Results tagged “sex”

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Even if she's your student. Because that's not ethically wrong at all. At all. It is, however, quite legal, according to today's ruling by a Washington Court Of Appeals panel holding that state law does not specifically prohibit a teacher from having sex with his or her eighteen-year-old student(s). The decision came after the trio of judges reviewed Matthew Hirschfelder's case; Hirschfelder was a choir teacher solidly into his thirties when he had sex with one of his students, a delicate flower aged eighteen years. Yes, he was committing adultery. Yes, the fling happened on school grounds. (Whoa.) And apparently, yes, the sex was not explicitly illegal.

After a father called in to complain about the "pretty trashy" book his 14-year-old son was required to read for English class, Crook County High School in Oregon was told to remove it from the curriculum until further notice. What was the offensive filth that had the potential to corrupt young, tender, innocent hearts and minds? (No, not a Danielle Steele novel.) It was Seattle-based author Sherman Alexie's award-winning, widely acclaimed young adult novel, "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian." This part is completely laughable, though: the concerned father objected most strongly to the book's few casual references to masturbation. If the son still has no idea what masturbation is as a 14-year-old attending a public high school, the father has much bigger fish to fry. May we suggest the Moss family begins to put money away towards a therapy fund immediately?

The feds shut down three more brothels masquerading as tanning salons, this time in Greenwood, Tukwila and Renton. They're still using that cover story? Come on, people. Now that three more "salons" have bit the dust, we're sure Seattle will move further along the journey towards restoring the shining image of tanning salons as our community's beacons of health and moral rectitude. Also, our condolences go out to the undercover investigators who risked infectious skin diseases in the name of gathering evidence for this case.

HALF-NAKED BOOTY GIRLS: The 2 Live Crew outta Miami is at Nectar tonight, and you know what that means: half-naked booty girls, according to local emcee Wizdom. "I believe it," he told us with anticipation. The 2 Live Crew has been holding down the sexually explicit end of hiphop since the '80s. Warning: there might be juggalos present. Locals Mad Rad, Champagne Champagne, and Jay Barz open for this promisingly profane and colorful evening.

LET'S TALK ABOUT CHILDREN WHO BREED: Spring Awakening is a musical about teens (really young teens) who have sex. Sex is always a controversial topic, and according to a press release, Roosevelt High School is hosting a community conversation about the musical and its themes for interested locals. A diverse group of people are participating in the discussion, including members of the theatre community and students and teachers from Seattle schools. Two cast members from Spring Awakening will also be on hand to lend their perspective.

We just may have found Charles Mudede's next film subject. Edward Smith, a 57-year-old from Washington, whose sexual preference leans towards the automotive rather than the bestial. Smith's self-described romantic feelings toward cars began at age 15. (Auto erotica indeed!) Since then, Smith claims to have had sex with over 1,000 cars, though he is currently in a monogamous relationship with his girlfriend--a white Volkswagen Beetle he has named Vanilla.

HUGE AMOUNTS OF CHEESE: The Cheese Festival is upon us! This is one of our top three favorite events of the year (#2: our birthday, #3: Christmas). Several reasons: a city block full of cheese, friendly vendors, wholesale prices on bottles in the wine garden (don't buy the red wine that says "bacon" three times in its description, we made that mistake last year), and (it bears repeating) a city block full of cheese.

It took filmmaker Jennifer Fox four years, seventeen countries, and 1,600 hours of footage (which she whittled down to 6 hours of film) to fully cover the cross-cultural confusion of modern womanhood. The project didn't start out that high-minded; Jennifer was dating two men and not entirely happy with either, which led to an identity crisis that inspired her travels exploring what it means to be a woman today. The result is her sweeping, compelling tour de force Flying: Confessions of a Free Woman. Along her journey, there’s a lot of girl-talk over food and drinks, and in that way, Flying is a slow-moving and much smarter version of Sex and the City, where Carrie Bradshaw eschews the contrivance of writing a newspaper column and just addresses the camera directly. But at the same time, it’s a state of the union on the current female experience, covering everything from physical and sexual abuse, orgasm, sex trafficking, honor killing, female genital mutilation, in vitro fertilization, abortion, and marriage.

Birth of a fetish: The Register reports an unfortunate MSN messenger encounter between two young girls and Microsoft's badly programmed Santa chat bot.

A few weeks ago, singer/raconteur Jenny Owen Youngs was in town, playing at the High Dive the same time as the Fremont Bridge was being closed evenings, which led to our arriving mid-set in a state of high dudgeon. We decided to skip a half-assed review, and afterwards fired off some impertinent questions via email. We just heard back, and as you'll see, Jenny schools us a bit. Now we adore her even more. If you buy her new album, Batten the Hatches, tell her we sent you.

Of that much, we are certain, given Ted Miller's nine hundred word essay on Christal Morrison's "killer looks." First off, he's right. The girl is absolutely stunning -- in that bible school, girl-next-door kind of way. In fact, we'll readily admit that when we saw her smiling face on the front page of this morning's PI, we cut straight to page D1 for the full-size photo. Yeah, she's not bad. After cooling ourselves off with...

1. Things We Lost in the Fire. There are a few things we liked about this (supposedly based here, though there is nothing to indicate that it actually takes place here) movie---mostly that the heroin junkie played by Benecio Del Toro lives in a flophouse in Renton and that Halle Berry plays a Seattle woman named Audrey, leading to a scene where Del Toro runs after her calling, "Audrey, Audrey, Audrey, Audrey, Audrey!" Call us vain, but we like the sound of our name.

Seattlest likes parks. Especially the big ones with plenty of room for family picnics, Frisbee, flag football and lots and lots of gay sex.

this ain't.

It's not often that a play comes along that unites both senior citizens and the people who want to kill them. If your parents are elderly, this may strike you as "fair and balanced" theatre.

Slate asked Dan Savage and six other "sexperts" what, despite their experience, they still don't get about sex. Savage's answer:

What I don't understand is ... gee, how people can be so willfully stupid about sex. Sex came first. Before marriage, there was sex. Before religion, there was sex. Before freakin' humans, there was sex. All human cultures, and all our fanciful religions, were constructed around sex, built to regulate and control sex, sanctify and elevate sex. But so many people want to start with culture or religion before they approach sex, as if the former can teach us all we need to know about the latter. Not true. We have to start with sex. I'm not arguing that we should do away with all regulations or controls, or that sex shouldn't be sanctified or elevated. But there are regulations and controls that are idiotic, products of a time when we didn't truly understand human hair growth—or physics or gravity or the movement of the planets—much less human sexuality, and they should be reassessed. I'm thinking of bans on prostitution, bans on same-sex marriage, the promotion of "normal" sexuality (meaning: no kinks), the cultural assumption that the ability to have sex without love is evidence of some sort of mental illness. In these areas, some of our attempts to sanctify and elevate sex run so counter to human nature that they cause nothing buy misery.

When we first glanced at the headline on Boingboing we read "Teacher resigns after giving 13-yr-old student Eightball," and we thought, "Well, no shit. Man, Boingboing is really reaching these days." It actually reads "a copy of Eightball," Eightball being a Daniel Clowes/Fantagraphics comic book. Clowes is, of course, a badass who wrote Ghost World and is currently running in the New York Times.

Seattlest watches as a S.L.U.T. is born and Seattle Flickr users go nuts over a local art installation. A restaurant critic demands a Diner's Bill of Rights over a gnat next to her drink, and, in lieu of a Portlandist, Seattlest debates with itself over the identity of the Northwest's crown jewel. Seattlest also joins the guys from Fantagraphics for an ill-fated gun party in the woods.

Next up was Juno, the latest comedy from Jason Reitman. We loved his first feature, Thank You for Smoking, and had heard nothing but good buzz about this flick, which is kinda Knocked Up meets Superbad, if Judd Apatow stopped focusing so much on male friendships and paid more attention to the pregnant girl. As the titular acid-tongued, preggo high schooler, Ellen Page keeps on getting better and better, and the rest of the cast (JK Simmons, Allison Ranney, Jennifer Garner, and Jason Bateman, reunited here with his TV son, sweet baby Michael Cera) ain't no slouch neither. A couple minor quibbles: if anything the film is too cute by half. We don't need pop culture references for the sake of pop culture references: "No, It's Morgan Freeman. I'm here to collect some bones." And we certainly don't need a quirky folk song introducing every goddamn scene (Wes Anderson much?). Still, the film was ultimately very moving -- we always appreciate it when a foul-mouthed movie turns out to have some heart.

In Slate today, Taylor Clark declared our -Ist-less neighbor to the south "America's indie rock Mecca," then spent several paragraphs dropping names and figuring out why. His conclusion?

It's easy to live here. In the words of a friend of mine who used to be the music editor at the local alt-weekly, Portland is like a resort community for indie rockers who spend half the year working themselves ragged on tour. You can venture into public dressed like a convicted sex offender or a homeless person, and no one looks at you askew. It's lush and green. Housing is affordable, especially compared with Seattle or San Francisco. The people are nice. The food is good. Creativity is the highest law. For young, hip Portlanders, financial success is a barista job that subsidizes your Romanian-space-folk band or your collages of cartoon unicorns.

, "Seventeen bouncers, bartenders and other nightclub employees were arrested Saturday night for allegedly violating state liquor laws."

So we woke up with no intention of getting all Gloria Steinem on you early on a Sunday morning, but after searching for the tie that bound together our first day of Bumbershoot, we couldn't help but gloat that the women of Bumbershoot were kicking ass/taking names.

Last night, Young Frankenstein, playing at the Paramount through September 1st, came to life, sang, and did some wicked dance moves. The official world premiere of the new Mel Brooks musical, based on his horror-comedy film of the same name, had the full house's rapt attention from the initial flash of lightning over Transylvania Heights. The script preserves many of the film’s great lines ("Put...the candle...back!"), while adding nearly two dozen original songs with music and lyrics by old nectarine-pushing Mel. While this run serves as a chance for the company to work the kinks out before heading off to Broadway this fall, as of last night, the kinks are primarily sex-related.

Some people like going to the Eatonville Pioneer Farm Museum to see the genuine 1880s cabin. For others, it's the chance to participate in the craft instructions or walk the nature trail.

And thank god for that.

Whether you're a fan of melodic noise-rock (not always a contradiction in terms) or just never got over a childhood obsession with dinosaurs, Pterodactyl is the band for you--especially if you like post-rock that doesn't take itself too seriously. They'll be playing at the Sunset tonight with two awesomely named bands we know absolutely nothing about: Nudity and Same Sex Dictator.

Last night at the Showbox, we were reminded of something Gino Srdjan Yevdjevic said in an interview with us last year: we don't remember the quote entirely, but it was something to the effect of characterizing "world music" as "shit." Not the music or the musicians, per se, but rather the genre, a peculiarly American way of pigeon-holing and marketing foreign music. Gino understood the process only too well: back in the 1980s, he was a glammy Duran Duran-esque pop singer in his native Yugoslavia. Only when war forced him to flee to the US in the 1990s did he become a "world musician," performing traditional Balkans music in restaurants for disinterested diners under the name Kultur Shock. While he admitted the original incarnation of Kultur Shock could have done well, it's easy to see why he rebelled against the entire world-music cachet by adding punk rock guitar to the line-up and starting to yuk it up as a sex-crazed Eastern European immigrant à la Steve Martin and Dan Ackroyd's "Wild and Crazy Guys."

Neither making the NFL Hall of Fame as a fourth-round pick or crushing Mike Harden could've prepared Seahawks legend Steve Largent for the opponent he faces now: Google.