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2001

Mom’s Coming

Mom‘s here tomorrow afternoon. Guess that means I should clean the bathroom tonight. It also means my email responses and exciting journal entries will be even less reliable than usual over the next few days. Try to conceal your disappointment; do some Christmas shopping perhaps…

While I’m at it, I should update that Wish List, just in case anyone cares…

Also on my mind on a cold Wednesday afternoon:

  • The potential of not engaging in any creative attempts at keeping warm for two and a half more weeks.
  • Where to stash the porn ’til Mom leaves.
  • My rumbling stomach from not eating lunch today.
  • The cold I have this nasty feeling I’m getting.
  • How much I secretly want that kid in the Dell Computer commercials to die a slow and painful death.

I Can’t Even Think Straight

From the Chronicle:

Lindh noted that his son had been interviewed right after being pulled out of a flooded dungeon in a fort where he and others had been in a fiery standoff with US and Northern Alliance forces for days — and that anything he said at that point should be taken with a grain of salt.

“I don’t think he was thinking straight at that moment,” Lindh said. “I don’t think anyone could think straight at that moment.”

Maybe not, but you have to sort of wonder what the hell he was doing in that flooded dungeon in the first place. Following his dream, I guess…

Found Money

I love it when I’m cleaning up the house and find money. And by that I mean actual paper money. It’s especially nice when it happens about half an hour after I paid lots of really nasty bills…

I may go spend it on ice cream and 7-Up at the corner store since I’m parked too well to risk driving anywhere better and losing my space…

Randomly Sunday

I’m a little tired, there’s not an unclogged artery in my body, I have this sort of goofy grin on my face, and there are random articles of clothing scattered about the living room. Good weekend, all in all. Y’know, after a really shitty year, I’m quite happy with the way the last few months of it seem to be playing out…

Yes, Mom. I really like this guy…

If I could just get rid of the lingering health problems and find a job which paid a little more and sucked a little less (or even better, more freelance), I’d be happy as a clam…

Random ponderings for a Sunday evening:

  • Just what the hell IS a tin woodsman? Were they all big old screaming queens like the one in The Wizard of Oz?
  • Has it really been 18 years since I last sat through the aforementioned movie, one drunk night in Greensboro?
  • How do certain plants sense that you’re just about to give up and throw them away and suddenly start putting out new growth?
  • Will there EVER be a normal schedule for first-run Simpsons episodes (and other Sunday night shows) on our local Fox affiliate in San Francisco? And will said station ever have a website with even the bare essentials (like actual program information) on it?

Pornographically Correct

Is it wrong for dirty stories to feature elements of exploitation, or maybe language which people find demeaning or offensive? In other words, is it really necessary that writing which essentially amounts to a quick masturbatory fantasy conform 100% to the gay party line of happiness, love, and mutual respect in a rainbow-colored paradise?

Several recent message board postings and web journal entries I’ve read have suggested just that. I don’t buy it, I’m irritated by the very suggestion, and here’s why:

First, sexual desire by and large knows no politics. Yes, there are probably those who choose even their casual partners through the most rigorous, cultural standards, selecting people of a variety of ages, physical characteristics, and ethnicities. They admit to being sexually attracted only to the most well-adjusted “out” gay men, and shun the possibility that anyone else could be just plain hot and worthy of a roll in the hay, or at least a stray fantasy.

That’s nice. However, it doesn’t apply to most of the rest of us who, upon seeing someone we find attractive or sexy, don’t immediately stop to think about the political or social ramifications of our lust. We think about what it might be like to have sex with him. Most of us, fortunately, are intelligent enough to realize that actually doing so (or attempting to do so) might be rather unwise, so we hold back. But that doesn’t change the fact that we find the idea arousing.

Which brings me to my second point. Pornographic stories are fantasies. They no more reflect the reality of how a given reader (or writer) would really behave in a given situation than do any number of fictional accounts, from action-adventure films to TV sit-coms to vampire movies. They are escapism, pure and simple. That’s the point. People read pornographic stories to enjoy elements which probably aren’t (and never will be) present in their own lives, in a controlled environment where no one really gets hurt.

The fact that an individual enjoys a story in which the main character subjects himself to being called a “faggot”, chases after unattainable heterosexuals, engages in risky sex, or even has relations with someone under the mystical and magical age of 18 does NOT necessarily indicate that this individual wishes to do any of these things himself. In fact, reading some disposable fiction is, I’d argue, the pressure valve which, when released, KEEPS him from doing things which might have unpleasant consequences for himself or others.

The enjoyment of this type of story is not, by itself, indicative of some level of “internalized homophobia” or “queer self-loathing”, anymore than enjoying a movie about blowing up the White House is indicative of terroristic tendencies. Again, it’s escapism: a sort of pressure valve which allows people to move on with their everyday lives after relieving some tension.

Must we “dumb down” everything just because a few people take everything they read or see on TV too seriously?

I’ve written dozens of pornographic stories (yes, under a pseudonym), and I’ve read hundreds of them. Many of them featured all manner of risky and “exploitative” sex. And not one of them has turned me into such a drooling idiot that I started hanging around the schoolyard, looking to get beaten up and fucked bareback in someone’s pickup truck while a dog urinates on me. In fact, the largest part of what I read and write holds appeal for me only on paper, or on screen, as it were.

Get a grip, people, and stop taking harmless fantasies so seriously. It’s one thing to say that you don’t like certain stories and don’t want to read them. It’s another entirely to suggest that anyone who does enjoy them is beneath contempt and has no self-image nor self-respect.

And we all know the correct terminology for anyone who thinks he has the right to decide what anyone else is ALLOWED to read or to think, right?

Randomly Thursday

The week from hell is now pretty much over, except that I can’t seem to log into one of my client sites to upload the latest batch of stuff. Soon even that will be over and I will be much happier…

Anyway, I shan’t be lonely for the next ten days or so. Mark‘s coming tomorrow night (yeah, that makes me happy), and Mom arrives on Thursday. I still haven’t cleaned to “Mom specs” yet; I guess that will cover the three days between visits…

Why is Family Guy not on tonight? And does the world really need boot-cut jeans again? Have the years since 1981 taught us nothing?

Sorry. Pretty lame journal entry. I’m worn out and I think I’d rather be reading my book now…

Boca Raton and Argentina

Do you think it would be reasonable to assume that all the spam I’ve gotten in the past few months telling me how I can “loose weight” ultimately comes from the same spelling-deprived individual from Boca Raton or Phoenix?

And why do Boca Raton or Phoenix both seem to be striving so hard to be named “Pyramid Scheme Capital of America”?

And come to think of it, why has a good quarter of my spam in recent months been in Spanish, all of it from Argentinian domains? Fortunately, it’s pretty easy to filter any message with “.com.ar” in the headers, and I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a single piece of legitimate mail from anyone in Argentina…

Now I think I’ll go check out that secret Indian sex cult I’ve been getting so many messages about. Yup. Sure I will…

Randomly Tuesday

It looks likely that a this photo I took, of an old Safeway in Lodi CA in 1993, will be gracing the cover of a British retailing textbook before too long. There won’t be much money in it, but it’s sort of a cool thing to add to the grab bag of unusual accomplishments. It means I will have received income as both an writer and a photographer, at least. Not much income, but still…

That was the happy news following an exceedingly unpleasant day at work, in which I (a) tried to dispose of usless computer equipment which should have been leased rather than purchased in the first place, (b) wasted 90 minutes in a meeting where my presence was not needed in any way, and (c) killed off another 90 minutes in a series of related tasks so bloody asinine that I dare not even start discussing them…

The week’s almost over, right? Oh wait. It’s Tuesday. At least it’s McRib season again. That makes everything a little easier to take. As does the possibility of an enjoyable, rainy weekend on the horizon…

Random note to Jonno: my graphics were uglier than yours. They probably still are. And anyone who wants to see those REALLY ugly graphics from the pre-1997 versions of Planet SOMA will have to know the super-secret pre-domain URL, and I ain’t talkin’…

Content

Satisfied, contented, well-fed, and warm. Something will probably happen tomorrow to fuck it up, but I’m pretty damned happy with my state of affairs right now. All the same, I’ll try to lose the moony glow and start bitching about something shortly. Watch this space…