Lord of ass

This billboard alteration is brilliant! Especially because Nicholas Cage is so lame (and that brand new stretch of freeway needed something). Thanks Jason!

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Cool stuff, events

I’m oh-so-happy to be mentioned today in my local weekly, The San Francisco Bay Guardian, who in their article “By the numbers: Our top 20 favorite things about sex this year” have me and Open Source Sex at #7! (Also check this list if you’re visiting this weekend for Folsom and want extra-curricular activities.) I must also note that I’m in the #9 position as well, because I’ve been wearing sock garters all the time for well over a year — and I know Annalee Newitz is responsible for that comment because I saw her eyes follow my garters around the room at the July ’06 Bay EFF panel… Wait, a sock garter reverie:

“Pause for a minute to imagine me running through the old cemetery with my long black hair, big sunglasses, black shoes and socks and skirt (and sock garters). Now try it in slow motion.” (Waiting in Heathrow)

“Later, he told me he thought that was just as hot as my sock garters and 8″ heels, nice.” (The Swinging Accident)

best sex writingAhhh, sock garters. I completely admit to stealing the look from the uber-hot flag team in the Extra Action Marching Band, who no longer wear them so I felt it was okay to copy them. Actually, I’m surprised the weeklies know I exist at all. San Francisco is one of those places where someone can be in major media elsewhere yet get totally omitted from local reportage — happens all the time, which is probably why so many celebrities like living here. But being in the Guardian is a really cool thing, something I’ll celebrate, for sure.

But I can follow Annalee’s garters around the room next week: if you’re in San Francisco, please do come to the reading for Best Sex Writing 2005 at Modern Times Bookstore on Wednesday, September 28. In attendance will be Paul Festa, Chris Ohnesorge, Annalee Newitz, Carol Queen, K. St. Germaine (up from LA for the event), Timothy Archibald (also traveling in for the reading) and myself, who won’t do much traveling but will plan on much drinking afterward. No, I don’t know why it’s not on my publsher’s website, or I would totally link to them.

Better yet, if you’re in town this weekend (like a million other pervs for the Folsom St. Fair), stop into Webzine 2005 at the Swiss American Hall. On Saturday I’ll be on the “18 or Over Only: A Look at the Laws, Technology, and Style of Adult Sites” hosted by none other than Thomas Roche! (And yes, I see on the schedule that there’s also a podcasting panel afterward, and no, I’m not invited to be on it. I was actually told I had to choose one panel or the other, no exceptions. That’s what I get for calling it ‘democratic’ in Newsweek…)

And if you’re thinking, I can’t do any of that so I’m just going to sit there and drink, then I am very jealous. I would like to join you. But maybe as you plan your busy drinking schedule you can pre-order two fabulous books that I happen to be in that are also well worth spilling drinks on: Carly Milne’s Naked Ambition and Russ Kick’s Everything You Know About Sex is Wrong.

Me, I’ll be working those sock garters all weekend long at a few sex parties and any other mischief I can get into. I wrote a little over 3000 words last night and have no plan on slowing down until the weekend.

And last but never least, a sad and heartfelt goodbye to Eva Lux, who lived through the adult industry HIV scare but found that herion was more formidable as an adversary — and a comfort. I’ll miss reading your blog in my sex blog roundup list. (thank you, Xeni and Stacy Jill)

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Suicide @ Suicide Girls?

5353858_m.jpgSeen today at Fleshbot, a fairly massive walk/shutout at Suicide Girls — I’ve been getting emails from my friends who are (now) former SG models for about a week about the “ghosting” of models, and trying to follow the posts here and here and here. I’ve always had misgivings about their reluctance to get anywhere near the word “porn”, as that strikes me as oh-so-odd for an alterna chick nudie site. But wow, what a mess. I wonder if it’ll change their podcast, Suicide Girls Radio… will one girl have to do a bunch of different voices until they re-stock their cupboards? Here’s a snippet from UnPink:

“…Even as SG expanded from 10 girls to 800, these remained the stars. Until, the last few days, half of them, very publicly, quit.

Here’s the score.

One of the most popular SG’s, Sicily, was booted off the site after an anti Suicidegirls journal entry she wrote (caused by financial disagreements with the owner). You can see the text here. Two other popular girls, Katie and Apnea (of Lithium Picnic fame) shot for another site and got their passwords taken away. Staff changed Apnea’s journal and made it look like they were active. Voltaire quit in protest. Staff pulled same move on her.

By this time, it’s all over the blogsphere. Girls are quitting left and right. Claudia, Sita, Molly, Gillian, Ciel, Annabelle, Angie, Shera, Annie, Genivieve, Mistidawn, Les, and a new one every hour or three.. SG, in response to four of its best girls quitting, changes entire site format. Archived girls and active girls are indistinguishable- except archived girls have no access to the site.”

There’s more in the full entry, and I declined to duplicate the links to the Suicide Girls site; you can click through on the original post. Well, all I have to really say about this is that once Dave Navarro likes you, it’s all downhill from there. (He shot one of SG’s ‘celebrity’ galleries.) He’s totally the kind of guy that if his younger self traveled through time into the future and met himself now, he would totally beat the crap out of icky-2005 Dave Navarro.

I’m currently writing 3-4000 words a day and working on a new logo for my site… previews are being tested on other pages. I’ll make a formal launch soon, hopefully by my b-day. (Thursday, ugh!)

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Porn for a good cause

I’m starting to realize that if you read my blog regularly, it’s a lot like dating me. And if we were indeed dating, dear reader, I’d like to remind you of two things you might want to do to help Hurricane Katrina victims while making your life a much sexier place, indeed.

One: you have six hours left (until midnight PST) to place an order for any Comstock Films DVD. This indy porn is fucking fabulous, and the great thing here is that the company is making no profit on anything they sell today; instead the entire purchase price and a matching donaiton goes directly to the Red Cross Katrina fund. So, a $25 purchase becomes a $50 donation, and you get hot sexy couples’ porn with real live hot sexy couples. Tony Comstock is blogging the donation progess here.

Two: buy a sexy erotic print from Siege (photo on right is a sample). It was a week until his mother and brother were found living in an abandoned home, having lost everything in the hurricane. Siege grew up in total poverty, like me, and if you buy a print the money goes toward rebuilding his mother’s trailer (or buying her a new one, depending). Seriously: his little brother needs asthma meds, they have nothing. Siege happens to be one of the more amazing young erotic photographers of our time (my opinion). Read the whole story here.

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Still In iTunes

… But I’m not sure why most people can find me, while a few others can’t. Truth be told, it’s all out of my hands anyway, though I have to say I seriously doubt foul play, even though I overreacted in my last post; I am after all, an Apple fetishist and now have it on good authority that the feelings may be mutual. Nonetheless, emails like this are great:

“i can find your podcast through a search by violet blue, open source
sex, and you’re #5 under “sex”, (whorecast is 3), and listed under arts
and entertainment->entertainment.

i also see your picture there, cutie.

and let me just say that there is *no way* that “winecast” is ahead of
you in subscriber rankings. and don’t even talk to me about bill oreilly.”

I’m finally getting to everyone’s emails now that Jonno is somewhat back, though he’s trying to blog on a borrowed, breaking laptop and friend’s unfriendly PC, still with pretty much just the clothes on his back. We finally got through on the phone to each other yesterday, for the fist time since the hurricane. I had just reached the end of my rope, and tendered my resignation at Fleshbot. It was an emotional conversation; he’s simply happy to be alive, that his boyfriend and dogs are alive. I am *not allowed* to quit; the laws of friendship, love and sex blogging apparently do not permit it. But my contributions to Fleshbot will be scaled back for the next two months as I write a book I’m under a tight deadline for, which is what had me in a panic in the first place… a 200-page sex guide, and only 200 pages to go…. Woo-hoo!

Still, I’m having out-of-my-mind fun on Fleshbot, even if I had to start the week with “we’re not friends anymore” emails from people who maybe I’m better off without anyway (*sigh*). Don’t they know the rest of my life is a mess, too? I’ve been unable to respond to business people trying to contact me as well. The one non-urgent person I took time out to respond and talk to was the programming guy @ NPR; Hustler, CBS and even a moneyed publisher’s offer have fallen by the wasteside… Not that anything matters more than friendship. Anyway, here are a few Fleshy highlights:

Used Panty Portal
Cuffz by Linz
Morning Wood: Buy a Siege Print (Do it, I command you!)
Brenda Staudenmaier
Breastlove’s Babes

** Quick afterthought: the Hustler interview, which I didn’t respond to, had a question in it I’ve only seen in a few interviews, but one I’m *never* asked in interviews from “respected” sources like Newsweek and CNN, etc. “What is your full name and age?” Now, I didn’t go to journalism school, but this doesn’t seem to be a standard question. What is this question for, what purpose does it serve? I’ve answered it each time I’ve been asked, but the response has never been printed, though the journalist always regards my answer with interest. So it must be personal interest. It kind of reminds me of how like Yahoo, when you set up an account, asks for your age, clearly for marketing purposes, as do social networking sites like Tribe.net. So, since it doesn’t apply to podcasting (what the Hustler interview was about), it only stands to reason that questions of a non-topical personal nature should be pranked. I never lie to journalists; if I don’t want to tell them something or if I quesiton their motivaitons I stop the interview. I have nothing to lose. But from now on, my official age is 18. Ohmigawd, like totally BARELY LEGAL!

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Podcast Yanked From iTunes, Again (Not)

As if things weren’t difficult enough for me right now… A listener/reader has let me know that my podcast is no longer listed in iTunes; the direct link to my iTunes page works, but search for my name, my podcast, or sex, and Open Source Sex is gone.

I wonder who else they’ve done this to: I see I also cannot find Whorecast. Are they now quietly making it very difficult to find the sex podcasts? The best way to make someone go away is to remove them from searches… Not hip and cool, iTunes; lame and douchy censorship.

Update:
Literally — update. If you update to the new iTunes 5.0, all is as it should be (as far as I can tell). But for everyone else who isn’t/hasn’t/can’t/won’t update to this brand new version of iTunes, it appears as though a large number of podcasts have been “flushed” from iTunes. Not just sex podcasts, either, though I hope everyone finds my paranoia funny and hilarious, like the drunk chick at the party with cocktail weenie breath who later steps on the host’s infant/puppy/cherished childhood keepsake. And buys the goddamn iTunes phone when it comes out.

And the best news, ever: Jonno is back at Fleshbot!!!! Blogging from a temporary Fleshbot HQ outside NO, set up with a handmade net of porn screener DVDs for shade and a modified Julain Snelling buttplug as a wifi transmitter. And just when I was getting used to angry emails from Fleshbot Gay readers (“where the hell are you?”) and emails from (now former) friends who have officially dumped me because I haven’t been able to return their calls and emails, and I guess I just generally suck as a friend.

I’m going to go clean my house now for the first time since the hurricane, and pay some bills, before I have to hack a butt plug transmitter myself…

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Porn blogging: A rant

Today I finally have my head above water, unlike the citizens of New Orleans, whose heads were held under by our federal government just long enough to drown. Jonno and I still can’t get through to each other by phone (cell or land line), but we’ve somehow been able to leave messages for each other almost every day, and of course his cell phone company is totally able to text message him his bill. Site managing Fleshbot has been unbeleivably stressful, not just due to exacting editorial stress getting 12 posts a day up on a major media site, the low low pay (couldn’t survive on it if I had to), the two book deadlines I missed (and the upcoming one in November), or the fear of inarguable suffering inflicted on a friend I love very very much (my Jonno).

Porn blogging during a disaster is painful, stupid and wrong. But it is also bizarrely right. It tore me to shreds to not hear from Jonno for days, to watch Anderson Cooper unravel, hear the mayor of New Orleans cry in anger and helpessness, and *still* get emails about Lindsay Lohan’s lesbian leanings. I didn’t give a fuck about Beyonce’s nipple slip before, and now I hate misspelled porn press releases offering me as an “esteemed journalist” a trip to the set of “choke on monster black cocks #5” more than ever. (Not a real title, though similar to the actual. Mmm, I bet the craft services on that one were sublime.) At the same time, I’ve helped keep my friend’s site running (who is now a disaster refugee of sorts, one of the few with a job to return to) and hopefully provided those watching Fleshbot several much-needed sex positive distractions, maybe even a few moments of pleasure as we learn to live with pain and shame that isn’t going away for a long time.

I don’t know. I felt utterly worthless crying at my keyboard last week, and outrageously angry. I wrote harsh words on Fleshbot about the porn industry’s inactivity that were removed. Many people emailed in support for Jonno, Fleshbot, myself, but the continual flood of porn promotion into my inbox and lack of activity by people in porn made me insane. I was told that maybe the adult industry was slow to react because they were stunned; don’t tell me that when I’m updating and changing a site over a dozen times a day and managing to hit my own as well. I didn’t need to be scared to know that the people in NO were scared. I don’t need to know any disaster victims to imagine their grief and wish to help them, but I DO. In the light of this, the signifigance of porn blogging, of making porn, only adds to a scream to the universe of everyone unable to help, to do something, and yes, it makes me turn and ask, okay, so what the fuck *are* you doing? Nothing? Then go away.

Maybe it’s silly, childish to think that people who make Girls Gone Wild would care. Anne Rice wrote in the New York Times*;

“But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us “Sin City,” and turned your backs.

Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you.”

Which explains why I overstepped my emotional bounds, and got edited. Or not. The question I struggle with, even today, is what am I doing, how am I helping anything by porn blogging? It goes against my nature to post a celebrity nipple slip unless I think it’s giving someone somewhere a monent of reprise from the insanity, or maybe what I wrote today about hoping the Bush administration has a doomsday gene that can be activated by the push of a button (in the context of a porn review) can give a little levity, a little sanity, if only to me. Because this week, I seem to be writing with the filter off. Maybe they will keep me at Gawker, maybe they will not. As with everything in the history of my entire life, I still have nothing to lose.

It is impossible for me to just sit here and look at porn all day. Many porn detractors will say that Fleshbot is not a contribution to culture, but another wrong that needs to be righted, and anyone who enjoys it is sick and wrong, and doing so during a national crisis is evil. This is what the conservative christian family values voices in my head tell me, that is when they’re not telling others to go on killing sprees — or to go golfing after Hurricane Katrina. I’m not listening. Because I’m moving forward with heart, conscience and I’m trying with every ounce to put this whole damn thing in persepctive in every word I write. It’s all I can do.

Which is insanely frustrating to a girl who usually feels like she can do anything. I build and operate giant renegade machines. When something breaks, I fix it. I have no family; I have survived. I was a ward of the state who escaped on my 14th birthday, and lived as a homeless teen almost until I turned 18. Looking at NO, I instantly got what was happening when the homeless, the poor, the drug addicts with no fix were trapped without food and water among subruban families and residents with no way out — and there were many, as there are in every city. More so in a city with no harsh winters. I remember what it was like when Regan cut social services funding and released all the crazy people onto the streets with no shelters to take them in; I was there with a bunch of other young kids who’d been beaten and abused all their lives and were hard as nails at 14, and having to protect ourselves and find food and shelter and water day after day with all these dangerous crazies roaming around. You can’t just go stay with friends for a while or get a hotel room. It is your life, and no one from the state or government will help you because they don’t understand. People help you — by literally saving your life sometimes, by risking everything to make a difference, by dying, by keeping life in context, and yes, by totally losing it and saying something about it all (like Cooper, Rivera, Nagin, Kane…).

On saturday I had friends over at my house, to get very drunk and come together. (That explains the pictures in this post; above group is Paul Festa, myself, Polly Enmity and Arlo Tolesco all from Best Sex Writing 2005.) We did, and had a few former NOLA residents among us, one a NO native whose sister lost everything. And in the morning, the envelope I’d left out on a table labeled “American Red Cross” had $300 in it, and I had a few emails from hungover pals with drunkenly forgotten, but forthcoming checks.

* If NY Times asks for a password or registration, just clear any cookies with “nytimes’ on them.

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