Notify me of new posts by email. Sign me up for the newsletter. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed. If Lindsay Lohan is not and has never been two women sensu stricto , we might be forgiven for believing something different; twice now she has split herself onscreen, and twice the overall effect was of exactly what it was: one girl refracted, even though there were two names, two sets of clothes, two miens. Lindsay split herself the second time to demonstrate that, contrary to popular opinion—Lindsay is, above all things, contrary —she had never wanted to belong to any Mickey Mouse Club that would have her as a member.
It would be a waste of space for me to tell you which one Lindsay plays more convincingly—a prodigy in early life, the only thing she is a dedicated student of these days is chaos. She remains contrary. Stripping in the movie, she keeps on her bright red lingerie, but splits her legs like those two fingers: fuck me and fuck you. I have not said—I should certainly have said—that Aubrey-who-is-actually-Dakota gets two robot limbs, an arm and leg, and that the leg is battery-operated; and that Aubrey-who-is-actually-Dakota sometimes does not charge the leg, so that it drags beneath her hot-pants like dead weight, utterly grotesque but not that interesting.
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Even in a sex scene, it just lies there. Lindsay, to her credit, absolutely does not. Evidently dedicated to the films of David Lynch but woefully unskilled, the writer-director of I Know Who Killed Me conjures red rooms and blue roses and the guidance of a group of owls; a pet cat that is hairless, but with grape-sized testicles on show; a man whose only purpose is to masturbate a log; a serial killer who makes weapons out of ice-blue glass, and so on. The owls, here, are exactly what they seem.
The girl is too—a dead-split representative of sex and scholarship, of vice and virtue, even if she is in fact two women and not one girl. Even greater than the crime of serially killing women with your own invented instruments in some low-rate production meant to ape—in my opinion—our most singular and talented auteur, is being our most singular and talented auteur, and not adoring Lindsay Lohan. Lohan is one of those high- femme doubles he has loved for so long, one half fatale and one half a fatality.
She is a pair entrapped in one girl. Who is the girl? As a figure, Lindsay—like Lynch—deals in moral conflict: in the evil or the sexually freaky deep inside the safe, banal and quintessentially American. Choosing to identify her by her work in Mean Girls or The Parent Trap feels these days like a false equivalence, as Lindsay being pre-sensual, or virginal, is like most people being pre-verbal. Her way of sitting, loose and low, interminably bored. Her pelvis. It has the very particular hoarseness that you get from whispering so as not to be discovered, or from screaming—crying out in fear or ecstasy, or in excitement.
Lindsay Lohan is the weather. But sounds have become little. She is electricity, soul-thrill, personified. Much is made and always has been made of Lindsay having red hair. We will not forget it; bleach does nothing. Black allows the red to bleed through like a hemorrhage. Adamantine, flinty, she knows how to play the game. It takes until the fiftieth minute of the third hour of Twin Peaks to see the Red Room for the first time, at which time it starts to morph into the shape we recognize the best.
Lynch, a gambler of a different kind from Lindsay, thrills at losing touch with—in two words—The Real. To watch a film by anyone, he has insisted, is to spend two or three hours in their psyche, or their dreams. Did you want to ask me whyyyyy? Commenters have said that real, red Diane is a reference to redheaded poet and occultist Marjorie Cameron—that her sex scene is not sex qua sex at all, but ritual magic. Looking for a missing girl named Lois Duffy, they end up at a motel and:. They hear a gunshot outside her room and kick the door in.
They find two women inside. One on the floor dying from a bullet wound to her abdomen, the other holds a gun, which she drops as she backs away when they enter. They recognize the wounded woman as Lois Duffy. The other woman screaming in the corner, they now notice, is also Lois Duffy. And by the way—Lois Duffy did not have a twin sister.
Albert points this out because he knows that it would be the most pat and most cowardly solution to a terrifying existential problem. Even Inland Empire , still notorious, still a brutal fucking trip, fared better. I think blue-glass implements and dry ice as haute-stylized weapons for a killing are not necessarily a bad idea, an un-Lynch folly. Paraphrasing the Canadian David: there is nothing technically the matter with the instruments.
The problem is the use or misuse of the body, and the use or misuse of the woman. If Sivertson knew enough to let us watch her, our good-bad girl Lindsay, shoot herself—to let us see her call herself a blue rose; to permit one Lindsay Lohan to dissolve into the ether, so that yet another could be charged with murder—then we might have seen a mystery solved. Lindsay Lohan has desired to murder one half of herself for years. I could not say which half was which: which half the would-be murderess, and which the victim. I might say it depended on the host, her mood, the hour, the dawn-blue desperation of the moment.
It is a mark of psychic or psychotic focus. So is self-invention. The dying woman was not natural. A tulpa. Aubrey is as white-blue as a dreamed pale horse, as dead as ice. Predictably, the only prick she gets is in her finger, from its thorn. The blood is unreal, theater-curtain red and like a perfect orb.
I am dead, and yet I live. It is also, somewhat meanly, something of a joke on Lindsay Lohan. This makes rumors that he banned blue-colored props from the set of Twin Peaks in Season One feel vaguely fetishistic, bordering on sadomasochistic. And have my house. And make the kind of record I want. To the reader who knows anything about the life of Lindsay Lohan, it sounds like an alternate reality. Privacy is one way to avoid confusions of persona; it prevents a dangerous muddling of the public-private selves.
Well, you can imagine how I feel! The chase, for Betty, is a made-for-TV mystery, an adventure. Any actress trying to succeed in Hollywood can be forgiven for dividing into two, if not more, selves. As Betty, Diane lives a life as charmed, as filled with mutual love and adoration, as a TV movie or a romance novel. No sane actress would return to being Diane after being Betty. She smiles like Betty in the picture, dumb and bright and Novocained.
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All the other parts of it are all the parts you would expect, albeit deconstructed like the body of a wife—an ex-wife in the ex -est sense. It is funny how we justify things to ourselves to keep from melting down; the way we parse things not the way they really are, but how we see them. I have personally seen a photograph, or photographs, of Lindsay Lohan sleeping: one shot through the window of a taxi that approximates, per meme, a classical religious icon. It amazed me in the Noughties, and still does, that Lindsay did not have one. Narrative is banjaxed, and then axed.
Where Renee is brunette, Alice is a blonde. Where Renee is quiet and unfaithful, sexually disappointed by her husband, Alice is a pornographic actress who finds Pete intoxicating. Alice Wakefield, the invention of two men—Fred Madison, and Lynch by proxy—is a mess of contradictions, and a rabbit hole in lieu of being Wonderland.
This is so male an impulse I could laugh, or cry. Accusations that Lynch is misogynistic always strike me as confusing his portrayals of the evilest truths about white, macho -esque cis-masculinity with an endorsement: one does not need to approve of brutes to write about them, any more than Nabokov had to approve of Humbert Humbert. Lost Highway was originally set to be an adaptation of a book by Barry Gifford, with the very Lohan-circa title of Night People This seems to be a remarkably consistent rule in history that people often have a quite extraordinary capacity to forget.
In the longer term, however, long after disillusion and despair have set in, they often do produce a better reality than what went before. Whether they are worth the horrors that come in between, is of course another matter. The dilemmas that arise with respect to means and ends, the calculations necessary to assess the number of lives lost for the sake of a possibly better future, are virtually impossible to make. Democracies almost always take years, if not decades, to become established after an initial flare up like the ones we saw in More basic grievances like economic deprivation and neo-liberal economic policies, which Gilbert Achcar probably rightly argues are the more fundamental cause of much of the unrest of , take even more wide-reaching structural adjustments.
But it probably remains a reality that the mediumto-long-term future of the Arab world is still brighter than it was three years ago, even if the present and the immediate future are not. Something in the psychology of the relationship between Arab people and their rulers has been changed utterly and permanently. The Middle East has already, in a certain basic but irreversible sense, moved in a more democratic direction. There is a belief more a fear that reform will not happen.
I wish to immediately refute this. There is a reform Bill currently being debated, and if you want to table an amendment, get in touch with Future Matters. What concerns me so much about this Seanad Referendum is that an opportunity to transform Irish society is being squandered. Senators are concerned with articulating the Ireland they are working towards, the future they want to build. Think Tribunals. Take the Administrative panel, it represents some of the most marginalised in Irish Society — the deaf, the mentally handicapped, the physically disabled, and those with life limiting disabilities.
It is to further a just society that the marginalised and the needy are supposed to be supported by such strong voices, and to suggest that such a system is elitist is disturbing. This Seanad debate was the first recorded debate on such an important read: life changing legislation. This debate was made possible by the close relationship the Irish Kidney Association has with the Senator who pursued the signatures to recall the Seanad. This relationship gives the Irish Kidney Association an important voice in our Democratic process.
Imagine if the National Youth Council of Ireland, the USI, or any other body that specifically represented youth interests, was a nominating body, and able to maintain a close relationship with Senators. Instead of organ donation, the Seanad was being recalled to begin a debate on youths committing suicide, third level grants, or what the hell is being done to stop the need for emigration.
I am not concerned with defending the Seanad as is — but I am enthusiastic about what the Seanad could do. What reform, instead of abolition, will do for our future. The idea of vindicating dignity is almost innate in students, demonstrable in Herculean Soup Runs that go on past midnight, Homework clubs with the needy, or the tireless efforts of law students giving free legal aid to those in unforgiving circumstances. The great promise of a Republic is equality of opportunity. The great promise of Capitalism is social mobility.
The two most fundamental commitments of this Nation are mere theory and rhetoric. In a reformed Seanad I see these being tackled.
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Whether this is healthcare, transport, or education, they are charged with acting in the public interest. What if national appointments were no longer made by the Minister of the day, but by a reformed Seanad? This would draw greater awareness of the often Trojan work members do on our behalf. But more importantly, it would draw attention to these bodies themselves. No more would supporters be rewarded with positions beyond their abilities. The prospect of changing the way we do politics in this country would be best begun by voting No to Seanad Abolition.
With this beginning, we then have to engage our democratically elected Senators. Instead of a town hall meeting with our SU president, imagine the GMB chamber filled with students who have drafted amendments to the Seanad Reform Bill and were arguing for their inclusion, and their merits with their peers, the university panel, and the education panel.
The desire to see change is motivating such lofty notions of participative democracy. We want radical reform. In a more prosperous Ireland, Emigration would not be a reality of growing up Irish. There are such talented people in all walks of life proud of their Irish Heritage.
Making use of this talent is another way a reformed Seanad could be utilised. This is relevant to us as young Irish Citizens who have emigration as our only option. And by drawing on experts from around the world, we would build a stronger, more diverse economy. These experts would be working closely with Irish educated citizens, which would arguably boost the reputation of those institutions.
Another gain for Ireland. Vote No on October 4th. The job of christening the bridge fell to Dublin city council which produced a shortlist of five names from the hundreds of entries received, eventually deciding upon trade unionist and veteran, Rosie Hackett. The practice of naming streets, bridges and other landmarks after cherished historical and cultural figures is an important form of recognition for their contributions and impassioned campaigns for a variety of names were mounted for this bridge.
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The motivation stirring the Rosie Hackett Bridge Campaign emanated from the absence of proper recognition for the contribution and sacrifice rendered by women in historic social and political struggles. The campaign aimed to resurrect the forgotten story of an ordinary woman impelled into action by extraordinary circumstances. The Labour Movement, in particular, has a proud and bountiful tradition of activism. However, constantly relying on those few men to tell the historic story of the Labour Movement only tells part of our story. Recognising and paying due regard to the whole range of historic figures in the Labour tradition, as this campaign did, only serves to further enhance the historic prestige enjoyed by the Labour Movement.
The standard Irish history lesson describes the bravery of a handful of men and the odd maverick woman in bringing about social change. The constant urge to commemorate these few well-known names self-fulfils the standard narrative, while writing brave women, like Rosie, out of history. At the time of the census she lived on Abbey Street with her mother, sister, stepfather, stepsisters and a lodger.
In , the male workers withdrew their labour in pursuit of better working conditions and Rosie was one of the first women to come out in sympathy with them. Rosie helped to galvanise and organise more than 3, women in the Jacobs Factory to withdraw their labour in protest. The women were successful and they received better working conditions and an increase in pay. Rosie was just 18 years old at the time. In , she once again helped to organise the women in Jacobs to strike and protest against poor working conditions. She was one of the small group who endeavoured to print the Proclamation on a faulty printing press and brought the first copy, still damp, to James Connolly.
It was very exciting there. We were under very heavy fire from late on Monday evening. Even when we marked out the first-aid post with a red sign, they did not recognise it and kept firing on us. The Rosie Hackett Bridge campaign used facebook, twitter, an online petition, a public meeting and endless emails, telephone calls and meetings with the councillors to put forward the case for selecting Rosie. Incidents of rape and sexual assault may appear relatively low in the national statistics available, but many believe the numbers are in fact, much, much higher.
It can be characterised as an iceberg situation; a lot more cases under the surface. One group is launching a campaign, with the hope of changing attitudes, while thousands march the city streets in protest against the many attacks now being reported on in national media. Cases of rape in India have seen more international attention recently than ever before; mostly off the back of one case: Last December, a twenty-three year old woman. The woman was accosted by the driver for being out late at night with a male friend.
The six men then proceeded to gang rape the woman, eventually using that same iron rod. One of the attackers, the most brutal, was a minor; raping the woman twice and causing significant and horrific internal damage. The two were then dumped, semi-naked, on the side of the road. She was hospitalised, but after two weeks, died due to her extensive injuries.
Petitions sprung up all over the internet, calling for various changes to Indian laws and a variety punishments for the perpetrators. The case is only now going through Indian courts. One of the men has already been tried and sentenced, but as a minor as he was under eighteen at the time of the crime. Despite the severity of the crime, he has been sentenced to just three years imprisonment in a juvenile detention centre.
The lead accused in the crime was found, hanging in his cell in March, The other men accused, have recently been sentenced to death. A thirty-year old female American tourist was raped in Manali in June of this year. She hitched a lift with three men, who drove to a secluded spot, gang- raped and dumped her. The case of a five year old girl who was abducted in Bihar, in north eastern India also received wide press coverage. The child was raped and beaten, then locked in a room, left to die; she was later rescued, brought to hospital and survived.
One senior Indian politician, Sushma Swaraj, who visited the little girl in hospital tweeted that the child in the next room was also a five- year old female rape victim. She also tweeted that doctors in the hospital reported recently treating a young boy who had been sexually assaulted as well. A four year old girl was taken in Madyha Pradesh, by a man who lured her from her home, promising to buy her bananas. She was raped and her body dumped. She was found alive, but the severity of her injuries was too great and she died soon after being admitted to hospital.
These cases are not unique in India; they are not one-offs. In the direct aftermath of the case last December, and until now, Indian and international media have been nigh-on constantly reporting on cases of gang-rape, rape and sexual assault in the country. This is no sudden epidemic though, the focus has simply shifted to highlighting the problem. A new campaign is attempting to change the national attitudes to women and stem the high numbers of sexual assaults.
It consists of images of Hindu goddesses in their traditional poses, surrounded by that which they represent, but they are bruised, injured, attacked, crying. The same report also found that three out of four cases of rape went unpunished from — in New Delhi. Statistics relating to reported rapes and sexual assaults are low and many believe that the numbers are much, much higher in reality; cases going unreported due to embarrassment, shame, fear.
Cases of child-rape are also thought to be much higher than the reported numbers show, although reporting has been steadily increasing over the past decade, according to a report by the Asian Centre for Human Rights. The goddesses are revered, with millions of Indians praying to them daily; their images can be found across homes and places of worship. Lakshmi, goddess of wealth, Durga, of strength and power and Saraswati of knowledge and wisdom feature in the campaign. But, why is this happening?
Why is there a prevalence for such attacks? It is difficult to say with certainty, but analysts and journalists have been attempting to answer this question since before the December rape and murder. Sunny Hundal, an author and Al Jazeera correspondent has found that sixty million girls were either aborted, murdered or neglected at birth due to their sex or killed by their husband or his family over dowry disputes in the past thirty years. Many families believe women to be a burden; men marry and bring another woman into the family to assist in caring and housework.
Daughters require dowries and leave the natal home to care for another. A report by Action Aid found the rate of women to men in some Punjabi villages to be to 1, A Unicef report found that a shocking majority of young men and women believed it acceptable for a man to beat his wife. It aims to argue that these female deities are worshipped and respected by millions of men and yet their sisters, wives, mothers, friends are not.
While reports continue to surface of gang-rapes, rapes and sexual assaults from India, progress is being made, legislatively. In the aftermath of the December attack, the Indian government passed a law stating that the perpetrators of any rape which results in either the death of the victim, or brings about coma, shall be sentenced to death.
A death sentence may not appear to be progress to all, however, it is a recognition that a more severe recourse than before was required. The same piece of legislation also makes stalking and trafficking punishable by law. It is still argued however, by many who protest, that more still needs to be done to change rape culture in India, to improve national attitudes towards women and to combat the culture of victim-blaming.
As is often the case, the most important elements of any states are the unquantifiable, intangible features which one cannot codify or expound with any degree of certainty. It cannot be rigidly defined and it appears to transcend both the academic and the extra-curricular. These organisations provide a fantastic outlet for students to supplant their academic tuition and offer a refreshing experience for the many of us not fully satisfied with our courses.
Our clubs and societies achieve many wonderful things every year and these achievements demand recognition. Moreover, with the internal college discourse defined by a cacophony of voices, the achievements and indeed the existence of many of our greatest extra-curricular outlets are lost in a vacuum. It is within this environment that I feel student newspapers thrive.
I firmly believe that newspapers have social responsibilities, both negative and positive. For instance, a newspaper has a responsibility not to defame or tarnish the name of a community member. But I believe it has an added, more proactive responsibility to promote civic engagement among its readers.
And in our college community, civic engagement is defined by the fabric of clubs, societies and student activism. Yet student media ought also to act as a platform upon which thoughtful, measured and progressive opinions can be espoused. The student community is consistently the most progressive and idealistic demographic, and acts as a bastion of liberal values. As an extension to this, it is natural that many issues which are close to the hearts of students are rarely covered and in cases even acknowledged by the mainstream media.
In recent years, this reality has been particularly evident in the context of social issues such as same-sex marriage and abortion rights but it also pertains to more trivial issues which affect students qua students. That understanding of the role of student media constituted a set of values which we sought to promote within the pages of The University Times last academic year. In practical terms, this resulted in a content merit test involving two criteria: is it a student issue and if not, is it an issue which students will be interested in?
On that basis, we avoided publishing articles which focused on geopolitical issues and promoted articles which dealt with issues such as marriage equality, student finances and graduate unemployment. We invested the bulk of our financial and human capital in pursuit of the creation of a digital-first newsroom. This emphasis was manifested in the construction of a new website, dedicated online sub-editors and best-practice guidelines for the various social mediums. This strategic shift reflects the fundamental changes taking place within media globally.
Suffice to say, print media is dying a slow death. Regrettably, many outlets across the world have failed to grasp the reality that a print newspaper is a medium, not an end in itself. The general motive for consuming newspapers is not for the pleasure derived from the experience, but from the desire to ascertain fact and opinion on the affairs of the day. As information technology continues to advance to dizzying heights, the limitations of print will continue to expose themselves.
In that context, we sought to usher in a new era in student media in this country, reflecting the transition of media generally. I am very much of the opinion that just shy of the printing press, the advent of social media is one of the greatest advancements in the history of student media. Simply put, the majority of students are only somewhat engaged with the general college community.
As such, only a small number will queue or indeed pay for a copy of the student newspaper and few will ever organically seek out the newspaper website i. Given that the average user spends roughly four hours each day surfing Facebook and Twitter, the news feeds of these platforms offer an opportune marketplace to reach readers.
Even a superficial understanding of social media strategy can allow journalists to place their content in the spheres of those who need to see it. However, there is a dark side to online media, and poor editorial judgement caused difficulty for The University Times in this regard last year.
A number of weeks before term started, I sanctioned the publication of an article which at the time, I did not recognise as being aggressively hateful toward those who identify as LGBT. The decision to seek debate on a subject the vast majority of us consider to be without rational detraction was one which I now see to have been immature. As is often the case, the bad memories are quickly forgotten as sentimentality allows for rose-tinted reminiscing. Indeed, the marathon production weekends, the critical letters from readers and the awareness that whenever something goes wrong,.
Editing the fourth volume of The University Times was one experience which will have a lasting impression on me. It was a privilege to have worked with some immensely talented individuals and I look on with a degree of envy at those taking up the baton in the coming year. But they also say 1st year of Uni is supposed to be amazing.
Unfortunately for me my 1st year at Trinity was not that great, but I worked hard and got my Erasmus to Bologna in Italy. I ended up finding a place to live on a week-end trip over to Italy with my Dad. VOICES My flat mate, who turned out to be dead crazy in the end, took me out for ice-cream, kinder bueno flavoured and it was amazing!! My 3rd day I got on a train and went to Venice for the day. One day on the way home in my first week still not knowing anyone in the country I saw there was a park in front of my house literally directly in front so decided to pop in and have a nosy around.
Then there was that time when I was really ill with back pains and had be prescribed enough medicine to sedate a horse. He stayed with me over 3 hours in the waiting room till 2am. In 10 minutes there were two of my clostest friends from the rugby team with chocolate and hugs and kisses. I went back and coached the kids, got introduced to another girl, who after training, told me to go home get my rugby stuff and come with her. I went with her, and she took me to my first training with Le Fenici of Bologna. She basically introduced me to my family.
Over 30 girls took me under their wing, taught me Italian, corrected me constantly, took the piss out of me for my accent, and took me out for dinner and looked after me. I met the kindest, most wonderful people ever. Getting to know people in classes was a lot harder, doing my best to stay away from the other Erasmus people determined to make the most out of my Italian Experience.
They looked after me, took me home, ordered pizza, forced me to eat it, put me to bed and stayed the whole day over 6 hours, every half an hour coming into my room checking I was ok. That is what I call friendship. A guy who without word of English. Who says hello when he actually means to say goodbye as the Italian ciao can be used in both situations. Not once did I feel alone! Not even when I was sick. I fell in love with Bologna and the Italian life. I learnt how to cook Italian food, to dance without being drunk and to speak the language fluently.
I now get mistaken for an Italian and then have to spend ages trying to get them to believe that I am Irish. I lived, learned and breathed the Italian life. You could say I was handed everything on a silver platter, from coaching rugby, to finding a team or should I say family, to having the southern Italian boyfriend, to speaking the language, to cooking the food, to travelling to over 10 cities to being asked to teach an English class. To being interpreter, English teacher and tutor on a rugby camp with the kids and the Leicester tigers.
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I explain my apprehension to Maarten so he delivers his theory. I laugh but the more time I spend in the country, the more I come round to his way of thinking. Fear needs to be forgotten because in Thailand you will sleep on night trains, confronted by a menagerie of creatures that would make H. Lovecraft wet himself, meet people that speak no english, and a plethora of other things that will make you panic. That being said it takes a while before it sinks in. I spent a lot of time on beaches over the course of my trip. So during my first trip to a Thai beach, this lead me to ask a rake of questions of Dom, a Thai boxing student I met in the village I was staying in.
Secondly, this conversation took place as a group of us are walking towards the ocean. This fear is a source of constant embarrassment for me as a lifeguard.
This is something my friend Connor another lifeguard is quick to point out. Anyway after about five minutes I get out of my own head and start to relax. Back in the jungle, while taking a shower and a scorpion decides to join me, its all good. Each time something new cropped up I could quell the panic just by thinking it through and not dwelling.
The thing I forgot is that fear is a good thing sometimes. Towards the end of the trip we head to an Island called Koh-Phayam, a great place that has maybe inhabitants. Once you get over the fact that the place is stunningly beautiful and looks like every beach postcard With this in mind a few of us make our way down to another stretch of deserted postcard beach. One such genius method of competition is suggested by Connor. So the two of us jump in and start to swim. Two of them, the first one stops jellyfish coming all the way in, and the second one keeps the sharks out.
It is swiftly decided that we should head back as quickly and yet as delicately as possible. A big fuck off silhouette moving towards us under the water. Then a fin crests the water, ever so slightly, and we both find God at the exact same moment. The shape swims right up to us and then simply buggers off at top speed, we find it to be a wonderful idea do the exact same. The two of us make it to the beach gripping our sides and gasping.
The level of conversation we can manage at this point is:. Dave happens to comment that we seem to be a little shaken up. We explain. Considering how dangerous a leopard shark sounds we questioned him a little further. This led to our discovering that Leopard Sharks, despite sounding truly scary, are utterly docile and curious creatures that do not attack humans. The large silhouette in my imagination seemed to shrink when confronted with this new information. That could have been nasty. We let fear get the better of us and now we looked like twats.
Otherwise you may end up walking away from a bar having had your amazing Jaws story stood on by an amused Australian. Cyrus appeared to be expressing herself sexually and the world was condemning her for it. Same old story of fear and suppression of female sexuality, right?
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Yes, but upon watching the video I realized there was more to it than that. There is no doubt that the backlash Cyrus received was sexist. Some commentators have defended her, saying that she was entitled to express herself sexually in whatever way she wished. Although I support Cyrus being sexual I would like to ask, firstly whether her performance should be viewed as genuine sexual expression and and secondly, ought it be labelled as feminist?
It was hard to believe Cyrus was liberated and genuinely expressing herself sexually when she was doing so in exactly the way the music industry would like her to, through self-objectification.