01/30/14

On Super Bowls, Super Balls & No Balls

Vintage leather balls.

Vintage leather balls.

Cast away any notion that The Sultanette harbors a need to deliberate on the upcoming Super Bowl. It clearly states in the harem bylaws that all talk of throwing, hitting, or kicking of balls is verboten. (See The Male Harem FAQs). But given that this year’s super hurling of the pigskin is in my hometown, and more important, marks the tenth anniversary of Nipplegate, I make an exception.

Remember Nipplegate? That shocking display of Janet Jackson’s mammary that lasted all of one-half second? The bodice-ripping by Justin Timberlake that sparked congressional furor, resulted in a half million complaints to CBS and FCC fines, the banning of MTV by the upright NFL from ever producing another halftime show, and the instigation of a five-second video delay to protect you from ever, ever seeing such lewd behavior at halftime again? Unless you want to watch it on YouTube. As entered in the Guinness World Records, Janet Jackson’s half-second of nipple fame was the most searched event in internet history and most searched news item in a single day. Read more . . .

01/21/14

A Match Made In Dominatrix Heaven

imgres-1While some followers of The Male Harem may envision The Sultanette as a whip-wielding dominatrix, I order you to ball gag that misconception. True, I don’t hesitate to hold a member’s feet to the fire when he lapses into a negligence of harem duties, i.e. not behaving worthily of The Sultanette’s attentions. But I’d never consider resorting to ropes, chains or handcuffs as disciplinary accouterments. And yet …

Mars and the Vestal Virgin, Jacques Blanchard, oil on canvas, ca.1860, Art Museum of New South Wales.

Mars and the Vestal Virgin, Jacques Blanchard, oil on canvas, ca.1860, Art Museum of New South Wales.

… but never mind. Far from a prurient interest, today’s meditation on domination and sadomasochism was aroused from a purely literary one. I was drawn to Toni Bentley’s February Vanity Fair profile of the dominatrix, Catherine Robbe-Grillet, because I had studied her late husband, Alain Robbe-Grillet, in college, as a freshly deflowered virgin. (My sexual status hardly matters here, just ignore that.) The spokesperson of a literary movement spawned in the sixties called the New Novelists, Robbe-Grillet (1922-2008) was an author, critic of critics, writer of award-winning flicks including Alain Resnais’ Last Year at Marienbad, and champion of ambiguity. Read more . . .

01/12/14

How To Be A Billionaire

Anouk Aimee, La Dolce Vita

Anouk Aimee, La Dolce Vita

The Sultanette has had a revelation. After long desiring to age like a French movie star – Moreau, Deneuve, Anouk, Ardant – with that insouciant air of the resigned siren who has had every man she wanted in any orifice she chose – I have a replacement. Elisabeth Badinter.

Not because Badinter happens to be a billionaire. While I value money for its access to life (and shoes) I suspect too much of it (like too many Manolo’s piling up in a closet) would crowd out other necessities.

Scrooge McDuck

Scrooge McDuck

And I’m an equal opportunities Sultanette when it comes to harem members’ financials. As with other male assets, it’s not size that matters, it’s how they manipulate their holdings. There is no bigger turn-off, regardless of net worth, than a stingy man. Read more . . .

01/1/14

After Midnight

pb-130101-new-year-trash-001.photoblog900Happy new minutes of 2014, intrepid followers! While you were cheek-by-jowl watching balls drop in Times Square and blowing your horns the world over with grownups behaving badly, The Sultanette was flying solo. Yes, after an illustrious track record of Amateur Nights (highlighted below) I decided to risk self-imposed house arrest this year. Would I be up to it? Would I, upon hearing the gregarious yelps of street revelers, feel like the loneliest Sultanette in Manhattan? As a safeguard, I invited to my sequester the indomitable woodswoman, Anne LaBastille. Read more . . .