Posts Tagged ‘blogging’

The problem with abusers is that they’re often extremely charming; after all, if they weren’t, who would stick around to be abused?  –  Maggie McNeill

Yesterday, Fault Lines on the Mimesis Law site (which you’ve often visited if you actually click on the links in my Links columns) published an interview with me as part of their “Cross” series.  I don’t often do email interviews any more because they take so much longer than telephone ones, but Scott Greenfield has been an online friend of mine for years and I’ll do things for my friends I won’t do for others.  I honestly think it was a really good interview, and he gave me leave to cut loose, be snarky and swear, so I thought I’d share it with y’all here, too.  Not the whole thing, mind you; I want you to see it as presented.  But here are a few excerpts from my replies; you’ll have to go there to see the questions and the rest:

…I was never exactly conventional, despite the efforts of parents and nuns; I was always a freethinker and never managed to absorb any negative attitudes about sex. I was fascinated by whores from the time I understood what the word meant, and as a young teen I counted several famous courtesans among my heroines. My very first D&D character at the age of 14 was a cleric who was a sacred prostitute, and I took money for sex for the first time just a little over two months after turning 18…

…while I probably made less money than the young girls while on the stage, I absolutely cleaned up in the VIP room. There’s not really a support network for new strippers; in fact, a lot of the girls are very competitive. But though I’ve never done pageants, I’m the type who would’ve often been named “Miss Congeniality” if I had; I make friends easily, and it didn’t take long before the more experienced ladies were showing me the ropes…

…Sex workers’ ads take advantage of the fact that paying for company isn’t illegal, only paying for sex.  Now, you and I both know that the line between those two isn’t remotely a bright, clear one such as the law pretends it is; lots of clients don’t want what most cops would call “sex”, and lots of sex doesn’t involve the body parts prudes code as “sexual.”  And by the letter of the law in most places, it isn’t “prostitution” unless there’s an explicit agreement to trade x sex act for y amount of money, which absolutely no whore in her right mind will ever do.  So in a sting the cops either lie and say that such an agreement was reached, or else rape the sex worker and use that as “evidence of prostitution”…

…I am continually amazed that over a century after the end of the Victorian Era, supposedly educated adults, especially people who call themselves “feminists”, actually believe (and expect others to believe) that all women are passive, childlike creatures with such a naïve, romanticized view of sex that our fluffy, pink little brains couldn’t possibly conceive of doing it for any reason other than loooooooooooooove or animalistic pleasure.  This is especially absurd given that these same “feminists” pretend that it’s better for women to be valued for our intelligence than for our beauty, while at the same time pretending that sexual motives deriving from the hindbrain (love & pleasure) are morally superior to those deriving from the frontal lobes (profit motive).  It’d be quite a fascinating case study in cognitive dissonance if it weren’t for the fact that these Froot Loop notions are used to justify sending armed thugs out to deceive, rape, brutalize, rob & cage people…

…[The Nordic model] stated that a minor boy is morally superior to a woman of any age. This is called “feminism”…

…If nobody actually complains about something, the cops shouldn’t be driving around looking for trouble. Firemen don’t rove around looking for fires, and paramedics don’t rove around looking for injuries, yet we don’t see huge numbers of buildings burning down & accident victims dying because nobody got there in time.  Let the cops stay in their fucking police stations until called out, and they’ll have a lot fewer opportunities to murder black men, execute dogs, rob bodegas and rape women…

…Prohibitionists only accuse me of dishonesty because I won’t support their ridiculous wanking fantasies of international cartels of magical ninja pimps with mind-control powers abducting screaming white girls from shopping malls and bus stops, transporting them around the country in dog crates, and serving them up to hundreds of salivating sex maniacs per week until their genitalia collapse and the diabolical monsters then dispose of them, presumably by flushing them down hotel toilets like unwanted goldfish…

Go read it, and enjoy.

Maggie black couch



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An Apology

unrung bellEvery writer, especially when first starting out, writes a few things that, on looking back, cause her to say something like “What the Hell was I thinking when I wrote that?”  In fact, there are a LOT of things I wrote my first year that make me feel that way.  However, I’m a big believer in transparency; before the Internet, one couldn’t just “un-publish” embarrassing articles, and I don’t think it’s ethical or even wise to try that now just because one can.  You can’t un-ring a bell, and you can’t unsay hurtful things, and to attempt to do so by shoving mistakes – even ugly ones – down the memory hole is to attempt to rewrite the past, a favorite pastime of censors and tyrants through the ages.  I’m a real, flawed human being, and though I believe racism and bigotry are deeply wrong, sometimes things don’t really come out like I wanted them to.  In September of 2010, I published a post explaining why some sex workers refuse to see black men, and it soon became my most controversial; a lot of people called me a racist and worse because of it, but because I also received a lot of mail from black men thanking me for explaining it (even if they sometimes rightfully chastised me for the crappy, sloppy, careless, insensitive, amateurish, assholish, and unnecessarily hurtful way I expressed it), I’ve always felt it was best to leave it up.  However, the essay has recently become a major bone of contention in the sex worker rights movement, and some people whose opinions and feelings I care deeply about have told me that they are offended or upset by it.  As many of you know or have surmised, I consider loyalty to those I love to be among the highest of virtues, so when a loved one says that something I did – even inadvertently, and even six years ago – hurt her in some way, you can bank on the fact that I’m going to try to correct that in any way I can.  And so, though I know the decision will annoy or upset some people as much as the original essay did, I have decided it’s time to take it down.  I am not doing this in order to pretend it never existed; as I wrote above, I own my mistakes as much as I own my accomplishments.  And even if I wanted it to vanish completely, the internet has made that impossible.  The reason I am doing this is, quite simply, because some people I respect and some people I love and respect asked me to, and that is reason enough for me.   I apologize to any readers who may have been offended by my language, or who may be offended in the future by copies of the essay which exist elsewhere; please believe that any hurt I caused was wholly unintentional.

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Air Stream

I usually write my columns at my desk.  I’ve done some in hotels, and some fragments in coffee shops or other such places; I even wrote part of one at a party once, and a whole (albeit short) one while sitting in my car on Bainbridge Island waiting for a ferry.  Also, I usually write my columns dead sober, though I have done a little editing and preparation of news columns while slightly drunk or waiting for an edible to kick in (they’re legal in Seattle, remember?  And I’ve discovered I like them, so there.)  One column in the past month I edited, illustrated and scheduled while quite stoned (no, I won’t say which, and I’ll bet you can’t guess because I did an excellent job if I do say so myself).  But today I’m doing something new on both counts: I am writing this on an airplane in flight, on crappy, slow wifi that Alaska Air charged me TWENTY FUCKING DOLLARS FOR even though it’s horrible compared to the wifi I got for free on JetBlue in May.  And I’m doing it while under the influence of 10 mg of Valium and 4 of Zofran, because that’s the way I roll when I have to fly.  My first test of this new meds combo was when I flew to LA in May, but that was a smooth two-and-half-hour flight; this is a FOUR and a half hour flight across the Rockies, and let me tell you it is NOT SMOOTH.  Normally, I’d be crying and puking right now, but I’m actually OK despite the frequent rumbling and shaking.  The Valium seems to be controlling my nerves and the Zofran my stomach, so let’s hope that continues.  My computer’s clock says it’s 13:31 (Sunday) right now as I type this, but it’s 15:31 in New Orleans and presumably 14:31 below us in Colorado (though by the time I figured out how to take this screenshot on my Chromebook we were at the border of Colorado, New Mexico and Texas and therefore crossing into Central Time.  I would’ve used my usual screenshot program, but it’s been goofing up lately & I don’t know how to fix it.)

Screenshot 2016-07-10 at 13.37.19

But anyway, when I was at the airport earlier talking to Allena Gabosch (who’s on the same flight as Vignette, Jae and I, though in  different row) I told her that I’d finished my blogging through Thursday, and I had a brainstorm: what if I wrote one on the plane?  Since I’m dopey as hell right now (though the first Valium’s probably wearing off since I took it at 10:00 PDT, I only took the second one just before I started to write almost an hour ago), I thought the results might be interesting.  Speaking of results, I am still not panicking from all this bumping (the seat belt sign just went back on), nor am I sweating, flushed, queasy or any of the other symptoms that let me know I’m about to be very sick indeed.  And yes, I would knock wood if there were any in this plane.  But if things keep going like this on subsequent flights, I might actually be air-mobile again, which is pretty cool.

This is not to say I actually LIKE flying; it’s a wholly awful form of transport and I hate being on a freaking bus in the sky, even when the plane isn’t bouncing around like a ping-pong ball.  And if that weren’t already bad enough, I despise having to deal with the blue-gloved morons.  Today I had the misfortune to be behind an eedjit who believes the propaganda about security theater (I told him statistics proved him wrong but I wasn’t going to argue), then my luggage was “selected” for “extra screening” because it contained “a large amount of organic matter” (a dozen copies of Ladies of the Night).  That explanation sounds entirely bogus to me; do people with lots of cotton or woolen clothing get “selected” as well?

selfie 7-12-16Anyhow, my brain seems to be getting fuzzier (getting only three solid hours of sleep last night followed by two intermittent hours probably has something to do with it.  That and the Valium) .  And I somehow screwed up the map that was showing our remaining time to New Orleans, though obviously we must be over Texas because it’s almost 16:30 Central Time and we’re supposed to land in something like 75 minutes.  And once we land we need to Lyft down to our hotel on Canal Street, where we’ll be meeting Kaytlin Bailey for dinner (and I hope Grace is there by then).  So I guess I’ll finish up and try to figure out if I can upload this selfie I took a little while ago.  When you read this I’ll be getting ready to return, so maybe I’ll make a comment when I’m on the flight back.  And I hope not being sick.  And noticing that I use a LOT of parentheses when I’m doped up.

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Sixth Anniversary

Though I’m rarely at a loss for words, none in my vocabulary are sufficient to express the gratitude I feel for all of y’all who choose to spend some of your valuable time with me every day, and without whose attention, praise and support none of this would have been possible.  –  Maggie McNeill

New York Times portraitSix years!  Who would ever have believed it?  By the end of my first few months I was already concerned that I wouldn’t be able to keep doing this every day, and yet despite a much busier schedule than I had back then, I’m still managing it.  Sure, the columns are shorter on average, and I’ve got a lot more low-effort features than I used to, but given that I’m escorting full-time again and doing a fair amount of travel, it could hardly work any other way.  So let’s look at the numbers, as is my custom on this annual occasion: the blog now contains almost 2200 posts, 92 assorted pages, and almost 47,000 comments; I have over 1900 subscribers and over 9000 Twitter followers, and a total of over 4.8 million page views from all over the world.  I’ve also seen my work published in Cato UnboundReason and the Washington Post, and have done so many interviews, speaking engagements, consultations and other such work that I’ve completely lost count.  My name has been widely recognized in the demimonde and in sex-positive and libertarian circles for years now, and once in a while I even get recognized by someone in the community at large due to my TV appearances or the New York Times Magazine cover.  Guys writing me for appointments often use words like “famous”, “legend” or even “icon”, and if someone who hasn’t heard of me seems nervous that I might be a cop or fraud, I just reply with, “Dude, Google me“.  In fact, you can even Google me naked and get a lot of applicable results, which is not something most people can say.  I know I’ve been promising to get another book out for several years now, and I’m still really planning to do that.  But in the meantime, I’m just going to keep on keepin’ on, and using my increasing fame to keep spreading the word that sex work is work, that sex workers are human beings deserving of human rights, and that prohibitionists are nothing but bigots trying to hide a moralistic agenda under a cloak of lies and spurious concern.

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Diary #314

waterfall 6-25-16Weekend before last, I went on another long professional date, this time to a lovely cabin near Mount Rainier; we did a little sightseeing and a little hot-tub-sitting and a little dining and a lot of relaxing, and all in all it was quite a pleasant way to spend the weekend.  Oh, the exploitation!  Oh, the humiliation!  As I’m sure you can guess, I spent the entire time crying and praying for the cops to smash in the door and “rescue” me from the terrible monster who was spending a generous sum to take me on vacation.  I’m not honestly sure why so many of these extended gigs seem to take place in the summer; it’s not like either they or I have school terms to worry about.  Anyway, we’ll be heading to New Orleans for the Desiree Alliance conference on Sunday, so if you live in the Big Easy and want to see me, now’s the time to let me know!  And if you live anywhere else but would like to take me away for a weekend, or fly me to your city for an overnight, this is to remind you that you can do that.  I still don’t like flying, but at least now I know I can drug myself into managing it.

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I’ve been slowly getting used to being a minor celebrity; for example, two weeks ago I didn’t even bat an eyelash when my doctor’s assistant said, “Oh, I saw you in the New York Times!”  So I wasn’t surprised when MTV News asked me for an interview, and I’m glad to report that the resulting article was quite good, certainly a lot better than that garbage Rolling Stone started the month with.  The article had a rather funny side-effect, though, mostly because computers are, as Isaac Asimov once called them, “high-speed morons”; they do whatever they’re told to do, very quickly and thoroughly, no matter how bloody stupid it is.  Well, apparently someone at a website named “The Celebrity Auction” figured that anybody mentioned by name in MTV News must be a celebrity, because the night after I took this lovely but wholly gratuitous selfie, Google alerts sent me a message from that site urging me to “Get the latest Maggie McNeill news and hot Maggie McNeill gossip!”  I ask you, readers, how could I resist?  I wanted to hear about how I’d been spotted stumbling drunk out of a swanky Manhattan club at 3 AM, or how I had been romantically linked with that one guy from the TV show, who was also in a band, probably.  Or maybe that actress who’s so funny.  Definitely her.  Ooh, or maybe an article about my beauty secrets, and how much plastic surgery I’ve had, and how I get my body “bikini ready” every year!  Alas, I was to be disappointed; it was just this link to a quote from the MTV interview.    Oh, well; at least I’m officially a celebrity now, so I can stop wondering; I reckon I should’ve seen this coming after I got my own IMDb page.  Can a Wikipedia article be far behind?

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Back Issue: June 2013

The difference between my level of contempt for evil and my level of contempt for moral cowardice is so minuscule I probably couldn’t shove [a police collaborator’s] scruples between them.  – “Zurvivor

Grigori RasputinThis month, the guest columnist (Sarah Woolley) moved into the spot that feature still occupies, the second Monday of the month.  Wednesdays were reader questions (“Late Bloomer“, “On a Mountaintop“, “Quicker Than the Eye” and “Sensitive Guy“), a feature that now appears on Thursdays; Fridays were reprints of my columns from Cliterati,  which this month were “Unmentionables”  and “Sold Out“; there were only two because this month’s fictional interlude,  “Glorious Gifts“, pre-empted one and my Summer Solstice column the other.  The month’s only other holiday was International Whores’ Day, and there were three other feature columns: the harlotography (“Marie Duplessis“), a book review (America’s War on Sex)Eeyore's house and a songs column (“Money Don’t Grow On Trees“).  “Zurvivor“, Pimping the Pimp“, “Rotten to the Core“, “Which I Doubt” and “Flush Criminalization”  were all news commentaries, and that leaves only three columns of other types:  “Sleeping With the Enemy” criticized some sex workers’ trendy but idiotic fascinations with Marxism and misandry; “Magic Formulae” discussed the superstitious belief in “tests” or procedures believed to protect whores from cops; and “Hussies” mocked the resurgence of the tiresome belief that women’s sex drives are at least as ravenous as men’s.The Ionian Dance by Sir Edward John Poynter (1895)

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