roseembolism (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
roseembolism) wrote2008-04-22 03:40 pm
roseembolism) wrote2008-04-22 03:40 pm
Entry tags:
The Open Source...HAAIIIII-YAH!
This is a horribly tacky, crude, and most likely inappropriate response to the Open Source Boob Project.
Even though others have done pretty much the same thing better, with far more sarcasm and talent, I find I can't resist. Because I have low self control and an uncontrollably mordant sense of humor.
Even though others have done pretty much the same thing better, with far more sarcasm and talent, I find I can't resist. Because I have low self control and an uncontrollably mordant sense of humor.
"This should be a better world," a friend of mine said. "A more honest one, where violence isn't shameful or degrading. I wish this was the kind of world where say, 'Wow, I'd like to kick ya inna crotch,' and people would understand that it's not a way of reducing you to a crotch and ignoring the rest of you, but rather a way of saying that I may not yet know your mind, but I wanna kick ya inna crotch.
We were standing in the hallway of ConFusion, about nine of us, and we all nodded. Then another friend spoke up.
"You can kick me in the crotch," he said to all of us in the hallway. "It's no big deal."
Now, you have to understand the way he said that, because it's the key to the whole project. The spirit of everything was formed within those nine words - and if he'd said them shyly, as though having his crotch kicked by people was something to be endured or afraid of, the Open-Source Kick-ya-inna-crotch Project would have died aborning. But he didn't. His words were loud and clearly audible to anyone who walked by, an offer made to friends and acquaintances alike.
Yet it wasn't a come-on, either. There wasn't that undertow of desperation of come on, kick me, I need to validate your power so maybe we'll hook up later tonight. There was no promise of anything but a simple kick inna crotch.
We all kicked out in the hallway, foot extended, to get a target. And lo, we kicked his crotch - taking turns to put our boots into the smallish bulge exposed under the tight jeans he wore, curling our toes to mash the clothed bulges underneath, following through strongly but briefly lest we cross the line from 'kicking" to "losing balance and falling." It was an awesome crotch, worthy of being kicked.
And life seemed so much simpler.
In this moment, all of the societal restrictions had fallen away, and we discovered an eBay-like need: We liked to express the desire to kick him inna crotch, and he liked the compliment of being noticed. It wasn't a one-way flow; it was a stream of compliments being passed back and forth as we battered that small zone of his body, a My God, this is a beautiful target of a crotch you have, along with the backstream compliment of Thank you, you're worthy of kicking it.
It could have been a base sadism. But instead, it was violent desire made simple. We knew we couldn't go further, but being allowed inside this area of restricted access with nothing more than a question was somehow amazing.
We stood there afterwards, a little shocked. Then someone else spoke up in the same tone of voice:
"You can kick mine, too."
And my God! We all swung out like Bruce Lee trying to break through a door to get to those crotches. And it wasn't getting any worse! We weren't degenerating into a riot, but rather exploring the amazement of how beautiful this impact of foot against crotch was. Nobody was trying to break a knee or dislocate a shoulder; we'd been given access to a very special place that only lovers usually touched, and why would you be so crude as to try to kick anything else?
And every guy in that hallway was then asked the question: "May I kick ya inna crotch?" They considered, and said yes. And we all did.
And my Lord, I'd had experience in kicking crotches in my time, but having so many kicked one after another was beautiful. One of the reasons I love violence is because every body is so different, and the differences in size, and skin tone, and impact resistance, and underwear- underwear were a big deal in how well a crotch withstood the impact. It wasn't like the crotches blurred together; they were all each impacted in their own way, framed in the canvas of pants or shorts or a kilt. With each set we kicked, we appreciated the last ones even more.
We went back to some of the first open-sourcers, eager for comparison. "Can I kick them again?" "Sure!" And the kicks inna crotch continued.
I felt the terrors of high school washing away from me. It could be this easy. Just do it!
We talked about this. It was an Open-Source Project, making crtches available to be kicked by select folks. (Like any good project, you need access control, because there are loutish men and women who just Don't Get It.) And we wanted a signal to let people know that they were okay with being asked politely, so we turned it into a project:
THE OPEN SOURCE KICK-ME-INNA-CROTCH PROJECT
At Penguicon, we had buttons to give away. There were two small buttons, one for each camp: A green button that said, "YES, you may" and a red button that said "NO, you may not." And anyone who had those buttons on, whether you knew them or not, was someone you could approach and ask:
"Excuse me, but may I kick ya inna crotch?"
And if you weren't a total loser - the men retained their right to say no, of course - they would push their groin out, and your foot would be allowed into the sanctity of it. That exchange of happiness where one person is told with kicks that they are a desirable target and the other is someone who's allowed to kick.
For a moment, everything that was awkward about high school would fade away and you could just say what was on your mind. It was as though parts of me were being healed whenever I did it, and I kicked at least fifteen sets of crotches at Penguicon. It never got old, surprisingly.
We were standing in the hallway of ConFusion, about nine of us, and we all nodded. Then another friend spoke up.
"You can kick me in the crotch," he said to all of us in the hallway. "It's no big deal."
Now, you have to understand the way he said that, because it's the key to the whole project. The spirit of everything was formed within those nine words - and if he'd said them shyly, as though having his crotch kicked by people was something to be endured or afraid of, the Open-Source Kick-ya-inna-crotch Project would have died aborning. But he didn't. His words were loud and clearly audible to anyone who walked by, an offer made to friends and acquaintances alike.
Yet it wasn't a come-on, either. There wasn't that undertow of desperation of come on, kick me, I need to validate your power so maybe we'll hook up later tonight. There was no promise of anything but a simple kick inna crotch.
We all kicked out in the hallway, foot extended, to get a target. And lo, we kicked his crotch - taking turns to put our boots into the smallish bulge exposed under the tight jeans he wore, curling our toes to mash the clothed bulges underneath, following through strongly but briefly lest we cross the line from 'kicking" to "losing balance and falling." It was an awesome crotch, worthy of being kicked.
And life seemed so much simpler.
In this moment, all of the societal restrictions had fallen away, and we discovered an eBay-like need: We liked to express the desire to kick him inna crotch, and he liked the compliment of being noticed. It wasn't a one-way flow; it was a stream of compliments being passed back and forth as we battered that small zone of his body, a My God, this is a beautiful target of a crotch you have, along with the backstream compliment of Thank you, you're worthy of kicking it.
It could have been a base sadism. But instead, it was violent desire made simple. We knew we couldn't go further, but being allowed inside this area of restricted access with nothing more than a question was somehow amazing.
We stood there afterwards, a little shocked. Then someone else spoke up in the same tone of voice:
"You can kick mine, too."
And my God! We all swung out like Bruce Lee trying to break through a door to get to those crotches. And it wasn't getting any worse! We weren't degenerating into a riot, but rather exploring the amazement of how beautiful this impact of foot against crotch was. Nobody was trying to break a knee or dislocate a shoulder; we'd been given access to a very special place that only lovers usually touched, and why would you be so crude as to try to kick anything else?
And every guy in that hallway was then asked the question: "May I kick ya inna crotch?" They considered, and said yes. And we all did.
And my Lord, I'd had experience in kicking crotches in my time, but having so many kicked one after another was beautiful. One of the reasons I love violence is because every body is so different, and the differences in size, and skin tone, and impact resistance, and underwear- underwear were a big deal in how well a crotch withstood the impact. It wasn't like the crotches blurred together; they were all each impacted in their own way, framed in the canvas of pants or shorts or a kilt. With each set we kicked, we appreciated the last ones even more.
We went back to some of the first open-sourcers, eager for comparison. "Can I kick them again?" "Sure!" And the kicks inna crotch continued.
I felt the terrors of high school washing away from me. It could be this easy. Just do it!
We talked about this. It was an Open-Source Project, making crtches available to be kicked by select folks. (Like any good project, you need access control, because there are loutish men and women who just Don't Get It.) And we wanted a signal to let people know that they were okay with being asked politely, so we turned it into a project:
THE OPEN SOURCE KICK-ME-INNA-CROTCH PROJECT
At Penguicon, we had buttons to give away. There were two small buttons, one for each camp: A green button that said, "YES, you may" and a red button that said "NO, you may not." And anyone who had those buttons on, whether you knew them or not, was someone you could approach and ask:
"Excuse me, but may I kick ya inna crotch?"
And if you weren't a total loser - the men retained their right to say no, of course - they would push their groin out, and your foot would be allowed into the sanctity of it. That exchange of happiness where one person is told with kicks that they are a desirable target and the other is someone who's allowed to kick.
For a moment, everything that was awkward about high school would fade away and you could just say what was on your mind. It was as though parts of me were being healed whenever I did it, and I kicked at least fifteen sets of crotches at Penguicon. It never got old, surprisingly.
no subject
I'm having trouble coming up with the right analogy.
no subject
no subject
As bad an idea as the Open Source Boob Project is, I don't think guys deserve the violent switcheroo given here.
no subject
I would readily admit it fails as sarcasm, it is really just my inner mordant wit coming out.
Well-meaning.
no subject
In a sense, I was trying topoint up how absurd the whole original situation was.
*(...umm, in the writing that is. *sigh* I should just go back to bed.)
no subject
no subject
Over the course of the day I did consider a PYFIMB (http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/5e81093041) button along with "groper" button for simplicity's sake, but you & misia really hit the target!
So full of thank you!
no subject
And thank you for pointing me toward feminist SF: that looks like a site dealing with a lot of issues in SF and fandom I'm interested in, so0 i'm going to have to keep an eye on it.
no subject
It's one of the benefits of being on the upside of the power imbalance. The system is set up such that you are simply harder to hurt.
no subject
It still bugs me, though, that I can't think of a proper analogy. I want to make things fit.
no subject
Wet willy? Perhaps.
It's really hard to find an analogue without going into simple humiliation/abuse.
no subject
no subject
SOMEbody had to do the word-for-word version. Yay!
There's a "her" that needs to be switched, and mention of bras, but that's my inner editor speaking.
no subject
no subject
Wait...that didn't come out right.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Doh!
Re: Doh!
Which means that the sillyness was not apparent as such after the con ended. One shudders to think.
no subject
no subject
no subject
You just made me laugh until I cried and scared the dogs. :) Thank you for writing this.
no subject
Now if I could only break myself of the habit I've just developed of saying snarky things on ferrett's LJ.
no subject
While I utterly adore that there's been such a strong response to his boobage idea, it's a shame that he's gotten so much attention. That's probably one positive part he'll be able to hold onto.
no subject
I feel a bit more sympathy for the women involved, partially because I've been hearing that he wasn't as centrally involved as he claimed, and has been using the situation. but on the other hand, they're taking the internet much too seriously.
no subject
His success will be short lived. In his blog (http://www.theferrett.com/), he consistently comes off as a jerk and not a progressive thinker. I've got to have faith that no one will invest in a book he'd write.
no subject
This line is a thing of beauty!
no subject
no subject
no subject
I somehow missed it when the whole Boobgate thing originally hit my friends' page. So tonight when I came across
no subject
And thank you for your kind words- it's been a good week for humor.
no subject
no subject
http://wiki.feministsf.net/index.php?title=Open_Source_Boob_Project
no subject