Poster Girl: Erotic Musings of an ER Physician

It is women who love horror. Are nourished by it. Shudder and cling and cry out — and come back for more. I still remember watching my first horror film at the age of 5. What I can tell you is that it scared the living daylights out of me, and I had nightmares for weeks. But I loved it.

I was scared, yes, but I was safe. I started looking forward to the next one, then the next one, and then the next one.

People are still surprised to discover my love of horror films. Even other women who love horror films. I thought I was the only one.

Poster Girl: Erotic Musings of an ER Physician - Joni McPherron - Google Книги

And when it comes to women who love horror, Women in Horror month has brought us to the fore and helped us to find each other like never before. In all the horror films that I have done, all of those women were strong women. The genre is what it is, in part, because of women who made their careers screaming at the top of their lungs. These women were most assuredly women in peril. But they were not women who sat idly by while their men were out having adventures. No, they were in the midst of it all, deep in the fray.

In the beginning, there was Fay Wray. In film after film, Wray made good use of not only her looks and her talent, but also her lungs. And in doing so, she paved the way for the many scream queens who followed in her footsteps. While certainly in peril, she was also something more: More and more, women are in behind the camera, too, as writers, directors, and more.

FOX’s ‘The Resident’ is an Incurable Disaster

When I watched movies like The Goonies and E. It was that simple. Spines talks to women and men, producers, directors, and actresses, all of whom come back to the feminist theme of empowerment in horror. When I first saw Forbidden Planet in my teens, I was convinced that it was that film that I saw, and it was the Creature from the Id that was after me. Convinced, that is, until I saw Curse of the Demon a few years later. Either way, I was never the same again. A great start to ! Send an e-mail to: Create a free website or blog at WordPress.

Perhaps we will never know for certain. The Tyranny of Sexy: All witchcraft comes from carnal lust which in women is insatiable. For example, back in , Pat Robertson said: You can always count on Pat Robertson for colorful hate speech. Horror , Women in Horror , Writing. Scream Queens and Beyond: I was hooked, and have been ever since. And these are just to name a very, very few of the now famous Queens of Scream. Horror , Women in Horror. Women in Horror , Writing. The Author Pam Keesey is a writer and editor of lesbian vampire fiction, horror fiction, and film and literary criticism.

Sex for us was more about ego boosting and one-upmanship than mutual, pleasurable activities undertaken for their own sake. Despite shouts of sexual liberation and the rush of discovered sexual power, the emotional hollowness of one-night stands -- as captured in the flagship song "Fuck and Run" -- told a different tale. A veritable third wave anthem for good reason, "Fuck and Run" combines the yearning for sexual pleasure young women were beginning to demand with the lack of good sense this burning urge led us to adopt when conducting our affairs: Young women really loved it.

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Liz Phair became an overnight indie sensation. Madonna had recently released the insanely overpriced and embarrassingly tacky photo book Sex, but we burgeoning anti-capitalistas -- starting our own zines, knitting our own clothes, starting our own bands rather than passively accepting Cosmo, designer duds and just listening to music -- were seeing through such slick marketing tactics. It was the new age of grunge and self-deprecatingly sincere rock music.

Phair seemed to fill the void Madonna left with a new sensibility, and the press was eager to see how she would fare in the changing feminist and musical worlds.

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Phair opened her album Whip-smart with devastating lyrics sung monotonously over plodding piano accompaniment: I was in college at the time, going to strip clubs and engaging in sexual adventuring that usually seemed a hundred times sexier in drunken theory than in drunken practice. My friends and I knew we liked and wanted sex, but the power games and awkward, disconnected rubbings that made up the bulk of our sexual experiences weren't fulfilling our robust desires.

The confessional, intense singer-songwriter women of helped young women find their way to third wave feminism. They embodied the feminist slogan "The personal is political" and gave it a fresh rereading. Tori Amos sang about masturbation and humped her piano, Ani DiFranco bent sexual orientation and gender rules, and Sarah MacLachlan sang about an obsessed stalker. The zine scene, led by Bratmobile's Girl Germs zine, showed us sisters doing it for themselves whether "it" was being in an all-woman band, writing a magazine photocopied at the library or otherwise butting in where musical and political alternaculture dominated by men usually told women to butt out.

But it wasn't long before such earnest singers and zines were supplanted by the more sexualized feminist culture cropping up, notably the hypersexualized zine-turned-glossy Bust. It became a rule, for example, that every other article about the band Le Tigre had to mention singer Kathleen Hanna's stint as a stripper. From these swirling pop culture waters "fuck me feminism" properly arose, and those feminists who presented themselves and feminism most sexually, like Susie Bright and Annie Sprinkle, were crowned by the media as new heirs to the feminist throne.

In the four long years between Whip-smart, and Liz Phair's next album, the underrated Whitechocolatespaceegg, we third wavers sure could have used her sisterly advice. Britney Spears was leaving Lolita in the dust as she raced to be the most masturbatable girl-woman in the world, and the Internet made every home computer an outlet for hardcore pornography. During Phair's hiatus, she got married and had a child. Phair's new album was more polished, but it was undeniably Liz. All the postmodernism and deconstruction I cultivated in college couldn't make that song all right, and I often skipped to the next track, "Polyester Bride," because I was much more onboard with drinking for free because the bartender thinks I have pretty eyes.

There, in the thick of alternative culture, at the birthplace of riot grrl, I lived across the street from a strip club, where I would watch prostitutes turn tricks in the parking lot from my living-room window. I had moved my porn collection with me but found myself not wanting to watch them for reasons I couldn't quite explain. I became a serious activist for women's reproductive rights, first with Planned Parenthood and then as leader of a local sexual health activist group. I read the third wave essay anthology Cunt, by Inga Muscio like every other young feminist at the time and waited patiently for the next Liz Phair album.

Liz Phair, released in , literally laid bare what was going wrong. The cover image of a mostly naked Liz straddling a guitar with windswept hair made her look like every other bleached blonde sex kitten saturating the music scene. Scorn for this Waterworld of an atrocity has been heaped on by many before me, but I'm not going to point the finger at Liz or even the producers who helped create this album-ination.

Liz Phair needs to be plugged into a larger cultural context in order to figure out what went wrong for both female musicians and the young feminists who used to attend Lilith Fair. Madonna made a comeback in the new millennium with a song whose video featured her as a pimpette stuffing bills into bras at a strip club, and Britney's minutes of fame didn't fade but revved into a hour downloadable porn loop.

Punctuate that last sentence with the painfully publicity-minded fake lesbian kiss at the MTV music awards. Formerly earnest Jewel bared her midriff on the cover of her forgettable album, and suggestively named artists Peaches and Pink were singing about sucking on everything they could get their mouths around while putting on stage shows with stripped blow up dolls, dominatrixes, and lap dancing. I can't fault Liz for trying to keep up appearances with the repressively commercial sexual atmosphere at her workplace, but the air of resignation in the lyrics of Liz Phair I can't abide.

She decides there's no point in trying to change anything so "you might as well get on the train. Like Phair, I grew up and found a delightfully fulfilling sexual partner too, but the joys of sex I'm experiencing these days are more profound than a fixation on fluids.

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Is Liz Phair a female chauvinist pig? When Levy writes about young women being female chauvinist pigs, she's not necessarily pointing the finger at them for pro-sex-industry feminism gone awry. She is simply not taking their word that stripping is beneficial for women just because it's marketed as being feminist. I hear myself at the strip clubs I used to visit, joining with men in humiliating other women on sexual display, happy to not be the target of such judgments for a short while.

I believe that Phair, like many women, cut the best deal with patriarchy a talented, attractive woman can make, and she shouldn't be cast off as a sexed-up sellout any more than other women forced to navigate the choppy, pornified currents of our time. Berg is an activist writer whose work has been published in Portland's oldest progressive newspaper, The Portland Alliance , and in the USA's oldest feminist news journal, off our backs.

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