Happy Friday, everyone…

The new column…A chat with Betty Dodson

Lisa V of CineKink looks at male dominants in film. It’s fun. But where is Hannibal Lechter? Okay, he’s a bad dominant, but he is definitely topping Clarise Starling. And what about John Malkovich as Valmont in Dangerous Liaisons? I actually picked up a number of my early style points from those two movies.

The second half of my interview with Cunning Minx of Polyamory Weekly. As before, I think I’m sort of rambling, but ya’ll seemed to like first half, so hopefully you’ll like this one too. Minx is great and I’m very pleased to have done it. Perhaps I’ll actually get off my behind and get my own podcasts going soon.

Have a lovely weekend…

Pink Box
God, where is my pink box? I thought. I want to find it. I need it.
Monk came into the bedroom and looked at me curiously. “What are you looking for down there?”
“My pink box,” I replied. “I put that pretty glass dildo in it, and I now I want it, and I can’t find it.”
“Well, that sounds like a problem.”
“It is. Will you help me find it?”
“Sure, darlin’…”

Oh, wait. Are thinking I mean something dirty? Well, as it happens, you’re right. But probably not the way you think.

This is what I was looking for: my pink box! (It was under the bed.)

I keep a lot of my toys at my dungeon space, but there’s a certain amount of my stuff kicking around the house where I live, too. Some of it lives in this pink box. I often refer to it as the pink box for pink bits because a lot of what’s in it is small stuff I use for genital torment.

Want to see? I'll give you the tour.

The top layer: Needles. (Not just for genitals, but yes, I do put ‘em there sometimes.) Lots of chopsticks and the corresponding elastic bands, held together by a spring clamp that can serve many functions. I rarely get to actually put that puppy on someone, but often just brandishing it will instill an appropriate level of fear in a bratty bottom.

A cock ring. It's the male equivalent of a push-up bra. Holds everything nicely together and out there.

A toothbrush. Toothbrushes made great abrasion-play toys. You may think, oh, a toothbrush, that doesn’t hurt. Hah. Take that thing and start scrubbing your clit, or the corona of your cock. Keep going. No, don’t stop. Oh, starting to get uncomfortable now, are we, smarty-pants? Too bad. We’re not stopping. Scrub, scrub, scrub. You know, you’d pay big money to get this done to you at a fancy spa, you should be thankful to me. Look how red and sensitive you’re getting! Have I convinced you to fear the toothbrush? Good.

What else do we have? Hall’s Mentholated cough drops. I put one of those in Jae’s pussy once and it was like I put ants in her pants. Big fun. Altoids also work well. (Yes, yes, I know you could get a yeast infection. Get some cream and use it afterwards, if you’re that worried about it, but you’re actually not going to die from a yeast infection.)

That black thing is called a bite blocker and I stole two of them from a dentist’s office. It holds one’s mouth open, and sometimes that’s a terribly intimate way to scare someone.

On the second level: A wartenberg wheel, bamboo skewers - so nice and pointy and disposable - various sizes and shapes of clothespins, a small tube of toothpaste - which tingles nicely on your bits, try it – and those Listerine breath patches, which also tingle really nicely. If you like intense tingles.

And some eighteen gauge needles, I have no idea why those are there, I don’t think anyone of my acquaintance is crazy enough to let me punch railroad spikes through their bits. But if I’m wrong, do let me know.

But where the heck is my glass dildo? Hmmn, maybe I should look in this drawer...

Bingo. There it is. The one with the big knobby end - I saw it when I was doing the podcast for the Blowfish people down in SF and had to have it!

Oh, and there’s that pretty metal butt-plug Monk bought me, and some rope, and another vibrator. (That purple one – it’s lavender-scented. I mean, really, really lavender-scented. Why the hell would someone make a sex-toy that smells like bath salts?) And that blue thing is some skin-care gizmo that’s supposed to suck blackheads out of your pores. It does suck, all right. I don't know what it does for blackheads. But did you know it’s possible to give someone little tiny round hickeys on their labia?

These would be my irrelevant streams of consciousness, because I’m not feeling profound today...

Wow, am I suddenly swamped with things I have to write. It’s crazy. Someone wants to do an interview with me, and a non-kink writing project is heating up, too. I suppose it’s fortunate that we’re still in the annual post-tax-season-slump, appointment-wise, because I’d never get it all done.

But I’m mildly frustrated because I so want to go shopping, and I just gave all my disposable income to the federal government. (And some income that I wasn’t even planning on disposing of in quite that manner, ouch.) Yes, yes, I know I should pay quarterly. I didn’t, okay?

I always want to go shopping when the weather turns. But I have to wait, and it’s killing me. I want to go buy one of every Sledge USA t-shirts they have at Nordstrom. (The long-sleeved ones.) Those shirts fit me so nicely. I have a couple already, but I want more, because I am a greedy American.

I know someone who needs this cut-out girdle…

This site has interesting and unusual jewelry. Not as classic as David Yurman, and I tend to prefer white metals to yellow gold - but this bracelet is quite striking.

I also want these books…

When the Dancing Stopped: The Real Story of the Morro Castle Disaster and Its Deadly Wake, by Brian Hicks
The Lives and Loves of Daisy and Violet Hilton: A True Story of Conjoined Twins, by Dean Jensen

The first one is about a mysterious fire that broke out on a luxury ocean liner in 1934, killing half the passengers. The second is about a set of conjoined twins born in 1908. I am so the popular history fan.

Look Both Ways: Bisexual Politics, by Jennifer Baumgardner
I don’t angst a lot about being bisexual – at least not anymore – and I don't worry a lot about whether fucking women is a political act or not. But I’ll be interested to read what Ms. Baumgardner, who calls herself a “3^rd wave feminist”, thinks about it.

The Anti 9-to-5 Guide: Practical Career Advice for Women Who Think Outside the Cube, by Michelle Goodman.
I read these career books, and they sort of fascinate me, because the only cube I’ve ever been near in my life is a Rubik’s one. It's like reading about another country.

Danse Macabre, by Laurell K. Hamilton
I have read all of the Anita Blake books, even though they started being not-so-great at about Book Seven and proceeded south to terrible by Book Ten. However, I cannot resist seeing if perhaps Ms. Hamilton has pulled up out of her literary nose-dive.

All right, time to go write some more. Somewhere else.

Edited to add: if you haven't already seen them, Monk has placed a bunch of short videos of basic rope bondage instruction on YouTube. They're great introductory clips - beautifully produced and easy to follow. Go watch them!

I'm a busy girl today. But you can go look at more pictures from the party on Puck's blog....

And if you're wanting time with me this week, there is some left. But it's getting nibbled away, so call me soon...

My, what a charming weekend I had.

Friday night I went to The Frontier Room with a cool pal and ate way, way too much. That place is dangerous.

And Saturday I took Jae to a party. Yes, this is the party I thought was all-boys, and boys did make up a noticeable number of the guests, but they seemed happy to have us non-boy (and non-gay) people there, too. Like the one sweet gay boy who has, just so far, let me stick needles in him - the first time anyone has ever done that, yay for cherry-popping - and zap his bits with electricity. And it's pretty early in our acquaintance. We talked about how kink itself can be a sexual orientation that occasionally supercedes the usual gender-based orientation.

Our illustrious host has, among many other things in his playroom, a cage/cell sort of thing built into one corner. It's about six by eight feet, and it's made of heavy wire mesh, rather than bars. But if you're in there, you ain't getting out unless someone lets you out. Sometimes I miss the cell at my previous dungeon, even though I rarely used it. Perhaps I'll have one put in the new place sometime.

But I got Jae in there and locked the door behind us and showed her the new toy I'd brought with me: A stun gun. You may recall I borrowed one of these for my scene with Jae at Kinkfest, and that went very well. So well that Jae bought me one of my own, sweet twisted girl that she is.

And she's not the only one. A kind and thoughtful young man- not a client, just a social pal that I know through Puck - decided he'd buy me one as well. So now I have two. Heh heh heh...

I rolled Jae around on the floor, smacking her, prodding her, and zapping her with the stun gun. It was great fun. It wasn't a lengthy scene, just enough to get us both pleasantly endorphin-stoned. I try not to bruise Jae all up unless she's planned for that to happen. See, I am so considerate of my bottoms.

But Jae is never one to quit while she's ahead.



She wound up back in the cage with Candy, who is an accomplished trampler. I think there's something about having legs that long that makes you just need to walk on people. And look how happy it makes her. Jae was happy, too. Really! And I was taking pictures of it, so that made me happy.

Afterwards, the four of us went home and made pancakes. As I said, a charming weekend.

Addendum: As an experiment, I took some video clips at the party. They are both very low-light, so the results aren't great. But, if you want to see them, here's one of me zapping Jae's inner thigh with the stun gun. (Photobucket link.) This wasn't in the cage, it was later. At first, she's holding the camera, and then after she starts thrashing around I take it away from her, so it's a little confusing. Plus I'm holding the camera wrong because I always think I should be able to shoot video in portrait mode. Whoops.
The second one is Candy stepping on Jae, which I was shooting through the mesh. There's some background noise, and it's pretty dark, but still kinda fun.
They're both about thirty seconds long, and they have sound.

I don’t usually blog on weekends, but Rachel Kramer Bussel is promoting her two new books, She's on Top: Erotic Stories of Female Dominance and Male Submission and He's on Top: Erotic Stories of Male Dominance and Female Submission, by doing a virtual book tour. She asked me to participate, and today is my day, so I’m making an exception…

From She's On Top, here’s an excerpt a story about a professional dominatrix, called “The Mistress Meets Her Match”, by Kristina Wright.

If you’ve never squeezed a man’s balls in your hand and seen the terror in his eyes, you haven’t known power. If you’ve never cracked a whip and watched a man flinch, you haven’t known anticipation. And if you’ve never had a man grovel at your feet, you haven’t known what it means to be a bitch goddess. These men who come to me, hearts pounding, cocks hard, they know who I am, they know what they want. Because I am a benevolent bitch goddess, I usually give them what they want, but not before they suffer.

The story goes on to detail how the dominatrix meets a man who can be all things to her: submissive, lover, and occasionally, the boss in bed. It’s hot, I recommend it!

I snagged these Technorati tags/Blogger.com tags from Viviane, over at Sex Carnival. So thanks, Viviane!

• bdsm
• bondage
• book
• domination
• erotica
• femdom
• rachelkramerbussel
• submission

Many of you have written to say how much you liked the latest poly column. I'm pleased to hear it. If you'd like to hear more from me and my opinions about poly, you can listen to me on Cunning Minx's podcast, Polyamory Weekly.

I hope you find it interesting. Truthfully, I listened to it and thought, "Oh my God, I rambled on so bad in this! Jesus, I sound like I'd been smoking pot or something." (Which I had definitely not.)

The thing is, I've been speaking and teaching about kink, and also about sex work, for some years now. I have had the opportunity to respond to fairly similar sets of questions from the people I'm talking to, over and over again. So I have developed a pretty camera-ready set of tight, on-point answers to most of the common questions on those topics.

That's not true of poly. True, I've written some about it, but that's totally different. I haven't spoken or taught about it at all, except in very limited ways. So when Minx asked me questions, what she got was my unedited stream of consciousness. My lengthy stream of consciousness, which did not always include a precise answer to her original question. Tight and concise I am not, in this podcast. Oy.

Minx was very sweet about it, though. She split me into two parts, so I'll be on this week and perhaps next week as well, unless she decided to alternate me with something else. And she's a great host, so you should go listen. If you like it, send the lady a little donation, it's a labor of poly-love that she's doing there.

Have a lovely weekend...

The new Control Tower column...

What I’ve been reading lately…

Talk To The Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World, or Six Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door, by Lynne Truss. I love observations on society and culture, and I love a good rant, especially when it’s a) about rude behavior and b) written by someone who styles herself “the Queen of Zero Tolerance”. So while this little book’s not what I would call weighty, it’s great fun to read, if only because you’ll find yourself nodding and saying, “yes, yes, I hate it when people do that!”

Fox Evil, by Minette Walters
From Booklist: The title of Walters' latest fright fest comes from a peculiarly virulent kind of skin disorder, in which hair falls out in mangy clumps. It also serves as the delightful nickname of one of Walters' main characters in this compulsive page-turner, which puts a deranged spin on the conventional village cozy. Walters, who has won both the American Edgar and the British Gold Dagger Award, is expert at ratcheting up suspense while she portrays credibly confused and terrified characters meeting their fates. Great psychological acuity in a hair-raising suspense story.

It’s pretty easy for me to find non-fiction I like, but I’m tough to please when it comes to fiction. I wanted to like this mystery novel – it seems like exactly the kind of thing I’d enjoy. And the author has a huge backlist I could buy up.
But while there was nothing really wrong with it, it was definitely not hair-raising. If anything, I was a teensy bit bored. Walters writes well, but the characters didn’t engage me.

Carter Beats The Devil by Glen David Gold
From Booklist: Gold's debut novel opens with real-life magician Charles Carter executing a particularly grisly trick, using President Warren G. Harding as a volunteer. Shortly afterwards, Harding dies mysteriously in his San Francisco hotel room, and Carter is forced to flee the country. Or does he? It's only the first of many misdirections in a magical performance by Gold.

Another one I should have loved, since it’s about the life of a stage magician, and I have a little fetish for non-fiction about the history of magic. (Oddly, I have no desire to actually go see live magic shows, though. It’s the behind-the-scenes elements of the books that I like.) This novel certainly got a lot of critical acclaim. My verdict? Well…not bad. It doesn’t exactly zip along, that’s for sure – the slow pace reminded me of both The Prestige and Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. I did like seeing how the author wove real-life incidents from stage-magic history into the thread. However, like the Walter’s book, I found it rather put-downable. Still, it was a very sweet gift from a man I like playing with, and that alone endeared it to me.

Now, not everybody I see is into heavy intense sensation. But I do have a handful of boys who like it as heavy as I can dish it out.

I’ve written about this kind of scene before, and that may have been what prompted a gentlemen I’ll call the Bicycle Man to come see me. Like the guy in the column, Bicycle Man also likes impact on the ass, just as hard as I can do it. (I can actually get him to the "enough" point, though.)

There are so many different pleasures in BDSM - I could never settle for just one. But there is something viscerally satisfying about hitting something as hard as you can, and since I’m a sadist, I particularly like it when that something is a nicely responsive human body.

And since I’m a generous person, I decided that Jae should meet Bicycle Man, too. I'm strictly a gym queen when it comes to athletics, but Jae played softball in high school and college. Golf, too. She’s got a serious swing.

The three of us had a great time. Wanna see? (The usual disclaimers apply…)

Me lining up the stroke.

She swings and…

The bounce-back.

I do sort of bat like a girl, though, don't I? Jae has great follow-through.

We did catch one stroke just at the moment of impact.

But Jae and I are sure we could capture still more spanking art, so the Bicycle Man will just have to come see us again sometime…

***

Client Update: I still have time open on Wednesday and Friday of this week.

Also: Spring Cleaning at the dungeon continues. That means I'll be around there a lot over this weekend, and I'd love to be distracted from more mundane matters by spending an hour or two playing with someone. Thus, if you'd like a weekend appointment, contact me...

My glamorous life: I spent a lot of my weekend cleaning out a storage room in my workspace. Just over a year ago, when I moved in, I shoved a ton of boxes and excess dungeon furniture into the smallest bedroom and closed the door. I have rarely opened it since. I just haven’t wanted to bother with it.

However, it was high time I dealt with the matter. So Saturday I sorted a dozen large boxes of BDSM equipment into Throw Away, Give Away, and Keep piles. I found some toys I liked and had forgotten I had, some toys that I cannot imagine why I ever bought, and some things even I could not identify.

Luckily, Jae was with me - she was able to remind me about the provenance of a few of them. “That’s the paddle the guy from Montana made for you, you got those clamps when we were in Texas, and that looks like part of that leather sling you and (my ex) used to have in your basement.”

Afterwards, she and I studied the Throw Away pile, with old dildos, worn-out floggers, beat-up cock rings, and broken nipple clamps. She turned to me and said seriously, “Ma’am, I think you need to get some opaque trash bags for this.”

I laughed. “No kidding. The heavy-duty ones, too.” I don’t even want to know what the garbage collectors would make of a can full of my discarded BDSM gear.

The Give Away pile – which is pretty large – will be distributed according to propinquity. There are a few people close to me who get first look, and after they’ve chosen anything they want, then I’ll probably just set out the boxes at our next house party and say, “Take it away.” As I’ve stated before, I like passing along BDSM gear I'm not using. Nerdygirl was there helping out, and I gave her a black leather bar vest with an Onyx Leather tag in it. Raise your hand if you’re a Seattleite who remembers Onyx Leather. Yeah, not very many, huh? But way back in the day, if you wanted kinky leather work done, you went to PJ at Onyx Leather. She was pretty much the only game in town for a while.

So I explained that to Nerdy, and how this was a hand-made vest that been given to me, and I was now giving to her. She looks mighty cute in it.

And now I have a neatly organized room, instead of a disaster area, and a whole bunch of toys that I’d forgotten about to play with again. Kind of like going shopping without spending any money.

The new column...

And an amusing photo comparison that a reader sent me. I suppose I can kinda see the Catherine Deneuve thing in this shot, especially since we both have the widow's peak. But her chin and jaw have an elegant sweep that I lack, and plus I don't have zat sexy French accent...

Have a good weekend...

Warning: Cranky Mistress

Between various snafus with parking meters, dry cleaners and the gas company, I had a rather annoying day yesterday. My two very sweet clients were the high points, I assure you. Oh, and getting my hair done, although I had to be there at nine o’clock in the bloody morning, because my boy was so booked it was the only time I could get with him.

(And spare me any condescending remarks about how you get up at six am every day. I don’t, okay. I do not have kids. I’m a sex worker and a writer. One of the reasons I passed on the joys of parenting and steady paychecks was so I could go to bed at 3am and get up at 11am. Thus, I dislike having to alter my circadian rhythm to match the morning people.)

But after I left the salon, things went swiftly downhill, in ways too banal to detail. Suffice it to say that by late afternoon, I was in no mood to suffer fools gladly.

Enter fool, stage left.

Ring ring!

Me: Hello?

Caller: Mistress?

Me: Yes?

Caller: I need to feel…special. I don’t feel special.

I pause and look around me. It seems to be the same day and same time it was before I answered the phone. I am thus reassured that I have not, in fact, fallen into some kind of time warp wherein I’ve conducted an entire relationship – an unsatisfying relationship, apparently – with the whiney-voiced person on the other end of the phone.

Which leads to me to ask why the hell this yabbo is calling me up to initiate Breakup Conversation #46 with me? And he’s starting in the middle, too. You have to lead up to this line with something like, “I need to talk to you about our relationship…” But these two statements make absolutely no sense to me.

That’s not true, though. I know why he’s saying them. I know exactly what kind of conversation he’s trying to lead me into, and I’m not interested in having it. So I say nothing, hoping he’ll revert to a more appropriate conversational style, and I can get him off the phone.

He doesn’t. Okay, we’re gonna have to play this one through.

Me: Who is this?

Caller: Bob, Mistress.

Me: Bob, have we ever met?

Caller: No, Mistress.

I pause lengthily again. But Bob’s a stubborn fellow and he doesn’t crack.

Me: How’d you get this number, Bob?

He pauses, trying to think of a way of answering that will keep us out of the real world and in Bob’s Non-Sequiter World. Bob has figured out that the longer he can keep a professional girl confused and off-balance conversationally, the longer she’ll stay on the phone with him, trying to sort him out, because he might be money. This is a very common game. Unfortunately for Bob, I don’t care if he’s Bill Gates. I don’t deal with game-players.

Caller: I want to feel…special. My other Mistress…She didn’t make me feel special.

I’m supposed to say, “What would make you feel special?”

I don’t.

Me: How did you get this number, Bob?

Caller: Um… a website.

Me: Okay, so you’re calling about my professional dominance services….

I give him the standard rate/hours/appointments spiel, including the “I’m not really taking very many new clients these days” part. (That happens to be quite true. However, if I think I’d like you, then exceptions will be made.)

Me: If you like, you can leave me your number and I’ll call you if my schedule opens up.

I’m pulling this completely out of thin air, as I don’t ever do that. But it seems like a non-confrontational way of saying don’t call me, I’ll call you.

Caller: Can we… talk?

Me: If you want, Bob, you can leave me your number and I’ll call you if I get room in my schedule. Or if hell freezes over.

Caller: Could I be your slave? Your special slave?

Me: Goodbye.

I hang up, and program him into my phone: NOANSWER17

He calls back about three times in the next twenty minutes. I don’t answer. He didn’t leave a number for me then, either. Which is okay, because I've already got it.

More picture samples, because I'm busy finishing a column, getting my hair done, and being evil to some sweet boys.

Very mistressy!

Someone called this "the Catherine Deneuve shot." It's funny, he's the third person lately to tell me I remind them of her, and I don't see it at all. If you asked me what celebrity I think I resemble, I'd probably say "Marie Osmond", because when I was an teenager, with much rounder cheeks, I used to hear that all the time. That, or Geena Davis, although I'm about a foot shorter than she is.
I just think the angle of my head, and the tousled hair, is reminding people of this shot of Catherine.

And one more resting one, since ya'll liked the other one.

Bye!

Addendum: Client Note
Because I've been out of town and otherwise so unavailable lately, I've decided to take appointments this Saturday and Sunday. This is quite rare for me, so if you've been yearning for a weekend session, carpe diem.

*****

Hi, I'm kind'of in the same industry, and have 1 cross over client; but appointments w/ him are hard for me so wanted maybe some tips from you (since I read your column and respect you) on how to handle him.
I NEVER do this. He likes to tie me up; put a ball gag in my mouth; parade me around; make me do things, etc. I hate it. + he's not that great at it.
The 1st time the top of my hand was numb for 3 months. I think he sees the pictures in the magazines and copies them, or reads the how to articles.
How is it supposed to work? Does a submissive have any rights? I'm a good submissive I guess b/c I take it and endure it. But I hurt and try not to panic.
Any advice you can give me is good. Thanks.

These emails scare me. Dear comrade of mine, stop. Just stop. Do not see this guy anymore. If you hate what he wants you to do, then that’s all there is to say. Don’t see him again.

I could go on and on about how HELL YES submissives have rights, but that’s not the point. You’re not having a healthy dominant/submissive relationship with him, because you don’t like what he’s doing to you, you’re just doing it for the money.

That hand thing? That’s nerve damage. Yes, he’s doing the bondage wrong, although in a good BDSM scene, you’re supposed to tell him that your hands hurt/have gone numb. And he’s supposed to fix that. Frankly, you’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Mobility and sensation don't always come back with nerve damage. Next time it could be your fingers that go numb or lose grip strength.

But seriously, do not see this guy again. I know what you’re talking about, I’ve been there. I have dealt with people I really didn’t like just because they were paying me, and it was bad for my mental health. No more. I know it’s hard to turn down money, but it’s better in the long run. I really believe that if you stop seeing guys you don’t like, you’ll have so much more positive energy to put into your work that you’ll attract really sweet, nice guys who’ll treat you like a princess. That's absolutely what's happened with me.

No one can take care of your physical and emotional safety but you. I hope you can hear what I'm telling you.

As I admitted yesterday, this week has been slow as far as any substantial posts. I feel mildly guilty, but what can I say? No sooner had I returned from Portland than I had to deal with some annoying and time-consuming matters, so it's been rather hectic. But things have calmed down the last few days, and I'm just enjoying being home and settled again, after several weeks of travel, etc.

Sweet events of Thursday included Armani bringing me an Easter basket containing chocolate, champagne, and that gorgeous David Yurman chain I wanted. He spoils me.

Monk and I opted for a very mellow evening in, so he came over with a Stellar's pizza and a complete season of Doctor Who on DVD. I love Stellar's and yes, I'm a big ole nerd, I love Doctor Who. And my Doctor Who geek score is pretty high - I actually went to a Doctor Who convention when I was a kid. I swear.

It was the season with Christopher Eccleston as the ninth Doctor, and he's pretty good, although Tom Baker will always be the real Doctor for me. Monk and I kicked around what other actors might play the Doctor in the future, and we decided that John Cusack and James Spader would do it well. I also voted for Jason Statham, but Monk thought he'd be a bit too violent.

I'm sure I'll be in more of a writing mood next week.

I'm not writing a whole lot this week, am I? Oh well, I'm sure something will inspire me soon.

Meanwhile, here's the new column, straight from the voicemail archives.

Photos: Me looking all mistressy and stuff.

Me resting while Craig snaps pictures of me.

Amusing event of the day: buying and using of those nifty little pineapple-corer gadgets. They actually work reasonably well. Which is good, because my pineapple addiction is getting just a little out of control, and it's way cheaper to buy them whole rather than pre-cut.

At least that was the amusing non-kinky event. There was something involving Blue Eyes, the Magic Wand, and this purple attachment for it that Jae and I refer to as "Gonzo" because it reminds us of the Sesame Street character... But as Monk would say: that's a story for another day.

Professional query: (no, my OTHER profession) If you're a writer and you've used Power Writer or Power Structure software, would you drop me a note? I'm thinking of buying one of them.

Edited to add: I have watched the Alanis Morissette spoof of "My Humps" about twenty-seven times, and still it cracks me up. Brilliant parody. I think I'll watch it again now.

Short Cuts

Another photo sample. And one more.

Other silliness: Complete and exact text of an email I got today...

say my name is mark and i'm looking for a job escoting sexy women on date's. call me at my number XXX- XXX- XXX from 9am to 6pm okay. thank you bye for now

Say Mark? I hate to tell you, pal, but this is not “bye for now”. It’s bye - forever. Don’t even get me started on the general absurdity of this email. I’ve covered that elsewhere. Repeatedly.

No more today, though. I have to get all my tax stuff together and deliver it to the very patient man who does my taxes for me. I hate this stuff, it makes my head hurt just looking at it. (And that’s before I even write the check to the government.)

And then maybe I’ll do a scene where I pretend someone is an IRS Agent and make them recite tax law while I beat them. That would make me happier.