It’s raining again (remember the song by Supertramp?)…
All fine, though, because I’ve been working like a dog, while my dogs sleep 24/7– what’s wrong with that picture?
Love working from home though, which means no gross Bart commutes, no shitting at the office (everyone hates that) and coming face to face with human turds at Civic Center Plaza. I don’t miss those abusive members of Nextdoor either because all I do is translate these days. There’s a really exciting project in the works which I will tell you more about if that’s confirmed.
Because I’ve hardly left my house today, there’s little I can share except for some of my Henry Miller reading, which I should put on the other blog, but this is so little, yet so striking that I wanted to share it with all of you.
As you may or may not know, Miller’s Paris books were banned from this country for thirty years or so, because they were declared “obscene”. In 1950, a judge wrote the following in his ruling:
… there are several passages where the female sexual organs are referred to in such detailed vulgar language as to create nausea in the reader.
Poor judge (his name was Goodman; you can’t make up this shit if you had to). Poor Louis Goodman and his sheltered little life: nauseating vaginas, you read that right.
You get a feeling that the judge never liked vaginas to begin with. Sexist? Not into women? Certainly, not a strong point in the ruling. If he were married, I bet he was part of that club of men who went drinking with their buddies when their wives gave birth (it happened, you know, in the 1950s).
So who was being the misogynist here? Henry or his censors? You tell me…