliant new pleasure product that I have been aggressively pursuing for the past six months and that won Best Innovation at the AVN awards earlier this month.
I’m very proud to be here with Revel and proud of myself for the continued, unabashed efforts to make my sleazy dreams of revolutionizing the sex toy industry come true. I rewarded myself last night by going out for a steak. It was an especially rewarding reward because my little scene captured the entire restaurant’s attention, which in those late hours was occupied by a varietal of about ten or fifteen men.
Revel Body, if you aren’t aware, is the only vibrator that does not operate using a rotary motor. So while the current adult novelty news frenzy has been reporting an exciting marriage of high tech and sex toys, in truth these innovations are really only the product of new emphasis on exterior design, material, and packaging. Outside of the Revel Body, every vibrator made throughout history uses the same spinning imbalanced weight, smacking against its shell at a rhythm, speed and intensity of your choosing. If you would like some further understanding of how vibrators work, I once made a website on the subject for Vibrators.com which includes some adorably crude drawings: HowDoVibratorsWork.com.
Did I quit smoking? Of course not. I bought another pack about ninety minutes after I made my Quitting Smoking, AGAIN video. That night I smoked while uploading that motherfucker to YouTube, and the next morning I smoked while writing the accompanying blog post. But this really is my last pack. Smoking is a limiting and isolating habit. I’m in a beautiful hotel on Vancouver’s luscious waterfront and I can’t smell the ocean or the hoteliness of the air pumping into my badass waterfront city-view suite, which Revel Body was so gracious to provide for me.