God Bless Adam Gaffin and his Universal Hub, but sometimes I can do without the traffic he occasionally sends my way.  What usually happens when he features a post of mine is I get a little bump in traffic, a bunch of flames from the comment-trolls calling me every name in the book (doesn't matter whether I've posted a unibomber rant or thoughts on fluffy bunnies and rainbows), and then, next day, things are more or less back to normal. 

He featured a post of mine today that I wrote yesterday about the attempted rape trial of sociopath, alleged rapist, and People Magazine's Bachelor of the Year, Gary Zerola.  In the post (which I took down after the castration-threats started rolling in, but reproduce below, unexpurgated, for my regulars) I suggested to young debutantes that if your guy's "idea of a fun date ... is just the two of you shopping for dresses and pumps while high on Vicodin, it's probably a red flag." I stand by this statement 100%, although it depends on what you're into.

I also suggested (to cries of "homophobe!") that had Gary Zerola been gay and this been a gay play date, it would likely have turned out a little differently.  A day of high-end shopping and a night of clubbing high on Vicodin, and then someone spills a drink and suddenly you're naked and fending off unwanted advances.  That's just another night at a White Party, bitches.  Get over it.

Or act as scandalized as you want.  It may offend your tender sensibilities, but it's not exactly homophobic, as one "Chill Girl" ("frigid" might be a more accurate adjective) claimed in a brittle comment on the post.  Later a couple of guys piled on, one calling me a "raging poofta," and going on to accuse me of being a homophobe arguing for the mass rape of gays. 

I hope I don't have to explain to regular readers that I am not an advocate of violence, sexual or otherwise.  Privately, I'm a cuddlewhore.  And I have stated many times publicly that Bird Flu would be my chosen mode of decimating the ranks of my enemies, not violence. Nor would I ever argue that anyone be roughed up against their will (we're all familiar with the old Gay Prison Fantasy, and if that's your thing, that's what safe words are for). 

One thing is for sure: all the outrage in the world will never be enough when it comes to the topic of human sexuality. 

The post (and please, Adam, refrain) went like this:

Ah, the mating rituals of the upper class.

OK, girls. Listen up. When a guy you hardly know offers to go shopping with you on your first date, he's either gay or a potential date-rapist. Sure, his idea of a fun date could just be the two of you shopping for dresses and pumps while high on Vicodin, but it's probably a red flag.

Even though she was "like, really scared," and he was "like, totally hurting" her, she apparently wanted him to, like, drive her home. OK, newsflash. If the shopping spree ends with attempted rape, he's probably not going to spring for cab fare. You're just going to have to get home on your own.

You and I know, by the way, that Gary Zerola would not have been in court today if he were gay. What this little minx described on the stand is, like, totally a gay dream date.

I can't help it if what struck me about the story as I read it in The Globe (and, by the way, my post was written before the revelations of the second day of testimony), aside from the bland decadence of the whole sordid scene, was the total artlessness of Zerola and the utter cluelessness of his would-be victim.  Up until the end, that is, when she successfully fended him off, a fact that many of the critics of the post conveniently ignored.  

Apparently rape and attempted rape are the same thing, or may as well be.  Maybe so, on the side of the perp.  But it seems to me that to err on the side of rape in a case where the would-be victim is not claiming to have been raped, is to place the would-be victim in the victim category, when, in fact, she did not succumb, but successfully fought her way out of that category.  And good for her.  She may have gotten a two-hundred dollar pair of pumps in the bargain, too.  You go, girl!

Fortunately for the young woman in question, unfortunately for those who trade in knee-jerk "don't blame the victim!" rhetoric, there was no rape victim to blame here. 

Had the would-be victim claimed to have been raped, I would not have written the post.  Obviously.  I mean, where is there evidence anywhere in this blog of my manifest inhumanity? I save that stuff for my personal diary, to be published posthumously.  Truly, I'm not one to dwell on the misfortunes of others — I have my manias, but that's not one of them — nor do I view the world solely in terms of winners and losers, oppressors and oppressed, victimizers and victims.  That paradigm is useful from some perspectives, but it's insultingly reductive from others. 

And speaking of "insultingly reductive," blogging tends to be, but nothing matches a good, long comments thread for insults based on more and more ridiculous and reductive claims. Comments threads are so far not showing much evidence of the promise of democratic expression. There's a tit-for-tat mentality that rapidly devolves into a race to the bottom, and then turns into a pile-on from there.  Unmediated, or poorly mediated, threads invariably morph into name-calling competitions (unmediated ones immediately, poorly mediated ones take a comment or two to get there). 

I mean, you'd think I was Dr. Mengele from the reaction to my post at Universal Hub (only one comment was made to my blog, by the way, and it was re-posted at the Hub).  After a rousing chorus of "Blame the victim!" I was compared to the Taliban, labeled a misogynist and a homophobe (in conjunction with the aforementioned "raging poofta").  Called a "pathetic loser," and "a bitter queen," with a "tenuous grip on reality." (Whose reality was not specified.)

Being flamed is never easy. 

I honestly tried to engage in the "discussion" my post had generated, without resorting to name-calling myself. I am not totally innocent on this count: I did call the would-be victim a "little minx" in my post, but I think the characterization was fair.  Being a minx has nothing to do with being rape-bait — those who made that leap were speaking of their own assumptions, not mine.  Other than that, I refrained from labeling anyone.

Although you'd think the author of the post generating the discussion would have some special prominence in the thread, I was totally lost in the fray.  No one was interested in what I had to say about it now.  The post itself was set in stone. Proof of ultimate guilt.  And the thread had taken on a life of its own: little skirmishes breaking out among the commenters themselves; accusations of ideological impurity among the righteous; taunts, threats, and catcalls from all corners; thread nannies arriving to call for calm; passers-by poking their heads in to say, "hear hear!" It was like a virtual food fight.

I left the thread, and took down the post to contain the food fight. I knew that that would not make a difference, ultimately, since if you google "mennonno dolce & gabbana leopard print dress" you can easily find a cashed copy of the original post (we think of the web as ethereal, but the truth is, until some concept of data ecology develops, once you hit that "send" or "post" button, it's forever).

But I was pretty sure it would keep the thing from spreading in the short-term, and I was at the office (I have a real office now) and could not keep up with it.   Yes, it would likely generate more wanton insults in the thread, and be seen by pilers-on as an admission of ultimate guilt of fill-in-the-blank: advocating universal rape, talibanic tendencies, raging poofterism. But to be honest, I didn't want to make it too easy for those attracted to smack-downs and witch-hunts to visit me at home.

Call me a coward. I've been called much, much worse. Just check the thread.