Dear Readers,

The other day I received some mail that I thought you might find interesting. My response follows...



Dear Dave-
 
Thanks so very much for your thoughtful and—dare I say—highly imaginative letter, but especially for your flatterous words.  
 
A musician always loves people who will take the time to kiss ass a little, but preferably a LOT. We music-types have huge EGOs, imho!  Usually that “flattery” takes slightly different forms, though, like praising my original music or comparing me to artists I dig, such as Nick Cave, Billie Holiday or the great Barry Manilow. Sometimes people just compliment me on my quality footwear. But saying you covet my domain name—JezebelJones.com—is almost just as good.
 
As a fellow arteest, I’m sure you can understand the importance of a owning the same dot com name as your already-established stage/band name. In fact, it may be slightly more important than owning the dot com name of a character in a yet-to-be-completed first novel.
 
Although I didn’t read your fan-fiction—primarily because I’m not a fan-fiction fan, but also because I hate to read—I’m sure your upcoming novel will be equal parts moody and dangerously brilliant, and sell like DC crack til you finally make the New York Times Best Seller List.  If a talentless hack like E.L. James (also a fan-fiction writer!) can manage to write a best seller, literally anyone can.
 
I understand why you feel marketing your upcoming first novel/runaway debut bestseller is more important than my relatively trivial musical endeavors. As you so politely did NOT point out, soon you’ll be outselling Stephen King while I’m opening up for some puppet show at a theme park in California. So really…what’s the point in me even keeping JezebelJones.com ?
 
That’s a tough question to answer. I guess while you’ve been riffing on JK Rowling’s ideas, I’ve been working on writing unique, “riff-free” music, getting the word out about it and building a community of friends and supporters.  I’m sure you can understand why it’s at least marginally important for me to keep using JezebelJones.com.

Also, my Turkish fans might be really pissed if you took over the domain.  I really, really don’t want to let them down. They're very nice. And they’ve been through enough lately, don’t you think?
 
That said, I’m not entirely unreceptive to selling the domain name for the right price. Turkey will understand…eventually.

Since you didn’t mention money at all, I assume that money is no object. I get it. That’s cool. I know several trust fund kids, and they’re only mean drunks when they’re drinking. But considering the time, money, passion and pain it has cost me these past several years to write/produce music, build a fan base and promote my site—not to mention the continued long-tail value over the next several decades…
 
In short, I would be willing to sell the JezebelJones.com domain name for...(drum-roll, please)... 

$1,000,000 US.

It feels like the right amount for this “prime Internet property”, as you call it. Funds would need to be verified beforehand, naturally.   But I think we really “get” each other, so maybe we could skip that part. However, I would feel much better if I could sign the transfer paperwork after your payment posts to the Swiss bank account I plan to open.
 
As far as the hosting, rebuilding and re-architecting of my website, I would prefer not to have a Drupal developer touch JezebelJones.com. Ever. Please never mention it again, as it is extremely upsetting to me for obvious reasons. “Unsweeten the deal”, so to speak.
 
In summary, I prefer to keep JezebelJones.com.  But money talks. And bullshit does something else altogether, but that’s not important here. I’m willing to part with the domain name if I can afford to quit my 9-5 job, pay off my debts and pursue my music full time.  We all have to make sacrifices, I guess.
 
At this point you're probably wondering what I’d do with the money from the sale of my domain name. Most likely, I would buy a tiny cottage in Ireland or lease a flat in Paris or Berlin where I could smoke gratuitous amounts of high-quality marijuana, write my next album and take up urban landscape painting. Maybe Barcelona would make more sense for all of that. Well, I’d better go brush up on my Spanish.
 
Looking forward to your kind response.  Adiós (aka, “goodbye”).


-Jezebel Jones


P.S. To your point, no, I wasn't able to to secure "jezebeljones" as some of my social media handles, thus I go by "msjezebeljones" on Twitter, YouTube and Instagram.   You said that msjezebeljones.com would be a “perfect alternative domain name” for my website. I completely agree except I would replace the “alternative” with “additional”, at least until you purchase my domain.  So I have additionally secured msjezebeljones.com in anticipation of that joyous event.


UPDATE 7/23/15:

Dave emailed me back.  This is what he had to say...

Thanks for the forthright and humorous response. If-ever I have $1,000,000 to spend on a domain name, I’ll be sure to come back with a new and proper proposal!

Goodbye, Texas.  

I'll be hitting the road soon--remaining dog at my side--driving  through Roswell, NM, Moab, UT and Boise, ID, on my way to my new (and old) home, Seattle.  I've landed a good day job, and a songwriter often needs one of those things to pay the bills.  I love a good road trip and this one's bound to be inspiring. 

I'm talkin' about the road.  Inspiring. Expansive. Full of Revelations.

But if the car is the modern American horse, what are planes?  

Planes are annoying.  Too much waiting. Too little room, obnoxious people, crying babies. And then there's the crotch-grabbing before you even board the plane...

We teach our children not to let strangers touch their genitals (STRANGER, DANGER!!!), but apparently random agents of the government can touch our genitals all they want, in a public place.

Today one of my favorite alternative weekly's--the Denver Westword--posted a funny story on TSA crotch-grabbing memes.  As I scrolled through, I laughed but started to get a teeny bit annoyed that all the TSA memes they posted were of MEN.  I have first hand experience with the TSA fondling my labia, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. 

So I thought I'd post a female TSA meme--surely they existed.  But after some unsuccessful googling, apparently the internet thinks airport crotch groping it IS a male problem, because I couldn't find much in the way of female TSA memes.  

So I found a picture that works (and jives well with my upbringing) and made my own. 

Happy Sunday, Everyone.  

Fly America at your own risk.

-Jez

 

If you’re thinking about seeing the movie Fifty Shades of Grey this Valentine’s Day, please don’t. Furthermore, if you’re dating someone who suggests it, this is grounds for an immediate break-up.

Fifty Shades of Grey is movie based on a book aimed at women who are a) barely literate and b) are tired of having vanilla sex.  Apparently, there are a lot more women in that category than I thought, because this horrible-excuse-for-killing-trees has become a worldwide “sensation”, spawning a host of parodies (see Sheds of Grey) along with a line of S&M products that are sure to something-up your suburban sex life and possibly lead to some uncomfortable, drunken conversations with your girlfriends at the country club.

The writing is truly, ridiculously terrible. And not in a good way, unless Gilbert Gottfried is reading it; then it’s pure comic genius. I read Harlequin romances that were more intellectually stimulating when I was 15. I eye-rolled and laughed myself through twelve pages, then threw it in the pile for charity and became severely depressed at the state of American literature. Can the movie be worse, you ask?  Maybe not. Still, I’m not taking any chances.

Erotica should stimulate your body AND mind.  And it shouldn’t put you in harm’s way.  In addition to the piss-poor writing, the Shades of Grey franchise is chock full of stereotypes and dangerous choices; sex educator extraordinaire, Laci Green does a great job of explaining why this book (and now movie) fails and how to have fun, consensual kinky sex.

For smarter women (and men) who are interested in BDSM sex practices or the lifestyle, here’s a list of better, sexier options to explore this Valentine’s Day.
 
6 Smart, Kinky Alternatives to Fifty Shades of Grey
 
1. Different Loving
This well-written book gives readers a peek into the dominate/submissive lifestyle and its various permutations. Authored by a husband and wife duo, it’s a fascinating read for anyone interested in sexuality and human behavior.
 
2. Penny Flame’s Expert Guide to Rough Sex
Penny teams up with filmmaker Tristan Taormino for this half how-to video, half erotic porn. And it’s pretty damn good. If you’re interested in BDSM sex, you should know these basics so no one gets hurt.

 3. A Submissive’s Initiative – Website
The goal of this website is to make “BDSM approachable, understandable and fun” in a “warm" atmosphere. Lots of good resources here.

4. Kinky Handmade Products on Etsy.com
Skip the cheesy sex store and shop for cooler kinky accoutrements on Etsy. From custom leather whips to BDSM jewelry, there’s a little something subversive for everyone.

5. Betty Page Stag Film – Irving Klaw (1955)
This short clip from a rare stag film has reemerged, showing gorgeous “Bondage Betty” in her submitting to a dom female. Funny and sexy. Sure to lead to foreplay...at least.

 6. Shades of Grey (Parody Song) - Music/Lyrics by yours truly, Jezebel Jones
I wrote this silly song just this morning and captured it on video tonight for your Valentine's Day pleasure.
 


To my lovely friends and fans—Happy Valentine’s Day!


XOXO,


Jezebel

 

Note to the reader: I wasn't gonna publish this post outside my facebook friend circle, mostly because I've recently made peace with my born-again Christian folks and was worried about them reading it. But I've been challenged to live a more honest life, be who I am and not be ashamed. Called to be more vulnerable and share some of the adventures of my (sometimes) adventurous life. Sure, sometimes I take liberties and perhaps exaggerate here and there, as any Texas-based storyteller might.  But I'm no longer willing to censor myself for others...nor apologize for my "wicked ways", so here it is...

Last night was insane. 

Bussed it to a local rock club. Oh my vengeful god, the band sucked. The drummer was particularly ludicrous; apparently he spends all his practice time tossing his sticks and making up fancy "I’m-such-a-badass-rocker" moves and no time on actually keeping time.
 After a few truly terrible songs, I walked to a nearby convenience store looking to kill time before the next band. On the way back I noticed a bar with rainbow lights called The Annex and thought, "what the hell..." 

You know the scene from those old westerns. Stranger walks into the saloon. Entire room goes quiet as everyone stares at the stranger. Then everybody goes back to what they were doing but that uneasy feeling still lingers in the air. There was literally only one other woman in the place.

Should I even be here? Did I break some kind of unwritten SA gay code? So I flat out asked the adorable, husky man boy to my right. Within minutes I met all his friends and we got to know each other over drinks and lots of laughs. Soon Eddie and his pals had me following them to another bar with rainbow lights: one that featured male strippers. 

OH SNAP these strippers were freakin’ hot. AMAZING bodies and faces, excellent erotic dancing skills. My new gay friend-pack thought it was great fun to call them over and then shove dollar bills in my hand and have me tip the dancers. (People see me as wild--and I can be sometimes--but I’m still a bit of a modest Catholic school girl). I was titillated and embarrassed and being a good sport about it as these smokin' guys pummeled my face with their...errrr...packages.

Let’s just say they weren’t shy about earning those dollar bills. Let’s just say at least one of the hot dancers was definitely NOT gay. Let’s just say some of events that happened shortly afterwards are not safe for work, or my parents or impressionable children but will provide fabulous fodder for my unauthorized biography.

Let’s just say what happens in San Antonio stays in San Antonio.

Today I saw my favorite pro-choice sign so far: it was created by a 14-year old Austin, Texas gal named Tuesday Cain:

The sign read: “Jesus isn’t a Dick, So Keep Him Out of My Vagina”.

It's caused a bit of hub-bub and naturally it went viral. Some cowardly members of the religious right have attacked this young girl, calling her a slut and worse. You can read the whole story here.

Cain’s sign made me laugh this morning—you know how I love irreverent humor—but has a very serious side to it, one that inspired me to share this post. It’s true. Jesus ISN’T a dick. But for awhile I thought he was.

I was baptized Catholic and raised Pentecostal. I spent a considerable amount of time in church or engaged in religious activities: studying the Bible, memorizing scripture, singing about Jesus, practicing the “gifts of the spirit”—prophesying and speaking in tongues. I felt a deep connection with the story of Christ, how much he loved others and his ultimate sacrifice. It’s a story that’s very easy to connect to. In our heart of hearts, we are all looking for unconditional love.

Starting at age 17, I went through three periods of rebellion; a trio of rumspringa, so to speak. At the end of these backsliding stints, I realized many of the “facts” I had learned as a child didn’t add up. I started seeing the Pentecostal church as a glorified pyramid scheme, filled with tons of rules and judgment; taught through musical theatre, enforced through fear. Financed by people like me.

When I went to college, I met people from all cultures, backgrounds and religions and started seeing life as expansive, not restrictive. As full color, not black and white. I broadened my ideas about life and about God. As my newborn eyes began to open, I suddenly resented being told how to interpret the Bible, who to date, how much money to give, who I should vote for. Not being able to make my own moral decisions. Eventually I became resentful about my intensive religious upbringing (i.e. brainwashing) and I abandoned my faith in Jesus and my religion.

But the pendulum has started its reverse swing. Although I often identify with atheists and firmly believe in the separation of church and state, I’ve become comfortable saying I DON’T KNOW whether or not god exists. Historically, we’re quite ignorant, so how could we say one way or the other? And the concept of god is ever-changing.

I also feel comfortable saying I DON’T KNOW if Jesus was a real person or not; there is historical evidence, but then again we know how corrupt the Catholic church was, and continues to be. To me, it no longer matters if he was the exact person of the scriptures; any way you slice it, the teachings of Christ are mind-numbingly beautiful. My attitude towards Jesus has softened. He wasn’t a dick. It’s not his fault many of his followers are dicks.

It’s ironic that the extreme right uses Jesus as their icon, their official spokesman, because if he were alive today, he wouldn’t have anything to do with them. The only people he seemed to hate were religious hypocrites. When he said crazy stuff like it’s impossible for rich people to get into heaven and threw businessmen out on their asses for making money off religion, Jesus really pissed off the religious conservatives. Jesus was the antithesis of religion and its laws. He claimed a higher law, one of radical love.

Many people intuitively understood the gospel of love and flocked to him; by making Jesus a messiah, they made him a threat. So religious and political forces conspired to murder him in the name of God and State. They crucified the Outlaw of Love. Nicely played, religious folk. Nicely played.

And that’s the angle of the story that gets missed: if you piss off well-to-do religious folks who have strong political connections (inevitably they do), you can end up in a world of pain. Or dead. It doesn’t matter their race, creed or religion. It’s about control. Jesus was in the way, at least he was when he was alive.

Jesus wasn’t a dick. He gave WITHOUT trying to control, which is the very definition of love. He didn’t go around preaching fire and brimstone, picketing soliders’ funerals, telling gay people they were going to hell or condemning women for having sex or an abortion. Abortion has been practiced since the very beginning; he never even mentioned it, just like he didn’t mention homosexuality. No, he wasn’t a dick. He emanated love at all times. People were changed in the presence of that love. He fed the hungry. Clothed the poor. Extended mercy to lawbreakers. Healed the sick. Willingly gave his life for others.

His life was a supreme example of love and peace; exactly the opposite of today’s so-called Church. And they wonder why “the world” makes fun of Jesus…it’s because his so-called followers have made a mockery of him, by loudly hating in Jesus’ name.

Seriously, we could all use a REAL Come-to-Jesus Meeting. And that meeting should dissolve religion in favor of love. If the collusion between religious powers-that-be and political powers-that-be killed Jesus—one of the most loving people ever written about—aren’t they likely to destroy us all?

Let’s at least separate these two troublemakers.

Let's practice love, not religion.

XOXO, Jezebel
 

I’m sure y’all have heard what’s going on here in Austin, Texas.

Republicans all over the country have aggressively trying to insert their right-wing “values” into our collective lady-business, but few states have taken things as far as Texas. The bill HB2—introduced recently during a special session of Texas Legislature—would severely limit safe, legal abortion in Texas. It limits choice via access and it is complete horseshit, since abortion has been a fundamental federal right protected under the Constitution for over 40 FUCKING YEARS.

This situation really caught the national eye last month, when one amazing politician, Senator Wendy Davis, filibustered a previous version of the bill for nearly 13 hours straight without food, water or the ability to sit down. And who says the government doesn’t condone torture?

Yes, the eyes of the country are very much on Austin, TX. Yet the Texas State Legislature—overwhelming controlled by Republicans—doesn’t seem to mind appearing like total douchebags and buffoons in front of the media. Not only are their blatant attempts to quell the people's opposition deplorable, but the shenanigans have backfired, igniting a fiery feminist movement both here in Texas and all over the U.S. Oops.

Oh, they look like douchbags by trying to illegally pass an earlier version of the bill, arresting elderly ladies and cutting off testimony they don’t like, but it’s their sheer buffoonery that may prove to be their demise. Conservative Republicans are making themselves look like a secret society of village idiots. Unfortunately, they’re not very good at keeping secrets.

In a scenario that could be the funniest article you never read in The Onion, today’s state capitol fiasco was a doozy.

In preparation for today’s proceedings, the Texas Department of Safety staffed extra officers to help search handbags for the most deadly of weapons: the common tampon. OK, in all fairness maxipads were not exempt from search and seizure. Nor were—in a masterful stroke of irony— condoms. That’s right, folks. Today your tax dollars were hard at work protecting politicians from possible trajectory cotton and accidental cloaking.

Naturally and immediately, this created the world’s funniest shitstorm on Twitter. Activists aptly dubbed the ridiculousness #TamponGate and it has yielded some of the most hilarious material I’ve ever seen on the social network. Professional comedians beware: the amateurs were faster—and maybe funnier—than you on this one.


Top 10 TamponGate Tweets:

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-Jezebel