Kat Muscat is great, you don’t even know. The other day I heard her laughing in the background of an interview, just off the screen laughing. That’s good news. I don’t remember when I met Kat Muscat, but it was probably at NYWF. No, wait, I think it was at a Voiceworks launch in Sydney. Then we had beers. Kat Muscat is an editor, writer and feminist. For many years she was the editor of Voiceworks Magazine, that haven of awesomeness. She’s just written this awesome article about Orange is the New Black for The Lifted Brow.
At the Emerging Writers Festival this year, she was part of the Amazing Babes event, which was as amazing as the name suggested. She read this brilliant piece called: ‘The Virtues of Vamp and Dark Willow: or, How Willow’s Monstrous Bi-Sexuality Taught Me to Be a Better Lady’.
I mean, really, anyone who gets that involved with Buffy has a special place in my congested little heart. It’s a weird place, but they all get to live there. In my heart. I mean, read this:
‘The media has a hard time dealing with people’s sexuality unless it falls neatly into one of three boxes. This is despite how fun the word ‘homoflexible’ is. Sunnydale is no exception. In Buffy, bisexuality is consistently coded as excessive, transgressive and implicitly dangerous. Everyone who exhibits this behaviour tends to die at least once or already be dead. Including Vamp Willow who, before she carks it for realsies, is very clearly coupled with Vamp Xander. However, she also confidently propositions a girl at The Bronze, and… licks ‘real’ Willow’s neck. Which is about is masturbatory as the show ever gets.’
One of my other favourite things in the entire world that anybody has ever written, is this thing for Scum Mag called ‘So Your Dick Isn’t Perpetually Hard’. Everything about it is important and relevant, and even when I went to post this, a brief thought crossed my mind which was ‘I probably shouldn’t say how much I like this article, because people will assume it’s because I have some kind of problem with excess penis flaccidity’ and then I thought ‘that type of thinking is literally what this piece is arguing against, duh’.
‘Post-big-break up I was living with a friend while he housesat his awesome mum’s place. It was fantastic, despite being full of terrifying Indonesian puppets my supposed friend didn’t warn me about. There was a gorgeous back deck for chatting and working our way through my smokes. He taught me a more efficient (and what I have since been told is the normal) way to cut onions. It was a very harmonious arrangement. One particular night after I hadn’t been back to the house in a bit, I opened the gate to find him watering the garden. When asked what I’d been up to, I replied ‘having sex’. And then: ‘I’d forgotten hetero-sex could be like that.’ ‘Like what?’ ‘I dunno, just different. More mixed up, y’know. Mixed like those bags of lollies, not mixed-up as in confused or confusing.’ And then my friend gave me an ‘oh duh’ look and then I’m pretty sure we had a beer and ordered pizza.’