Last week was…intense. Unfortunately, at the risk of being repetitive, I really can’t tell you about most of that due to issues of confidentiality. What I can tell you is that I had a lovely dinner with the young escort I mentioned last week, and I think we’re going to be very good friends; I invited her to relax with me on Saturday night, which turned out very well because we both needed it. And yes, gentlemen, we will see you as a duo if you like! Speaking of duos, I’m looking forward to another one this coming Saturday with the lovely and brilliant Lorelei Rivers, whom I always enjoy working with. And in just a few weeks, I’ll be in New York City; as of right now I’ll be available for bookings on Thursday, September 15th, Saturday the 17th and Sunday the 18th, but obviously that will change as my schedule fills up, so if you’d like to see me it’s best to book right away (and ask about my tour special). Speaking of being booked up, I’ve recently tried a new method of advertising which I’m very pleased with so far; if it keeps being this productive, I will finally be able to complete some improvements to my ranch that have been in limbo for years. And that, dear readers, will buy me a considerable amount of satisfaction.
Posts Tagged ‘blogging’
Posted in Miscellaneous, Perception, Tyranny, tagged blogging, brothels, dirty, First They Came for the Hookers, red-light districts, sex rays, stripping, What a Week! on August 22, 2016 | 5 Comments »
Sometimes, the most difficult part of doing my news columns is deciding what subtitle to use for a given article. To be sure, many of them are obvious, but that’s not always the case; sometimes I remember a previous story I want to link back to, but for the life of me can’t remember what heading that one was under. And even if I can remember a few details of the original to search on, that doesn’t always help; for example, a few months ago I was trying to refer back to an article on strip club restrictions, but searching for “stripper”, “strip club” and even just “strip” wouldn’t find it. When I finally located it after half an hour of digging, I discovered the reason: the original article had used the phrase “exotic dancers”. Another thing that can make a heading tough to remember is topical drift; new stories refer back to older stories, then newer stories refer back to the update and so on, and after a while the heading doesn’t actually apply very well to what’s appearing under it. Sometimes I start using a new title for a certain kind of article, after a new full column on the subject appears (such as the recent shift from filing rapist cops under “Above the Law” to filing them under “To Molest and Rape“), and once in a while I even intentionally change the focus of a heading in order to collect stories on one theme which previously appeared under different headings (as I did two years ago with “Rooted in Racism“).
However, I think this may be the first time that I’ve ever written a new column expressly for the purpose of creating such a new heading. I’ve recently run into several stories about the effects of sex businesses on neighborhoods, and every fucking time I have forgotten which title the last one ran under. So then I’ve had to go through the pain of finding the last such article, but can’t remember the phrasing it used so the process takes forever. Well, no more; from now on such articles will appear under this heading. Previously, such articles have appeared under the not-terribly-intuitive title “What a Week!“, due to the aforementioned topical drift: the original of that name was an early news column which featured a story about a mega-brothel being built in Spain, then a couple of later ones referred back to it for a mega-brothel being built in Sydney, then another discussed a study done for the licensing of said brothel which demonstrated that the concept of “negative secondary effects” is essentially bullshit. And obviously, subsequent stories referred back to that. “Negative secondary effects” is the term used by prudes and authoritarians to make the concept of “sex rays” seem something other than ludicrous; this disproven dogma claims that the very existence of an adult business magically draws crime, and turns men into drooling sex maniacs who then go forth and rape women (hence the pious charade of directing a portion of “pole taxes” to finance rape and domestic violence charities or anti-whore programs). As a quick perusal of that last cluster of links will demonstrate, stories about claims of such effects mysteriously and malefically emanating from strip clubs rather than brothels or massage parlors have until now appeared under “First They Came for the Hookers” along with stories about former sex workers being fired from post-sex work jobs for having been sex workers. From here on out, any articles either claiming the existence of such baleful effects or debunking such claims will appear under this heading, whether that business is a strip club, brothel, adult toy store or whatever. So maybe now I won’t be quite so frustrated the next time I encounter such a story.
An awful lot of stuff happened last week, but unfortunately I can’t tell you about most of it yet. There was a conference call I can’t tell you about yet, and I was consulted about an unpleasantness I can’t tell you about yet, and there were some developments in a project I can’t tell you about yet, and of course I can’t tell you about anything that happened with clients (though there were several notable developments, most of them good). Then there were some other things I could tell you about but would rather not, and a couple of others I might like to tell you about, but you wouldn’t understand or wouldn’t care. So even though I was so busy last week I barely had time to breathe, there’s very little to report in this column. I’m going to dinner tonight with a young sex worker who flatters me by listening to my war stories, and I’m getting yet another beauty treatment on Thursday. Last week I did receive a very early birthday present from Jeremy Dunn, the book you see me holding here (which was the most recent addition to my Amazon wishlist), and on Sunday my book became available on Walmart’s website, which I’m hoping generates a lot of sales! But I’m afraid that’s pretty much it for this time, except for announcing that I’m going to be in New York City from September 14th to 19th, so if you’d like to see me in that time you’ve got less than a month to let me know!
Last week was a busy one, but in a good way; very few of the things I was kept busy with were unpleasant. I always enjoy visiting my beauty doctor, and I saw several regular clients whose company I always enjoy (plus several meals with friends). And we made some progress on a major project for my ranch, the first one in a very long time. But of all the things that brought me joy last week, one of them may surprise or amuse you: I got my TriStar back. Well, not back exactly, because this isn’t the same one I was forced to sell 20 years ago, but it’s the same model. Some or most of you are probably scratching your heads or checking to make sure that you’re on the right blog; Maggie McNeill is delighted because she bought a used vacuum cleaner? Huh? Some of y’all are probably thinking something like, “No offense, Maggie, but you’re not exactly known for your housekeeping skills.” And you would be right. But this is different; this is one of those little victories that mean nothing to anyone but oneself. Jack bought me a TriStar back in ’92 or ’93; they’re really expensive, but I’m very hard on vacuum cleaners because it makes me crazy to have to go over and over the same damned spot and yet have it NOT GET CLEAN. I want a vacuum cleaner that would be at home in a cartoon, a vacuum that needs to be turned off if the drapes get caught in it because there’s no way to get them out otherwise. In this picture, that heavy hose is being held to my hand by the power of suction alone, and the circular mark is still visible on my hand as I type this over 30 minutes later. This is a sho-’nuff, no-messin’-around vacuum cleaner, y’all, and its air filtration is so good that the exhaust is cleaner than the air already in the room (suck that, Kirby). But after my marriage broke up and the bills started to get overwhelming, I had to be sensible and sell it to cover them. And as the years have gone by and I’ve been forced to clean filthy rugs with crappy Hoovers and Electroluxes and Dirt Devils, I’ve often missed my good old TriStar and vowed to get another one day. Then last week I was in a vacuum cleaner repair shop helping a friend to get a refurbished one, and I said to the guy, “You wouldn’t happen to have a TriStar for sale, would you?” He named a price higher than most of you probably paid for your new vacuums (but still less than a third of what my new TriStar cost over 20 years ago), and I said “Sold!” and peeled the bills off of the roll in my purse. Then I took it home and vacuumed all of my rugs, which were visibly brighter after the treatment. And though that’s great, and I’ll certainly vacuum much more often now, the really important thing for me is that after 20 years I managed to undo one minor example of the countless humiliations and defeats that life has saddled me with more than my share of. And that gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to undo at least a few of the others.
Long-time readers know that I suffer from debilitating vertigo which practically amounts to a disability; I need to ride shotgun in a car if I’m not driving, thrill rides are out of the question and, until recently, air travel was a horrific nightmare reserved solely for situations in which A) I absolutely had to be somewhere, and B) there was no practical way I could get there by car. Even buses and trains give me trouble, and since I had tried literally every prescription and non-prescription motion sickness medication on the market (and the bands, and the patch, and acupressure, and I’m a very poor hypnotic subject) I got around almost entirely by driving for a very long time. But then last summer, when I had a sudden attack of vomiting at a friend’s house, she gave me an ondansetron tablet and I was amazed to discover that it suppressed the nausea almost immediately. And this started me thinking: despite the claim in the literature that the medication has little effect on vomiting caused by motion sickness, I suspected that was by itself; what if I used two drugs in conjunction, diazepam to make me relaxed (preferably sleepy) and the ondansetron to control my weak stomach? So I visited a doctor to get prescriptions for both and tried the combination on a trip to Los Angeles in May; it worked well enough on that smooth round-trip to make me brave enough to try again with a much longer and much more turbulent trip to New Orleans, which I passed with flying (no pun intended) colors.
What that means is that I’m air-mobile again, so if you want me to speak at some event or avail yourself of my professional services, that can be arranged. For car travel, my rule of thumb is that I’m willing to drive for as long as the appointment; in other words, if you’re two hours from Seattle I’m willing to come and see you as long as you book at least a four-hour appointment (to balance two hours each way). But if I have to fly, you’re going to need to spring for a plane ticket too because it ain’t exactly like I can just jump on a plane and come home as soon as we’re done. That means downtime that you aren’t paying for in a strange city, and a hotel, and…you get the picture. So I think a plane ticket plus an appointment as least as long as the total time I have to spend on a damned plane (because despite the fact that I can dope away my sickness now, I still really despise flying) is only fair. And if you really don’t want that long an appointment (or can’t get away from your wife for more than a few hours), a plane ticket and a hotel and a dinner date should do nicely, because I’ll be able to advertise it as a short tour and book other appointments while I’m there. For speaking gigs, I’ll want a ticket, hotel & meals at least. But if you can’t afford all that, fear not; I’ll be traveling about for one reason or another from time to time, and I’m going to announce every one of those trips both in my diary columns and on Twitter, so you’ll be able to book appointments with me in advance (I’m not overly fond of last-minute appointments even in Seattle, and I loathe them while traveling). Of course, you could also come to Seattle, but I think that goes without saying.
One more thing, and this is important: I know a lot of my male readers are clients, and a lot of y’all have asked how y’all can support my work; in fact, I recently exhorted y’all to start doing more to support sex worker rights before you’re the one getting caught in a sting or prosecuted for writing reviews. Well, here’s your chance. It’s human nature to want to get something for your money, so I understand that you may not want to send me a few thousand bucks just because I’m gorgeous and brilliant. However, now you can support sex worker rights out of your sex-buying budget by booking a session with me and flying me out to wherever you are. Think about it, boys; you’ve seen my pics and my skills are practically legendary. Now you, too, can fuck Maggie McNeill, and all you have to do is email me, set aside a little time and be generous. Come on; you know you want to. Splurge a little. And I’ll be really, really grateful.
On the day my last diary column appeared, I went to dinner with Lorelei Rivers and a lovely and generous gentleman; he took us to one of my favorite restaurants in Seattle, Daniel’s Broiler. The reason I like it so much is that, unlike many expensive restaurants (which, to riff on Boorstin’s observation about celebrities, are high-priced because their prices are high), Daniel’s strives to earn its reputation in all ways, including outstanding service. And I have a new favorite cocktail, the beautiful, sweet & dangerous violet martini. Anyhow, after he treated us to dinner we treated him to That Thing We Do, and a lovely time was had by all. Alas, the rest of the week was not so uniformly pleasant; though I had a great time Thursday night, meeting new people and getting to socialize with ones I’ve known before, Wednesday was intensely stressful and Friday only slightly less so. In fact, on Wednesday I decided to start my evening relaxation a bit early; here’s a selfie from the backyard. I’m rather hoping this week will be a bit more homogeneous; I had a snuggle date on Sunday (the lady may identify herself if she likes) and dinner and a long chat last night with the amazing Allena Gabosch, who wrote this last week based on a conversation we had in New Orleans. Today I’m going in for another beauty treatment, and that always makes me feel better as well, so here’s hoping the goodness continues all week!
The existence of a movie featuring lurid tall tales about sex work does no more to prove them than the existence of The Wizard of Oz proves the existence of flying monkeys and talking scarecrows. – That Was the Week That Was (#329)
This month marks the beginning of this very feature, which needless to say has appeared every month since. The other regular features of the month were the fictional interlude “For I Have Sinned“; the holiday columns “Dependence Day“, “Third Anniversary” and “The Magdalene“; the Cliterati reprints “Public Property“, “Ad Absurdum“, “Long Spoon” and “Give Them an Inch…“; the Q&A columns “Catching Up“, “Keep Doing What You’re Doing“, “Cutting Remarks” and “Never Let ‘Em See You Sweat“; and a two-part Guest Column by Onioja, a Nigerian sex worker in Amsterdam. In addition, there were two early diary columns, “Rubbing Elbows” and “Celebrity“, from before that was a weekly feature. After that, there were six others: “Still a Child“, an examination of attempts to raise the age at which people are considered adults; “Micromanagement“, a warning about DNA databases; “Passive Voice“, an analysis at the language used to defer responsibility; “More Harm Than Good“, a complaint about the awful language used by would-be allies; “Cleaning Toilets“, an analogy about work some people dislike; and “Being Heard“, a look at how sex workers are finally beginning to be listened to.