the brown rabbits will live to sully your mind another day.

I kinda let this one slip by me without pause for celebration, but it should be noted that, a couple of weeks ago, The Supreme Court shot down the Child Online Protection Act once and for all. And seriously? Thank your pan-theistic diety(s) of choice the First Amendment still means something around here.

COPA, on the surface, looks like an anti-internet porn law. Had it been upheld, it would have banned all *commercial* websites from posting any "material that is harmful to minors." Now, I'm not entirely clear on what "commercial" means as, these days, anybody who feels like earning an extra 17 cents per month can rent out ad space on his or her blog. And "material that is harmful to minors" is only the most vague phraseology the drafters of said Act could possibly have conjured (good little lawyers, they). But it does remain clear that the folks pushing this legislation really had no respect for the civil liberties of American private citizens whatsoever.

As I mentioned a couple posts ago, I got all bent out of shape when the Internet Dude accidentally turned on some porn-blocks on my building's system. On principal, I can't think of a single scenario in which it's OK to impede people's internet searching capabilities in their own homes... but I was even more irked when I discovered how much great stuff gets caught in the net when such systems send out their censorious little tentacles. For a whole weekend, I fumed over being denied access to all the blogs listed over there in my "In Which People Wax Erotic" blogroll. And that was just a weekend! Imagine the caterwauling you would have heard from me if the porn-blocks had been permanent!

Another problem is that it's not just sex blogs and tittie flicks that would get sloughed away in the blast this internet firehose of a law would let fly. Plaintiffs in this case included not only a sampling of queer-themed and gay rights sites, but also such mainstream media venues as Salon.com, The New York Times Co., and even Reuters. Doubtlessly, all these organizations saw red (and not red lights... never enough red lights.) when they realized that this law would prevent them from discussing sexuality on the internet for even non-prurient purposes.

Now, heaven knows, I'm not drawing any kind of line here-- far be it from me to say that it's OK to legislate actual internet porn, but not more "respectable" media explorations into sex. It's not appropriate at all for the government to interfere with the porn-viewing habits of private citizens. Or to prevent those same citizens from culling informative text about sex from the internet. And beyond that, I continue to fail to see how shielding children from all sexuality at all times, from every source available is a) possible or b) "protecting" them.

But I've said all this before. Over the course of three blogging years and myriad potty-mouthed posts.

Suffice it to say that, although this blog will never be considered "commercial," I still can't help but feel that this wise decision on the part of the Supreme Court protects me and my right to say whatever nasty thing I feel needs to be said in a public forum. And it protects my right to choose for myself the shape of my own internet. For that, I'm grateful.

And to that end, here're a couple celebratory dirty pictures:





("+" and "Ooooups" via Herr Buchta )

Rhymes with "why don't you love me?"

I knew it! Way back last summer, when I first started watching Californication, I drafted a post in which I got all soggy over Mr. Duchovny. I meant to discuss the show, and not so much the actor... but I got carried away and never posted it. However, in re-reading it today, I'm totally amused that my feelings for the man haven't shifted one iota-- except to get bigger and doubtlessly more nauseating to all who aren't me.

And so, because I'm deep into Duchovny lust at the moment, I think it's only right that I publish my old draft now. Enjoy!


****


He has the mind of the haute pornographer. He makes grammar jokes.* He's probably perfect. "Perfect" in that he's really a mess of accidentally happy imperfections.

I've been watching Season 1 of Californication.


His nose is all fleshy. His eyes are too squinty. He does a lot of pantsless acting, thus showing off his comically knobby knees. He's starting to get a little middle-aged dough about the gut. His voice cracks from the cigarettes. And he perpetually sports haircuts that are just about 10 years too young to be "age-appropriate."

But there is not one part of this man's corpus that I would not put in my mouth.

I don't put much stock in celebrity crushes-- it's pretty hard to deem actual depth of sexual attraction when you never get within pheromonal range of these people. Nonetheless, I will occasional 'fess up to tingly feelings being aroused by the mere visage of certain actorly types. Among them have been Zack Braff with his soulful pratfalls, James McEvoy with his smirking Scottish pastiness, Hal Sparks horny, impish smart-assedness... and I'm sure there have been others.

But none of them are David Duchovny.

I searched high and low looking for just the right image to accompany this post. It strikes me that he's not actually all that photogenic. As is often true, the magic is to be found in the man in motion. His lackadaisical gesture. His loose-kneed strut. The way his hands look when he's reaching for something female to pull into him. All that's lost in the still shots-- you lose the shrewdness of his gaze and the amused despair in his demeanor. In fact, he often just looks older and a little pudding-faced in still shots.

And frankly, I think he gives his stylist too much free rein. Here he is, sporting a head-to-toe dolphin-gray silk ensemble, like Angelina in Esquire. Please compare:



I think she's pulling it off better than he is. And I found others in which he was wearing leather pants and trying to look like Bono. Or giggling undecorously while shading the important parts with nothing but a teacup.






I know I'm not the only one who thinks he's molten sex, but why gild this lily? He's at his best in a pair of boutique-washed Rock and Republic jeans, little black t-shirt and 2 days worth of beard scruff. With that hair all falling in his eyes.

Tada!
This one pretty much steals my words. I think this picture might singlehandedly bring irony back into vogue.

* Please note that when this was written, he hadn't yet gone into sex-addiction rehab. Were I writing this today, I would add the sentence "He claims to be afflicted with the dubious malady of sex addiction." to that paragraph.