Some of the questions asked by the students at Albany tonight...
When did you first realize that you were LGBTQ?
When asked by Marie Claire magazine "how do you make anal sex more comfortable for women?", Dr. Drew Pinsky said, "Don't do it. Your butt will leak when you're old." (I am paraphrasing.) Is Dr. Drew a homophobe?
How would you distinguish between a fetish and a simple sexual turn-on or intrigue?
How can sexuality become a more normal and acceptable topic of social discourse?
How do you deal with a strong gag reflex?
I have a 13-year-old and recently found his stash of erotic drawings and stories that he wrote. His mom and I took it out of its hiding place, sat down with him, and basically handed it back to him and said, "These drawings are really good. Keep this up and you don't need to hide it under your bed anymore." Basically what do you think of that?
Some of my answers: I never realized that I was L, B, T, or Q; dunno—but clearly all the other "sex experts" on the college lecture circuit have issues with anal sex; my sexual interests are innocent turn-ons, your sexual interests are perverse fetishes; if I knew I wouldn't say; grip the head firmly and push right past it; I think your son's creepy parents needlessly violated his privacy.
There's a lovely little Charlie Brown parody over here:
Brown.
It’s easy to get lost in the shuffle of madness when you’ve got a name like Brown.
That goes with the territory, of course, the land of the toy piano and the empty mailbox, the sketchy gauntlet of sinister trees and greedy sidewalks, sequestering their stolen treasures, their kite and ice cream cone holdings, a booty for the next shrink who writes me in his datebook.
I’m cursed. Have been since I was a boy. I’m not blind to the fact.
And illustrations of the story are for sale over here. I really wanted the drunken Schroeder one, but it's already sold. Sigh.
Not paying enough for dildos and slings?
Sex supplies and entertainment would get slapped with an 18.5-percent sales tax if a bill introduced today by state representative Mark Miloscia (D-30) passes. Specifically, the tax would apply to pornography, cable television services, telephone services, computer programs, and the mostly broadly defined item: sex paraphernalia.
To put money and products into more tangible terms, I headed over to adult-entertainment paraphernalia emporium The Crypt. The most expensive item on the shelves was the Violet Wand, which sends an electrified purple arc from a metal stick to your tender flesh. Cost: $599.99. This bill, if passed, would stack on an additional $110.99 in taxes. A high-quality dildo in the back—$149.99—would jump up by $27.74. And take this handsome sling, currently $339.99, which would increase by $62.89:

But Miloscia says the money would go toward a worthy cause. General Assistance Unemployable, a short-term funding stream for people in dire medical need, is in jeopardy. This tax would help save it. “The purpose of this bill is to find a legitimate taxing source that the people in the state and my district would support,” says Miloscia. “If it does cause harm, it will be to industries people don’t care about.”
“Of course people are going to care about it. It’s like raising the prices at all the bars,” says Elliet Tryfonopoulos, an employee at The Crypt. She characterized sex entertainment as a popular “hobby” that supports businesses in the state. “I think this [bill] would definitely decrease the volume of customer traffic.”
However, Miloscia doesn’t see damage in pushing adult entertainment businesses out of the state. “You’re not going to have me defending adult paraphernalia or entertainment,” he says. “I don’t see what good that does to society.”
I love FAIL Blog with all my heart. It's always weird and funny, in a "how'd that happen?" kind of way, but this morning's post nearly killed me.
Is it wrong that I'm just a teensy bit excited about the new Friday the 13th movie? I know, it's another remake from Platinum Dunes—Michael Bay's production company which has churned out a zillion and a half shitty horror film retreads in the last few years—and it's sure to be a turd fest, but it's not like they're painting over the Mona Lisa or anything.
Lindy says there's no press screening before the film opens this Friday—which is rarely ever a good sign—and, truth be told, I kind of hate the slasher sub-genre anyways, but I'm still probably going to end up seeing it. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a man with a machete and a hockey mask.
And now the real reason for this post:
Lyn Gardener over at the Guardian praises performances that involve real blood, real sweat, and real tears.
She quotes Tim Etchells (of Forced Entertainment, which brought their Bloody Mess to On the Boards a few years ago): "performers 'put their bodies on the line' so that we in the audience can be 'transformed, not audiences to a spectacle but witnesses to an event.'"
Gardener goes on:
More interesting in this context are genuine durational performances of six hours or more. As exhaustion takes over, performers can no longer rely on technique or the tricks that they have learned, but simply start "being". The audience, meanwhile, becomes fogged with tiredness, and begins to experience the piece through drooping eyelids and cramped legs. In these circumstances, exhaustion may not be the enemy of interesting performance, but its best ally for both the watched and their watchers.
Which put me in mind of the hornets' nest that blew up over my very, very infrequent habit of leaving a painful production during intermission. Some commenters suggested I leave because I got bored or have a short attention span. Not so. Boredom isn't the problem. Active awfulness is.
Like Gardener, I salute performers brave enough to use boredom—it's a very, very sharp instrument and can turn on you quickly and mercilessly. If used carefully and skilfully, boredom can tenderize the audience for greater shocks to come; it is dangerous only when it is the unintended by-product of weak imagination and weak performances.
Smart performers can be a little sadistic with their audiences—he world is full of cloying bullshit. If you can get an audience to trust you, to believe that you're in control, you can do anything you want to it.
Recent examples in Seattle (some more successful than others, but all experimenting with boredom and discomfort—and shows I wouldn't have left if they were eight hours long): Forced Entertainment, Dorky Park, GATZ, Implied Violence, and High Kindergarten Performance Group.
It's the desperate, I'll-entertain-you-or-die-trying schtick that drives audiences away. The worst actors aren't the boring ones—they're the overeager, manic, obnoxious ones.
Portland Art Museum's Contemporary Northwest Art Awards—next to be held in summer 2010—are modeled after the SECA in San Francisco, the Bay Area's way of judging and promoting its own. This year's SECA winners are Tauba Auerbach, Desirée Holman, Jordan Kantor, and Trevor Paglen; their show at SFMOMA opens tomorrow. I like this Kantor (Untitled (perspective skulls), 2005, oil on canvas, 34 by 17 inches).

At top: Jacob Dahlgren's I, The World, Things, Life (2008), dartboards, red and green darts in boxes, 39 feet long. Below: detail after a ninja-multi-throw by gallery guard Jennifer.
At the Henry. (Museum site here.)
This work of art is owned by Dale and Leslie Chihuly. When I saw a version of it at the last Venice Biennale, I walked right by, irritated by its invitation to begin having structured fun. If I'm remembering right, the pavilion it was in had a glass wall, and the adult-playground-festival atmosphere outside bled right in. Who needed more fun at the world's most fun art event? I did not throw any darts.
Deep in the Henry, installed in a high gallery with a shiny, slightly reflective wood floor that makes the grid of dartboards sort of melt away at the bottom, I was converted. The darts are a light way into hard-edge abstraction—Swedish artist Dahlgren's favorite subject. Lightness his preferred style. In a video showing at the entrance to the museum, artists paint abstract signs in a large studio and then carry them outside and through the streets of a Scandinavian city, protected by protest police. The colorful placards stand for nothing but themselves; they promote only direct awareness of color and shape, leaving their bright impressions on your eyes.
In other videos, Dahlgren presents slide shows of found abstractions—shirts, store displays, traffic signs, umbrellas, machinery, a rainbow—as a reminder that hard-edged abstraction is ubiquitous, familiar, and even friendly. It is not necessarily alienating, or—as in modernism—code for the overly serious.
Facing the dartboard, what first becomes apparent is that one will have to determine one's own rules. (The only non-obvious rule about how this works is that darts are left on the board until both boxes—one with red darts, one with green—are empty, at which point, the board is cleared.) What next becomes apparent is that throwing darts at dozens of boards is addictive. The gallery guards have gotten good. They can throw dozens of darts at once so that every one hits the boards at pretty much exactly the same time. It's like a hail of gunfire, a perfect attack; it's a little thrill. Other people admire it.
Hard-edge abstraction in an art gallery is usually a solitary experience. It's you, the painting, and the question of whether you "get" it. But here, people come together in abstraction. They line up at the black line and shoot darts. They talk. Their arms get sore. They throw reds into the green area. They knock each other's darts down. They stay longer than they thought they would. And when they close their eyes, they see circles and stripes.
...that all novelists have beautiful wives.* Salman Rushdie is apparently a big believer in that rule of thumb. He's dating Pia Glenn, (portrayed on left), who's currently portraying Condoleeza Rice in Will Ferrell's Broadway show about George W. Bush.
Rushdie is 61. Glenn is 32. She's not quite in his formula, but I guess after all that hiding from the fatwa stuff, he's trying to get as much life in as possible.
*I've met quite a few authors, and I have to say that Vonnegut's rule seems to be true: Male authors frequently have wives who are way too hot for them. I'm pretty sure that the inverse is true, too. A few of the young female novelists I've met have had gorgeous, sporty husbands.
Last night, I attended a testy showdown in front of the 37th District Democrats, where the group set out to support or oppose two bills that would allow more residential density around transit stations. Several light rail stations are planned in the southeast Seattle district. "This bill will mandate that areas will have a density of 50 units per acre. That’s more than the current density of downtown and Belltown,” said housing activist John Fox, director of the Seattle Displacement Coalition. He argues that new development will drive low-income, working communities of color out of their neighborhoods.
Fox’s argument was a bit disingenuous, as the bill wouldn’t mandate larger buildings; it would merely allow developers to build bigger buildings around the stations. Many parts of Seattle allow much taller construction than actually exists.
Tim Trohimovich, planning director of Futurewise (an environmental group that is pushing the bill), argued that the affordable housing requirements in the bill exceed what already exists in any of the station areas and that displacement would occur whether the bill was passed or not. “Those areas are going to be redeveloped anyway,” he said.
But the 37th District Democrats weren’t buying it. “People are trying to play me like they know what I need in my community,” said one woman. The mostly middle-aged residents seemed to have two main contentions. Legislators didn’t come talk to community groups first—a good point. Also, by blocking development, the city can keep people from being displaced—which is absurd. Seattle is an increasingly popular city, and if we don’t build more units and attach affordable housing requirements to the new development, property values will continue to rise, driving the working class into suburbs and exurbs. Nonetheless, the group passed a resolution to oppose the bill by a four-to-one margin.
Odd side story: State Senator Adam Kline, who represents the 37th District, made two super weird statements in a video vignette recorded in Olympia and played at the meeting on a projector. “I must have upset the gods,” he said, “because they put me on the Ways and Means Committee.” You’d think that in a year of massive budget cuts, a senator would want to have a disproportionate influence on budget decisions. But according to Kline, it’s a curse.
Second, Kline said that at an upcoming crab feed, he would be “happy to see all residents of the 37th District who are not chair of the state Democratic Party.” He was referring to Dwight Pelz, who Kline said he suspected of planting a piece in the Stranger, which I wrote, about his inefficacy as a legislator. (Pelz did not plant the piece.) Kline, looking directly into the camera, then proceeded to talk about The Stranger and my article. When the video ended, I stood up and announced, “I’m Dominic Holden and I wrote that article. If anyone has questions about it, I’d be happy to talk about it at the end of the meeting.” Lots of people came over and applauded my candor—although a handful argued that Kline was wonderful and that I’m a petulant turd (which I don’t disagree with)—and three women approached me afterward, agreeing with the piece. One called their state senator “just plain dumb.”
The Drudge Report has nothing about Fox News producer Aaron Bruns's arrest yet. Neither does the Fox News website. Neither, to be fair, does NYTimes.com. But the Smoking Gun has obtained an affidavit in support of Aaron Bruns' arrest warrant, detailing what one detective found in "a preliminary search of the C drive of just one computer recovered in Bruns's apartment." The details are awful.
There's a problem with the Kindle 2.0's new audio book option, in which a computerized voice can read the text if you choose.
Some publishers and agents expressed concern over a new, experimental feature that reads text aloud with a computer-generated voice.
"They don't have the right to read a book out loud," said Paul Aiken, executive director of the Authors Guild. "That's an audio right, which is derivative under copyright law."
An Amazon spokesman noted the text-reading feature depends on text-to-speech technology, and that listeners won't confuse it with the audiobook experience. Amazon owns Audible, a leading audiobook provider.
I've only listened to a few audio books in my life—here's one of them—and most of them would probably have been improved by having a dispassionate computerized voice read the text aloud.
MoMA's underground campaign: "We’ve never done a large-scale ad campaign for New Yorkers focused just on the permanent collection,” a spokeswoman told the NYT.
I love the idea of subway stops and hallways papered in Demoiselleses, Dances, False Mirrors, and Untitled Film Stills.
Remember when people were worried about even putting collections online, for fear of bastardizing the originals? Yeah, me neither.
ABC News has the effed-up story:
Eight-year-old Sophie Waller cracked a baby tooth eating candy, and set off the chain of events that led to her death. Sophie refused to open her mouth for a dentist so doctors at her local hospital took out the tooth in an operation, one of the doctors told a coroner's inquest. They removed all seven of her other baby teeth at the same time to avoid the need for future operations, the doctor said. After the surgery Sophie refused to eat or even open her mouth for her parents, the couple told the inquest. But she was sent home anyway, and starved to death three weeks after the operation.
Full story here.
In the near term, revenues are going to tank. The 265-year-old company's credit rating could be downgraded to junk.
The losses are from huge guarantees to sellers. Last week's auction was down 81 percent from a comparable sale the year before. Is this called a market crash yet?
I was following the links on this great Wonkette story about a wingnut who says that in 1992, a drunk Soviet lady told him that covert Soviet agent Barack Obama would be America's first Communist president.
That’s right, a chocolate baby! And he’s going to be your president.”She became more and more smug as she presented her stream of detailed knowledge and predictions so matter-of-factly — as though all were foregone conclusions. “It’s all been thought out. His father is not an American black, so he won’t have that social slave stigma. He is intelligent and he is half white and has been raised from the cradle to be an atheist and a Communist. He’s gone to the finest schools. He is being guided every step of the way and he will be irresistible to America.”
It's a really entertaining little post, and you should read it. But that's not why I'm posting this. I'm posting this because I followed the story back to World Net Daily and on their home page, they had the following ad:

That's right: Obama Nation, book by the guy who Swift-Boated John Kerry, has been marked down (by a "fantastic $23 discount") to just $4.95! It's so gratifying for me to see this book has been consigned to the hellish oblivion of deep remaindering.
Just typing that sentence gave me a li'l burst of schadenfreude-rich energy.
Several nonprofits on the East Coast have sent me emails today rumoring that Seattle Police Chief Gil Kerlikowske is a candidate for Drug Czar. The nonprofits have asked at least a dozen people around the city how Kerlikowske has performed on drug-policy issues, apparently with the task of reporting back to someone. But they refuse to identify who—presumably, someone in the Obama Administration—the rumor has come from. The SPD would not comment on the rumor. However, as I was writing this, the Seattle Times posted an article that says Kerlikowske will leave the department for "a federal law-enforcement position in the Obama Administration." An anonymous FBI source in the article says that Kerlikowske is headed to a cabinet position—maybe the drug czar seat. Based on the murmurs I'm hearing from D.C., it seems likely he is, indeed, going to be our next drug czar.
Formally known as Director of the Office of National Drug Control Policy, Kerlikowske would oversee federal anti-drug spending and lobby Congress to set policy. A progressive drug czar—which I think Kerlikowske would be, based on his lack of opposition to drug-policy reforms around Seattle—would support bills to allow federal funding for needle exchange, block pot raids in states with medical marijuana laws, and support anti-drug ads that make some sense; a bad drug czar would do what we've been doing for the last 20 years.
Well, knock me over with a feather: I actually agree with the Seattle Times editorial board. What's more, not only do I think the Times is right, I disagree with Comrade Goldy over at Horse's Ass—and about a public-disclosure issue.
Today, the Times editorializes against a set of bills I wrote about as part of my legislative wrapup a few weeks ago that would make it harder to access public records. The first would allow government agencies to deny a public records request if the person making the request owed the agency money; the second would increase the cost of copying public records to as much as 25 cents per page; and the third would allow an agency to charge someone for copies even if the person didn't pick them up. All are sponsored by Sen. Darlene Fairley (D-41).
The Times writes:
These measures are particularly galling during a recession and a disturbing decrease in the corps of journalists who traditionally play watchdog over government. [...]The worst of the bad bunch is SB 5250, which would increase the maximum per-page copying charge from 15 to 25 cents. That adds up — a 100-page document would cost $25. A friendly representative of a local Kinkos said Friday such a document would cost only $9 if brought to her shop.
Hardly seems right that public agencies would be making such a profit off documents to which citizens are entitled. Though municipal lobbyists suggest the higher fee would offset costs of staff time in fulfilling the request, that is expressly prohibited by the state's Open Records Act.
A better idea? Require cities, counties, ports and school districts to better manage their records. Why not make documents available by e-mail or copying them on to a disc — pennies a serving — even less if the requester provides the disc.
Goldy argues that the "many hours of staff time" it takes to fill records requests should be compensated, and argues that every single public record maintained by government agencies should be put in computer files for the public to sift through themselves. The logic is tortured: Government agencies provide a valuable service we should pay them for (sifting through records to fill requests), therefore we should get rid of that service entirely and make people who file records requests find the records they want themselves. Not to mention the fact that most agencies don't have a surplus of public-disclosure staff; in my experience, most government agencies only employ one public-disclosure officer. Is Goldy really arguing that we should eliminate that position from every government agency?
Goldy's right about one thing—the claim that government agencies are making a killing off copy charges is classic Seattle Times anti-government hoohah. However, the rest of the editorial is spot-on: The government has a responsibility to provide public records at a cost that's reasonable, and not to put up any unnecessary barriers to those records.
Capitol Hill's western-themed rec room Linda's is 15 years old today. In celebration:
We have 1994 beer prices!
$2.99 cheeseburgers!
A commemorative T shirt for the first 100 folks in the door!

More snowy/cozy/random photos from Linda's here (plus a NSFW one that appears to be from dear departed Pony).
Photo by TraCataldo from The Stranger's flickr pool.
When last we heard from "Chastity," the unemployed software technical writer (and editor) had tripped into the "weirdly mundane" world of porn—which, she'd discovered, pays a lot better than technical writing. Still, being a production assistant on lesbian porn shoots is not what Chastity really wants to do with her time, and now, in week two of her Slog correspondence, she says it's all freaking her out.
I'm freaked out. Most days I vacillate between crushing boredom—despite my efforts to stay busy—and genuine panic. I can give away my labor, but I can't convince anyone to pay me for it. I'm doing what I can to become more valuable: I write, I volunteer, I am enrolled in a web design course at a local community college. None of it seems to matter. Unless I have a resume that reflects exactly what an employer is looking for, they won't talk to me.
Worse, the value of my labor is dropping faster than the stock market each time the government fumbles with the stimulus package. Tech writing and editing contracts have slipped substantially in value over the last six months—from $30+ per hour to $18-25 per hour. Just last week, I had a casual interview with an acquaintance who wants me to write some press releases, and apply search engine optimization techniques to a series of domains he wants "to fix up and sell." He can pay $10 an hour, with no benefits. His argument? "I know it's not much, but it'll get you back in the game!" I'm not sure how a person with two or three years of experience is supposed to move up, career-wise. It used to be straightforward, and now there are dead-ends everywhere.
Making porn is a respite from this economic madness. It's weirdly fun, in that every trip to the grocery store garners perplexed looks from the cashiers—what would you think if I showed up and purchased Twister, unlubricated condoms, and electrical tape?—and efforts to create a fantasy on screen can result in very strange conversations offscreen. (I recently overheard a conversation about "stunt cocks" and the importance of pina colada mix in bukkake scenes.) However, our models aren't escaping this crisis any more than I am. At our most recent shoot, we had to forgo swinging between couples because no one could afford the cost of the STD testing, even after R, my boss, agreed to cover half the cost. We have also had to turn down multiple requests to perform.
In this climate, the crazier stunts are more likely to be profitable, driving a different version of labor-bartering. After all, producers make their money by balancing the kinks of their customers against the willingness of their models. A few weeks ago we did some onscreen shaving of one of our regular models, Maria, for which R had paid her twice her normal rate. To drive up profitability, however, he kept her shaved pubic hair in a mason jar to sell as a trophy through an erotic auction website. I was horrified, but Maria was nonplussed; she'd sold everything from her underwear to used condoms online. And this is the distressing thing about this business: while I can't sell my labor in any other market, in pornography, someone is always willing to pay. If I were willing to take my clothes off, I could be making enough to live on. This is fucked up. How is it that I am more valuable naked than dressed?
Cheers,
Chastity
Have an unemployment story to share? Write to jobless@thestranger.com.
hilzoy over on Obsidian Wings who makes a strong, market-friendly case for nationalizing the banks:
I am not, in general, in favor of the government controlling individual banks. But in this case, if we don't want to let the large banks declare bankruptcy, we need to provide some serious disincentives to their managers, investors, and bondholders. (I exempt depositors since I think that they should be insured, given the systemic value of avoiding bank runs.)Nationalization would accomplish that. It would wipe out the shareholders and holders of unsecured debt, which is what the market would have done if left to its own devices. It would allow us to replace the senior management at the banks, which would give them every incentive to avoid needing to be nationalized. We would need to own the banks in order to do what needs to be done, and to do it as quickly as possible. This would mimic the market by treating the government as an owner in those cases in which it is, in fact, putting up the money: anyone else who provided this sort of capital would get ownership, and making an exception for the government would make government money more attractive than private capital. This would, I think, be a bad thing.
This post edited for idiocy since it first went up.
Contrariwise: Literary Tattoos often makes me wince with embarrassment for the person with the tattoo. But today's tattoo, on a librarian, is one of the most useful and thoughtful tattoos I've ever seen. If I were to ever get a tattoo, I think I would have to steal this idea.
Who'd'a thunk it would be a kinda queerish wrestling thing that would depose Dan Savage from Most Commented? Congrats to one and all for resisting Savage hegemony.
Most Commented on Slog as of 1:32 pm today
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