Sexual Promise-Acuity: Bryan Singer, Hollywood and Ain't That a Mess?

"It makes no difference

    anywhere you go,

I got something

     I want you to know.

I got ants in my pants, baby,

for you."

  (Bo Carter, from the song, "Ants in Your Pants," recorded in NY City, 1931)

 

It's not as though scandals began in Hollywood with actor Fatty Arbuckle (sorry kids, you'll have to look his name up on that there inner net thingie). Fame and public curiosity put his name up in the bright lights of, not merely Hollywood, but police stations, as accusations flew like dirty undies rocketing down a laundry chute.  Make no mistake, any day of the week folks would gladly congregate at newsstands of old to gawk at salacious tales involving celebrity  s e x, murder and intrigue, all the while gasping and expressing shock and outrage -- as wide eyes hungrily absorbed every sordid detail and hoped for more.  Nothing has changed.

So, one Michael Egan, now 31, has come forward, claiming motion picture visionary Bryan Singer sexed him up in more than one way back in the nineties as Egan occupied, more or less, the 15th to 17th years of his life.  Seems that Egan recently started seeing a therapist, apparently became re-enlightened about being abused way in the past, hooked up with a lawyer bent upon changing the world of Hollywood pedophilia -- and now a lawsuit at six figures (or more?) way after the original complaint is in the works.  It's not about the money.  They say.  Okay, fair enough. 

Egan, we learn, wanted to be an actor as a teenager and his parents kindly accommodated him by moving to the Los Angeles area.  It didn't take long before he encountered a bevy of Hollywood intimates who promised him much more of the world than he ever got and extracted sexual favors in the process -- all against his will, but helped along tremendously with complimentary gifts, booze and drugs.  The major complaint here is against Singer, alleged to have forced upon the youthful Egan sex here, sex there and sex with friends at all-nude male pool parties, and even sex at both ends during a hot tub session, tempered by warnings and threats severe enough to scare the pants off a teenage boy whose pants weren't already off..  Do I have all of that right? Sex drive?  Sex crimes?  I don't know.  Singer, nevertheless,  apparently denies that any of this happened.

Obviously, I'm a clueless blogger and harbor no idea whether Singer is what he's alleged to be -- and, wow, is this ever one of those occasions when one has to pepper sentences with the words, alleged and allegedly.  But I do harbor my own complaint about Bryan Singer -- I paid to see his movie,  Superman Returns  at a theater, and it could have been so much better.  That's the crime that interests me here because the sex thing is such, I don't know, daily news anymore?   Shouldn't we just condemn Singer for his movies?  And if he can be sued years later for alleged sex acts, can I at least find some crusading attorney willing to sue him for my ticket refund?

 

Of course, the obvious question is, where are the parents whenever this little I'm-gonna-make-you-a-star-kid unpleasantness pops up?  Hey, we're talking about Hollywood, a mystical kingdom of possibilities which appears under control by day, yet becomes savagely feral by night, all of it constructed of make-believe and let's pretend,  with special places reserved for those who will literally do anything to get an acting job.  Whatever it takes.  Act one, as the theater curtain opens, often turns out to be a sex act.

The unwritten law for fledgling actors and actresses determined to scale Hollywood's amoral moat-encompassed estate to claim a piece of its grandeur and stardom seems to dictate that a price must be paid, and sometimes that price involves far more body than soul.  This sort of thing was once known as the casting couch, though the mistaken impression back then assumed that only young women were the intended targets.   So what's new?  Who cares?  I started caring less and laughing more about this stuff when "they" started whipping up and posting sex offender lists on the Web.  Sex is always potentially offensive to somebody, in my view, and some folks are probably sexually offended by exposure to jars of salad dressing or bottles of spring water.  Had sex offender lists, separated into neat little "level" compartments with explicit rules, existed at the dawn of human history, there would have been no humans to make history.  Internet lists can be posted, but nobody can explicitly enforce rules of sex any more than one can herd cats.  Good things happen and very, very bad things happen.  Among the Hollywood culture, since when did anybody encouraging their children into acting expect anything different?

Teenage boys don't know what varieties of sex lie in wait "out there," when sex is pretty much all that boys of that age think about?  They are not, how would we say it -- uninformed regarding the options and pitfalls of sex, desired or not, and certainly not as recently as the nineties.

Months ago in this blog we referenced a little history about another part of the world and indicated that what is caustically referred to as pedophilia in our society is accepted as surprisingly normal, almost spiritual or equivalent to "prep school" for adulthood (!) in other cultures -- and let's nor forget that as recently as the seventies and eighties, and perhaps even beyond, in much of the USA one could walk into magazine stores and encounter displays of perfectly legal boy and girl "youth" magazines, with very suggestive poses on the covers, for sale -- yes, naked children -- and states obviously were collecting some pretty respectable sales taxes as a result. 

One suspects the Singer lawsuit (and others just announced) will end up with nobody claiming responsibility for anything much, but the alleged victims and their legal defenders may mysteriously depart with lots of money from Hollywood bank accounts for murky reasons which nobody will ultimately disclose in depth. Word is, the alleged Singer -- affair -- has precipitated an extreme case of  nerves in Hollywood, with intensive nail-biting over who's next.  Yeah, you had better bite those nails, because Egan's mom is now making the rounds in defense of her son, and even though the nineties are so, well, nineties, she's angry and -- the real kiss of death for those presumed guilty -- she's crying in front of the TV news cameras.  Head for the hills!  Surely, Roman Polanski wrote a book about emergency evacuations in cases such as this?

Years have passed, but I wonder, just exactly how much a piece of . . .gold. . .is worth, long after tarnished encounters in Tinseltown?  Sorry, but I'll be very hard-pressed to find a hero in any of this Hollywood business-as-usual. 

Meanwhile, as if part of some grandiose assembly line, a bustling throng of parents from coast to coast carefully readies the kids for child actor screen tests and stardom that can't fail because their children are special.  And to think law enforcement personnel confine the word, grooming to pedophilia, not parenting!

Yet, I am curiously enthused, now firm in the conviction (pardon the unfortunate word) that Bryan Singer allegedly owes me a ticket refund, and if I have to shed tears or attend one of those nude Hollywood pool parties, or jump into a hot tub to get it (that is, the refund, not the. . .I mean, when I say  get it  I'm talking about the refund, not the. . .), maybe I should start packing.

Moo Who? Moo You!

 

 

FLASH!!  Be sure to read today's final entry for a new instance of human inventions imitating UFOs.

 

NEVADA:  A baker's dozen of cow pies, all boxed up and arranged prettily, would be more appetizing than anything the Bureau of Land Management dished out last week.  If anybody has the right to organize and protest, it's rancher Bundy's cattle, and everybody way out West might just consider themselves fortunate that a community cattle organizer from Chicago didn't show up to orchestrate an angry animal stampede.

Yeah, Bundy's ancestors started grazing the herds back in the 1800s, and at some point the U.S. gov declared that this grazing land was public land, and the trouble began -- at least for the last twenty years, during which the BLM insists that Bundy himself owes the U.S. government a million dollars.  The rancher doesn't quite see it their way, and thus reasons for self-respecting cattle to take heed, especially as BLM enforcers began rounding them up with the intent of taking them away, way away.

As we continue to endure a presidential administration out of control and federal fingers with a reach too long, it doesn't take a cow flatulence scientist to realize that last week's siege on the Bundy cattle wasn't just the BLM moving in at the last minute.  No, it seems far more likely that the Obama bunch -- no lovers of rural America, ranchers or small farmers -- was solidly and bureaucratically behind the affair.  Strike while the iron is hot, etc., etc.  Harry Reid who?  Where was he?  

Remember, this is the White House gang which considers the UN's Agenda 21 almost divine, and would likely be thrilled to transport as many Americans as possible from the countryside to the cities (thanks a lot, but those cities also happen to be nuclear weapon playgrounds for world terrorists, which is to say I wouldn't be storing my sports heroes card collection in the cites if I were you).  Or as the late singer Jerry Reed might suggest, when you're hot you're hot.

Surprisingly, Big Brother backed off -- for now.  The BLM went away and let the cattle go.  Maybe so's they can get back to destroying Americana by rounding up more prairie horses and sending them to slaughter to accommodate foreign appetites (or is that still on hold in the court system until the people forget about this additional outrage)?

By the way -- endangered tortoises?  The ones living in apparent harmony with cattle since the 1800s?  Hmm -- this all wouldn't be more about oil and gas drilling, would it?  Maybe Senator Reid could answer this question, should Nevada residents put it to him.  The peculiarly silent Reid has been missing throughout this quagmire's vocal and busy disturbance.

It seems we've reached a significantly low point when one almost cheers for the arrival of concerned militia members intent upon supporting Bundy, but I must confess a certain gnawing comfort regarding their escalating presence as things dragged on.  No, I'm not at all for a shooting match, because that's exactly what the Washington bunch would love.  In this case, the militia members and other faces simply constituted a barometer calling attention to an impression that the federal government IS out of control, and its incursion into Americans' lives with brute force, slick regulatory pronouncements and even instances of actions just made up as it goes along have progressed way beyond the abilities envisioned by the founders of this country.  The dedicated lawmen and women sent by the government to enforce federal laws against Bundy in Nevada, I'm willing to bet, overwhelmingly wanted nothing to do with this mess, but a job is a job -- and the real evil is always at the top, anyway, where the frustrated and angry can't reach -- where those who don't want us to have firearms for protection are, strangely, always well-armed or well-protected themselves as they dump the fecal matter of progressivism on the heads of those who rarely have the opportunity to successfully fight back anymore. 

 

Make no mistake, rancher Bundy's encounter with the feds was historic, and maybe even more so because nobody started a shooting match.

Meanwhile, you can bet the suits and ties in D.C. are working tirelessly behind the scenes to complete the intended "transaction" in some other way.   After all, the power lords can't have the common folk gain the upper hand, can they?  Looks as though the Putin approach is catching on, even here in the U.S.  Wake up, America, become de-zombiefied and think with brains in real-time instead of watching zombies eat them in horror flicks.

Eric Holder whines about his treatment by Congress:  Oh boo-hoo.  Mr. Attorney General, those who came before you endured far worse questioning.  Ya know, sir, maybe this hasn't occurred to you, but you're free to resign your position at any time and, in fact, a fair number of us out here would encourage you to do exactly that -- oh, just as soon as you've provided answers about Fast and Furious and a few other matters. 

University Intellectuals of the World Unite.  Looks as though I've a little explaining to do.  Okay, lookee here, as one of my old Air Force basic training instructors was fond of saying:  The univ. intellectuals to whom I've referred caustically just entries ago are those who take their classroom learnin', convert it to some personal hypothesis and then enter politics with the intention of splashing their hope-and-change crap upon us -- the human guinea pigs.  Or we become Petri dishes for their extreme beliefs which they engineer into going viral.  Example?  The Obama Administration.  Not the first, but we profoundly hope the last.

The next time some TV host asks Bill Clinton or any president about UFOs  do us all a favor and DON'T make it about (1) Roswell or (2) Area 51.  The intense focus upon these topics by media searching for a beat has almost turned their very mention into public jokes, despite the quality of some evidence.  Bring up, instead, pilot sightings and military close encounters, etc., and engage them in discussions of the dangers involved for airline pilots and passengers when UFO encounters occur -- the here and now aspect.   In fact, when those of you involved with crazed focus groups out there actually manage to get the word bossy banned from dictionaries, see if you can also do something about  Area 51 and Col. Corso, each of which seems overwhelmingly irrelevant when speaking of UFOs.  Just a thought.

Hillary Clinton's New Shoe:  I guess it's kinda hard to incorporate the old chestnut, if the shoe fits, wear it, when somebody directs a shoe toward your head and not your foot, but at least Hillary returned fire with a vocal zinger or two.  I trust she'll have the opportunity to try on lots of shoes when she's NOT the next president.

The Heartbleed Bug:  Oh yeah, another reason why I'm perfectly comfortable flying to Mars, Jupiter and beyond, totally dependent upon digital technology and the human geniuses who continue to build what destroys -- just when everybody believes the patch (or the fix) is in.  Smells like a flower now, folks, but I'm telling ya, the computer is not the future.  Something else is.

Multiple stabbing at a Pennsylvania high school -- putting the obvious into words:   Strange, isn't it, how mass injuries induced by cutlery don't often spend a lot of time in the media?  Until somebody finds a way to categorize kitchen knives as assault weapons worthy of state and federal regulation, we won't.  Of course, we wish the latest crop of young school victims a good recovery. . .and of the alleged perpetrator, questions abound.  Just a kid.  Just a kid used to mean something altogether different, an image unfulfilled by depictions of shock and horror.  Funny how we've become less immune to some disease processes, but more immune to scenes of chaos, death and war.

Whoa!  What's electrified and reminds me of sixties and seventies UFOs all over again?   From journalist Douglas Ernst, writing for The Washington Times (April 9), comes a potential UFO connection -- but that's not his article's subject in any way.  Discussing MIT Ph.D. candidate Joseph Moore's  research into methods of powering drones without the necessity of having them land for that all-important energy recharge, Moore suggests a daily existence where drones never again need to touch the earth after liftoff.  Instead, according to Ernst, Moore is "on the cusp of

creating a drone that can 'perch' on power lines just like birds to recharge its batteries."  What?  What?

Basically, based on tests observed by Business Insider, drones all gussied up with magnetometers could locate magnetic fields surrounding power lines, follow the electrical impulses and then perch on the lines to absorb a charge.  During the demonstration presented by Mr. Moore, an experimental glider,  "even without a fully-developed perching mechanism, was able to come 'within centimeters' of a mock power line."

What about UFOs?  Those of you old enough to remember the "Incident at Exeter (New Hampshire)" from the sixties and, even more widely reported, numerous instances of UFOs appearing to "ride" or hover over power lines during the 1970s will instantly see a connection here.  Back then, it was commonly believed UFO / power line encounters indicated that UFOs were stealing a charge from this source -- and witness reports of concurrent local power interruptions or outright failures were not uncommon.  And as we've noted on numerous occasions, the great Northeastern U.S. power blackout of November 9, 1965 launched a flurry of UFO reports from people confident that strange objects reported by hundreds were somehow responsible for power interruptions.  Even the late atmospheric physicist Dr. James McDonald testified before Congress about this incident, and a transcription of his testimony can easily be found via an Internet search.

Is this new method of powering airborne drones -- indefinitely -- offering an opportunity already employed by UFOs decades ago?  Once again, here's a clue which makes it difficult to ignore the similarities between previous widely reported UFO observations and human inventiveness.  Life can imitate art, but what to think when life imitates UFO case histories?

Sledgehammer Justice

The continuing proliferation of drones and promises of thousands more in the near future should cause rational minds to sound the alarms.   The next time somebody calls up the local sheriff to report a UFO landing, chances are it could actually be somebody's expensive hobby, a government (at what level?) spy device, or a pizza delivery vehicle.  Whatever it is, it's bound to urinate you off.

That's why I'm publicly calling for sledgehammer manufacturers to dramatically step up production so every man, woman, transgendered either/or and child in the U.S. can deal with intruding drones appropriately.  Now, we're not talking about drones hovering or flying annoyingly high overhead -- and don't get me wrong, if we could reach them with a hammer we would.  On the contrary, let's focus our attention to drones invading our personal space, perhaps zooming  within reach or (my favorite scenario) landing in our yards through either intention or accident.  My advice?  Let's pass a law.  Got a drone?  Don't look for an insignia and don't strike up a conversation or photo-op with the damned thing, just take out a sledgehammer and beat the stuffing out of it.  Should any portion of your alien drone shatter into pieces, sweep 'em up, bag the fragments for the trash collector's next visit and be done with the affair, without guilt and pleased with yourself for making a difference.  Take it to a recycling center if necessary, portraying it as an old blender or banged-up freezer. But get rid of it!  Invasive drones, like visits from long lost relatives, tend to be as welcome as rotting fish of three days' vintage.  Oh -- and should anybody come knocking on the door about their lost drone, just make up a story about seeing a cat playing with and wandering off with something curiously larger than a catnip toy, or perhaps you can merely invoke a coyote pack which carried something or another into the wilderness.  The downside:  Like so many things, I'm afraid we'll need to turn to China for extra sledgehammers, as we do for parts for our military fighter aircraft.  If you can't trust the Chinese government, who can you trust?  We demand our sledgehammers and we want them now.

Fort Hood, Texas makes the news again.  Tragically, military personnel are still forbidden to carry guns on such installations, and again we witness the horror of "gun-free" zones.  Say what you will, this particular soldier was just a really bad guy, hazardous to all around him in the end.  Like it or not, life is not a Disney cartoon and our lives have become integrated with people of every ilk whose throbbing, unsteady brains can go murderously hair-trigger bonkers at a moment's notice.  As for the high-level (read:  Washington and the White House) folks who prefer to either ignore or make fancy hollow speeches about such tragedies, what are they going to do next -- call out Maj. Nidal Hasan and make him Fort Hood's consulting psychiatrist before he receives his well-deserved death penalty?  Looks like this cockroach isn't going anywhere for some time, so I wouldn't be surprised to find his psych talents propped up by Mr. Obama's buddies, the Muslim Brotherhood.  In the meantime, by all means let's continue doing what we do best -- drug the hell out of everybody with so much as an eye twitch, and then drug 'em some more as the drug industry invents even more crap for humans to swallow and then pee into public water supplies, where a host of medications combine to influence everybody's health and DNA futures.  If you're not crazy now, give it some time and you or your  kids' kids will be.  In the meantime, you need that gun more than you need a psychiatric consult.  Especially at Fort Hood.

You'd almost think climate change is mainstream media property.  Anyway, this weekend Showtime begins its TV series, "Years of Living Dangerously," propped up not only with scientists riding the c.c. train (we assume scientists from the other side will be valiantly excluded), but with actors and actresses to lend special credence to the affair.  The goal of inviting show folk such as Don Cheadle, Matt Damon, America Ferrera, Harrison Ford, Michael C. Hall, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Ian Somerhalder to participate in conjunction with a panel of scientists is apparently to entice young viewers into watching more it's-our-fault claptrap as famous thespian faces strive to invite vastly uninformed TV-addicted youth and blockheads into the fold.  We all agree that "climate change" exists every day, and sometimes the results are disastrous -- but to combine actors with scientists, all of whose minds are made up anyway, is just plain foolishness.  Who cares what some albeit intelligent member of the acting community has to say about climate change, probably zeroing in on unproven human-caused catastrophes?  Hey, stage-and-screen representatives spend their lives reading scripts, performing rehearsed actions, feigning sex and doing other things like trained seals -- why in hell are they experts just because they're famous?  I'll be anxiously awaiting a Showtime series allowing skeptical "climate change" scientists to have their say, undoubtedly joined by actors and actresses we've never heard of, to offer special credence.  Meanwhile, I'd prefer that Ian Somerhalder just sink his vampire fangs into the production staff's necks and be done with this affair.  Maybe Michael C. Hall's Dexter can help, too.

David Letterman announces his departure.  Since we're mentioning celebrities, Letterman states he's retiring his CBS-TV show next year.  My first thought was, aha, Jay Leno's next big chance. . .