Letter from a reader:

A community I frequent was recently invaded by someone who claimed we had driven a friend of his to suicide. Less than 48 hours later, he finally admitted that it was completely fictional. He does this about once every year or so just for the attention, so it was kind of obvious. It got me wondering, though. I know you have your share of trolls, but have any of them ever tried to claim that a friend committed suicide because of you in order to make you "change your ways"?

Oh wow, talk about drama. I assume this writer means an online community. There’s nothing like the safety of a computer screen to really show the crazy in people, is there?

No, I haven’t had this particular episode of insanity directed at me personally. But I have also seen people try out various versions of this story in online communities. It's a perennial favorite, I think. I’m going to kill myself, my friend is going to kill himself, my friend did kill himself, et cetera. One ambitious lad claimed that he actually had killed himself, and that the post we were seeing had been cleverly delayed to appear after he was dead. Now we’d all be sorry, wouldn’t we!

I don’t think it works as well one-on-one. People who do this seem to crave the mass outpouring of attention that only a large group of total strangers can give.

The idea that such an event would change someone’s ways is odd to me, anyway. If someone I’ve never met is unhappy enough to kill himself, then that’s very sad for his loved ones and I wish it hadn’t happened, but that’s not about me. But then, I’m one of those people who doesn’t accept that (for example) my being happily kinky is somehow contributing to some other woman, completely unconnected to me, being raped or battered somewhere. I think you’d have to be the sort of person who took responsibility for other people’s feelings, and that’s not something I do.

I also just do not understand suicide, in general. I’ve had some unhappy times, but I have never even considered ending my own life. There have been a few moments, in my distant past, when I mused pleasantly about ending someone else’s, but… (No, not really. At least, not in any sort of legally-actionable kind of way. )

So no suicide threats. I have had strangers do what I call “having a relationship with me when I’m not there.” That goes like this: they write to me. I probably read it, because I try to read all my email. But I don’t respond, because I get tons and tons of email, and I can’t possibly answer them all. (Or, I respond just very briefly.)

They take offense, create a whole set of reasons for my non-response, and project them onto me. “How dare you! Obviously you hate me and wish me ill! You're a terrible person! I was going to be your best friend, but now I’m never going to speak to you again, and I’m going to tell everyone how mean you were to me. ”

Um, yeah, okay - you go right ahead and do that. I will just sit here and consider how disappointed I am at not getting to have you for a best friend. Or, not.

A therapist I once had told me, “We’re all so self-centered, we worry that everything others do is because of us. Consider how often you think about yourself during a day. Now consider about how often you think about other people. You think about yourself much more often, right? If someone is acting funny, odds are, it’s not about you or something you did wrong. It’s about them, about something that’s nothing to do with you. So ask, if you really want to, but when in doubt, assume that it isn’t about you unless they say so.”

And sometimes even if they say it’s about you, it isn’t.

***

I have known, slightly, two people who committed suicide. In both cases it was a terrible tragedy, and I do not take it casually. Please don’t kill yourself, and if you’re thinking about killing yourself, go here and call someone to talk. They can help.

Believe. In Gravity.

Last night Elvis and I got to observe something you don't see very often: a very high-budget, high-tech Las Vegas strip performance go spectacularly wrong.

Apart from this incident, I could review the Criss Angel/Cirque Du Soliel show, Believe, in two words: don't go. It's pretty bad. I don't like to say that about performers, because I know what it's like to put yourself out there, but - yeah, it's just pretty bad.

I've never seen Mr. Angel before, so I don't know what he's like on TV. But he doesn't really do much of anything in the show. I mean, he pulls some doves out of his sleeve, and otherwise he mainly runs around the stage and strikes poses while dressed like a Hot Topic store blew up on him. The whole thing was sort of like a bad homage to Nine Inch Nails videos, only without the music. Occasionally he'd put drapes over things and make them disappear - which is really not an awe-inspiring feat on a stage fitted out with wires and trapdoors. We could see the lines sometimes. Sloppy.

And there were giant bunnies. Very creepy giant bunnies. Matisse no like weird giant bunnies. Uh uh.

But Elvis and I were having fun anyway, because we always have fun, so it wasn't tragic. We were seated in the second row, right in the center, and we had cocktails, and we were cracking jokes to each other. And some of the Cirque Du Soliel dance numbers were okay. (Although, only some, and only okay, which is highly unusual for Cirque Du Soliel.)

And then Mr. Angel started gearing up for what was obviously The Big Trick. They put a white leather straitjacket on him (I liked that) and hoisted him up in the air by his ankles, a la Harry Houdini. I'd say he was about, oh, maybe thirty feet up in the air? Or more.

Then they flew him out over the audience, so he was actually behind us, more or less centered over the house. And they shone a spotlight on him as he dramatically wiggled out of the straitjacket. Ta-da.

So that was fine. Then the house and the stage all went dark for an instant, and then... Things went wrong somehow. There were some voices yelling, and the house lights came up to show us Mr. Angel still up high in the air, still upside down by his ankles. He was closer to the stage, but he was still out over the seats. And he was not happy. Not at all.

The obvious end of the trick was: they were supposed to fly him back to the stage in the dark, and drop him into a waiting trunk, from which he would then triumphantly emerge a moment later. "Ha ha! Look, here I am!"

However, something went wrong, and what we heard Mr. Angel yelling was: "Don't use the automation, don't use the automation!" It was not the voice of a man making a casual suggestion. I inferred that he meant: "Don't move this line I'm hanging from." I don't know what happened to make Mr. Angel think he was in imminent danger of falling thirty feet straight down onto his head, but that is clearly what he was afraid was going to happen.

At first we thought it was part of the show. But after a minute, it was clear that no, this was serious. A voice came over the loudspeaker, "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated while this problem is taken care of...." A dozen tech guys with headsets swarmed around the edge of the stage and the house floor, barking orders at the booth and reassuring Mr. Angel, who managed to stay reasonably calm.

But I myself have done a lot of inverted suspensions with Max. I have hung by my ankles with my head at least twenty feet from the ground, and I know what it felt like when I was afraid that I was going to fall. No one I have played with has never dropped me, or even come close. But still, it was really not a pleasant feeling. Elvis and I were close enough to see Mr. Angel's face, and he looked like he felt exactly the same way about it as I did.

I looked as carefully as I could, but I could not tell what was wrong with the rig. I don't think it was the ankle harness, and the hardware connecting him to the line looked okay. But all the techs seemed to agree with Mr. Angel that something bad might happen. This was not an: "Oh dear, Mr. Angel's trick went wrong, how embarrassing. But he's perfectly safe." No, the energy was definitely: "Criss, don't move, we're going to get you down, but do not move."

To rescue him, they dropped two more lines down to the techs, who hooked them together into a U-shape and put a big wide padded strap on them. They flew that up to Mr. Angel, who instantly seized it in a death grip, slipped the strap around his torso, and unclipped himself from the bad line.

The whole incident took about six or seven minutes. That's a long, long time when you think you're about to fall. To his credit, when Mr. Angel landed on the stage, he turned and thanked us for our utter silence and stillness during the rescue. He cracked a joke about the joys of doing live entertainment - but he had that pale, cold-sweat look to him.

There was a brief "intermission" and then - they went on with the show. Because that's what you do. I thought, "Well, it was already pretty bad before, so at least they don't have to worry about it being bad now."

But it makes you think. I've heard about a couple of bad suspension-related falls lately in the national bondage scene. Not fatal, luckily, but bad. This is a Vegas production costing millions of dollars, and employing highly trained people who lift things up in the air professionally. And still, something went wrong - something I suspect had the potential to be very bad indeed. Thank god it didn't, because whatever one thinks of Mr. Angel as a performer, one would not want him to fall on his head. He didn't seem to feel that his magic powers would save him if he did fall. I don't think yours would either. Be careful, people. Be very careful.

Having a wonderful time in Sin City, sinning. Meanwhile, the new Stranger column is up. It's about the recent changes on Craigslist. Enjoy!

Travel Notes (In Which I Am Very Parenthetical)

I'm off to Las Vegas today, to spend some time with Elvis... (That's a nickname, by the way. I am not going to actually hang out with a dead person. I am not that kinky.)

We're staying at Encore again, which we both loved last time. (Writer's dilemma: using the phrase "encore again" feels redundant, even though it's not. Hmmn, how about: We are staying at the hotel called "Encore" for a second time? No, clunky. We are staying at Encore, the same place we stayed last time? More correct, but I just don't like it. Oh well, to heck with it, you know what I mean.)

We have tickets to the Criss Angel/Cirque du Soleil show, so that should be a lot of fun. There was also some talk about going to a gun range where they let you fire machine guns, which seems noisy but entertaining. And I plan on getting some serious bikini time. (Probably not while I'm firing a machine gun, although that seems like a highly amusing photo op.)

I'm back late Saturday, so if you want to see me next week, drop me a note or a voicemail. (It seems like I should have something in parenthesis here, just to keep the rhythm. But I don't have any additional thoughts. Bye!)

It's time for another podcast with Mistress Matisse and Twisted Monk... In this one, we read some letters and talk about the very sticky issue of dealing with parents who get too nosy about their adult-children's sex life. Or: What To Do When Your Parents Find Out You're Kinky - And They Aren't Happy.
About ten minutes.

I love popular-science author Mary Roach's writing so much. If you have not read Stiff and Bonk, you're missing out. (Her other book, Spook, is okay, but not as good.)

Now here she is to tell us some very odd things about sex - both human, and animal...

Occasionally I am reminded that some newer kinky people don't know stuff about BDSM culture that I take for granted. Like the Hanky Code.

I read a lot of online forums about BDSM, and I regularly see someone - usually a heterosexual person - talking about how they wish there was some subtle but clear way that BDSM people could signal to each other in public: "Hey, I'm kinky." Hmmm, what about a lapel pin? Or maybe - a necklace? Lots of options are suggested, and then rejected for various reasons.

And I have to smile, because this is a perfect example of reinventing the wheel. As with many sexual things, the gay men got there way ahead of the rest of us and figured all this out. Thus - the hanky code: a color-coded bandanna tucked in the back pocket of a pair of jeans that indicates sexual preferences.

To indicate that someone is wearing a hanky, we speak of them "flagging" and also of "flagging left" or "flagging right." A hanky (or flag) worn in the left back pocket - or in any way on the left half of someone's body - means they are a top. A hanky on the right means they are a bottom.

Sometimes people tie the hankies around their arm, or thread them through the epaulets of a motorcycle jacket. Same principle applies.

You can flag more than one color at a time. However, if you have, say, eleven different hankies hanging off your body, people may think that you're a bit... indiscriminate.

Now, over time, the range of colors listed in various hanky codes has grown to a truly absurd degree. And there are some differences between the gay men's lists and the lists used (although not very much) by lesbians. One sometimes sees some variations regionally, too, although I think the internet has erased a lot of the old East Coast/West Coast differences.

In my opinion, the important ones are: black and gray, which always mean heavy SM and bondage, respectively.

Red is also easy to identify, although for men it means fist-fucking and for women it sometimes means bloodsports, so you're going to want to be clear about that before you go home with someone.

Yellow is a good one. Three guesses what that color is for.

And then there's about a hundred other colors. But if you can tell the difference between "Air Force blue" and robin's egg blue" - especially in a dark bar - well, you've got better color sense than I do. You should definitely ask.

I don't know if there ever was really a time and place where simply wearing a hanky meant someone could just walk up to you and start doing whatever. But that's definitely not what you should do, or expect, now.

It is, however, a perfectly reasonable way to start a conversation with someone at a party - or after exchanging a few significant glances with them in the produce department of the grocery store, for that matter. "Nice hanky. Is that apricot, or orange?"

Some days I really want to spank Rob Brezsney.

Scorpio Horoscope for week of May 21, 2009
"It's your choice, Scorpio. You could be a creative dynamo who changes the course of local history -- or you could be a plain old boring sex maniac. What'll it be? We here at the Free Will Astrology Libido Management Center encourage you to at least partially sublimate your unruly mojo into beautiful works of art, innovative business solutions, and brilliant strokes of collaboration. You don't have to stop boinking altogether; just make it the second most important thing you rather than your raison d'etre. "

But, but, but...! Oh all right, fine. Fine!

Damn.

Male Model Call

Note: This is not a shoot I'm organizing or participating in. I'm just posting this information for a friend of mine, the lovely and talented Lady Lydia McLane. This is all the information I have on the matter, I cannot answer any questions, so please direct all inquiries to her!

***

Call For Male Submissive Models!

Website: The website is currently in creation. We currently have 5 adult websites all containing fetish/BDSM content.

Details: FemDom/BDSM shoot with male sub and female top with 1 or more Mistresses, including anal play. Gay, Bi or straight men encouraged to apply. No prior work with acting, adult sites, or modeling is required. The activities we are looking for are bondage, CBT, electro play, strap-on, plugs, caning, whipping, stress positions, forced exercise, and other corporeal and clamp play.

ID & Paperwork: 1 unexpired US Gov. issued ID with Date of Birth and a secondary ID with all releases and 2257 information provided.

Compensation: $200-300 depending on your limits.

Dress/Costumes: If you have leather or rubber clothing then please bring a few pieces. Mostly you will be naked.

Description: Please be height, weight proportionate and between the ages of 21 and 40. Provide the following information...
height
weight
hair color
brief previous history with other websites or personal BDSM history

Contact: beltaneinc@comcast.net

Thank you for your time,
Lydia McLane

So this week, for a 12seconds video, I talked Monk into showing me his naked push-ups.

Well, I sort of tricked him into it. See, he always tells me about the mean stuff his personal trainer does to him - you people think I'm sadistic? You have no idea! I sometimes get really envious that this guy gets to hurt my boyfriend so bad. And I don't even get to watch!

(Monk would let me sit in, but he usually goes early in the morning. Nu-uh. Not even for hot boy-on-boy action do I get up at that hour.)

So tonight when we were talking gym-porn, I casually got out my phone, hid it behind my back, arranged my face into an innocent expression, and said, "One-footed push-ups? I don't understand, darling, what are those?"

These. Aren't they nice? (Probably not safe for work. )

Subject line from modeling-spam:
HIGH PAYING TOPLESS EMINEM PHOTO SHOOT/UNCUT EMINEM VIDEO SHOOT

Wow, Eminem is uncut? I really did not need to have that information. TMI, TMI...

And I don't care if he is topless - I am not going to top him. (Okay, that's silly, I know, but my inner editor rails against banal composition.)

I will not be answering this email. I used to model for other people a fair amount, but I don't much anymore. It's too time-consuming, and I'd rather create my own shoots to get images that are useful to me. Someone else's art, as meaningful as it is to them, is not what I need for my professional site. (Needless to say, photos of me, topless, with Eminem would certainly be... interesting. But not really something I'd use professionally.)

And modeling is work, too. I used to sneer when I'd see models on TV or whatever talking about how hard it was. And then I started doing it, and found out: they were right. No, it's not like digging ditches. But it sure isn't just sitting around fluffing your hair and smiling, either.

Want to experience what it's like to model? Do this: stand up and get into a strenuous standing position. Try this - a yoga "King of the Dance" position. Now, hold that. Hmmn, try leaning your head all the way back. But turn your chin so that you're looking into the lens. Come on, just twist your neck more. But relax your face, you look like you're straining. Now put one arm straight up into the air. No, no, no, that doesn't work, put it down again. Close your eyes. Smile. A little bit. Not too much. Point your toes. No, your other toes. Can you look sort of languid and sad? But still somehow kind of enthusiastic and happy, too? Okay, now hold that while I fiddle with my lights. Oh, wait, this memory card is full. Don't move, I'll be right back!

Do that for three hours or more, preferably in a room that's really, really warm. And in my case, do it wearing spike heels and a really tight, restrictive outfit. A tightly laced corset? Perfect. Breathing is so overrated. Which would you rather do, breathe or look beautiful?

Yeah, that's work, my friend. As with childbirth, after it's over, one often forgets the bad part and enjoys the end result.

But it's work. It hurts, too. I have been so sore and exhausted from photo shoots, you'd think I bottomed in a heavy scene. Every time I do a shoot, I swear that the next time, I am going to do a bedroom setting just so I can lie down. I don't care if bedroom sets aren't Mistress-y. There are simply some limits to the level of pain I will endure in order to look all dominant.

In the last few days, there has been much discussion in the sex worker blogosphere about Craigslist's announcement that they will soon shut down the "Erotic Services" section.

I have expressed my opinions about sex workers and Craigslist in the past, several times, and I will probably do so again soon, in The Stranger.

In light of that, I have a question for you, my dear readers. I would like to talk to a woman who is actively engaged in doing sex-for-money, and who has used Craigslist regularly in the last six months to get clients.

I am seeing a lot of commentary about the CL decision, but I have not read or heard anything from anyone who actually, herself, fits that description. I would like to talk to a woman whose professional life is going to be immediately and actively impacted by this.

Thus, if you don't currently have sex-for-money, this is not you. If you have sex-for-money but you don't use Craigslist, this is not you. Opinions from those two groups of people abound. Can I talk to a woman who really used CL "Erotic Services"?

If you choose to talk to me, I can promise you that your privacy, your anonymity will be completely protected. No one but me will see your email address or other information, ever.

Drop me a note at MistressMatisse at gmail.com

At last, another podcast. (They were held up by a software-translation problem, but Monk fixed them. Yay!)

In this one, we talk about hierarchy in poly relationships. Polyamorous people can geek out ad nauseum about stuff like: "What does primary mean? What does secondary mean? Do I need these terms? Are they useful or limiting?"

So if you get off on that kind of analysis, you'll loooooove this podcast. It's heavy polyamory theory.

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I know, I'm bad for posting nothing but video links the last two days. There will be a real post tomorrow. Meanwhile, enjoy footage from SEAF.

There's no new episode of the polyamory web-series "Family" this week. They are doing interviews with the three main actors, though. So, here's eight minutes with performer Ernie Joseph, who plays Ben.

One of the interesting things about this interview is that there's no discussion of Mr. Joseph's personal views on polyamory. I imagine that's at least partly due to career concerns, a concern I don't condemn him for.

But one of the benefits of a show like this is that it raises people's consciousness. I'd be interested to know if the actors who do not identify themselves as poly feel that they now have a greater understanding of polyamorous culture. Perhaps we'll have some discussion of that in the future.

Question for Seattle Escorts

I’m writing a column for The Stranger about couples seeing escorts. If you’ve spent time with couples, and you’re interested in giving me some of your thoughts and opinions about that, drop me a note, and I’ll send you the interview questions. They won’t take long to answer, maybe five-ten minutes.

I will NOT use your professional name in connection with the remarks, everyone’s privacy will (as always) be protected.

If you haven’t read my column before, the archives are here.

Email me at MistressMatisse at gmail.com

Thank you!

Here's the new column in The Stranger, about kink bloopers... Just about everyone I talked to about this column had a lulu of a story for me. It was hard to pick just a few. Enjoy reading about the painful errors of other good tops - as long as you don't repeat them!

Schedule Notes

EDITED at 6pm Thursday May 7th...

Here's what I know about my availability for the next few weeks...

I'm booked the rest of this week.

I have time next week Tuesday the 12th and Weds the 13th.

Maybe a little on Thursday the 14th.

Friday the 15th I'm unavailable.

The week of the 18th to 22nd is still pretty free.

I'm out of town Monday the 25th through Thursday the 28th.

And then I'm out of town again from Weds June 3rd to Saturday June 6th.

Hope that's helpful to my friends...

Highlights From A Family Wedding

So every other Seattle sex blogger – and several from other places – have blogged about how great SEAF was. The Thursday night party certainly was lovely. But since I spent the weekend in Orlando, Florida at my brother’s wedding, guess what? I’m writing about that instead.

The whole event was very nice. The dress I picked out, after all that agonizing, turned out to be perfect. I wasn’t a bridesmaid or anything, thank god. I have pals who have impressive collections of bridesmaid’s dresses, but I’ve never been one, and I see no reason to break up that winning streak now. I instructed my brother very firmly that I was not to be given any official role in this wedding other than guest.

I actually haven’t been to that many weddings, period. So this was my first exposure to some of the silly wedding-reception traditions I’ve seen in movies, like throwing the garter, lots of teary speeches, a DJ who plays cheesy music and tells everyone what to do, ect.

It was also my first experience of a wedding reception that went on for hours. And hours. With an open bar, and a lot of toasts. Everyone, including my mother's rather prim sister, got pretty well lubricated. (Watching my sweet but staid aunt dancing to “The Humpty Dance” was an experience I’m not sure I can do justice to with mere words.) My brother’s wife is Italian, and her family is very nice – and very Italian. Her mom reminds me of a petite Mercedes Ruehl. I think they have a greater ability to handle alcohol than my Anglo-Saxon family.

But they like my brother, so that’s all fine. I remarked to the Mercedes Ruehl-ish mother of the bride that my brother was a sweet man. She replied, in a heavy Jersey accent, “A sweeta man nevah lived!” With the accompanying palm-out, wrist-snapping hand gesture. Seems he’s got his mother-in-law firmly in his corner.

The other amusing thing about the weekend: I hadn’t thought about the fact that my brother would naturally invite a bunch of his childhood/teenage pals to the wedding. Since my brother is two years older than me, that means: people I also know from my childhood/teenage years. To include - the first guy I ever dated. More specifically, the first man I ever had sex with.

The night I arrived at the hotel, I walked into the bar where everyone was meeting up, and thought, “That guy looks familiar, who is that?”

And he grinned at me and said “Oh, fine, don’t recognize me.”

I about fell down on the floor. I was not expecting the first person I saw to be my teenage sweetheart. I met him when I was fourteen, we started dating when I was not-quite-sixteen, and I haven’t seen him since I was about twenty-one. We did have an email exchange not too long ago when, through some social channels, he made the connection of “my old girlfriend” to “Mistress Matisse.” I was pleased to hear from him then, and he was highly amused by my career choice. He’s married to a really sweet woman and they have two adorable children. I’m so glad he’s happy.

And you know what? Spending a little time around him reinforced my opinion that he was a good choice for me as a young girl. Looking back now, I can see where he exercised self-discipline and integrity towards my virginal teenage self. He had a reputation for wild behavior among his male peers, and he was by no means a seventeen-year-old saint with me. But he was a gentleman about the things that mattered, and I respect him for that. I’m glad I had him for my first lover.

We had a lot of fun kidding around and catching up. And we agreed that while we’re both different people now, we are also still, in many essential ways, the same people we were then. He was teasing me over something at one point, and when I reacted, he said, “Oh how cute - you still do that thing where you stomp your foot and try to scowl.”

The First Boyfriend was not, by any means, submissive. But I told him, “You know, I can recall telling you about sexual fantasies I had about women, and about kinky stuff. You were extremely cool and supportive about all of that, even stuff that wasn’t about you, or anything you would be personally into. Thank you for that.”

“Of course I was.” He looked genuinely puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Yeah. A very good choice for my first sexual partner.

The Bindings Project - Teaser from Aaron Nanto on Vimeo.

This is a teaser for Monk's show at SEAF. It's going to be great!

What am I doing this weekend? Well, while ya'll are all basking in the glow of great sexy art and going to workshops by Mark Yu, I am going... to Orlando. Yes, it's my brother's wedding. I could kill him for picking this weekend, but - c'est la vie.

So watch for my Twitters about the Shakespeare-on-the-Gulf family-comedy that will no doubt be transpiring in Mousetown. But at least I get to catch the Thursday night show. Yay!

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Can I just say that while I'm a girl who likes almost any movie with hot guys + lots of violence and explosions, I'm really, really extra-looking-forward to seeing Crank 2: High Voltage?

True, I'd buy a ticket to see Jason Statham perform in, say, a community theatre production of Bartleby the Scrivener. But I can't imagine anything better than watching him attach electrodes to his nipples, and taser his own cock.



Well, all right - watching myself attach electrodes to him would actually be better. But this movie seems more readily available.

***

(P.S. Only Jason Statham can attach car batteries to himself and be okay. You are not Jason Statham. So don't do this in real life, okay? Don't taser your own cock, either.)

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I have a new column up, about something I noticed on my visit to a swing club a few weeks ago...

***

A sad emotional event for me: I had to let my kitty go yesterday. She was my much-loved companion for twenty years. I really wanted to keep her with me longer. But I soon saw that no matter what I tried to arrange for her comfort, it would selfish of me to do that. So she had a quick, painless and peaceful passage - in my arms, at home, where she felt safe and loved. I'll miss her terribly.

I'd like to thank all the people who offered me support and suggestions for her health while she was alive, and the many people who have sent me messages of condolence about her passing.

I’ve been thinking, the last few days, about how Twitter and how much I have come to use it.

Twitter seems to be a rather polarizing thing – people either love it or they hate it. (And some people start out saying they hate it, but then wind up getting their own account and happily tweeting away on it. Not that I know anyone like this, of course.)

Twitter-haters say “It’s so mundane, it’s a barrage of banal trivia. I don’t care if someone’s making toast, or is bored at work.” I recall that people said much the same thing about personal web sites, and then about journals and blogs when they became popular. “Why would anyone want to read about some stranger’s private life?”

Well, apparently they do. So I would say that yes, Twitter entries certainly can be banal and devoid of interest. But that’s true of any form of communication. Have these people never had a face to face conversation that was mundane and boring? I envy them.

I feel that as a writer, the challenge is to create 140-character snapshots of one’s world – either the outer world, or one’s inner one - that are interesting to read. It’s a good exercise in learning capture a reader’s attention concisely.

(It’s also a useful tool for quickly mobilizing large groups of people – witness the Amazon episode – but that’s a different conversation.)

Because you can talk to me on Twitter, it also takes the place of the comments feature on my blog. (Which was abolished mainly because it was hijacked by porn spammer and a few vitriol-spouters.) It’s always been possible to email me, but some people like to publish comments to me, too.

And I think the fact that Twitter is often assumed to be dedicated to mundane trivia is useful for me. Mundane trivia adds dimension to who I am. My friends and I joke about how people think, because I’m a dominatrix, I fall out of bed every morning in a corset and thigh-high boots. I think if I had time, it would be terribly amusing to start a Twitter in the voice of that mythical stereotypical Mistress. Like this:

Mistress WhiplashYourAss: Got out of bed and stood on slave while I brushed my teeth. Then administered beating to him for not squeezing toothpaste from bottom.
9:25 AM Apr 12th from web

Mistress WhiplashYourAss: Drinking first cup of coffee at kitchen table while slave licks my six-inch stiletto-heeled pumps. Kick him for whimpering about beating.
9:55 AM Apr 12th from web

Mistress WhiplashYourAss: Going to the post office. One of 4 super-buff slaves who carry me everywhere in a curtained litter has ingrown toenail. Administered beating.
11:07 AM Apr 12th from web

That’s actually not what my life looks like, and I’d rather not have to unravel those assumptions when I meet people.

I’m not sure my Twitter would be interesting or make much sense if you didn’t know who I was, and you didn’t read anything else by me. But I think it works well as an addition to all the other words I publish.

And as a reader, I myself am enjoying following the daily lives of other interesting folks. So Tweet on, people.

I had planned to actually write something for today, but I wound up taking my elderly and irascible cat into the emergency vet last night, and I didn't get home until about 3am. It's my hope she'll be okay soon. Watch the Twitter feed if you want up-to-the-minute updates on that.

And for now, enjoy the newest installment of the web-series about polyamory, Family.



EDIT: Apparently YouTube doesn't like poly, or something. The video got pulled, I have no idea why.

2nd Edit, later: And now it's back up on Youtube. Weird. But, okay, whatever.

Perhaps in revenge for last week's video of him with nipple clamps on his eyebrows, Monk took a video clip of me in the shower. (I wanted to take one of me doing something terrible back to him in retribution, but we agreed that 12seconds people probably wouldn't like any videos that involved his dick.)

I think this video clip thing could become a Thursday night habit.

A few notes about my schedule as I know it today…

Tomorrow: I have nothing at all going on Thursday afternoon, and that just seems like a shame. Someone I like should email me and fix that.

Week of April 20th-24th: I have time available on Tuesday the 21st, and a little on Wednesday the 22nd, in the later part of the day. Otherwise next week is pretty much booked, unless someone has to cancel.

Week of April 27th –May 1st: I’m in town Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of that week and I have some time free. Thursday the 30th I’ll be getting ready to leave town, and I have a very important event to attend that evening, so Thursday is pretty iffy for me.

I’m out of town – at the much-mentioned brother’s wedding – from Friday May 1st until Monday May 4th. I can see people starting Tuesday the 5th.

I’m also going to be out of town from Monday May 25th until Thurs May 28th.

A few thoughts about scheduling... The ways in which I spend time with people is always evolving. Some of my dearest friends are busy people who steal time for short but sweet interludes with me from an already jam-packed life. Other people are asking me to spend entire days with them. I’m also traveling to other cities with a few close friends, which I used to not do so much.

All of that makes scheduling with me sometimes a challenge. I know that. But I do value all my relationships. Each one of you participated in making me who I am today, and that means something to me. You guys who’ve been seeing me ever since I was in my very first dungeon – remember that awful little ramshackle building near REI, with unreliable heat, and no shower, and the homeless people sleeping on the steps? Even if I only see you for an hour every four or five months, the fact that you’ve stayed in touch all these years pleases me. You knew me when, as they say.

So yes, my schedule is a bit more complex now than it was then, but that does not mean I don't want to hear from you. I hate to disappoint people, so I appreciate your patience and polite persistence. But if you're a friend, it’s always all right to ask if I’m free, even on short notice. Because sometimes the stars line up and I say, “Tomorrow? Sure, come on over, let’s play.”

A new podcast! Monk and I answer letters about rope tops getting overwhelmed by girls who want to ride the bondage-go-round, and then talk about a letter from a woman who says she wants to hire a male escort. About fifteen minutes.

Note: We're going to go record some more podcasts tonight. We have some good letters in the chute already - lord, we have some doozies - but if you have a long, complex question and you'd like to hear our take on it (along with a few random dirty jokes), send it along to one of us!

Complete and unedited text of a recent letter….

dear misress

me and my girlfriend are trying to learn about the mistress/master/slave activity but we need some basic tips for me as a slave to become a good slave and tips for her as a mistress so she can become a mistress. please mistress we like to take some of ur time to give us some tips. if you like to help that will be great if not its ok we will respect you no matter what all we need is a few tips thx for ur time mistress.

Good lord, I didn’t think anyone could use the words “tips” this many times in such a short email. Maybe this person is a barista in a low-end coffeehouse. Or a peep-show dancer.

Regular readers will know this hits all of my "intellectual laziness" buttons. (In fact, I'm adding a new tag just for that.) And I could work up to being slightly offended that this writer thinks a few bits of bumper-sticker wisdom will be all he/she and his partner need to have a dominant/submissive relationship. Because, yeah, it’s just that easy, right? Nothing challenging about my sexuality at all, no sirree. A trained monkey could do it.

But let’s look at it positively. Let’s say that this person thinks I am just so incredibly wise that I can, actually, condense all the complexity of BDSM dynamics into a few pithy soundbites. He’d be wrong, of course. If I could do that, why would I continue to blog and write a column and generally talk talk talk about this whole BDSM thing?

So, you want tips? Here’s some tips for you. Buy low, sell high. Don’t take any wooden nickels. Look both ways before you cross the street. Wash your hands after you go to the bathroom. Never play cards with any man named "Doc." Check your flight status before you leave the house. Don’t click on the links in emails from strangers. Don’t stick your dick in crazy.

And last but not least, JFGI.

***

EDIT, next day: All right, I never do this. I never take pity on someone whom I have justifiably spanked here. If you send me badly-spelled, sloppily-written letters, you deserve to get schooled.
However. Just this once, because I am feeling nicer today, here. And read this book by Patrick Califia. And use your damn spellchecker.

So I was lying in bed with Monk last night, with toys and rope and bottles of lube strewn around the whole room, like a kink bomb had gone off. Which indeed, it more or less had....

I said, "Oh God, I can't go to sleep, I have to get up and write a blog post. "

Monk replied, "How about if you just take video of me doing this?" And then he proceeded to do something really silly with nipple clamps. I laughed, grabbed my Blackberry, and took a 12 second video of it. (Worksafe, actually. It has sound - of me, laughing.)

Then I went to sleep.

The new Stranger column is up. Backstory: I saw the witty and irreverent Ms. Mollena Williams at Kinkfest two weeks ago, and recalled that we'd met once before, quite briefly, years earlier. She was such a fun and entertaining presenter that I went up and re-introduced myself to her after her class, and asked her for an interview on a rather edgy topic. Wow, she delivered!

(There's some talk of her coming to Seattle to present some kink workshops, so I'll keep you posted on that, too.)

A new blog link! My rock-star fabulous pal Lamalani is this year's International Ms Leather. I have known Lama ever since she was just a sweet young butch working at Babeland, and look at her now! I'm very pleased that someone from our community here in Seattle won this contest. Lamalani is a great person, and she'll do a fine job acting as a kinky ambassador to BDSM communities in other cities.

***

While I am in this link-y mood... A quick link-back to some of the Greatest Hits, for easier reading.

The More Recent Ones:

Nazi Play
S/he's A Lady
The Bank Job
Bad Approach
The Bra-Fitter
D/s And Relationships
Must One Bottom Before Topping?
My Wedding Photos
Getting Your Partner Into Kink
Getting Started In Life As A Kinkster
And, my favorite: What Not To Say - The "Puffy" Man.


And, from the dusty vaults: Older Greatest Hits (Hint: Lots of Silly Phone Calls in this list.)

A new podcast, in which Monk and I talk about "name-dropping" versus giving references, and then we say things that will make furries everywhere hate us. (Adult babies, too.) It's a testament to power of good marketing. Or not.

About fifteen minutes, not work safe.

So my blogging has been a bit off this week, as you may have noticed. You see, I've been being topped by Mistress Lateral Epicondylitis. It's the first time I've ever bottomed to her, and whoo, she's a bitch!

In less formal terms: I have had a bad case of tennis elbow. Like, ow. Serious ow. It started in December and it's been bugging me ever since. What brought it on? Who knows. I had a massage therapist work on it at Kinkfest some, and he earnestly informed me it was too much flogging and caning. That's a pretty thought, but I'm inclined to think a lot of time on the keyboard could have something to do with it.

So I've done massage/ice/brace/ibuprofen and still: ow, all the time. So yesterday I said, "I have had enough of this. Okay, Doc, shoot me up." And got a cortisone shot.

It's my hope that I'll soon be able to type again without discomfort, but right now, my arm is a little extra-sore from getting it poked with several needles. (Even though he was very gentle and careful. But yes, all the people I have stuck needles into can chuckle.)

If not, I'm going to have to start doing a lot more photos and podcasts to keep ya'll entertained. And learn to use my left hand to flog people. Anyone want to stunt-model for that?

You know how you go out of town and you forget about all the not-fun stuff you left hanging in your absence? Or is it that somehow, in a not-really-rational part of your brain, you think that little kinky elves will come while you're away and do all those tedious chores? And then you come home and there they are? Yeah. I hate that.

Like what? Like Ikea, that's what. I have a list of household stuff I require, and none of it needs to be spendy, so Ikea it is. (I know, Miss K, I know - you're going to be mad that I didn't take you with me. But I have to go today, and it's going to be just as quick-and-dirty as an Ikea run can be. Pray god the rug-rats aren't out in force on a weekday afternoon.)

Also, I have to find a dress. Oh, Matisse, you say, you have dozens upon dozens of dresses. Why would you possibly need another one?

It's true that I have a ridiculous number of dresses. But this is a very particular kind of dress. It's a going-to-my-brother's-wedding dress.

I said that to my partners, and they both replied, "What, you can't wear one of those Herve dresses?" Typical men. No! Of course not! Good lord, my mother would keel over if I wore one of those skin-tight, bodda-boom, bodda-bing numbers to a family wedding. (Not that I am not seriously lusting for some of the Spring 2009 offerings.)

No, I need something a Nice Southern Girl would wear to a summer wedding in Florida, in May. You may well imagine that I actually don't have a closet full of such ensembles.

And I'm mildly annoyed to see that my darling brother and his (very nice) wife-to-be have scheduled the ceremony for 6pm. Any well-brought-up lady knows that there's a big difference between what you wear to a daytime wedding, and what you wear to an evening wedding, and 6pm awkwardly straddles that divide. Sigh.

I'm unclear on whether the ceremony is being held in a church. But the bride is Italian, so I bet it is. So there's that, too.

Thus: something not black or white, and sort of evening-y but still not too sexy. Sleeveless is fine, perhaps even preferable since it's going to be hot. But nothing strappy or way low-cut, and the skirt should be not terribly tight and at least near my knee. And yet, with all that, not impossibly dowdy.

I could really use those elves or magic fairies right about now.

A new podcast, in which Monk and I answer two reader letters. The first one is from a woman asking us about dealing with a disparity in sexual tastes in a marriage. Then we have a letter from an aspiring pro domme who asks about attitudes towards sex workers in the BDSM community.

(We also swear a lot. I think we were tired or something.)

About fifteen minutes.

No, I haven't run away and joined the circus. I've just been in full-on leather conference mode for the last three days. If you have ever been to one, you know just how all-consuming they can be.

I say "leather conference" out of habit. That's the term I was taught as a young kinkster. What I mean is a BDSM convention. It works like this: a group of people get together, organize a hotel and a conference venue, invite people to teach classes on various kinds of BDSM-related topics, and throw play-parties in the evenings. There's also a vendor space where a bunch of BDSM retailers will come set up booths and sell everything from whips and rope to books and kinky art.

There are some events with variations on that theme, but that's usually how it looks. So typically one would arrive Friday afternoon, register and mill around in the vendor/social space, and sometimes attend some type of welcoming ceremonies, where the workshop presenters will be introduced to the crowd and some "we'd like to thank..." speeches are made.

The next two days, you spend the days attending classes in whatever topics interest you, and shopping or socializing. Sometimes there are organized dinners, sometimes not. At night, you go to the play-parties.

I used to go to two or three leather cons a year, but the last few years I'm a bit less motivated to do that. They are fun, but the travel is a hassle and certainly not inexpensive. And the thing about cons that's both good and bad is that they are like an alternate universe, and one tends to get completely immersed in the social system of them while one is there - to the utter neglect of the rest of the world. Which leads to some "oh, shit" moments on Sunday night when you realize you've let a ton of stuff slide and tomorrow is Monday!

Still, for some people, it's the only time they do get to immerse themselves in a kinky environment. I'm fortunate enough to get to live that way most of my life.

Anyway, I'll post some stories about various things I saw and did over the next few days, and yes, I am going to publish your responses to last week's letter, too! Today I'm driving back to Seattle to re-join my normal kinky life, which I'm actually pleased to say is already in progress.

The new Stranger column, in which I discuss mean dirty talk. As opposed to nice dirty talk. Enjoy it while I get ready to zoom off to Portland!

Answer My Mail

Okay, so if you've been reading me a while, you know that on a regular basis, I publish some annoying email I have gotten and make a lot of snarky comments about it.

And you have probably figured out that I'm often quite annoyed by what I call intellectual laziness. It's rather a hot-spot of mine.

But apparently a lot of people don't know this about me. Otherwise, why would they send me such annoying emails? Like this one, which I received from someone whose email address includes the word mistress, from which I infer the writer is female. Here it is, unedited and in its entirety:

Hi there I read your site its great and would like to kno more. i am new to all this

I have no idea which site of mine she has read. Somehow I doubt she's read any site of mine very thoroughly, because otherwise she'd kno that I am unlikely to look favorably upon such an email.

She doesn't say what, exactly, she's new to. Reading? Googling? No, perhaps it's spelling. How about this: know is spelled with a w.

There, now you've learned something.

Although, I suppose... She's not precisely asking a question, is she? She's simply saying she'd like to know - excuse me, kno - more. Hell, I'd like to know more myself, just in a general way. Like, when is the stock market going to recover? How many calories are really in this order of take-out chicken teriyaki? What is my cat thinking when she stares at me like that?

But she didn't exactly ask me to tell her. Perhaps my hasty presumption is unjust. We all have our emotional hair-triggers. Maybe I should check my responses about this.

So you tell me, faithful readers. God knows you've heard me rant about this often enough. How about I give you a chance? Answer this email for me. Write me the reply you think this gal should get, and I'll post it. Be kind, be blisteringly cruel, be anything you want. Send it along to me and I'll post them on Friday. We'll see how you think this email should be handled.

Let's see, I have a bunch of notes about different things.

There's a new episode of Family...

Classical music fans will enjoy it.

***

Also, I know I twittered about it already, but Alien Trespass was great, and you should all go see it when it opens! Yes, I admit, a dear friend of mine is involved with it, so this is naked propaganda. But I'm quite fond of him and pleased for his success with this, and I'm doing what I can about it. Plus it really is just a delightfully fun movie.

Side note: there's an actress in the movie who so reminded me of a pal of mine, local diva Miss Indigo Blue, that when she came on-screen, I had to look sharply for a moment to be certain that it wasn't actually her! It's the character named "Lana", if you see the film - both her look and her manner are very Indigo Blue-ish.

***

In other film-y notes, I'll be attending this event Tuesday night: the Seattle launch of the arts and culture site The Rumpus, with a screening of the horror film Pig Hunt. (At least, I think I am. I like shoot-'em-up movies, but sometimes I am not so fond of gory horror movies. But I'm going to go prefunk at least, and I'm sure it'll be a cool event overall.)

***

Congratulations again to my pal Lamalani, who just won the International Ms Leather Contest!

***

And speaking of leather events, I am going to Portland for Kinkfest this weekend. So I'm out of town Friday March 27th through Monday the 30th. It should be a very kinky good time for all...

A fresh podcast! Monk and I found a new sound guy - our old one left town - which is great, because neither of us want to deal with recording and then cooking these files.

I fear he may be too good at his job, though. I was wearing a crinkly down jacket while we recorded this (those studios are always freezing), and you can clearly hear me rustling as I shift in my chair during this podcast. Whoops.

Or maybe I was simply dressed inappropriately. A fashion faux-pas, how embarrassing!

But anyway: in this one, Monk and I read and answer a letter from a woman dealing with jealousy in a polyamorous relationship. Also, Monk makes reference to "going nuclear." We don't mean actual bombs, he's using an analogy explained in this column.

Bye!

So in the wake of yesterday's post someone - who shall remain nameless - sent me a teasing email about how, oh, did I need a power tool to deliver a serious fucking?

And the answer is no. I don't.



Click me, baby, and I'll get bigger. Much, much bigger. And I'll stay that way as long as I want. Someone is going to get reminded of that really soon.

A number of alert readers sent me links to some version of this story. Yowch!

I posted a little over a year ago about how I do indeed have a reciprocating saw with a dildo on it - a "Fuckzall," as they are called. (I think Monk has it, actually. I loaned it to him to use on some lucky girl, who did not wind up in the hospital.)



That poor woman! I'm glad she's recovering, but sweet Jesus, people: take the blade off! That's a good place to start, right there!

Then there's a special attachment you can buy to put the dildo on. I would not advise trying to DIY on this one, kids. Seriously.

Good lord. Some people should really just stick to deerskin mini-floggers.

Okay, so I have just dropped a ton of money on this remodel - more money than I have ever spent on any one thing in my entire life. More than the down payment on the damn house itself! Noooo, I'm not even mildly flipped out by that, why do you ask? It's not like investing in real estate is ever a bad idea, right? (Don't answer that.)

And even if I hadn't just done that, this simply does not seem like the time to go running up my credit card balance. I'm still as busy as I've ever been, but hey, I read the papers. (Even though today is the last day for my paper of choice, wah!) I have definitely made my contribution towards propping up the economy - some fiscal prudence seems the best idea right now.

But still. I am made of girlish flesh and blood, and this dress might be more than a mortal woman can live without.

Monk and I had a drink Saturday night with a pal of mine, a lovely woman who is a very successful courtesan. With her was a man whom she introduced as “her dearest friend”. (Parse that as you will, I don't assign labels to people that they don't use themselves.)

Regardless of his job title, he was charming, and I was pleased to see her with such an obviously affectionate companion. But her purpose in bringing him to meet us was not purely social. You see, this man wishes to be a male escort for women.

(We may need to coin a new term for this. Mescort? Mantesan? Those don’t please me, but something.)

Now, up until eighteen months ago I would have said that such a wish was futile. Women, I opined, simply did not hire sex workers the way men do. I have stated this view several times, in print.

Turns out I wasn’t entirely correct. You see, Monk has been doing a small but steady sideline business in professional dominance/escorting for female clients for about a year and a half now.

Note the keyword: sideline. TwistedMonk rope is the main event for Monk, professionally. If he relied upon sex work for his entire living, it would be a somewhat slender living. But still, he’s been far busier than I imagined possible. He says it’s due to my mentorship, which I think gives me far too much credit. But I have been pleased to offer him advice, suggestions and support.

Now I see that this friend of mine is doing the same for her constant companion, albeit from a less pro-domme-y, more courtesan-ish point of view. So they asked Monk a few questions, and we had an interesting conversation about it. In sum: in contrast to women, there is no established network for male sex workers for women to plug into. There is no acknowledged central place where potential clients gather, online or in real life, where a male sex worker can just show up and say “Hi, I’m available. Call me.” None that any of us know of, anyway, and between this other girl and I, we know a lot. Monk has had to invest a lot of time and do a lot of footwork to create his relationships with the women who see him professionally, and this man will have to do the same.

But as we drove home afterward, I amused myself speculating about exactly how - just hypothetically - one might create such a network for would-be female clients. The bare-bones arrangements of Craigslist, etc is sufficient for men. But women, I thought, would need something more personal.

“Well, they have escort review boards, don’t they?” said Monk.

“Yes, but still, I don’t think that’s right somehow.” I snapped my fingers. “Got it. You’d have to have a site written by just one woman who reviewed guys. Like a restaurant reviewer. That way, it’s personal. You develop a relationship with the writer, and thus you trust her and her take on the guys.”

“A male escort review blog? That could be cool, but I think you’d need at least two women reviewing. Like Siskel and Ebert. That way you get a more balanced opinion.”

I drummed my fingers on my chin. “Yeah, that’s a good point. Let’s see, who could do it well? They’d have to be a pair of smart, sexy women friends, and they’d have to be good writers, and they’d have to be comfortable thinking about sex and writing about sexual experiences.” We sat in silence for a moment, and then turned our heads towards each other and said simultaneously, “Hannah and Sparkles!”

Now, I don’t think for one instant that Hannah and Sparkles, whose names I am taking in vain so casually, are really going to do this. Not at all. I'm just kidding them by saying so. But Monk and I thought that if they did do it, they’d be great at it. And they know all the reasons why.

However, I think someone should do it. One male sex worker is an exception, but two is a trend. Women are different from men sexually (thank you, Mistress Obvious), and that means that the whole system will look and function differently from how male client/female sex worker systems function. But I am beginning to think that if a system existed, more clients would pop up to participate in it.

It would not take up a great deal of time in a woman’s life right now, because the field of potential male escorts is still rather small. But I have a hunch that’s going to change. And in a female-dominated industry, a guy who wants to be successful will need all the help and advice from women he can get.

Open To Suggestions

I was talking to Monk last night about the whole 12 second video thing. He and I have both been saying for a while that we'd like to incorporate more video clips into our content. But somehow, we're just not feeling clear about what that would look like.

I'm never going to go all-video, all-the-time. I'm a writer. But the 12 second format attracted me because I thought, "Okay, 12 seconds - I could just do that from the phone cam and accept that it would be low-rez and unpolished."

Thus, I walk around in the world thinking "Well, I could video this. But no, this is boring. I have to wait for something interesting to happen." And then something interesting happens, and I'm busy doing it, and I don't video it. Sigh.

And it can't be anything pornographic, anyway. I would definitely not video any of my sessions - even the parts without anyone naked - unless someone begged and pleaded for me to do so, and even then I'd be hesitant. You put something on the internet, and you lose control of it. I'd have to be really sure someone was one-thousand-percent all right with that before I did any such thing.

I thought: Maybe I need a theme, to kinda get me started with this. For example, I could go through my toy cabinet, and show you, one by one, my different toys. It would take a while, believe me.

And then it occurred to me - I could just ask you. Since you're the people who are going to be watching it, after all. So tell me, what would you like to watch 12 seconds of?

Remember, this is via phone cam, so think low resolution and bad light. And since I'll be holding the camera, it's going to hard to get to see me doing much of anything. It's more like: what do I see that you'd like to see?

(Note to the clueless: no, you don't get to watch me do anything sexual. That is so not going to happen.)

I look forward to some inspirational emails.

Here's the new Stranger column.

Now I'm off into a busy day of errands and shopping, and then some spa time at Banya 5. Bye!

The newest installment of the web series about a polyamorous triad, Family.

I was pleased to see that they got some good press in the Seattle Times. Nice when art overlaps with activism. Enjoy...

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Over the years, I’ve gotten used to some wild swings in my activities and surroundings. This weekend was one for the books, though. On Friday night, Armani and I had a very luxurious and decadent day and night at a local resort, with 90-minute massages, Chateaubriand, a hot tub, lots of wine - and lots of other things.

Saturday morning we woke up to snow – quite a lot of that, too. Now, I don’t know what it is, but it seems like whenever Armani and I leave town for a getaway, some dramatic weather-related thing happens. Like the ferry ride that we took in the windstorm of ‘07 – yeah, that ferry! Just our luck, we seem to stir up Mother Nature.

But Armani is a talented man, and he got us down off the mountain and delivered me home at noon. Whereupon I discovered that the cleaning people I had engaged – the highly trained team of professionals who were going to remove the heavy layer of nasty post-construction dust that was coating every single surface and every single object in my whole house – were not coming. At all.

So I was looking at a busy week starting Monday, with lots of people coming to see me, and a very filthy house. So guess what I was doing for nine hours alone on Saturday and for another four, with Monk, Sunday? Yeah. I looked like a chimney sweep on Saturday, only grayish-white instead of black.

People did offer to help me Saturday, but I’m hard to help sometimes. Certain types of things I can easily give clear directions about, but some things – well, I know how I want it done, but the effort of conceptualizing and then clearly communicating exactly what to do and why to do it that way? Oh, I’d honestly just rather do it myself. Unwillingness to delegate - it's a failing of mine. Control issues, me? Why would you ever think such a thing?

If the team had come, I would given them the keys and walked away - and then come back later and re-done whatever they didn’t do right. But directing another person, moment-by-moment for hours, in a huge and vaguely defined task, that’s actually composed of ten thousand tiny little tasks? Oh, no. As exhausting as it was to do alone, I would have been twice as stressed trying to do it and simultaneously manage someone else.

So Monk came on Sunday, when I had a clear and specific list of things I needed him to do, and that’s just exactly perfect. This is why I don’t have “apprentices” - and what a silly term that is - or personal slaves. I do not enjoy labor management - even the labor of people I’m very fond of.

I'm off today on a little overnight retreat with Armani. We're going to a secret location to have some spa time - hot stone massage, mmmm... And then a decadent dinner together. A lovely mini-vacation.

And - I'm not taking the laptop. I know! Shocking! 24 hours without a computer, me? That never happens. I'll have the B'berry, so I won't be totally cold turkey. But still, it's a slightly edgy choice.

I'll be back Saturday afternoon, whereupon I will immediately get started unpacking the dungeon and getting things ready for Monday, when the grand unveiling of the remodeled space will begin.

Not a minute too soon, either. This has been a rather stressful time for me. My space - emphasis on the my - is important to me, and having it all in turmoil and unavailable to me has been... Well, it's worked out okay, but I've had to expend a fair amount of energy to make it work out okay, if you know what I mean. My dear close pals have been extremely helpful and accommodating about this whole process. I get by with a little help from my friends.

So if I owe you emails/phone calls, please bear with me for the next few days, as I get my normal routine and surroundings, that I am so very fond of, back online after a month of construction.

I myself often look at random people and try to imagine what they'd look like naked. Sometimes I do so while waiting in line at the bank or the dry cleaners, just to pass the time. I also do it with people I know are soon going to be naked in front of me, and then when they are, see how accurate my mental image was.

If you'd like to hone your skill at this, I have a website for you: http://www.naked-people.de/ It's all in German, so I have no idea what the text says. But click enter, and then click on the picture of the clothed person, and presto, their clothes melt away.

Maybe someone who speaks both German and English fluently will tell me what the heck this site is saying about itself. (I get a lot of letters from non-English-speaking people who have obviously used online-translators, and it's almost impossible to understand what they are saying, so I'm not even going that route.)

But these are obviously regular people - not professional models or porn performers - all ages, shapes and genders. Perhaps this is some sort of statement about showing us what non-model people look like nude? Or maybe it's just someone saying, "Hey! Check it out, I got all these people to take off all their clothes for me!"

Hat Tip to Gander!

EDIT: I have had a lot of very cool people send me translations of the site text. It says:

"Clothes are your second skin. They cover, they reveal, they are able to express what we feel inside or, on the contrary, hide it. Clothes can enable us to show what we work as, what our social standing/class is or they express our emotional state. A suit may lead us to peg someone as being a banker, an office worker or an insurance salesman, etc. In our society, this is a characteristic of "being serious".
But to what extent is this judgement correct? Can we blindly trust the shell? What is really underneath it? Can the illusion be shattered if a tattoo is revealed underneath the suit or does the person remain inscrutable? Here, you have the possibility of experiencing the different effects a clothed or naked person make on you.
If you are interested in participating in this art project as a model, please write me an email. If you want to sponsor the project by donating, you can do so by pushing the PayPal button."

Thanks to German speakers Anna, Nina, Nils, Lu, MK, Kari, Tom, Art, Lief, Aviva, and two nice people who didn't sign a name, for translating it for me!

Literary Masochism

I recently finished the Dan Simmons novel, Drood. And that is no mean feat, my friends, even for a devoted (and fast) reader like myself. It's 785 pages. I browsed it in a bookshop, weighed it in my hand, and thought, I'm not sure if I should read this or use it as a boat anchor. Thank god for my Kindle, tamer of bursitis-inducing tomes.

Here's how the New Yorker describes Drood.

"In this creepy intertextual tale of professional jealousy and possible madness, Wilkie Collins tells of his friendship and rivalry with Charles Dickens, and of the mysterious phantasm named Edwin Drood, who pursues them both. Drood, cadaverous and pale, first appears at the scene of a railway accident in which Dickens was one of the few survivors; later, Dickens and Collins descend into London's sewer in search of his lair. Meanwhile, a retired police detective warns Collins that Drood is responsible for more than three hundred murders, and that he will destroy Dickens in his quest for immortality. Collins is peevish, vain, and cruel, and the most unreliable of narrators: an opium addict, prone to nightmarish visions. The narrative is overlong, with discarded subplots and red herrings, but Simmons, a master of otherworldly suspense, cleverly explores envy's corrosive effects."

Now, I like history, so Simmons's meanderings into historical trivia about London and Dickens did not bother me overmuch. Simmons clearly indulged himself with the length of this novel, and of course, it suits the period he's writing about.

And I agree, it's a very deftly done portrait of seeming friendship being poisoned by envy. The Wilkie Collins that Simmons portrays is sympathetic - at first. The bombastic Dickens, who was indeed the literary rock star of his time, is pretty condescending to Collins, and you feel both his anger and his impotence over it.

But then, as you get to know him, Simmons shows you that his Collins is actually a nasty piece of work. And then the story shifts from being mostly about the petty slights and insults that two dear friends can inflict upon each other, and takes a turn into a very Collins-esque sort of horror.

So, yes, it could have been cut down quite a bit. But I enjoyed getting to know all the vile twists and turns of this fictional Wilkie Collins. Makes me want to re-read The Woman in White.