You better run

29 12 2014

I’m a little concerned about Derek’s girlfriend.

Savannah. She’s smart, she’s pretty, she’s not overly impressed with him—none of which will save her.

You see, it’s the ladies who get it on Criminal Minds.

Well, yeah, you say, the show is all about murderously pervy skeevs whose victims tend toward the female of the species, so is this really such a surprise?

But I’m not referring to the victim-of-the-week, but to the women attached to the male regulars:

  • Jason Gideon’s old (girl?) friend: murdered by psychopath obsessed with Gideon
  • Aaron Hotchner’s ex-wife, Haley: murdered by psychopath obsessed with Hotchner
  • Spencer’s would-be girlfriend, Maeve (played by Parker!): murdered by psychopath obsessed with. . . something
  • David Rossi’s ex-wife: suicide, in his arms
  • Rossi’s girlfriend (and everyone’s boss, Erin Strauss): murdered by alcohol poisoning by psychopath obsessed with the BAU

The men attached to the female regulars? They get roughed up—JJ’s companion/husband gets shot, kidnapped, and almost blown up—but they get to live. Okay, yeah, and a way-back boyfriend of Emily’s is murdered by a bad priest, but nobody current (probably because she’s allowed no one current).

And should I point out here that while both JJ & Hotchner’s male children (threatened, but not harmed) get to live, she miscarries (after getting blown up) her female fetus?

Of course, working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit is generally bad for one’s health—with the exception of Gideon and Rossi, they all get what-for: Hotchner gets blown up and stabbed and has a heart attack; Spencer gets tortured, injected with dilaudid, infected with anthrax, and shot (it’s probably pushing it to point out that Spence is the most feminine of the men, but geez, he really does get it); Penelope—shot; Elle—shot; JJ—blown up, tortured; and Emily gets shot (a couple of times, I think, not life-threatening) and, of course, impaled.

Huh, I guess Alex and Derek don’t get it too bad: minor gunshot wounds, and he gets bounced around a bit, but nothing like what the others have been through. And it’s too soon to tell what the new one, whatshername, will have happen to her—she came with a pre-murdered sister—but she has a niece/daughter, so okay, there’s another attached female to worry about.

And Rossi’s newly-discovered daughter. Another one.

Oh, wait, there is one attached woman who lives: Derek’s cousin is brought back from the dead. . . after having endured a decade of abuse and torture. But she gets out! And reunited with her family!

And Hotchner’s girlfriend departs unscathed, tho’ she does apparently end up drunk and married to a scumbag POTUS.*

I suspect no conspiracy or nasty—well, nastier than what leads you to create (or me to watch) a show about murderously pervy skeevs—motives about these attached women. I doubt it’s much more complicated than the desire to hurt or demonstrate the vulnerability of the men—and for these men, women are their vulnerabilities.

Okay, so that is fucked-up.

Savannah, honey, get out now, while you can. Derek’s got a hurt coming to him, and chances are, you’re it.


I’m not sure about this, as I don’t watch Scandal—although I probably should, since it’s apparently pretty twisted.

I want your sex

4 10 2008

I found (via Feministing) this mutual interview between Gloria Steinem and Suheir Hammad, and homed in on this comment by Hammad:

. . . [I]n the nineties you had the sense that you could sleep with anyone you wanted, and we thought we knew enough about safe sex. And there wasn’t any reference to the emotional reality of sharing yourself with people you didn’t trust. Some of my friends are able to make the distinction between love and sex.

I used to say, semi-seriously, that a woman should sleep with someone earlier rather than later, to find out if he (or she) were worth the emotional investment. So when I read this I thought, Yeah, I remember thinking that.

Now, I was never much of a slut. (Was that because I practiced self-control—or because I lacked opportunities?) Regardless, I was impatient with the notion that sex had to mean anything other than pleasure. Sure it could be about getting closer to your partner, deepening intimacy, blah blah, but hey, couldn’t it also just be about a fun toss?

I really wanted to believe that. I liked the idea that sex was simply another form of bodily pleasure, akin to the pleasures of a good run or workout or dancing or any other physically happy endeavor. There was no reason to make it more than it is.

Except I never believed myself. Sex was—is—different. Why? Why the hell is sex different? Is it about the vulnerability, that one is, literally, naked before another person?* Why is physical nakedness more meaningful than emotional nakedness?

(*Nothing against threesomes or more. I’m just trying to capture something about the act the way most of us do it most of the time.)

Ah. Maybe it’s not. Maybe that’s where I got tripped up: I wanted it to be different from emotional vulnerability (with which I have my difficulties), so tried to strip (sorry!) sex down to its bare (okay, that one I did on purpose) essentials.

No more snarkiness. What I mean is, I wanted to be able to have sex without having to worry about any emotional entanglements. I didn’t want it to mean anything, wasn’t sure I wanted the other person to mean anything to me, wasn’t sure I wanted to mean anything to the other person.

Still, this hardly explains why sex matters, or even, really, that it matters. Maybe it really is about the emotional component, and the difficulty of separating the emotional from the sexual. In other words, I was right, in a way, before: sex is just sex, and the issue is with its shotgun rider, emotion.

Hmpf. This post is all over the place. If anyone is reading this, can you PLEASE chime it to say if sex matters or not, and why?