I feel neglected
Big Picnic undergoes a major overhaul, apparently in response to an unrepentant storm of porn spam in the comments. Why don’t I get porn spam? Other than people who come here hoping for some zooporn (43 in the past month), this site is almost entirely smut-free. Jalalablog is home to at least three robot web indexers: googlebot, something from Texas A&M University, and another that just shows up as an IP address (65.54.188.11, .13, or .14) in my traffic log. I guess I don’t really WANT porn spam (note to readers: please do not pretend you are porn spam), but I really wonder why I have never had that problem. Is that a hidden gem in the otherwise mediocre, user-unfriendly blogging program that is squarespace?
UPDATE: It turns out I do have some spam commenters, advertising such useful tools as autofellatio and debt reduction services. They are called “references,” not actual comments. These appeared 3 days ago…a calm before the storm? My squarespace account is up for renewal in 12 days, and I had no intention of renewing it anyway. I want a blog that can have poll questions in the sidebar. I miss that. And possibly multiple posters again…that was fun. Any suggestions?
This has been kind of fun, poring through old entries looking for “references” (there are a few more randomly scattered throughout), so stay tuned all this week! for the Very Best of Jalalablog. It won’t take long.
Why you buggin?
This Saturday a friend and I, let’s call him Chicken Strip, spent the latter half of our evening at Mary’s, “Portland’s oldest topless joint.” For those who may not know, Portland has the highest number of strip clubs per capita of any U.S. city. We also have more microbreweries than any city in the world, recently passing Dusseldorf (or similar) to claim the title. Still I have yet to receive a visitor from back east…what the hell is wrong with you people?? But I digress.
The thing about Mary’s is that, in addition to being old, historic, and right in the middle of the CBD, it is in true Portland fashion, a worker-owner cooperative. That should silence any hardcore feminists I may have in my audience. You see, as a cooperative, the performers all have a vested interest in how much dough they bring in, not only to their G-strings, but also to the register. Profit sharing and all that jazz. Given this setup, you would think they would be particularly accomodating and friendly, to get lonely drunk graduate students like myself and C.S. to open up our fat wallets. Not exactly. The waitress was really nice, and quite possibly the hottest girl I have ever seen, although unfortunately not a performer. But I think their direct stake in the business end has gone to some of the girls’ heads. Enough to make them forget their roots and core constituency.
The first girl on stage seemed to have it in her head that she was something other than a stripper. That she was somehow in a position to lecture and judge the people who are paying her rent. She may have had a point, if that position were something other than naked on all fours, lapping up dollar bills like a hungry dog. In addition to sitting there, not even moving, talking to some fat bozo during the entire first song, she didn’t even take anything off. When she finally did, she–literally—said “Oh, you want to see my boobs?” in this really nasally, sarcastic voice with that fucking half-upper lip smirk on her face. Then she pulled her shirt up for about 2 seconds. I was ready to start throwing shit at her, before I remembered that she’s a struggling small business owner. Eventually she did her job and left the stage. It’s fine if you object to the adult industry, but not if you are perpetuating it. I realize that oogling and objectifying women on a Saturday night is not a particularly noble endeavor, but I don’t need to hear that FROM A STRIPPER. Maybe it was just part of her act, I don’t know. That’s like if my pal Big Sexy were to decry the violence carried out by Columbian cocaine cartels (which he, to his credit, does not do). I’m not much of a strip club guy anyway, but I still don’t see myself going back there for that reason alone. Except maybe to buy another beer off of what’s-her-name.
90 Minutes, NO REFUNDS
There’s a little ghetto mart down the street from me, and I noticed
today that they have a small porn movie rental section behind the
counter, which clearly states the rentals are for 90 minutes only, and
there are no refunds. So if you only need it for 5 minutes, you
still gotta pay up. Of course, Big Black Asses 5 will never hold
a candle to the classic original, so I’ll have to pass.
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Jalalablog 