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Archive for April, 2007

Want to know what I always find “funny” about stories like this: At Least 20 Killed in Virginia Tech Shooting?

I think it’s “funny” that they try to avoid pointing out that it’s a male who did it. AGAIN. I mean, you can count on one hand the number of females who go on shooting sprees, but no one bothers to ask themselves why that is. Instead we just accept that guys dominate violent crime while we very pointedly avoid any attempt to acknowledge the obvious (that might mean we’d have to question gender roles, right, and we don’t want any of THAT).

On the one hand, I suppose not even bothering to mention another boy/man shot up a school shows that WE ALL KNOW it’s guys who do this stuff, but the problem I see is that no one is willing to ask themselves WHY it’s boys and men who do it. Seriously, if you aren’t “into” gender issues and looking for that kind of questioning coverage of the news, you aren’t going to see or hear it mentioned at all. THAT’S A PROBLEM. Maybe *the* problem. Let’s all pretend that this has nothing to do with how we raise little boys!

In my whole life I have only heard one story in what could only vaguely be considered mainstream media (on NPR) talking about gender and school shootings and trying to offer insight and solutions. I know that a lot of people “get it” and many folks reading my blog are among those getting it, but the general population? That’s what I worry about.

“BEST COCK” AWARD & JAMES ELLROY

Oooh, my boy/girlfriend, Delia, is this week’s “Best Cock” and “Horniest” viewer-awards winner on iFriends.

Eat your hearts out!

*****

While Delia is webwhoring today/tonight, I’m driving her crazy with cam issues and complaining that she’s not in the spycam chat. I’m sure she loves that. When I’m not busy doing that, I’ve been working on other stuff, eating, DDRing, and READING.

An engrossing book, finally! I was trying to take a break from true crime, but this true story of James Ellroy’s mother’s murder beckoned to me: My Dark Places. Yeah, the guy who wrote L.A. Confidential and The Black Dahlia, neither of which I’ve read (but did digest in movie form).

Having just opened the book today, I’m not too far into it yet but as a woman and sex worker (and true crime story hobbyist) I’m intrigued by the perspective of a boy who lost his mother in a brutal sex crime and then became a man making his living creating popular entertainment out of stories of — you know — brutal sex crimes. I suppose it’s nothing new, these stories told by men of raped and murdered women, but Ellroy is a good storyteller and this particular story is incredibly personal so it’s fascinating the way he starts out with such a depersonalized narrative maintaining a giant distance between his adult self, the little boy he was at the time, and his mother. I can’t wait to see how it progresses.

You know how people like to point at sex workers and label them damaged goods, drawn into the sordid skin trade never by choice but always by some history of past and present victimhood? Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. We do our jobs because we were sexually abused or because we’ve been brainwashed by pop culture into thinking we’re only valuable as sex objects, blah blah blah. And we need to be rescued.

You don’t hear people saying that about the James Ellroys or the cops, though, do you? Because men are not victims, they are HEROES. They turn it around and do something PRODUCTIVE with their lives, right? But sex work . . . THAT’S not productive. No, but if I were to write books with pictures of dead swollen-headed mommies that would be okay — not damaged at all! Talented . . . rich . . . respected and admired. You can respectably write stories which are made into movies featuring mutilated skin-flick actresses and you don’t have women trying to adopt you out of your life of crime and rehabilitate you into a humble-but-DECENT job (ex. flipping burgers at McDonalds, helping at a daycare in an inner city, or maybe teaching if you’re smart enough) the way they would if you were a sex worker. Funny how that works, eh?

*****

Some sex-worker linkage:

*Sex Workers Make Art (and raise money from dildo craftiness)

*FurryGirl is going to be on Night Calls! I don’t have an actual link to it, but here’s a quote from her members-only area:

I’ve been invited to be a call-in guest on “I’ve been invited to be a call-in guest on Playboy Radio’s Night Calls with Ginger Lynn and Christy Canyon. (If you have Sirius satellite radio, I hope you’ll be able to tune in!) They’d like to talk to me about Veg Porn and the Veg Sex Shop for Earth Day, which is Friday the 20th. It’s really cool to get that level of media attention for my sites, and I’m excited about it.

Follow-up analysis:
See, for some reason I can’t imagine anyone thinking that these people would be healthier or more productive if they were writing books about savage woman-killings instead of making porn. It just doesn’t make sense to me.

MASSAGE & NEWS FLASH!

So much for my massage this morning; seems that the guy penciled me in for a FACIAL rather than a massage, so I had to reschedule. Hmmm . . . I wonder what he was thinking? Oh well, they are making it up to me by tacking on a free half hour which makes the inconvenience of waking up early TOTALLY worth it. Plus, Tucker made a big batch of bean dip last night and I overindulged; the poor massage girl would have been in pure hell with me farting throughout the massage so everything worked out for the best.

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I LOVE LONG SOCKS!

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I thought it important I post some eye candy to mitigate the bitch damage done in my recent entries. I’m making a concerted effort not to be an asshole today, and so far nothing has tested my patience so it’s been pleasant. I spent my morning doing a little work, chatting with members and vacuuming (a meditative salve for the stressed-out spirit), then my afternoon was spent lunching (sushi roll and seaweed salad!) exercising (Dance Dance Revolution!), and showering. Tucker made a lovely steak dinner then we went to the store for snacks where we picked up a small bouncy ball for our own amusement and the dog’s (more relaxing tonic for the nerves: watching Tucker and Nico playing outside with a ball). And now, Jesus H. Christ, it’s night time.

Other accomplishments: shopped for and bought a new blonde wig for Delia, did some costume planning for our next shoot, pooped (twice!), went to the bank, replied to some emails, and concocted some promotional materials. I also drafted twenty-seven blog entries and fifteen podcasts . . . in my head.

PHEW!
All is well again for the time being and you (voyeurs) didn’t miss anything except the usual (us stuffing our faces and watching DVRd Next Top Model. Something could happen after I have this gin and tonic, though . . .

FUCK WIRES

My apologies, but I planned a lovely afternoon of fucking and enjoying ourselves, but our cams are not cooperating. Scratch that — the site hosting our cams is not cooperating. CONSTANT DISCONNECTIONS. And now the computer with our bedroom cam and all three of our cams hosted on a different site simply refuses to connect to the internet. While the lovely brunch we just cooked gets stale and cold in the kitchen as I try to get this sorted out so people can spy on us.

Sorry if you are able to see and hear me on my office spycam throwing a hysterical tantrum. I’m so glad we picked up a pint of gin because I am ready for a drink (or five) for once.

BETTER

I channeled my frustration into a little housecleaning and now I feel much, MUCH better. Housework and hysterics are a perfect combo in my book, and Tucker is very accommodating and sweet in the face of my nervous breakdowns. I was even capable of reconstructing my Thunderbird inbox post-housework, which means I can complete a task Tucker is relying upon me to complete so he can send out a newsletter.

Anyway, we are again going to focus on shooting the next couple of days so I don’t have any chat sessions scheduled until Friday (breakfast in bed chat) and Saturday (News FLASH!).

QUICK AND HYSTERICAL

My biggest problem in life? Living too fucking far away from my family. I am SICK of it. SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK!!! The Easter weekend was lovely and yet TORTURE. Since I didn’t feel like driving eight hours round trip myself, I only drove halfway and had my sister drop me off at my mom’s on Saturday which meant I WAS A PRISONER until they felt like taking me back to the ferry. I want to see my family often. But in MUCH SMALLER DOSES PLEASE.

In general the past few days I’ve felt like bursting into hair-pulling hysterical tears just from feeling totally overwhelmed. It’s not that there’s anything I don’t want to do eating me up (well, except for trying to rebuild my email inbox that took a surprise fucking crap today), it’s that THERE IS TOO *MUCH* I WANT TO DO and I’m losing my marbles. And, you know, it just feels like nothing is ever complete and everything is mediocre as fuck.

I feel like running down the street screaming and shredding my clothes off my body, scaring herds of local deer into the bushes. Then I would run shrieking to our local hippy store with a sledgehammer and wreak havoc on their shiny happy marketplace because I resent their cowlike calm, stiff organic hemp clothing and nappy-haired snot-nosed children.

Don’t worry, I’ll get a grip soon.

GONE FOR EASTER

I’m going to be gone tonight and tomorrow to hang out in my hometown with family for Easter. Tucker won’t be able to go, unfortunately, because of his Delia shows on Sunday.

I’ll be in chat for an hour before I go if you want to shoot the breeze.