Jaycee Dugard >shudder< Horror Film?

I was horrified to discover that a low-rent actor/writer/editor/producer by the name of Shane Ryan is planning to make a film about the capture and imprisonment of Jaycee Dugard.

That's right, Ladies, the wonder-boy of such low-class cinematography as:

  • Sex Kids Party (a/k/a The More, the Better)
  • Amateur Porn Star Killer 1, 2, & 3
  • Big Boobs, Blonde Babes, Bad Blood
  • So, We Killed Our Parents
  • Caged Lesbos A-Go-Go

Is hoping to release Abducted Girl: An American Sex Slave through Alter Ego Films, in Spring 2010, according to Sacramento television station CBS13. Even though Ryan's above-noted movies have been described by viewers as:

  • "[W]hat a homemade snuff film might look like with a bit of what the director thinks is artistic" [1]
  • "[B]ad blood feature that is sheer in-your-face violence with a comedic ingredient inserted for your perverse viewing" [2]
  • "The girl is supposed to be 13 years old, who (in their right mind) would find the gratuitous kidnapping, rape and eventual beating of a 13 year old girl entertaining?" [3]

He's "trying to figure out a way to do that so it's not exploitative," he told a reporter from CBS13 in a telephone interview. He also told the reporter, "We want to capture how sad this story is, but also how interesting."

On the film's website, Ryan writes that "this film is not about Jaycee Dugard," that it was in pre-production prior to authorities rescuing Dugard, and he continues with "Instead of doing a movie about human trafficking they instead decided [because of the Dugard case] to focus on just one victim and her captor and explore the idea of what it would be like for an 11 year old to be kidnapped and live in captivity for the next 18 years." He clearly states, "This is a fictitious film we were planning on making with a few friends in hope to make an interesting story," and he also says that this is nothing but the media "cashing in on another Jaycee story."

So, to recap, According to Ryan:

  • This film is not about Dugard (even if a pre-production movie was re-drafted as the direct result of Dugard's recovery)
  • Alter Ego Films is not a porn company (regardless of what they create and sell)
  • The "reporters" are the Dugard exploiters, not his film (while he's gabbing about the film's lack of exploitativeness with the CBS13 reporter and thereby co-opting as much publicity as possible).
Sorry, jackass, you just don't get to have it both ways: Either the flick is about Dugard or it isn't. You don't get to accuse the free-publicity pipeline of being vultures when you're planning to bring a film to market that you admit was significantly altered by the events of the Dugard case because that means your film feeds at that same trough of pain.

If the reporters are the vultures, I hereby call you out for catching a ride on the vulture's wing simply to save the time and effort of walking over to feast on the carcass yourself.

I have to say that I agree with the Dugard family's spokesperson Nancy Seltzer's statement that this project is "breathtakingly unkind."[4]

You, Sir, are a Very.Bad.Man.


The Winds of Change Blow

Greetings to the Ladies Jane --

After an extended absence, rejoining you is a pleasure!

I'm a steadfast Third Wave feminist. I've spent my entire life proving to the world (and myself) that I am the equal of any man in anything that I choose to do. Beginning with schoolyard fisticuffs, I fell in love with high school Junior ROTC, refused to marry young, established a career in a (predominately male) technical field, and have vociferously insisted to anyone listening (and those not) that women have value that has nothing to do with creating new life

Adamantly, ferociously, with the crystal clarity that only true passion brings, I have practiced what I've preached. I refuse to cry outside of my own apartment. When I'm frightened, I snarl. When I'm weak, I attack. When I'm paralyzed, I bark orders at others. When I feel stupid, I boast. Full of bravado and vinegar, I dare anyone, everyone, to call my bluff. Intelligent women older than me have told me, "I'm so jealous! You're your own person: You never gave yourself away."

While battling a sleeping disorder that eradicates many useful hours, I've lived my life with what time I have as my own. My responsibilities are with my friends and parents, not with the husband or child/ren that my culture (and well-meaning individuals) say that I am missing.

The only time one of my girlfriends and I are ever catty is when we praise Glory for the fact that we are childless. We revel in the fact that we still have the luxuries of self-absorbtion and non-bowel-movement conversation. We are snotty towards and gossip about parent who don't control their children and parents who have nothing to talk about besides Johnny's ear infection or Janie's latest goo-goo-ga-ga babbling.

We know your little precious is the most amazingly wonderful thing in the multiverse to you, we do, I promise! Really, that's probably the way it should be, but please, dear God, would you just shut up about it?!

"That is just not going to be us, we actually have something to do with our lives," we snark, as if childrearing is relegated to those without the capacity to do anything else. I always felt a bit guilty for snarking about women whose choices have been different than mine, but not enough to actually stop the snarking. I'm positive that there's a portion of the human animal's social need that yearns for validation so much that even self-provided validation will suffice.

I've been proud to use the courtesy title of "Miss," although at the age of 38 people occasionally double-take when I do. My boss says I look 30. I refuse to change my name if I ever *do* marry. I'm not against the idea of marriage per se', but I am still not sure (while having discussed it with my boyfriend) that I am or ever will be ready for such a thing. I'm a fiercly independent, oddly particular, strongly-willed, and reliable overachieving only child who is used to having things her own way.

Let's say that the arts of negotiation and domestic order are not among my stronger points. :-)

I've been an apartment dweller my entire adult life, and I've found myself daydreaming for the last year or so of a permanent home, of putting down roots, of neighborhood block parties in the kind of place where Girl Scouts ring the doorbell to sell their boxes of yummy goodness every year. I've been daydreaming of older neighborhoods, with narrow driveways and old-growth trees, neighborhoods that have 50 years of architectural styles represented in the little houses lining the streets while the larger city sprawled around, creating little enclaves with their own little newletters and residents who know the family name of the house two blocks over who just bought that sweet new Mazda RX8 . . .

This picture never includes a husband or child/ren. I see the garden, I see the porch swing (and the kitty dozing in it), I see the cute white trim around the round accent-lighting windows, I see the kitchen with it's glorious chrome-trimmed appliances, and I see the window-box with custom cushions, begging me to wile away the sunny afternoon with my Kindle . . .

But I never see the other pieces of the house, of that life, and I've assumed that's because I'm not yet ready to see them. I'm not ready to get married, I'm not ready to be a parent, so those pieces are not yet visible to me.

As a result, I've been thinking that I've just been wanting to put down roots, that I'm finally looking for an adult level of security, stability, and serenity. That my kitty and my project house are what I'm yearning for, what I need. I'd come to the conclusion that this was just a larger, albeit more gentle, form of the insistent nesting urge I experience every time that I have PMS.

I realized just last night that I've been wrong. All at once, a thought leapt up from my subconscious brain and burst into my conscious mind with the stopping power of a close thunderclap:

I want a baby.

What the hell happened to me? Who am I to become?


Loss and Life

My friend, Sandra died on October 20th, 2009. I received this news at 12:45 pm via text message. It simply said “Sandra has passed”.

I didn’t know Sandra long. I didn’t know Sandra from childhood. I knew of Sandra’s feelings about her childhood. She shared with me her inward experiences of the pain as well as the sad, terrible and lonely stories from those days. I believe that this makes the child in her more real to me than if I was with her then.

I know Sandra, the brave and tattered little girl who fought injustice, because she placed her in my heart.

I did not know Sandra when she married nor did I know her during her many attempts at being loved by a man......but I knew of her marriages, her lost loves and her experiences of constant abuse, abandonment, disappointment and heartbreak. I know Sandra, the broken, abused young woman who never gave up on love, because she placed her in my heart.

I did not know her oldest son but knew about his life. She allowed me entrance into their world of abandonment and sorrow. She told me of her inability to be the mother she desired to be. I know Sandra the desperate, abandoned lost, young mother who bravely continued to try because she placed her in my heart.

I know from our daily life together, firsthand, the son of her heart, Michael, and learned through careful observation and with admiration of their great love for one another. She blessed me with entrance into her inner world, Into her inner self.....her holy of holies.

I know from her who she was in the past, I knew from her actions who she was in the present and who she was becoming So although I did not know her long, I know her well. She shared with me who and what she desired to be. And I think we will all agree: Sandra desired, above all, to be loved.

Sandra has passed....

Looking back I think how strange it is that three little words represent so much in both the past, now and our future. An entire life has come and gone. My friend, my sister, her existence just...gone.... I am not sure I believe that!

Sandra. Sandra Myles. Sandra Lane. To me, friend and teacher. To me utterly beautiful. I can honestly say when I think of Sandra one word comes to my mind that describes her perfectly:


“Sandra has passed” flies before me.....

Sandra lived her Love Spirit naturally and gracefully. She gave me this love freely as only one who has learned the one of the greatest lesson in life can give. That great lesson is What we desire the most in life is what we are required to give to others. That we give love even when it is not returned. That we give it because we know, often through our own lack of receiving, the importance of love. We give what we desire the most to others.

Her very vibration was that of love. She asked for it and extended it with every breath. She was acutely aware that she, that all of us, require love the same way we require air. That without it life was just that. Life. She knew, instinctively, that in order to be ALIVE, to truly feel ALIVE, we must learn the power of giving and receiving love. It is what are all designed to do. She pursued love and her ideals of it with a passion. Always talking and encouraging her version of the “Sisterhood,” always striving to be there for me and for others, always letting me know she loved me, appreciated me and valued our time together. Sandra was the great giver of this pure water and holy water. It poured forth from her and I eagerly, thirstily drank of it.

Through her I learned to speak words of love. To not be shy in saying I love you, to hug warmly without reserve, to give, without fear that which I myself require the most.....Love.

How beautiful it is to me to know that I was blessed by the short time I was allowed to walk in the warm light of Sandra’s life. That I was blessed by her intimate sharing of her spirit. That I was given such grace through knowing the heartbreak and joy of her life. I learned valuable lessons of courage, humility and of life beyond survival. Her example showed me that I could and should ask questions, learn about and change my inner-self. Her ways taught me to listen, embrace new thoughts and ways of being. She showed me how beautiful it was to admit when and where I went wrong, where others had wronged me, and to embrace the truth of my life with courage. I learned, through her private “sisterhood,” to stand in the light of truth and experience joy and not to selfishly hold this knowledge and joy for myself...but to pass it freely forward to all that I meet.

How blessed I am that God brought us together, that we spent part of our journey together. No, Sandra has NOT PASSED. The dust that is her body has passed, but the true Sandra, the everlasting Sandra, the spirit that animated the clay that housed her, is alive and always will be. She lives in me and you, she lives between us, every time we extend or receive love. She is alive and here right now in and around all of us and she is laughing and she is dancing... And she is telling us “I am loved and so are you.”