A pause

sean bonner violet blue

I spent the entire day offline yesterday — almost. It was the pause that refreshed. Actually, I had breakfast with my friend Geoff Cordner and his beautiful, whipsmart partner Eden — they were visiting from LA because Geoff had a film in the Docfest. After breakfast I took Mark some lunch and gave my visitors a short tour of the SRL shop. Next I rushed over to the Haight to meet Mark Morford for coffee and some much-needed catching up and pep talking; I’m leaving friday morning to visit DC to sign books at Book Expo America and and get my award for best erotica book of 2006. So basically, I’ve been in a state of freaked-out unhingedness all week; Mark M has helped keep me sane by emailing me things like “Do you bring an assortment of wigs? Corsets? With what do you terrify the authors of ‘Ten Easy Steps to Crocheting Yourself to Jesus’?” Our conversation was pretty much along those lines; not to mention a wonderfully heated discussion about whether porn marketed as “interracial” is racist or not. I’ll post thoughts on this soon.

I cam home, put on pajamas (at 5pm!) and made the big plan to paint toenails, blog, paint fingernails, video podcast, repeat. But I checked my mail and saw a surprise — snarky poo-poo pants “I invented gangsigns on the internets” Sean Bonner was in town for almost 24 hours! I called him, and he had scored passes to the Wired Rave Awards and wanted me to be their plus-one. I asked what to wear and he said, “I dunno. We’re not really invited.” Metblogs party crash — cool! Except I had to be there in 45 minutes; like my World Horrorcon party crash, I threw on the black dress, sock garters, fake eyelashes and clop-clopped out the door…

Really great photo of me and Sean by Jason DeFillippo. See more photos from the party at this Metblogs post; skip the rest of this post if you don’t care for my personal digressions.


I met Sean, Jason, Joi Ito and Shawn Fanning out front. We hung out and waited for Richard Ault; when he was late (I was technically his plus one) we got to the gate and Fanning talked me in with one door monitor– at the same time Ito was doing the same with the other door monitor. They had me covered.

And how was the party? Well it was on the roof of the St. Regis, all under a plastic canopy with sashimi and ice sculptures and free booze, plus a lot of very elite looking, very clean looking a-list tech dweebs. I was for sure the freak — no wait, that would be me and my all friends in black. Luckily we were soon joined by my pal Annalee Newitz, who was also in black. We drank and watched — though I felt like we were being watched. Or maybe it was just my sock garters that were being watched. It was one ot the most wholly artificial circumstances I’d found myself in lately; here they were awarding kudos to revolutionary “renegades” in a room full of tech millionaires. It’s such a small club to excel in, the competition must be intense.

I felt like I was floating, in a hollow way, standing there thinking about who I was in contrast to all those people. Their money didn’t bother me — some of them were nice, some of them were scary dicks, they were just people. But there I was, worthless in so many conventional ways; no family, a gutterpunk from the streets who somehow crawled out by stealing, begging, sometimes selling illegal things (though no sex work, even tho my friends did), sleeping in abandoned cars and squats and the park for years, no formal education. No one. Alone. I used to beg people like this for money on the street. For a minute I was floating above the party. I snapped to thinking about this weekend, where my publisher will fly me to DC to sign autographs on (an anticipated) 300 books and to walk away from BEA an award-winning sex author.

It’s so quiet here in my house right now.

Not long ago I had sex with a man. It had been a very long time since this has happened. Unlike me, I opened everything to this person; my body, and for a minute my real self. People who fall in love with me discover after a few years that they really don’t know me at all. At one point I was above him on my couch, looking down. His hands cradled my slick, smooth, soft pussy. His fingertips found everything I needed, in the right time. I whispered urgently down into his ear, please put your fingers inside me. Please. I waited while he held me up like that, suspended. He didn’t do it. I said it again, please please please put your fingers inside me. He looked in my eyes. He made a decision and I saw it in his eyes; I didn’t get to have the fingers yet. It was like a spark; I wanted to tear my skin off for him. He held me up, above him, in his hands. And I was floating.

Sometimes I daydream about what I would do if I was in a motorcycle accident. I think a lot of moto people do this. I am sliding. I lose my brakes. I think about how I would survive — maybe I correct the bike in time, or eject myself from the bike in time. Or maybe I go over the top, headfirst, sailing, floating.

And I think, will I make it?
Will they find me?
Will they save me?
Will they try?

It’s hard to put so many things in perspective. Things will be better for me in a few weeks. But one thing’s for sure — the Wired Rave Awards were just really boring. George Clooney should be glad he skipped it. Even though I am a little ball of emotions right now, after the party nine of us went to sushi, made fun of that whole scene, and all was well. Tomorrow I pack for DC, practice autographing boobs (my own) and go out for fun times before I become the sex publishing equivalent of My Pretty Pony. I don’t ever agree to these sit-at-a-table and sign things gigs because I don’t understand the value behind publishing and old journalism’s antiquated rituals — I’d rather chat with someone who reads my books over a beer or caffinated beverage. But hey — it’ll be fun to blog. My room has wifi and I’ve got the will to provoke.

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Teledildonics patent trolls: You got served

A reader who wishes to remain anonymous has tipped me to the SCOTUS decision that will effectively bury patent trolls. This is incredible news for the field of teledildonics invention and innovation, which has been kept in a stranglehold by a single patent and its enforcers for several years. It’s all thanks to eBay. Snip from Forbes:

“The U.S. Supreme Court has tipped the balance in patent disputes ever so slightly toward the users of patented technology and away from inventors, owners of intellectual property and the hated “patent trolls”–companies that make money by suing for infringement of patents they own but don’t use.

(…)

“The high court’s decision deals a blow to patent trolls, which are notorious for using the threat of permanent injunction to extort hefty fees in licensing negotiations as well as huge settlements from companies they have accused of infringing. Often, those settlements can be far greater than the value of the infringing technology: Recall the $612.5 million that Canada’s Research in Motion (nasdaq: RIMM – news – people ) forked over to patent-holding company NTP to avoid the shutting down of its popular BlackBerry service.

“Patent trolls have thrived as American industries have churned out more and more high-tech gizmos containing dozens or even hundreds of patented bits of technology. In accepting the case and ruling as they did, the justices seemed to have had it in mind to hem in their power.”

What does this have to do with teledildonics, exactly? Everything. Patent trolling is effectively the same thing as using organized crime tactics with inventions, but under federal protection. Now that’s no longer the case. The troll(s) with the teledildonics patent (PDF) created it back in 1998 loosely based on the FUFME conceptual art project (reposted here), and subsequently did nothing with it — but had the legal huevos to make it as far and ranging of a computer-controlled sex toy patent as possible. Back when I wrote my article on teledildonics I interviewed Steve Rhodes (“The Sinulator“) about his teledidonic device and company, completely unaware of patent trolls and how they operate. He told me about the patent holder, how he’d been contacted by the owner and was then (at the time) acting as an enforcer for the patent holder (from what I gathered) in exchange for being able to move forward with his company and ideas. In retrospect, he explained to me that he was acting on the patent holder’s behalf and informing teledildonics inventors that they were in violation of the patent… though he sold it to me like he was just a Silicon Valley guy who was working to create a set of standards for web-controlled sex toys. I quoted him as saying, “Remember what it was like when you had to decide between a BETA machine and a VHS? If we can all agree on basic standards it’s like when the water rises, all the boats rise — if everyone can use the toys interchangeably, then we’ll all be successful.”

Now I know what this really meant. And you know what? Fuck those guys. With the new SCOTUS ruling, I think it’s time we made some *good* teledildonic toys and open sourced the hell out of them.

Update, anonymous reader comment: “This doesn’t mean patent trolls are out of business, just that their primary weapon is far less useful than it used to be, given that SCOTUS used whether they’re using it or not as a criteria with respect to the preliminary injunction. One still has to have the resources to defend against the lawsuit… Here’s an analysis of the decision by a patent attorney on groklaw (link). I also still believe that the [teledildonics] patent can be reverse-engineered around or broken.”

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Best podcast ever

This afternoon I got my pirate radio fix in the Mission and recorded a live session of Open Source Sex, interviewing Shine Louise Houston, the mastermind behind Pink and White Productions. I think it was one of the best interviews yet — it was hot, sexy, hilarious and really really fun. We chatted about lesbian porn, her movies, and that crazy party I went to last Saturday where some of the performers from her next film got jiggy with the bread products. I found out that everything, *everything* was totally unexpected. It was just supposed to be a meet and greet! I’m going to get the MP3 in a day or so and do a little post-production magic on it, creating seperate video and audio versions, especially because I got the other set of photos back from the other camera I shot with. It was an expensive, profy camera of some sort that really makes me wish I could afford one. The photos came out incredible, and in them you can see just how much the women let me crawl around on the floor taking snaps in the second set (good thing I wore jeans that night!).

I went through the photos tonight and I’m going to wait to let them loose on you until the podcast. After that I’ll put the whole set up on Fotki, which will probably beg for mommy, come harder than its ever come in its life, then pass out from the bandwidth overload, just like last time. But I really like Fotki and think they handle mature content perfectly, so it’s a trade-off.

Of course, since I’m just sitting here tonight looking at sexy pictures and working on (yet another) book, I’ve posted a taste for you, after the jump.

But it was really a great day, thanks to the podcast and Shine. Makes up for the fact that today I picked up an SF Bay Guardian because my sweet friend Danny is on the cover and there’s a great article about the Marching Band in it, only to discover that I was dissed/snarked on in their sex column. Or rather, I was bitchily accused of being a flake. Whatever. I don’t deserve that. I work really hard.


Stars: Princess Donna and Lorelei Lee; Shawn and Jizz.

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I’m big in Japan

Tiny Nibbles reader Woodrant emailed me today saying, “I came across this store while walking through a shopping district in Nagoya, Japan. I immediately thought of you and snapped a picture.” How very cool. You all know I *do* like the signs with my name on them. Sometimes enough to abduct them myself.

IMG_0358.jpg

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World Horrorcon green room

Last night Thomas calls me and says, “So, did you go to that movie?” I was VIP’d to a film at the Docfest. I said, “No, I decided to stay at home and be depressed tonight.” Which was true. For a million reasons, it’s been a roller coaster of a week for me. He said, “Oh that’s a really BAD idea. I’m at the World Horror Convention and you should come down here — Borderlands is running the green room party and there’s free booze.” Free booze! And hardcore horror nerds! In a flash I had on my black dress, stripey socks, platforms and purple lipstick and I was on my way.

It was… hardcore. And the gender ratio, well… let’s just say that as I did a circuit around the main convention hall I felt like veal. It was kind of like being in a horror movie, where the protagonist accidentally walks into the big vampire party and is all like, woops. Uh, nice fangs. You’re so pale.

How did I get in? Bizarrely, I just walked in, which is amazing since it was insanely expensive to attend and covered in security. It’s a weird phenomenon with me; I’ve often just walked into a lot of places without credentials. I called Thomas to come find me (quick!) and we went up to the party suite, where they had an apartment-style room with a huge outside deck overlooking downtown. I walked up to the bar and said, “I’d like a very strong drink, please. I like vodka and rum.” The cute goth boy behind the counter said, “Do you want it regular, strong, or stupid?” I was all set — and shortly after that, a cute goth girl slipped me a mickey. Things got blurry and fun. I was introduced to people who already knew who I was, which was weird, and someone even wanted to take a photo with me. I’m not used to this. Soon I found myself back at the bar asking the staff “So, when does the ass-licking start? Is there going to be any strip D&D or what?” Their reply was, “Uh, you don’t really want to see these people naked.” Good point.

I did luck into meeting hottie Christa Faust, who peeled up her clothing to let me take photos of her gorgeous tattoos. And — heehee — to my delight, I discovered that she just wrote the novelization treatment of Snakes On A Plane. That’s right — the book comes *after* the movie with this one. Now *that* is fucking cool.

Right when the pool was beckoning me to take my clothes off and slip in (I have impulse control issues around bodies of water), Thomas wanted to get back home to his gf; good thing, that. Instead I came home and slipped into my big sleepshirt that reads WE NEVER SLEEP: THE WAR AGAINST SLEEP — and promptly lost the war against sleep.

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