I was catching up on online reading last weekend, and one of the links I'd saved from a couple of months ago was this piece on a feminist blog, pearl-clutching over Dr Brooke Magnanti (aka Belle de Jour) saying that she is no longer a feminist in the press materials announcing her new book, Sexonomics.  Like me, Brooke is not a feminist, though that's hardly news for readers of either of us.

The feminist blog lobbed two pieces of standard-issue criticism over Magnanti's nonfeminism, which reminded me of things people say to me.  (Though, no doubt less often, since she is way more famous than I am.)  Here are two of my own rebuttals to the things feminists say to whine about me not being a feminist.

It’s disappointing that despite the open opinions within feminism, Magnanti feels ostracized from the community and would rather renounce the name than contribute to debate as a proud member.

I am constantly pestered by well-meaning, bright-eyed feminists as to why I don't just stick around and work to change feminism from within.  They are quick to acknowledge that yes, I have valid criticism of feminism, but surely, it would only be declaring defeat for me to give up now, as though I "threw it all away" in an angry drunken moment where I wasn't thinking clearly.  I could be such a productive an valuable member of the community!  They point out all the things I have in common with most feminist thought: I believe in things like a woman's right to vote, to abortion access, to own property, and to not be raped to subjected to violence and oppression.  And not all feminists believe in [insert thing I hate]!  With all that I have in common with feminism, it's silly to throw the baby out with the bathwater, right?

When faced with these sorts of questions, I wonder why I don't get them about my atheism.

Imagine that:

I should really stop saying that I'm an atheist, and focus on trying to change Christianity from within the churches.  After all, if the atheists let the Christian extremists take over Christian culture, then they have no one to blame but themselves.  After all, I have lots of things in common with Christianity and agree with many parts of the Bible: I don't support murder, lying, or stealing.  Hell, I don't even eat shellfish!  Since I have so much in common with Christianity, there's no reason to not call myself a Christian.  Not all Christians blow up abortion clinics, beat up their children for being queer, or believe the world is only 6000 years old.  I am being awfully hasty in deciding that I'm not a Christian just because I don't believe in a god, virgin birth, heaven, hell, the resurrection, baptism, sin, angels, or miracles.  I should let those little bitty disagreements keep me from being a part of the diverse Christian community.

Right?

Moving on, the feminist blogger says Magnanti should not leave feminism because

...sex-work research could use more scientific rigor. While there are many theories about oppression or empowerment of sex-workers, none of that matters if we don't have hard data to back up the theory.

This is another thing I hate - arguments rooted in the notion that if one is not a feminist, then anything that they do doesn't count.  It's as though I've said, "I'm going to go seal myself in a cave in the mountains, never to be heard from again."  No, I didn't disappear, I just moving on.  Magnanti isn't refusing to contribute to scientific research or speak about sex work issues, she's just not doing so as a feminist.  If you want your work and ideas to be considered by feminists (who speak of themselves of as though they are the only audience in the world who matters), it needs to be under the banner of feminism.  Everything that nonfeminists contribute to society, political dialog, science, activism, or theory is completely irrelevant.

I've already accepted that the boundary-breaking porn that I produce will never be recognized by feminists because it's not pitched using the jumped-the-shark buzz of "feminist porn."  I was one of the first people producing porn with genderqueer and trans models apart from the tacky mainstream "shemale" niche.  Before the age of circlejerks like the Feminist Porn Awards, I was acting against the advice of a lawyer and opening one of the web's only sites that has menstruation porn because I believe strongly it, despite the very legal risks of an obscenity prosecution.  (Operating an adult site with menstrual blood is a thousand times more transgressive than photos of punk girls kissing.)  Even my most heteronormative bread-and-butter site is the longest-running solo porn site that features an unshaved woman, a rarity in the porn world.

When the feminist team implores people to stay, what they really mean is, "We will dismiss everything you do if you don't adopt our political label and use it to market all of your products."  I can't tell you how many times I've stumbled across people discussing something I wrote and seeing a criticisms to the effect of, "She's not even a feminist.  That says it all."  (As I've said before, "being a feminist" is the American flag lapel pin of the left - not wearing it must mean you're a terrorist who hates freedom.)

It's not people like Magnanti and I who are blind to engaging with the ideas of a larger community, or who totally give up on people based on what political labels they use to identify themselves.  It's the feminists who are so obsessed with their cultish dogma that they refuse to consider the opinions of anyone who doesn't abide by their sole overarching rule: identify firmly as a feminist at all times, and aggressively uphold our petty partisan bullshit, or you must be anti-woman, and therefor, an enemy.  To the feminists who think people like Magnanti or myself need to learn how to get along with others and pull towards our occasional shared goals, I turn that suggestion right back at them.

I've been thinking a lot in the last month about sex worker activism/outreach and what people in North America have been trying thus far.  One of the tactics that's popularly been deployed - and which is our primary form of "outreach" - is storytelling.  There are oodles of published sex worker memoirs, sex worker blogs, Twitter feeds, and live storytelling events have been organized in Manhattan such as The Red Umbrella Diaries.  The mainstream media also loves getting sex workers to dish on their "secret lives," and it's generally the only time they care to talk to us.  This blog post isn't about any one person or blog or book or event, it's about the idea as a whole.

I love sex worker tales.  I've read a number of the memoirs, dozens of sex worker's blogs, and attended a couple of the Manhattan readings, and have watched all the videos and podcasts made from those events where stories were recorded.  But, I think I look at these stories through a different lens than most people, because I'm also a sex worker.

The thing is, I wonder what this "shop talk" looks like to regular people.  I don't know if storytelling is helping us advance our cause.  But is that its goal anyway?  Is it subversive activism - luring people in with titillating tales of jizz-eaters and anal fisting, and in the process, making ourselves seem human and real and worthy of rights?  Or is it just another means by which the public is invited to come and laugh at the freaks, and the joke's actually on us?

There are two types of sex worker stories.

My favorite sort are the ones of self-discovery and observations about life, whether these tales are funny, awkward, depressing, painful, or transcendent.  I like seeing how sex - paid, unpaid, all its forms - affects people.  I zero in on that sort of thing and find it really interesting.  I could never get tired of seeing these sorts of pieces in any form, and I think these sorts of things do help us humanize, explain, and publicly explore our choices.

The other type of sex worker story that gets told, however, is the one called, "Ewww, clients are ugly and disgusting and have fetishes, let's make fun of them!"  I don't expect sex workers to find every one of their clients sensual, handsome, and witty, but I don't understand what we have to gain by telling the public all the time that the sorts of people who patronize us are scummy losers and that "we" laugh at them.

I feel bad sometimes that I'll rant on Twitter about a mean dude angrily trying to heckle me into fingering my ass for him, but usually neglect to mention someone cool that I meet on a given night of live web cam work.  My fans and clients whom I enjoy or feel neutral towards vastly outnumber the obnoxious losers.  I don't like dealing with assholes and cheapskates and intrusive people, and I do sometimes publicly complain about them, but I'm not going to run to the internet to dish on clients whose only "transgression" is being socially inept, having an "odd" fetish, or not meeting my own personal standards of attractiveness.

Sex workers who are feminists, politically correct, or otherwise "sex-positive" often don't hesitate to publicly mock (male) clients for being fat, hairy, and kinky.  After all, if it's a paying (male) customer who's fat/hairy/kinky, they're a freak to be laughed at, even by sex workers who are one or more of those things themselves.  I just don't understand how we're changing the public perception of the sex industry by offering, "Come be entertained by us as we amuse you with tales of our patrons' contemptibility."  That sort of thing feels so mean-spirited when done on a public level.  Why do you think so many people come to sex workers in the first place, if not to explore kinks?  I think it's neat that I interact with plenty of men who tell me things they can't even tell their own wives, and even if it's not my personal fetish, I'd never write something about how silly or stupid they are for liking that kink.  Maybe it's because I'm kinky myself.

Healthcare workers deal with all sorts of things with patients and the human body that can be gross or funny.  I used to sleep with a guy who relayed the weird stuff people jammed up their asses before freaking out and coming into the ER, people prepared with rehearsed stories about how they accidentally "slipped" and "fell" on a cumbersome household object.  But, these stories would have never been posted on his hospital's website.  When you have a job that deals with "the weird" in any way, workers find ways to laugh about it as a coping mechanism, to their friends and amongst other workers, and even develop gallows humor about the roughest stuff.  But, you don't see a flurry of nurses writing books about how disgusting their patients are, or doctors organizing public events that involve making fun of people for coming to them with an embarrassing medical problem.

There's also the whole issue of creating a culture where sex workers are indeed being heard more, but perhaps only for the petty amusement factor.  Civilian folk lap up tales of "the freaks," but does that help the sex workers rights movement?  Is that an effective gateway into actually engaging people in our real politics and issues?  The dynamic feels exploitative to me, in two ways: it exploits clients as a group - people who were tacitly or explicitly paying for confidentiality and someone who understands (or who can fake understanding), and it exploits sex workers by positioning their primary value to society as entertaining the squares with crazy stories.

Let's not do that thing where people kick the person lower on the ladder than they are so as to look superior.  "I might be a sex worker, but at least I'm not the guy paying someone to spank him and tell him he has a small penis."  That's bully behavior.  Maybe I'm taking it all too seriously, and yes, I realize that it's fun to share stories and blow off some steam amongst ourselves, but as I sit here analyzing the world of sex worker representation in America, I don't know if this focus on belittling customers is helping us at all.

Takeaway question: can we humanize ourselves without dehumanizing clients?

I've never given blog space to one of my favorite dystopic tales of all time, a short story that is both clever speculative fiction, and applies to parts of the porn debate.

As a precocious 12-year-old in the smart kid English class, I was introduced to Kurt Vonnegut in the form of Harrison Bergeron, a short story from the 60s.  Vonnegut was one of those authors I read at just the right time when I was growing up - alongside Ray Bradbury, Aldous Huxley, and George Orwell - folks who crafted tales that resonate so perfectly with how awkward outsider kids feel about the world.

Vonnegut's story begins,

The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.

In this future, we have finally achieved the feminist/liberal dream of equality through by punishing and handicapping those who are beautiful, strong, and intelligent for the heinous crimes of making others feel insecure.  In effect: affirmative action taken further down its slippery slope, this time, to equalize out any and all "unfair" advantages which no one must be allowed to possess in life.

After all, if one person (like a feminist or unattractive woman) reacts to another person (like a supermodel or porn star) with insecurity and jealousy, the only way to solve this "problem" is to punish and criticize the attractive party, and try and pass laws to prevent the delicate party from ever being "forced" to feel insecure ever again.

I highly recommend reading Harrison Bergeron, which isn't terribly long, and will perhaps cause you to ask interesting questions about "equality."

Something happened at the end of 2010.  I finally became Andy Warhol.

"Don't pay any attention to what they write about you.  Just measure it in inches." -- Andy Warhol

Just kidding.  I don't think I'm that famous.  (And unlike him, not one feminist has actually tried to murder me yet.)

But, I've finally hit that point - sparked by a frothy mixture of more people talking about me, and more letting go of keeping up with haters - where I'm not even trying to read everything people say about me any more.  Google Alerts for my name and my blog are only glanced at, not read in their entirety, and certainly not used as motivation to jump into fights with people on the internet about whether or not I am an asshole.  (I already know I'm an asshole.  I just happen to be an asshole who's correct most of the time, like all the best villains of fiction.)

Haters are so funny.  I'll never get over the hilarity of how verbose and devoted people get when obsessively, repeatedly explaining to me how "boring" or "unimportant" they find me, and I've attracted heaps of those detractors-cum-fans in the last six weeks between two popularity spikes.  (Although, an all-time favorite insult was from two or three years ago, when a Republican pornographer launched her triumphant fuck-you at me on a forum.  She revealed that she found me so extremely boring that she even wrote a whole blog entry about how boring I am.  Yeah, uh... you sure showed me!)  It's like being in kingergarten and knowing who secretly likes you based on who bothers to throw dirt at you, except now, the dirtiest dirt to be thrown is accusations of having bored the hater.  Let the record reflect that I'm not the one who's hounding my political opposites, following them around the internet in the excited hopes that maybe they'll pay attention to me.  I stay in my own virtual house for the most part - something of an internet cat lady shut-in, I suppose.  I hardly even comment on my friends' blogs (sorry!), let alone spend my life seeking out blogs of strangers I can dislike so I can self-righteously lecture them about exactly why I dislike them.  What a bizarre and neurotic thing to do!

Those two popularity spikes I mentioned were my pantless TSA protest (almost half a million views on the video!) and my Assange rape skepticism post (mostly wigged out about by feminists).

No one whose opinion I care about has attacked me, but I did earn praise from three people I admire.  Penn Jillette called me a hero on Twitter for my TSA protest, Dan Savage quoted my thoughts on rape in a post titled "What She Said,", and Laura Agustín commented in support of my rape piece.  I'm going to cherry pick and say I got all the external validation I could want between those three.  And, of course, there was a torrent of people commenting all around the web about how I'm a monster who's basically responsible for everything bad that's ever happened to anyone.  It's pretty rad that I somehow manage to simultaneously be the most insignificant yawn-fest people have ever deigned to notice, and also powerful enough to be personally responsible for stuff like "rape culture" and terrorist airplane hijackings.  I'm an enigma like that.

A couple of months ago, I received an unsolicited email from a literary agent asking me if I had a book proposal she could check out.  Seeing as how getting my shit together and writing a sample chapter and proper proposal was already on my "things to do in the near-ish future" list, it was very flattering to have someone express interest without me even trying.  And, maybe it will go no where and no publisher will want to print anything I say - I'm not going to get over-excited.  (I have a major loathing of how commonly people brag about how they're "writing a book," like just saying it out loud means you're halfway to winning a Nobel Prize.  Ain't nothing special about writing a book, kids - you don't get any bragging rights until all those words are, you know, being purchased in stores in book format.)  Even with that cynicism in mind, I'm flattered by the interest.  I wonder, snidely, how often literary agents track down blog comment trolls to say things like, "Your scathing paragraph of how [so-and-so] is ugly and stupid was absolutely brilliant!  Please send me a book proposal and sample chapter as soon as you have one.  You have a unique voice!"

(Seriously - has anyone ever gotten a book deal based on their "work" as a commenter on blogs?  Has anyone ever parlayed posting comments on other people's web sites into anything substantive or memorable?)

I realize that I'm a couple of weeks late to the fight in publishing this rant, but I was so angry when people first starting attacking Dan Savage's It Gets Better Project, I decided I needed to let this sit on the back burner for a bit.  Rather than being rendered irrelevant by the passage of time, I'd like to think it's the opposite.  Now that the feminist whine-o-sphere has moved on to bitching about other grievous injustices, the distance actually serves to show how little the haters accomplished, and how beautiful it has been to see It Gets Better grow and touch lives.

Allow me to start with a personal story.

I grew up in a part of the country that's - how do I put it delicately? - well-represented on PeopleOfWalmart.com.  My grandmother and J's grandmother were best friends, they lived on the same street in a middle class neighborhood.  J and I spent a bunch of time hanging out as kids.  He was a gentle, kind, effeminate boy, who always seemed somewhat lonely.  We drifted, as people do.  We went to different schools and spent less time hanging out at our grandmother's homes.  All I knew, beyond our childhood friendship, were the embarrassed whispers of family gossip that he was a homo and had "problems" dealing with it.

When J was 17, he put a gun in his mouth.

One of my only serious regrets in life is that I didn't make an effort to keep hanging out, keep making a point to see him, to hopefully maybe in the best of worlds to have changed the ways things turned out for him.

In 1999, my life was no picnic, but I knew it wasn't going to be like that forever.  My best friend at that point was the most gay-bashed kid in our school, who was repeatedly assaulted by bullies, including while teachers watched without intervening.  Dropping out and fleeing flyoverland was one of the best decisions I've ever made.  Even though I had a thick skin, I saw zero reason to purposefully keep subjecting myself to an environment where people hated me, called me a slut, and threw food at me.  I wish J has still been alive when I left, wish I could have brought him with me, I wish I could have shown him what I suspected all along - that there is a whole world outside of this shithole hometown of ours.

Even though I wasn't able to be there for J, I wish someone would have told him, "It gets better".  And with the rash of queer youth suicides in the media, Dan Savage decided to step up and do just that, for all the other kids just like my childhood friend who ended his own life.

There is not a person alive today with more drive and ability than Dan Savage to tell the world - through his column, blog, podcast, and television appearances - that it's okay to be queer, or kinky, or non-monogamous, and to embrace their sexuality.  Dan Savage a powerhouse of a sex-positivity activist, frequently maximizing his widely-syndicated sex advice column and popular podcast to drum up support for important issues.  I especially appreciate that he's consistently implored straight readers that they need to pay attention to anti-queer bigots and politicians, because those types aren't just after The Gays, they're out to take rights away from straight people, too.  So, with his ability to have an impact on public discourse, Dan launched the It Gets Better Project last month, based around a video channel on YouTube, for anyone to upload messages of love and support for isolated and struggling queer kids who may be thinking of taking their own lives.

The videos I have watched are so moving and inspiring, and positively radiate care and love.  Participants get choked up over telling the world about how they'd tried to kill themselves, how glad they are to be alive today, how they have amazing partners now, how they've come to meet so many other great queer people, and how important it is to just stick it out, because it gets better.  Internet celebrities like blogger Perez Hilton and porn star Buck Angel both tell viewers that they're welcome to email them and they'll gladly offer their personal support.  (It bears emphasizing: I didn't see a single person who was attacking the It Gets Better Project put themselves out there to offer their personal support to queer kids.)

I've only watched a dozen or so of the videos, but the ones I've seen are just so damned beautiful and filled with love for lonely and bullied queer kids.  I've cried watching some of the videos I've clicked on.  It's one of the best, most direct, and most effective activist projects I've seen in ages.

So, in harsh contrast to all that support and hope, I witnessed many people in the feminist whine-o-sphere predictably became enraged at the offensiveness of it all.  The nerve of that asshole Dan Savage!  Using his fame and popularity to reach out and try to prevent queer kids from killing themselves!

The two key arguments against It Gets Better seem to boil down to a) "privileged" bullied queer kids thinking of killing themselves don't matter anyway, and b) if an activist project doesn't instantly fix all problems for everyone, it is therefor a horrible idea and shouldn't be done at all.

Dan Savage has addressed critics by blogging,

To the angry folks: I admit that IGBP doesn't do the impossible.  It doesn't solve the problem of anti-gay bullying, everywhere, all at once, forever.  The point of the videos is to give despairing kids in impossible situations a little thing called hope.  The point is to let them know that things do get better.  For some people things get better once they get out of high school, for others things get better while they're still in high school.

[...]

Nothing about letting kids know that it gets better excuses or precludes us from pressing for the Student Non-Discrimination Act, demanding anti-bullying programs, confronting the bigots who are making things worse, or supporting the Trevor Project.  But we're not going to get legislation passed this instant or get anti-bullying programs into schools in rural areas—particularly private Christian schools—before classes start tomorrow.  Doing all of that is going to take years of hard work and dedicated activism.  In the meantime, while we work on all of that, we can get these messages of hope in front of kids who are crisis right now.  And we must use the tools we have at our disposal right now—social media and YouTube and digital video—to get these messages of hope to kids who are suffering right now in schools without GSAs and kids who are trapped schools that will never have GSAs and kids whose parents who bully and reject them.

There's nothing about this project—nothing about participating in this project—that prevents people from doing more.  Indeed, I would hope that participating in this raises awareness and leaves people feeling obligated to do more.

When I saw people expending their energy attacking It Gets Better, the dynamic felt all too familiar.  Just another group of elite politically correct liberals who prefer to focus on honing and touting their perfect theories, rather than taking real tangible actions.

My childhood friend I mentioned earlier?  J was a white guy, middle class, able-bodied, and presumably cisgender.  In the eyes of the feminist whine-o-sphere, I guess it that this means his life wasn't worth saving, and he didn't deserve receiving a message of hope and support during the darkest days of his life.  After all, he was just some privileged gay kid, not a caricature of perfect oppressions, a lab-created layer cake to salivate over, like a transgender wheelchair-bound black queer kid who grew up in a slum in Rio.

J's suicide is a very personal reason I want to slap every insipid armchair pundit who devoted time to attacking Dan Savage and the It Gets Better Project.  These critics blithely dismissed the campaign because they viewed it as only reaching out to privileged queer kids, which tacitly argues that those kids don't really matter and don't really suffer. Activists in first world countries often forget - while ironically often accusing others of being "too privileged" - that there are actual lives involved in the issues they theorize and pontificate over.  Kids who get bullied to death and are physically attacked by tormentors are not abstract concepts to me, they're people I've known and cared for.  They're living, and dead, reminders of why I didn't need to read The God Delusion to form an analysis of how religion poisons everything.

Growing up as a picked on queer kid isn't easy for anyone, even if they are non-poor caucasian able-bodied cisgender boys.  If life is so gleefully "privileged" for them, why do these queer kids kill themselves?  What if my friend J had been deaf?  What if he was Hispanic?  Would his life have been worth caring about then?  What does it take to get some simple fucking human decency towards the misery of people like J, or my other "privileged" friend who dealt with assault at school on a regular basis?  When you dismiss reaching out to "privileged" kids (and I dispute the accuracy of that allegation anyway), you dismiss and belittle the pain of those kids, plain and simple.

Samuel Johnson famously quipped a delightful observation - that patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel.  I shall now famously quip that "activism" which centers on accusing others of being too privileged is the last refuge of the lazy.

You know what's not lazy?  The It Gets Better Project.  Go submit your own video message, support initiatives in your area that address bullying in schools or provide funding for queer youth services, and donate to organizations such as The Trevor Project or  The Ali Forney Center.

Stick it to the feminist whine-o-sphere: actually do something.

While checking out a friend's Flickr uploads, I came across a photo that instantly took me back almost 9 years.  It was the smiling face of a girl who had once looked down her nose at me for being such a slut.  She was a technical virgin back in those days, bouncing from guy to guy faster than I did, doing everything except letting them put their penises in her vagina.  A holier-than-thou cocktease.

If you're like me, you will always remember the teen girls who were catty bitches to you, even if they've grown up, perhaps matured, and through some holy-shit-it's-a-small-world twist, gone on to become friends with someone you know.

This is one of many examples of why I'll never, ever get the "sisterhood" bullshit espoused by feminism.  Most of my experiences with women prior to sex work were them picking on me - for being a tomboy, for being the chubby girl, for being a slut.  The feminists would like to dismiss this sort of bad behavior by saying it's all just because of the evil patriarchy conspiracy, but I happen to know first-hand that women are capable of doling out plenty of oppression and emotional violence all by themselves.  When people refuse to acknowledge that, it makes me assume they must have grown up skinny, popular, chaste, and otherwise entirely conforming to the unwritten laws of the tribe of teengirldom.

Seeing the photo today made me think of a segment from Fast Girls by Emily White, a book I recommend.  The author interviews different women who were labeled sluts in high school.

She was out on the town in Seattle, at a new martini bar.  "Me and my friend Meg were out with these guys from a really cool band.  We were dressed to the nines, so people were looking at us and we felt totally hot.  All of a sudden this girl comes up and she is being real nice, probably 'cuz she wants to get with the guys in the band, and she is like, 'You're Madeline, right?  Remember me?  We went to high school together.'  I was drunk but then all of a sudden I remember who she was, this really popular girl who was one of the worst offenders.  Telling lies about me all the time.  Yelling names at me from her car when she was driving away from school."

The popular girl came up to Madeline that night in the bar offering an apology for the crimes of the past.  According to Madeline, the girl said, "I am really sorry.  I think the reason we did it has something to do with how, when something is beautiful, you want to destroy it."  Madeline rolls her eyes when she tells me that the girl went on and on, an alcohol-fueled confession, a monologue.

Madeline didn't buy it.  The forgiveness this girl was asking for seemed to puny, so late.  Madeline stared at the girl for a moment.  Then she punched her in the face.

[Edited to add: As an addendum- I pestered my friend about the girl in his social circle, and he told me he's gotten in arguments with her for being anti- sex worker. Ah, I guess some mean teenage girls never grow up- they just re-channel their sexual insecurities at new targets.]

---

I recently got some feedback on my blog that read like an auto-generated essay against porn and sex work, hitting all the key arguments that I've heard a thousand times, just rearranged in a different order.

It got me thinking, hasn't anyone made a bingo card about this yet?  Apparently not, so I made one, with my top 25 most irritating frequently addressed accusations.  (Click here to get a larger version so that you can print it out and play along at home.)

[Edit: Miss Renegade Evolution made a sex work bingo card about a year ago, which I missed.  Go see her version here.]