Things I am currently obsessed with:

1. The presidential election. I keep telling myself that I have one vote to cast, and I know who I'm voting for, and that checking the polls and the spin and the analysis every fifteen minutes actually isn't going to change things one bit. But I can't stop. 12-step group?

2. Fall fashion. I didn't think I liked the colors purple, or gray. I was wrong. So many pretty clothes!

3. Hurricane Hannah. My father lives on the coast of Georgia. As in: half a block from the Atlantic ocean. Also? He has a pilot's license and a risk-taking personality. (In case you where wondering where I sprang from...) Quote from a recent conversation: "Hell, I made it through two tours of Vietnam with people shooting at me, I can fly through anything." Jesus, Daddy, could you please evacuate by car if it comes to that, just so I don't have a heart attack?

So while I try to control the weather, politics, and my credit card balance, please enjoy the new Stranger column.

And hey - if I have met you, and you did, in fact, say one of the things I talk about in my column, that doesn't mean I think you're a terrible person and I could never like you, okay? I promise.

Politics: Huh. Apparently the two qualifications for being vice-president of the United States are a) boobs and b) a snarky turn of phrase and willingness to mock people. Nice to know I have another career option open to me. Since, you know, I myself possess both those traits.

As an aside: I bet Sarah Palin really pisses Dick Cheney off. I mean, the Republicans picking such a seriously under-qualified candidate - it kinda makes him look like a First Lady with a jockstrap, doesn't it?

Now, I'm certainly going to be talking some about politics until the election. Just so you know, I am actually not a hard-left kind of girl. I think of myself a political moderate, a centrist. I vote Democrat because the Republicans won’t stay out of my panties. Not that I haven’t thoroughly enjoyed that on some private occasions. But you know what I mean: the sex/reproductive rights issues.

However, the kind of Republicanism being displayed at the RNC makes me feel like Michael Moore. Only with boobs.

Pop Culture: I saw Tropic Thunder, and I know there’s some unhappiness about their use of the word “retard”, etc. However, I thought it was quite funny, and some of my best friends… Okay, not really. But as far as I know, the gay community is not upset by Jack Black’s passionate soliloquy about the blow-job he’d give to Brandon Jackson. (I know I may never recover from it.) If that speech didn’t send the gay boys shrieking out of the theater, well, surely everyone else can get a sense of humor, too.

Media: I have said in the past that a man looking to sell sex work services to women will starve to death. Well, I still don’t think you should quit your day job. But I think there’s a tiny bit more opportunity there than there used to be. I know someone personally - one might even say biblically - who’s doing all right. Here's a story from a UK paper on the subject – just fluff, really. But a small cultural indicator just the same.

Also from the Times: people who don’t think divorces should be easy to get should read this: professional seducers in Japan give unhappy spouses a way out. An interesting niche of sex work - and certainly one with room for the guys. But even if the “Family Values” party – ahem, excuse me, something seems to be sticking in my craw here, cough cough - gets elected, I can’t believe Mr. Second-Marriage McCain would take the country this way.

There’s also a lot of fuss in certain circles about this piece. Hipster Hookers, in Radar. I don’t know why, because I have read about a million jillion articles just like it. Hell, I know people who've written entire books on the topic. Elevator pitch: “Sweet young thing is titillated by sex work, but realizes at the last minute that she’s not that kind of girl”. Fresh and edgy, huh? NOT.

She may not be cut out to be an escort, however I think the author would make a great stripper, because this article is all tease and no delivery. Also, I can’t believe she gave the madame money. "Naïve and Gullible, party of one!"

Okay, I think I'm done demonstrating what a good Vice-President I'd be. Did I mention that I have boobs?

Reading List

I had recently gotten into the habit of reading almost all non-fiction. Especially when I don't have a lot of time to sit down and read - and I haven't - I find it's easier to pick up and put down. However, I think that it’s important to me, as a writer, to stay balanced, so I lately made a conscious decision to read more fiction. The smooth and accurate delivery of information is a crucial skill, and I think I’m pretty good at that. What I continue to work on, as a writer, is painting pictures with words, conveying a sense of place – sights, sounds, and impressions. That’s what I try to get from the fiction I read – how is the writer doing that?

I read Touchstone, by Laurie King, and I enjoyed it a lot. I like most of her work, especially the Mary Russel/Sherlock Holmes ones. Some of her contemporary suspense novels I’m not super crazy about, but even when they aren’t my favorite, I still think Ms. King has a knack for describing places, and she does the “show, don’t tell” thing superbly. Plus, I learned a lot about the period I hadn't known from this novel.

From the website: “Set shortly before Britain's disastrous General Strike of 1926, this stand-alone thriller from bestseller King (Keeping Watch) offers impeccable scholarship and the author's usual intelligent prose, but a surfeit of period detail and some weighty themes—the gulf between rich and poor, the insidious nature of both terrorism and the efforts to curb it—overpower the thin plot and stock characters. When Harris Stuyvesant, an investigator for the U.S. Justice Department, arrives in London to look for the mastermind behind a series of terrorist bombings on American soil, he tells Aldous Carstairs, a sinister government official, that his prime suspect is Labour Party leader Richard Bunsen. Carstairs suggests Stuyvesant should talk to Bennett Grey, whose brush with death during WWI has heightened his sense of perception to the point that he's a kind of human lie detector (he's the touchstone of the title), and to Lady Laura Hurleigh, Bunsen's lover and a passionate advocate of his brand of socialism. The threat of violence at a secret summit meeting held at the Hurleigh family's country house about preventing the strike provides some mild suspense.”

Well, I liked it. I hope Harris makes another appearance.

No one does lengthy description quite like the Victorians. I have plowed through my share of Dickens, of course. But there are other authors of the era whose work survives, and one of them is Mary Elizabeth Braddon, author of "Lady Audley’s Secret". Published in 1862, this was one of the best-selling “sensational” novels of it’s day. Now the plot - bigamy and attempted murder – is tame. And the prose is rather meandering. But there are some turns of phrase I liked, and the whole thing just has such an antique charm.

I do like historical novels, but I'll read anything this lady writes: Elizabeth Peters. Her plots are often absurd if you really think about them, but it's such fun that you don't care. This latest one is no exception. Like JK Rowling, she has a gift for creating characters you just want to hang around with, no matter what they're doing. (But they're always doing something.)

And then there was this one: Buckingham Palace Gardens, by Anne Perry. Now, I used to love Anne Perry, and I haven't given up on her. But she is trying to publish two novels a year lately, and wow, her work is really suffering. She has written some entertaining and well-researched Victorian mystery novels, but this one? Sucked. I hate to say that about another writer, but – ew. It’s all very flat, the whole thing feels rushed, and all she does is tell us how people feel. I hope she slows down a bit and gets back to her usual form.

I really hope Gustav lets Louisiana off more lightly than we fear. I grew up in Florida and I know the devastation a hurricane can bring. Those poor people, after Katrina and everything.

But I think this storm is a gift to the Republican National Convention, because now they can cancel speeches by Bush and Cheney, who have become political liabilities, under the guise of being respectful of those suffering from the storm. No one will be saying "heckuva job, Brownie!" at the RNC, no sirreebob. There's no way they can measure up to the sheer rock-star magic of Obama's DNC, so they are taking the opposite tack, paring it way down, and presenting themselves as mature, sober, God-fearing men of toil. Or the soil. Or something. But whatever the spin, McCain sure as hell doesn't want to have his picture taken standing next to Monkey Boy and The Dark Lord.

I admit I was tantalized by this weekend's internet-rumors about how Sarah Palin's fifth child wasn't really hers, but her teenage daughter's. (The idea being that Palin faked a pregnancy to cover up the embarrassment of having a pregnant and unwed child.) However, I'm not sure the story has legs. It's an interesting chain of odd choices and curious coincidences, but not something I'd hang my hat on. And even if that story were true, if she weren't looking to be VP, I would say it's no one's business anyway. However, the National Enquirer and it's ilk will undoubtedly do any vetting that McCain's camp may have overlooked.

Whatever happens this November, it will be historic. We do live in interesting times, don't we?

Weekend Shopping Blogging...

Okay, I want a new dress. Which is absurd, because I have a lot of dresses. But I do.

There's this one.



Or this, in the same style, different colors. Which do you think? I'm leaning towards the bone and black one. I usually like brighter, clearer colors, but I think the style of the dress is babba-boom enough, with the cut-out back - the neutral tones bring it down just a little...

There's this one, which I think I have to have no matter what, because it's a gorgeous color and it's very hard to find this shade of green. And I like the hip styling.



I also want a leather jacket. (Yes, I know I just got that black Moncler jacket, and I love it. But I want a leather one.) I was leaning towards this cute leather bomber from Mike and Chris. Sort of classic, and very Seattle, you know.


But - I'm also strangely drawn to this Helmut Lang number.


It looks like one of those things where when I put it on, it's either going to bring a touch of effortless elegance and cool to whatever I wear it with - or I'm going to look like I'm wearing a baggy leather sack. A very expensive baggy leather sack, I might add. Thank god Intermix is good about returns.

Like to hear me talk?, Listen to me on Dan Savage's podcast.

***

Non-sexy question: Seattle people, have any of ya'll dealt with these jewelers? I have some of my grandmother's jewelry that I'm thinking of having restyled. It's mostly semi-precious stones, and they're pretty, but the settings are old and not very attractive.

And some of it also needs basic repairs: there are pearls that have come unstrung, a ring that needs to be sized down, etc. If you have opinions about the Greenlake people, or any other Seattle jeweler, drop me a note.

An even more esoteric question: I also have a set of sterling silver flatware from grand-mama that needs some repair. Anyone have a silversmith here in town they like and trust? I'm finding a lot of places online that work by mail. But I'm actually quite sentimental about this silverware, it's been in my family forever. I am extremely reluctant to go shipping it off to who-knows-who. I'd like a "I went to these guys and they did a good job" story. Local recommendations?

Dear Mainstream Media,

Can we talk? Okay. You know I love you, but you have to get with it, image-wise. I have spoken to you before about this doomed love affair you’re having with the cats-eye mask…




I see that you can't seem to help yourself. But just stop. Using an image of someone in a mask like this to portray a kinky person is like showing a photo of this guy to portray the modern hippie movement.

I hate that collar, too - the model looks as if he's been styled by a pit bull breeder. And the red bowling shirt. And that dreadfully Billy Idol-ish faux-sneer.

Lord knows there are plenty of photos of bonafide, sexy-looking BDSM people around, can’t you use one of them?

With weary patience,

Mistress Matisse

P.S. It is nice that you’re running stories about how kinky people are not only not a bunch of emotionally damaged abuse victims - we may even be happier than non-kinky people. Thank you for that part. Now get with this decade, stock-photo-wise.

Professional Advice

Dear Mistress Matisse

I am going to two Mistress apprenticeship interviews, and can you imagine what kind of confidence boosting help I got when I Google'd “job interview” and dominatrix? Not much.

I thought I'd email some of the Dominatrixes whose blogs I've read, to ask if anyone had any dungeon job interview tips. The madams and Mistresses I spoke to on the phone sounded very welcoming, but I do wonder if they'll judge me to be too much work based on my posture or lack of experience/confidence. That said, I am actually confident about my suitability and don't expect to be deterred from my intention to become a professional Mistress.

Your posture? Well, stand up nice and straight, dearie.

Okay, seriously... I get asked for help getting jobs in pro-domme houses a lot, but in fact, I’ve never worked in one, nor have I ever taken any apprentices of my own. (And I don’t plan to.) Thus I can’t speak to precisely what they might ask. (Some general advice on becoming a pro domme is here.)

I have worked in other group sex work situations, though. I also managed a massage parlor for a while, and I did the hiring for that. And I’ll tell you the first thing I was looking for was women who were calm, rational, emotionally well-balanced people, because there are a lot of crazy girls in the sex industry. A lot.

I also wanted reliable women who would show up on time, every time. Women who could be pleasant to co-workers and follow my directions about the procedures of the house. Women who would not steal from each other or the clients or the house.

Finding women like that was not as easy as you'd think. So I was willing to teach people all the skills of the business if they’d just be smart, sane, and responsible. It’s my understanding that it’s hard to get taken on by pro-domme houses because the competition to get those jobs is intense. But if they’re willing to interview you, that usually means they need someone. (Sex work business do not collect resumes for the fun of it.) If you have a look they like, and you display the good people skills I’ve mentioned, that combined that fact that you’re really committed to the idea of being a dominatrix should make you an ideal candidate for the job. Good luck.

It's always amusing when mainstream media reports something that everyone is already aware of as if it's big news. Today, CNN announced that people often exchange sex for things or for services. Wow, what a stunning revelation. Men and women both. For thousands of years! Who knew?

Um, like everyone past puberty? And a lot of people before it, too, I imagine. I know I had it figured out when I was a kid. I don't know how sophisticated I would have been about articulating it, but I definitely had an instinctive grasp on the concept. When I was in sixth grade, Scotty Sanders wanted to kiss me. I told him he had to give me his Hostess cupcake - my mom was a health food type and never let us have stuff like that. So he did, and we went down behind the school cafeteria - which was the unofficial "kissing zone" at my Catholic grammer school - and I kissed him. Did I want to kiss him anyway? Oh, yeah, definitely. But I also wanted the cupcake, and I knew that I could have both, so why not?

That, by the way, was my first kiss.

The new column in the new Stranger....

Note to my Dear Readers: yes, I'm aware that there was recently a snarky letter to the editor about me in The Stranger. It would be nice if everyone thought I was wonderful all the time, but unfortunately, that's not how things work. And I learned long ago that if you're going to live your life in the public eye (even in a small way), then you better develop a thick skin.

Everyone is entitled to an opinion. If you'd like to offer yours - about my column, or anything else - to The Stranger, I'm sure they'd be pleased to hear from you: Editor@thestranger.com

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

More Notes From Las Vegas

The Cher show? Was great. In addition to the (more or less) live songs, she included a lot of video clips from the old Sonny & Cher variety show, and it was a delightful reminder of the fact that Cher's been doing this gig since I was just a tot. Which I still am, compared to Cher. And damn, I hope I look as good as she does when I'm in my sixties. (I don't care that she's had surgery. If you look good, it doesn't matter to me how you brought that about, I'm on board with it.)

Afterward Elvis and I went dancing at this club in Caesar's, called Cleopatra's Barge, and one of the songs they played was - oh my god - Abba. Seriously. Dancing Queen, to be specific. The DJ had this seventies-riffic theme he was on, and he was into it.

So we were laughing and dancing to Abba, and suddenly I had a almost painfully vivid memory of my sophomore year of high school. You see, I was in the jazz chorus, and we sang Dancing Queen. Really. I'm not kidding. Six little Catholic high school girls, warbling "You're a tease and you turn him on - leave him burning, and then you're goooooooooone". Sounds more like someone being given a case of the clap than a romance, but hey, maybe it's a Swedish thing.

As I danced, I remembered - with a slight inward wince - performing that song. Badly, I'm sure. In those tacky little outfits that we wore. That our mothers had to make for us. Lordy.

Then the visceral intensity of the memory passed, and I was back in Vegas, in the now. Wearing my favorite white Herve Leger dress, stiletto heels, and all my bling, drinking champagne, and getting into mischief. Quite a difference, to put it mildly. If you had said to that fifteen-year-old girl, "Hey, when you're a grown-up, here's what your life will look like..." Well, I have no idea how that girl would have reacted. With disbelief, probably.

It's so strange how we get from one place to another in our lives. But I love my life. Yeah, I really do.

Well, here I am in Vegas. I haven't been here since my ill-fated wedding here in 1999. I've actually only been here once before that, so I am not a Vegas expert. Thus, I gawked like a rube as we drove down the Strip.

I had forgotten how surreal casinos are, how Disney-esque. It's easy to just step out of your life into this non-real world. (Which is exactly what they want you to do, of course.)

Musing on that, I thought to myself, I wish I could afford a kink equivalent of this. An dungeon space that's just so encompassing, so perfect, and so other-world-ish that you'd forget there was anything else. I've seen a few spaces like that. There used to be a place down in Atlanta run by two gay men. The Sanctuary, I think it was called? That place was amazing. And I don't even though how much money, and work, it must have cost to create. A lot, that's all. It's gone now.

But then I thought about it some more, and actually I changed my mind. Naturally I like having a pretty place to play with people, nice dungeon furniture, et cetera. But I like it better that the power I have to make the world go away for a little while is in me. Not my toys, my furniture, my decor, or anything material thing. But in my eyes, my voice, and my touch.

That way, I can go wherever I like, and make a little magic happen for whomever I'm with.

Wow, it's hot.

But as fate would have it, I'm about to go someplace even hotter. No, I don't mean Hell. (Although if that place actually existed, I have no doubt that once I arrived there, I'd be given a corner office. After all, to quote Motley Crue, "The Devil is a friend of mine...")

No, I'm going to Las Vegas for a few days, with a man who I think I will dub - Elvis. I haven't been on a trip with Elvis before, so this will be an adventure for us both. I think it's going to be big fun. We're staying at Caesar's Palace, in one of the new towers, and we have tickets to what looks like a completely fabulous show, and I imagine there will be much wining and dining and gambling.

I'm also looking forward to checking out one of the "European-style" pools at Caesar's. (Meaning: women can go topless!) I don't care if it's 105 degrees, as long as I have a drink with an umbrella in it and the cabana boy comes by and mists me every little while, I'll be very happy. I'll take pictures and post them to the Flickr stream.

I'm off early Monday and I'm back late on Wednesday, so getting me on the phone those days will be tricky. I will be checking email, of course, and I'll try to respond to messages as quickly as I can.

So if you hear about an Elvis sighting in Sin City in the next few days, think of me.

From the "silly emails" department...

I wanted to say hello to You and say I was impressed with Your site.1 it was also nice not to see the typical "I will dominate you for $xx.xx".2 I think Your site seems genuinely interested in the wants and needs of submissives, which brings me to my question. Who is really in charge if a session is set up for all the wants and needs of the submissive?3 What i want to know, is what do YOU truely enjoy?4. When You have a submissive alone and its for enjoyment and not really for a "session".5

1. I think the indicating-dominance-by-capitalizing thing is silly and affected, but I understand that people like doing it, and so I usually don’t say anything. However, if you’re going to write to me and capitalize Me and Mine and so on, you need to also lowercase your I. That’s how that convention works, you see.

2. Uh, what’s with the decimal point? Have you really ever seen a website where a sex worker listed a fee in dollars and cents? I mean, what would that look like? One hour: $249.99 I bet not.

3. This marking the seventeen thousandth, four hundred and thirty-first time I’ve heard the “submissives are really the ones in control” theory. Here are a couple of the responses I’ve made to it before, if you search back through the archives I’m sure you can find more. Nutshell version: yes, BDSM requires the consent of both parties. But if you think “consenting to a scene” equals “being totally in control of everything that happens”, you are obviously playing with the wrong people.

4. Oh, now we’re lapsing into the lowercase i. Or maybe it’s just a typo, which is what that always looks like to me anyway. And then the all-caps emphasis, and then one of my least-favorite misspellings.

5. And now we’re culminating in a flat demand that I write him a dirty email and reveal to him what he seems to think is personal information. Gee, what a truly submissive guy he must be.

It’s impressive how many annoying things this writer was able to pack into one short email. That takes skill. What you don’t know is that this guy has re-sent this email to me at least three times in the last few weeks. Maybe more, I’ve lost track. I guess he was getting impatient with me because I wasn’t giving him the information he wanted promptly enough. Snap to it, Mistress, inquiring minds want to know! So, here’s my answer…

The “no, tell me what you really like” thing is thing is irksome, first of all because it presumes I’m lying and must be cross-examined. Bah. In my dungeon, I don’t have to do a damn thing I don’t want to do. Thus, if I say I enjoy doing certain types of scenes, it’s because I do actually enjoy them. And if my word isn't good enough for you, then don't play with me.

But that isn’t going to satisfy a guy like this. I know this type. Back when I was a dancer, there would be guys who’d pester you to tell them your real name. Even after you said no, they’d still wheedle and beg and bribe you about it endlessly.

“Why do you want to know?” I’d say.

“I just want to,” they'd answer.

The trick was to hold out for a while, and then sigh heavily and say, “Okay, fine. It’s Heather. Now you know.”

Most of them would be very happy then, because they felt special. Sometimes the smarter ones would say indignantly, “Hey, that’s not your real name either, is it? You just made that up.”

However, I am not inclined to make up a pretty story for this man’s entertainment. (Although it’s always tempting to write back and say, “What I really get off on is castration scenes. Wanna play?”)

Do the math, my misspelled friend – if I was concealing things I thought were secret, why the heck would I spill them, just like that, to some random yabbo who sends me an anonymous email?

Some random sexual thoughts…

Suggestion for strap-on wielding ladies: if you haven’t got some already, buy yourself a pair of snugly fitting boy-shorts style panties. Get some that are a fairly thick knit, nothing too wispy. Put the strap-on harness over the panties. Then take a vibrator and shove it snugly into the front of the panties over the right spot. Now fuck. The panties will hold it in place better than just the harness, and pressure and movement of the dildo and harness over the vibrator is very nice, I find….

***

Someone told me lately about how his balls got all chafed during a sporting activity, and now I can’t stop thinking about scrotums and abrasion play. And ever since I saw this story, I also keep thinking about these fish. What if you got a whole lot of them? And they were really hungry? And what if you put sensitive bits of someone's flesh into a bowl full of them and told that someone they were, say, piranhas? (I know they don't look like piranhas, but they could be a special, rare variety. Say, Norwegian piranhas! Hey, you don't know for sure those don't exist. The thing about Norwegian piranhas is that they always circle a few minutes before they attack, like sharks. So you'd just have to wait and see, wouldn't you?)

Oh, this sort of thing makes me mad. Way to go, Christian educators. Granted, you don't have to like or employ the author of the sex blog, but could you not visit the "sins" of the mother upon her child? Especially when you already agreed not to? The "Catalina Loves" controversy.

From The Mail Bag

I'm a Seattle-based indie pornographer, and I'm looking to buy a condo in the near future. I'm looking to get a studio on the low end of the pricing scale, and almost all studios in cute older buildings are co-ops. The idea of going before a co-op board and explaining myself is quite terrifying to me. I'm wondering if you have any feel as to how sex worker friendly the co-op boards in Capital Hill might be?

Secondly, do you have a recommendation for a sex worker friendly accountant/ tax preparer?

Well, all right, this is definitely not one of those questions that one could just Google. Talk about highly specific. This is a micro-targeted question.

But I’m sorry, I have no information about how sex-work friendly a co-op board would generally be, let alone any specific information about any particular one in Seattle. Frankly, I’m only vaguely conversant with how co-ops are run. (Except for that fact that I’m told they are not a great real-estate investment.)

However, you’re quite right to be concerned about the idea of telling a bunch of strangers, who hold your fate in their hands, that you’re a part of the sex industry. I predict that won’t go well. Odds are, at least some of them are going to disapprove on moral grounds. Some of them probably wouldn’t care in the abstract, but will fear that you’ll be doing noisy/obtrusive porno things in your space that will bother them or be inappropriate for children to be aware of. And some of them will suspect – with some justification – that an indie pornographer’s income is likely to be unstable. So I strongly suggest you don’t tell them.

You see, part of being a successful sexual outlaw is avoiding the gaze of the straight world. (By straight I mean non-outlaw, not necessarily heterosexual.) If you don’t have a good cover story for how you make your money constructed, you better sit down and put one together. Others may advocate being out to everyone, all the time. But my observation is that that’s a luxury one can’t always afford.

And speaking of afford, I further think that if you can’t afford a space where you don’t require your neighbor’s approval of your profession, then you should keep saving money until you do. But that’s your decision.

About a tax-prep person? Another perfectly reasonable question that I don't have an answer to. I have a great guy who handles me very nicely. But I’m not able to give out his name freely, sorry.

I wish I did have more professional recommendations to give out, people ask me all the time. So if you’re a Seattle area professional person and you’re happy to do work for sex work/queer/kink/poly people, drop me a note and tell me what you do. I’ll keep you in my files and send you any business I can…

Most often asked for are tax, accounting and all types of financial stuff, lawyers, real estate people, contractors and all types of home improvement professionals.

I also get asked for referrals for therapists ALL the time, and while I know some cool people, I don’t know anyone who specializes in dealing with the sexual minority community.

I might suggest, though, that you get a copy of the GSBA. Yes, it’s targeted mainly at the Gay community, and certainly not all homosexual people are porn-friendly. However, I think your odds of getting someone cool through this type of guide are better than just random chance, so…. Good luck.

Edit: There is this lady. However, I do not know her personally, and I do not know anyone who's worked with her, so all I'm doing is pointing out the link... The Tax Domme

Today is Monk's birthday.

There are a lot of amazingly cool things about Monk, as I have noted in previous birthday posts. But the best thing about him is that he just keeps on getting more amazing all the time. We've been partners for a little over four years now - which is sort of amazing in and of itself. He was wonderful when I met him. However, he soon surpassed mere wonderfulness and moved on to being fabulous, and thence to sensational, and then onto - dare I say it? - awesometastic.

How long can this sort of thing go on? Surely, you're thinking, there must be some limit. Nope. Not with Monk. His ability to achieve new heights of amazingly-coolness has no boundaries. I am quite certain that this coming year will prove to be yet another demonstration of that fact.

So Happy Birthday, darling. I look forward to another year of seeing you achieve dizzying new heights of amazingness.

I don't really believe in astrology - but I like Rob Brezsny.

Scorpio Horoscope for week of August 7, 2008
The guy who gave his name to North and South America was a pickle salesman and writer as well as an explorer. After a stint in Spain selling his vitamin C-rich pickles to outbound ships, Amerigo Vespucci got to travel to the New World in 1499 and 1502. The stories he penned about his adventures there were highly imaginative, like his description of giant native women with huge breasts who employed poisonous fluids extracted from insects to super-size their husbands' penises. I nominate Amerigo to be your role model in the coming weeks, Scorpio. May you, too, do what comes natural and be your funky self in ways that lead to glory and renown. (My source for the info about Amerigo is Tony Horwitz's book A Voyage Long and Strange: Rediscovering the New World.)

A good reminder, Rob, thanks. I've been rather distracted, for the last few weeks, with various things that have not felt either funky or glorious. But I think that's just about done with, and I'm looking forward to acting more like a creature of someone's imagination again.

Next week: photos, several rounds of letter-answering, and some remarks on cougars. Have a lovely weekend...