…Morgan Hawke offers “A Heroine’s Mythic Journey – A Character Arc of Female Sexuality.”

…faux leopard print vinyl jackets and your go-go boots, recharge your revolution-now attitude, and explore “The Women of 1970’s Punk.”

After a quarter century, Seattle finally has another pro sports championship, thanks to the mighty Storm. ‘Twas a truly smashing victory, in a game whose lopsided final score belied its physical intensity.

Though somehow, it just doesn’t seem like a world title if there’s no rioting in the streets. Heck, even the Wildrose was Tuesday-night quiet. We’re gonna have to do something to pump up the rowdy, non-role-model factor if women’s B-ball’s ever gonna become a true mass-appeal spectator sport.

Storm stars Sue Bird (with her aborted “spanking” radio promotion) and Lauren Jackson (with her stunning nude pix in an Aussie art-photo mag) have done their part for this. Now it’s our turn.

Next late-spring, I want to see some real Storm-mania—in the sports bars, outside the home games, and everywhere. Drink-per-dunk competitions. Everybody wearing copies of Bird’s clear plastic face mask. Male cheerleaders in Speedos.

The Seattle Storm hosted a WNBA basketball game at KeyArena Wednesday night.

Just steps away, the visual-arts portion of the Bumbershoot arts festival held its free preview shindig. The theme of the opening, and of one of the exhibits: “Girlie Fun Show.”

I mean no irony by mentioning this. Women are different from other women. Some get their kicks by shooting dunks, others by drinking shots. Some even like both activities, at different times.

And some just ilke to create intriguing art. Such as Jodi Rockwell, whose walk-in installation surrounds a giant ball of frozen beet juice, slowly dripping onto a salt-covered floor.

On the gents’ side, W. Scott Trimble’s got a series of coin-op machines. This one uses wooden pieces attached to a mechanism that might be compared to the wheel tracks of an army tank.

This is either a robotic mannequin created by Mr. Juniper Shuey or Mr. Shuey himself.

There are plenty of other visual treats to enjoy over the long weekend, including a Matthew Kangas-curated group exhibit on the theme of “Consumables,” a bunch of classic art photos from the files of Aperture magazine (including such famous creators as Diane Arbus, Edward Weston, Sylvia Plachy, Imogen Cunningham, Chuck Close, and Ansel Adams), and street-cred group shows from Cut Kulture and the Bluebottle Gallery.

And the Girlie Fun Show exhibit itself is, well, fun. It’s femininity without guilt. Nobody’s vilifying anything. Any and all possible expressions of womanhood are welcomed within the room, though the more outrageous ones are preferred. There are stereoscopic nudes you watch on genuine View-Masters, and a video all about the eating of chocolate.

But for now, let’s return to the opening night festivities. There were “cigarette girls” selling small art-trinkets, and “flamingo girls” providing hospitality.

There was a double-dutch jump rope demonstration, and the enticing avant-jazz sounds of the Bethurum Collective.

The night’s star performers were the Vargas Girls, an all-singing, all-dancing troupe named in honor of longtime Esquire/Playboy pinup illustrator Alberto Vargas. Their moves and their banter were even tighter than their attire.

The art exhibits continue, with regular Bumbershoot admission, through Monday.

…why there haven’t been more great female rock guitarists, neglecting to mention most of the ones there’ve been. (Among the missing in action: Poison Ivy Rorschach of the Cramps, the first non-singing guitarist in an otherwise all-male band.)

Bodies have always been with us; so have body-revealing clothes, such as the 17th-century fad for breast-baring by prominent women— even queens.

The latest wackiness from Marysville, WA: A little company called “Nature’s Advantage” is in legal trouble for hawking dubious beast-enlargement pills to teenage girls.

On the weekend of Ladyfest Seattle, Friday’s Wall St. Journal has a cute feature story (available online only to paid subscribers) about “mom bands,” punk groups not only fronted but entirely operated by women who’ve got kids. One of the groups profiled even has a song called “Eat Your Damn Spaghetti,” vaguely reminiscent of the 1983 Seattle stage musical Angry Housewives and its signature song “Eat Your Fucking Cornflakes.”

A conspiracy theorist claims the Olympia riot grrrl bands were all devised by one women’s-studies prof at Evergreen, as an experiment in “estrogen therapy” designed to counter the effects of media/government psy-ops drives “to turn impulsive reactions to sexual stimuli into increased consumption.”

…of the reproductive-rights movement have influenced Hitler’s “eugenics” ideology?

NEWSWEEK QUOTES a sorority leader who insists her organization no longer discriminates–at least not by hair color. (Scroll toward the bottom of the page.)

CAITLIN FLANAGAN takes a lot of verbiage to ask upper-middle-class feminists to do their part for womankind by paying decent wages to their own kids’ nannies.

…here’s an essay by a career woman who claims to have gotten an empowering ego boost by looking at tasteful nudie pix online.

IF YOU BELIEVE a Murdoch tabloid’s account of a Stanford research study, women are indeed turned on by porn videos after all! Just not by skanky, silicone-y ones.

“Trag” writes:

“Hey Clark,”I agree about escort services being harmless (not sure how “essential” they are, though … :-)), but wonder how you can assume it’s conservatives and ‘right-wingers’ out to shut them down? My experience as a reporter and editor convinces me that it’s the most uptight folks who are most likely to be using these services! They can’t get it any other way.”