I *am* still alive, though my voice is still a bit more like Suzanne Pleshette (from the weekend) than I’d like. Check out my hot new action over at SFist, where I’m now a columnist! (”SFisting”) But now I have to work it for Fleshbot, where I’m taking over as editor for the next two glorious days… Ahhh. After, you’ll get to hear all about how I’m in iTunes: Podcasting (yay!) but not without a caveat (boo!), how I lived through the big one-two dis of both Annie Sprinkle and Mark Morford, and the whole, tawdry, beer-soaked mess.

I did miss Extra Action a lot — here’s a short video of them in action with David Byrne in LA.

So I kind of won the kissing contest at the Pride celebration today…! My friend Miss Jessi worked the Magnet booth while I sucked up the margaritas, and suddenly there was an announcement that they’d be giving away free gay porn at the stage. But since the last thing I need is free porn, I ignored it, until Miss J told me we had to go on a mission for porn for the Magnet boys… She led me through the throng up to the stage, and the next thing I knew, I was up in front of a huge crowd with her and a HOT young latino gayboy! Gay male couple were #1, we were “couple” #2, then two lezzies in rainbow halter tops (!), and another gay male couple… being two girls and one guy, I think we had some people pretty scandalized, but… we won by crowd populairty! Crazy. Take a look at today’s pics (begin here) — hopefully soon I’ll get photos of the kissing. And tomorrow I’ll be posting an illustrated narrative of my experience with Dr. Sprinkle (oh yes, there was much more), a la You Can’t Make it Up.

And a bit of commentary…

Too drunk and late to post, really… Jack’s birthday… more pics.

Even though I called them “potty mouthed boozers,” SFist writes:

“…while you’re still sober enough to read, we’ve been scouring the internets all week for commentary and criticism. First, and most important, is Violet Blue’s “Welcome to San Francisco” guide to Pride. She hits all the right points…”

Different topic, but cool — the LibertyGuys wrote that I am, “Sort of a cross between a brainy dominatrix and Tank Girl.”

Happy!

Oh, and if you’re one of the many readers who follows my Fleshbot expliots, I had no idea we’d have a guest editor today, which is fine, except I want my readers to know that I’m really offended, too. I have nothing to do with it, and it does not represent my point of view in any way.

I’m all extra riled up right now about the whole 2257 debacle. There’s something really, really shady and fishy going on. I read this article and just couldn’t beleive it — it’s like the mafia. Then I cruised over to see what people were having to go through to get a membership to the “safe from the government club” and saw their fee shedule — they’re raking it in right now, giving out those get out of jail free cards. What about all the other people not in porn that this affects? And no, it’s not a law to make sure webmasters aren’t lazy about keeping records, as some people are making it out. It means any site with any picture that could be deemed a sex act (definitions?) must keep records even if it is not their own photo — so you can’t run an ad from a company that has a woman pinching her nipple (or the appearance thereof) unless you have that company’s records on file for that model. I spent wednesday on the phone with my dear friend Thomas, who now edits for Eros Zine (yay!), and he told me he spent the whole fucking day having to go through all of their gallery archives trying to determine if a sex act was being depicted in each photo: “Is she pinching her nipple, or just holding it? Because if she’s pinching it, they’re gonna say it’s a sex act. Is that bottom red from a sunburn or a spanking…? FUCK!”

So thanks for nothing, article in Wired. This issue is much, much bigger than porn, but it’s going unnoticed and getting oversimplified in the media because of their chicken-shit approach to reporting on sex issues — the government will get away with *a lot* this way. This nation’s inherent distaste of, and fear of sex is the ultimate Achilles’ heel. It’s time to be *normal* about sex, people. On the other hand, do check out this great post about the effects of 2257 on local pornographers; nice to finally get a human face on the business side. I like drinking with Jackson, he breaks things.

So I am extremely happy to see things as defiant as this (smooches to Bacchus!).

Meanwhile I’m trying to figure out what to wear tonight — rubber is always a great choice, though the extremes at Studio Gum would just cover a bit too much. Plus, I think some of those items were stolen off SRL machines; I’m sure I left the Inchworm covered with item #BS-FR. Though I’d love to take a bath with one of those kinky little rubber duckies.

Tasty: Sonny Black Dungeon Furniture. Unlike the US, porn censorship is easing up in Japan. If you liked the post I did about the bloggers all having sex with each other (and many of you did), then you’ll love the ultra-nasty roundup over at (hottie) Vivian’s Sex Carnival. Oh, and Waking Vixen sent me a correction, which makes all the sex rather confusing but just gives us another excuse to read about their deliciously filthy exploits over on the East Coast:

> A little clarification on the overlappingness — the One Life, Take Two sex party post you linked to (Gang Green) in your post is not the same rendezvous as the After Party. Jefferson was being a bit slow on updating, so the Gang Green post corresponds to my Introducing.”

Note: I do not have 2257 compliance for any of the rubber ducks in this post.

If you didn’t see the fine, fine specimen of retardation known as Mary Carey tonight on the Daily Show, you really must watch it here (@ crooksandliars.com, a truly awesome site). Plus, it showcases a few more reasons why I love Stephen Colbert… and a few more reasons why porn people really scare me. I mean, I’m a very visible female pro-porn pundit, but this woman is so embarrassing I can’t even defend her in relation to porn on any intellectual level — not that I’d *ever* endorse any of her company’s lame, offensive titles. It’s just too bad that this is the “new” face of porn America/the world sees on TV. There are plenty of other people in and around the porn industry that, if given that type of press, could be articulate and serious, and finally start to change the conversation around porn and sex in this country, move it to the next level. It’s so sad that she’s like a 13-year-old in a porn body, and being so visible. But then again, she’s representing the Republicans, so… that kind of explains it.

Oh, and on the topic of porn and politics, if you’ve been keeping up with the freedom-of-speech infringing 2257 pornography regulations, do pop into Smart Girls’ Porn Club and check out our ongoing discussion about it.

As my dear friend Chriso aptly puts it, “Run for your life — it’s that Cher song again!” That’s right, this weekend is SF Gay Pride, one of the weekends here where (literally) buttloads of tourists visit to celebrate, drink, get laid, feel really good about the world, feel really sad about the world, and throw up in the street by my house. Oh, and they play that fucking Cher song a lot. Read this hilarious and spot-on essay by Heather Gold (via cutie David) to get yourself in the proper, slightly off-kilter Pride mood. I’ve had a lot of people email me with fun recommendations for my upcoming visit to London, so I’d like to return the favor, as it were.

I always cry at least once over Pride weekend because I get so choked up about how good I have it here, and many events and experiences conspire to reflect the beauty and strength of the human spirit. (I like long walks on the beach and holding hands, too, if you must know. I also like industrial accidents.) But then again, I cry when I watch reruns of Buffy, yet I think so do most of the hundreds of thousands of people celebrating gay pride in my city this weekend. I’m so grateful for it; the rest of America scares the shit out of me right now. I just hope we get fewer bomb threats this year.

So, as a native San Franciscan, bi-girl and semi-professional drunk, I’d like to welcome everyone with a little guide to my city, and a pathetic, pointless plea to lay off the Cher and “Hollaback Girl”, whatever the fuck that is.

Find yourself. Get your free wifi here. You can get local news/weather from SFGate, but they are very slow and conservative, so get your local culture/news from the potty-mouthed boozers at SFist. Do visit SF Gate’s Pride Page for events, places to stay, and their own “best” lists. Eros Guide has a wee writeup, too.

You’ll need this: Pride events calendar; Pride celebraiton map; San Francisco by neighborhood; Castro map, downtown map

Make a plan and follow it loosely, like your booty. For events and goings-on, pick up one or more of these free papers: Guardian, SF Weekly (Weakly), Bay Times (Gay Times), or a Pride Guide (the Pride Guide is super-basic). Pick and choose your nighttime activities; my complaint with the nightlife in San Francisco (other than the dearth of clubs) is that it’s very separtist — straight bars, a few lesbian bars, lots of gay bars, but very few mixed clubs. Check out events at the Center for Sex and Culture, Good Vibes, and the LGBT Center.

How to get around like the slut you are. You didn’t rent a car, did you? Oh no, you didn’t. If you’re in a car, you will see SF through a dirty windshield of anger, confusion and frustration, as portions of the city will be blocked off or simply impassable all weekend long. Leave your car on Market @ Castro Saturday after 3pm and it will get towed; don’t even think of parking it around downtown. Just ditch the car and take the MUNI underground, MUNI bus or beautiful vintage MUNI railcar ($1.25) — or hail a cab. SF is only seven miles square, so in many cases you might be able to just walk to your destination if you get frustrated. I always wear stylish walking shoes and carry my sky-high fetish heels; switch when you get to the party or club and check your shoes with your coat. You’ll be glad you did.

If cabbing, expect to pay around $10-$12 to get from one place to another; more if it’s Saturday night, and actually don’t even think you can get a cab (even if you call) Saturday night, unless you’re staying at a hotel with a taxi stand. Either way, get yourself a little map and familiarize yourself with the neighborhoods Castro, Haight, Lower Haight, Hayes Valley, Downtown and SOMA.

Eating is sexy; I’ve got recommendations in the pride-centric neighborhoods:

You’re in the Castro and you’re starving. Asqew is cheap, fast and good and has lots for vegetarians. Pasta Pomodoro is another highly recommended chain with yummy food; whole wheat pasta and lo-carb options as well. Just a Bite (Castro @ Market) has cheap walk-out pies and savory food; Fuzio’s is slightly fancier with excellent Italian/Asian fare and great cocktails. Nirvana is hands-down my haunt, though while not cheap has some really incredible Asian fusion creations, lots of vegan and veggie options and cocktails that will spank you, hard (I really like their Mango Mai Tai). The sushi at Osaka Sushi is some of the best in the city — my nipples are getting hard just thinking about their maguro/mango/shiso leaf roll dotted with kiwi/citrus/white wine sauce. Thailand Restaurant is a few doors down, and upstairs so you get an amazing view of the street, and they have superb Thai food. For fancy food I also like Tangerine and 2223 (which has sublime sunday brunch and kick-ass Bloody Mary’s). Squat and Gobble is a local chain with good prices and good food; rely on them, especially for great breakfast omlettes. Also don’t miss Chow, and World Sausage on Market has a zillion sausages (5-6 veggie options) and over a hundred beers, and low prices. Bombay India has decent Indian food, though not the best. Lime has very stylish mini-food and has been doing a drag party brunch on sundays. Breakfast/brunch in the Castro is going to be hell all weekend long; instead go to the Haight or Mission. My secret on busy weekends like this is to hop on the MUNI underground at Market and Castro and get on any inbound train. Two stops and I’m in West Portal; across the street from the station is a huge Squat and Gobble that is usually empty. The whole trip takes five minutes and costs $1.25.

Here is a general list of Castro restaurants.

You’re in the Haight and your blood sugar is plummeting. Hippies are closing in — noooo! Hurry and get to the best deli/cafe in SF, The Blue Front Cafe, where I’ve been a regular for over 10 years — cheap, with great coffee, salads, dolmas and hummus, out of this world falafels and sandwiches. If they’re too crowded, cross the street and get something from People’s Cafe — a little more hippie but good. El Balazo and Zona Rosa have drop-dead delicious Mexican food (mostly burritos). All You Knead had depressingly bad food; instead go to Squat and Gobble right nearby (there’s one in Lower Haight, too). The best brunch is at The Pork Store, which does have pork but also lots of options for veggies. For a delightful dinner get some African food at Massawa; the cheaper (and just as delicious) version is Axum Cafe, where I’ve gone for a decade for their beautiful smiles, terrific food and strong African beer. The best Thai food in SF is in Lower Haight at Thep Phenom — make a reservation.

Hungry in the Mission? If it’s brunch time, visit the other, bigger location of The Pork Store — it has a larger menu and lots of seating, with all kinds of weird/cool veggie options. I also love brunch at Boogaloos, though the wait can be long and it’s way too loud if you’re hung over. For dinner in the Mish, I like the Chinese food at Yum Yum House (they deliver for free) and the French specialties (savory crepes/seafood) at Ti Couz. I don’t eat in the Mission much in the evenings because I hate trendy eateries and it’s full of them (they never stay around long, either). The Mission is a mixed bag; some parts are totally str8 trendy-unfriendly, there are lots of dykes and artists and also plenty of trust-fund babies slumming it. All in the middle of a mostly poor-working class Latino neighborhood actively struggling with poverty and crime. On one street is velevt ropes and valet parking; two blocks over gangs and really sad young crack whores and junkies, all of which will break your jaw if they’re in the mood (this happened to a friend of mine). It’s not very safe for women at night, and I get hassled by guys on the street during the day. But there is some really awesone street art; also I’ve never been to Foreign Cinema but I hear the food is really good, and the snacks at the Oxygen Bar are good but what you really want to go there for is to try the oxygen and to see the weird people getting drunk while hooked up to oxygen tanks.

Hungry downtown? Expect to pay; don’t eat the overpriced Pride food unless you’re really desperate. My secret spots are Boudin Bakery (mediocre sandwiches, soup), Tony Baloney’s (1098 Howard st.; cheap and good falafel and sandwiches), the Sony Metreon has a remarkably great food court tucked in the back with all kinds of good food. Also there’s a huge Whole Foods with salad bar and fresh food; a Harvest Market with the same (191 8th @ Howard).

My favorite restaurants roundup:

Best coffee: Castro Cheesery (Castro)
Thai: Thep Phenom (Lower Haight)
Sushi: Tsunami — ginger sake and yummy ultra-hip artsy sushi (Western Addition)
Deli/Cafe: The Blue Front Cafe (Upper Haight)
Outdoor cafe: Cafe Flore (Castro)
Brunch: Savor (in yuppie hell, Noe Vally district; so worth it)
Chinese: Yum Yum House (Mission)
Pizza: Goat Hill Pizza (Potrero/SOMA)
French: Ti Couz (Mission)
Seafood: Catch (Castro)
Fancy, sexy and delicious: Millennium (Downtown)
Money is no object: The Slanted Door; Zuni Cafe (Waterfront; Middle Market)
Money is a big deal: Zona Rosa’s and Asqew (Upper Haight; Castro)
Super-fun tranny performances and great Asian food/cocktails: Asia SF (SOMA)

Classic HTML page of San Francisco vegetarian restaurants here.

Let’s talk about sex and shopping, baby. First, shoes. San Francisco is a shoe mecca. The Haight is a shoe sophisticate’s wet dream, from cheap fetish shoes to bizarre Japanese creations and beyond to drag queen shoetopia. I like Fluevog’s, Luichiny (1529 Haight), Shoe Biz, Daljeets (fetish), and Piedmont (your absolute one-stop drag queen stripper shop). Men looking for great men’s shoes should shop in the Castro, especially at De La Sole.

You dress like a ho if you’re doing it right. Piedmont is a nice place for slutty stripperwear and they have every kind of pastie you can imagine, but I find them overpriced for clothing I hope gets ripped off me later, so I go down the street to Goth/fetish New York Apparel (lots of the same stuff, cheaper, plus Lip Service clothes), who also has a huge selection of inexpensive tights and legwear.

Fetish, rubber, corset, leather and S/M pervs need to pay a requisite visit to Dark Garden, Stormy Leather and Mr. S Leathers (awesome leatherfag shop); across the street is Madame S (women’s boutique).

Be prepared for sex at all times. You must pay a visit to one Good Vibrations store; they have the best selection of harnesses and dildos and dirty/erotic books in town. For cheap lube (and more kinds than you’d ever imagine), visit any of the porn stores in the Castro — there’s a lube price war going on, people, and many of these stores are taking a loss with their low prices just to get people in the door. Take advantage. To get cheap vibrators, you’ll find some in the boy-centric Castro shops, but the real bargains and selection are in North Beach at “adult bookstores” sugh as Big Al’s (556 Broadway) and Adult Media (Kearney & Clay). Also visit famed local LGBT bookstore A Different Light for books and magazines both naughty and cool.

Get a lap dance for your strap-on. You’ll want to visit North Beach anyway, because it’s cool and beautiful, has the awesome Cafe Prague, and my favorite strip club is there, the Hungry I. The Hungry I is a fairly typical strip joint but is couples’ and women-friendly and no silicone in sight. The women tend to be friendly and not-skinny, sometimes Goth and tattooed. The Lusty Lady is a peep show with hot, smart women, but if you want cheap and fun lapdances where you can get drunk (on overpriced swill), get your dyke ass over to the Hungry I (and bring me!). We have a couple all-male strip clubs of note which are primarily for a gay male clientele, but are generally friendly toward women, bois and mixed-gender couples — they endure bachelorette parties, so they’re seasoned enough to appreciate any clientele that is polite, isn’t screaming in their faces, and tips well. I’ve waited on performers from Nob Hill Adult Theatre, and I grilled them on these topics… again, if you go, take me with you!

Visit a sex club, or three. But what you want is a sex club? Look at this list on Eros Guide for an assortment of local sex clubs and bars; here is Eros Guide’s complete San Francisco listings of everything from massage to shopping. The Power Exchange is a giant three-floor sex club (top floor men only; bottom floor dungeon spaces and theme rooms for all genders/orientations but primarily str8 and MTF trans); no alcohol is served and I don’t recommend that women wind up around outside the club alone after dark. For dungeon play, visit The Citadel (women’s night friday); also check out this (sadly poorly written) guide to local lesbian and dyke bars and don’t forget Wild Side West in your travels. If you’re a gay man looking to have sex in SF, well, you’re *so* going to get laid. I’m not a gay man (outside the bedroom) so I’m not hip on all the gay sex clubs, but I have heard fun stories about Eros and Blow Buddies. Check this list for gay leather bars. There are dozens of gay bars, especially in the Castro and in SOMA, so you’ll have your pick by flavor and mood — and contoversy. Here’s a nice guide to gay male SF, especially bars; here’s one for LGT.

If you’re looking for fun MTF tranny bars, you’ll want to hit Polk street for Diva’s (Motherlode is downstairs), Esta Noche, the End Up, and The Stud is home to tuesday night’s Trannyshack so you’ll be treated warmly there as well — for some serious girl trouble, check out Hecklina’s site.

Do something during the day. Lastly, if you find yourself on saturday wanting to have a truly lovely San Francisco experience, I highly recommend that you visit the Farmers’ market at the gorgeous Ferry Building Marketplace downtown on the water. Incredible views will make the coffee and pastry you just bought taste that much yummier, and it’s just amazing to wander around all the shops and ogle all the sexy fresh produce. If it’s art you’re looking for, do not miss the Shooting Gallery’s 3rd Annual Erotic Art Show (huge potfolio online) — it’s incredible. For the *hardcore* fetishists, the SF Apple store downtown is kinda like that, too.

My big plan so far:
Trans march, Sisters of Perpertual Indulgence stalking, Ex-Boyfriends at Cafe DuNord friday night; saturday going to a house party, maybe seeing Pepperspray at Cafe DuNord, possibly going dancing at The Cafe if I can get in, getting drunk, having some kind of sexual adventure. Sunday, taking my hangover to the Civic Center after parade time, meeting up with friends, mooching maragritas.

Of course, I’m thinking of this.

But only because of this. Soon, for a mere $27.95 you’ll be able to wipe your ass with the mental product of two totally batshit women, and one (or two) ghostwriters whose resultant ethical corprophilia surely will make a few New York dominatrixes wealthy. That’s it, Judith, bring everyone down to your level. Good job making your questionable line of sex advice books look even more questionable with this stunning addition to your team of “authors”. And people ask me why I haven’t published with a major… Hey, I’ll always have socks with holes in them with my indy publishers and my outsider bestsellers, but I at least have my chihuahua-free dignity. You know Ms. Regan is Rupert Murdoch’s bitch, right?

*Update* The geeks with the *big* *sexy* *brains* over at LibertyGuys.org wrote me, “Actually I didn’t know - I thought Ms. Regan was THIS GUY’s bitch;

http://www.libertyguys.org/articles/detail.asp?ArtID=438” Eeeew!

Check it out, along with a bunch of other exciting supplementary links, on my audio page. And if you like my podcast, please vote for me! Extra-special thanks and hot wet kisses to Frank at Rantoblogcious (cool blog) for sending me a screencap of the correct Garageband settings to fix my audio issues. Yay!

Love Craigslist. Oh, yes.

Check out this Sexy Podcast roundup I did this week on Fleshbot — there are some really cool shows out there.

Lately I’ve been sitting on the computer for hours and hours and feeling totally stir crazy. I’ve been going out every night as a result, whereas usually I spend my evenings… on the computer working. Last Tuesday night I bailed and surpised Carol and Robert (and a whole naked gay male erotic massage class) at the Center for Sex and Culture, and drank their beer while catching up on gossip and doing a phone interview for Wired.com news — if the article goes up with my comments, it’ll be the seventh time I’ve been in Wired, which I think means they give me a 401K or something. Or at least a subscription that arrives on time would be nice — I got so tired of getting three at a time I decided to never ever subscribe to Wired print again, those jerks. On Wednesday night I got all dressed up like a tarty Laura Croft and danced on a stage with some of the nearly-naked boys in the horn section of the Marching Band until my muscles were sore and I was literally drenched in sweat and beer. After the show I got a tidy spanking from Mark Growden (for being lippy and calling him “Chester the Molester”) and that was very nice, too.

Next weekend is Pride in SF — there should be plenty of things going on to keep me from being too crazy. While I’m so tempted to go to LA (especially since I was informed that if I showed up at COOP’s house in one of my skimpy Marching Band outfits, I’d get locked inside), I’ve agreed to be one of Annie Sprinkle’s sex educators for her Sidewalk Sex Clinic and be interviewed on QTV and stuff to help promote her new book. I’m super flattered (*update*)to be hawkin’ my brainy wares on the street for Ms. Sprinkle. I just think it’s so interesting that Good Vibes picked this SRL photo (greasy, no makeup) for their ad. Everyone really seems to like that photo, which is why I haven’t put something more glam on my blog…

Okay, this post isn’t going anywhere, which kind of reflects my state of mind. Something in my life needs to change, but I don’t know what. About a year or so ago I made a friend in London through my blog, and we’ve been emailing each other infrequently about life and stuff. London Boy told me at one point that if Hornboy and I ever wanted to vist and stay with him we were welcome to — so I decided to take him up on it. Just me. So on total impulse, I just (one hour ago) purchased a ticket to London to visit and stay with someone I met through my blog. Am I crazy? I feel like it. Maybe it’s my new Green Wing addiction (one of the best shows on TV, *ever*). So I’ll be in London with my laptop and fetish heels looking for trouble from July 7-14; if anyone has any recommendations on stuff to do and see, I’d love to hear from you. I picked those dates because (hooray!) I’ve been invited to participate in a roundtable discussion for the EFF on July 19 for their local monthly public event called BayFF; in July the theme is legal issues and blogging (in connection with their new Legal Guide for Bloggers).

Oh — I just got an email from the people in Argentina doing Lengua Latina! Thier videos are a *great* idea (cool music, too)!

*Update* I’m no longer so super-flattered. I just returned from a trip to the bookstore and took a look at Annie’s book. Her book is perfectly fine; I’m just totally insulted that I’m not in her huge list of (two dozen) “Fabulous Sex Educators.” You know that big vulva painting that Annie sticks her head and boobs through for pictures and performances? I painted that. Not the original — that one burned up when her houseboat burned down and she lost everything, including her cats. I took the charred (smelly) remains of the vulva painting and lovingly made her a new one just like the old one — I was asked to. So now when you see this vulva at her events and shows, it’s the one I painted. What hurts more is that while she was writing her new book we traded emails back and forth a few times. I know that doing a favor and having contact about writing and books doesn’t qualify me to be in a list of educators but she lists two of my books in her bilbliography. So I didn’t make the cut, but I’m to be featured at her event, for a company whose marketing manager can’t even say my name out loud without turning green and inflating 100 times her size (I heard that the lady I confronted when I quit flipped her lid when she found out I was invited to be in this event)? Huh. I don’t understand anyone in this scene; maybe it’s the signifigant generation gap. Someone asked me if maybe there was a ghostwriter that didn’t like me? I don’t know, but I know almost everyone’s ghostwriters in the sex writing biz and they all like me — they consult me for their client’s books (and almost always give me a credit or throw me some kind of bone for my info and time).

Maybe I’m overreacting, but I’m pretty confused. Is it any wonder I prefer the comapny of lethal machines?

I wake up, I read sex blogs. When I do the Sex Blog Roundup I read everyone’s personal sex blogs, and I often find that several sex bloggers’ sex lives overlap. Little pockets of sex bloggers that know each other meet and have sex with each other in pairs, trios, and fuck parties — or they don’t know one another at all but cross paths and possibly don’t even know it. All over the US and the UK. For instance, a couple weeks ago The Educated Slut was going to have a party, so she got together with Waking Vixen and they advertised on Craigslist for a nasty houseboy to clean her house before the party. Then the party had an after-party orgy, readily enjoyed and blogged by One Life, Take Two and also blogged by Audacia.

It’s all totally fascinating (in addition to being totally arousing). I often think about all the bloggers that are having sex with each other and blogging it, young and old; especially the friend-fuckbuddy kinds, of which there seem to be a lot of among bloggers in my age demographic. Oh, and there is a surprisingly large amount of christian sex blogs too — into S/M, anal, kink… very curious. But at least they get the whole christianity-punishment thing, because I think that if you’re not getting off on feeling dirty, living in fear and getting punished, you’re probably missing the whole point of the religion. Then you’d have to like, hate fags and stuff.

I’m just sitting here looking through my other collection of sex blogs — sex news, celebrity gossip, erotic art, sex and tech, tech and design, online sex magazines, general sex and culture blogs, and all the Japanese, French, Italian, Spanish, Brazilian, Czech and German sex/culture blogs I’ve collected for my “Fleshbot: daily” bookmarks. No, I don’t have them in my Del.icio.us; right now I feel like they’re almost proprietary work tools (especially the foreign ones). As regular readers know, I find a lot of interesting stuff in my travels (like this yummy filth), but since I look at so many blogs in languages I don’t understand, posts that look compelling sometimes take detective work for me to comprehend.

For instance, I regularly visit Shrimp Head, which I can’t read at all, but still find her posts interesting and enjoy following link tangents off her site. Today, she posted about these dolls — neat and cool, but I don’t know what’s so cool about it, other than they are stewardess action figures. Then I click over to MDN: Wai Wai and read about the ANA stewardess uniform change (lame article headline — call us all freaks, whydoncha). Kinky breadcrumbs? Is Shrip Head into cosplay? Highly likely. Either way, those are some damn sexy dolls.

It’s getting ready to hit the stores — the French translation of my Ultimate Guide to Cunnilingus, Le Cunnilingus! I have one of the first copies in hand and it’s so exciting; the first of six translations I’m under contract for. The book is beautiful and I’m super-happy to be spreadin’ the love around the world (and it’s all-orientations love — take that, homophobic sex guide writers and Focus on the Family). The illustrations by Kevin Herault are gorgeous, and I want to see about engaging Herault for upcoming books. (Adult comic fans will remember him from a hot and dirty graphic novel called Agape.) I think it’s cute that they snagged a photo from my website for the back cover — I had no idea — though proper credit should go to Thomas Roche for the shot. Here are a few scans:

Other clickies: Great mashups at Party Ben, the American Taliban (thanks Adam!), Mayumi Lake’s Poo-Chi, Pervert!, Lego Schoolgirl, Lego Femme Mecha, Lego Nude with Assault Rifle

Oh, and I had dinner with COOP and his hot wife last night, and COOP actually said that his dessert made him happier than if he’d had a lubricated finger inserted into his anus by a big-assed Vietnamese sex worker, though my translation is nicer. Um, that means he really liked it, I think.

Is this week over yet? Because I really need it to be the weekend, now. Well, technically the weekend starts tonight, that is if you live on Marching Band time — I’m going to go see them at the SF Eagle tonight because it might be the last time I get a chance before they all go to LA and play with David Byrne again at the Hollywood Bowl. And I know I have a lot of friends hoping I’ll come down there with them and like totally pretend I’m with the band and stuff and sneak into clubs with them dressed like a fetish slut and carrying someone’s horn (because I NEVER do that, ever), but I’m not going. Anguish! Why? Because it sounds like the Hollywood Bowl is a corporate nightmare of Hollywood proportions, and the least funnest thing to me sounds like going all the way to LA and getting tossed out and sitting in the Bowl parking lot trying to score drugs/alcohol/wifi hand out Scientology pamphlets to pass the time in a rubber Sailor Moon outfit. Plus, that weekend is SF Pride, and the parties are already lining up…

Speaking of Scientology, I finally found the most perfect blog post about this whole horrible Cruise/Holmes/Cthulu nightmare here. Required reading.

When we did the SRL show in LA, we were at this gallery that sat right across an alley from a huge Scientology warehouse. It had no signs on it or anything but everyone who lived across the street in the art live/work spaces knew (and everyone else in the neighborhood, even the crackheads). It was at least five (maybe six) floors of files, some sort of storage facility; you could see a little bit through the windows (no windows at street level) and naturally we were all dying to get a tour just like the ones Tom Cuise gives. For the show, we considered the possibility of hanging “Scientology warehouse” signs on the outside, just for fun. (Photo on right of me (my machine) picking up a flaming prop during the show)

Part of the reason we got to do the show there is that everyone in all the buildings had been evicted to make way for some condo developments that would (will) raze a several block area, so there was supposed to be no one around to disturb. Sadly, when we arrived late at night with truckloads of machines, we realized that the Scientologists had already moved out because there wasn’t anything up against the windows anymore. The next day we unloaded the machines at sunrise, but we didn’t have a permit to block the street on a weekday so we had to move the machines to the sides, which meant putting things in front of the Scientologists’ roll-up door. As things happen, at the exact moment the Shockwave Cannon rolled a bit too far back and dented the holy roll-up door, some of the residents arrived. Dressed impeccably in black and grey suits, three men and one woman angrily walked through to their door and started demanding to see who was in charge, telling us to move our stuff right away as they needed access immediately and that we were on their private property, etc. I hustled to move equipment out of the area as our fearless leader calmly spoke with the lady. They rolled up Hubbard’s roll-up door as she *told* him to keep everything clear of their property and alluded to property damage claims (of course). I peered inside the warehouse as I carried off a heavy load of pule jet stand braces; the warehouse was spotless and completely empty save for an immaculate forklift. (The Immaculate Forklift!)

Our leader listened to the woman until she stopped, and said “Well, we were told that everyone in this neighborhood had been evicted and cleared out, and that you guys in the Scientology warehouse were completely out of here so we thought it would be fine.” I saw the woman’s face change in a way difficult to describe, and she furiously demanded, “Who told you we were Scientologists!?” He replied, “Oh, everyone around here knows that.” Conversation over. She rounded up her well-presssed posse, they closed the door, and they left. Just like that. I was glad she didn’t rip off her human suit and eat his face.

Why is the week so horrid? I don’t know — last night Hornboy bought us tickets to go see Evil Dead Live (a live performance of the best movie in the world), and when we got there in the pouring rain, the online ticket service had charged him for two ticktes but only showed up as one in the dadabase and they would only give us one… so one of us could wait in the rush line, or… we scalped the ticket and went to a nearby bar, very disappointed. After a few beers we caught Satan’s Playground, which was quite excellent and almost gory enough to cheer me up. But I did get a happy ending of sorts (not *that* kind) from the whole bitter AVNOnline bullshit. After the fact, I found out that a Tiny Nibbles fan and friend (who now gets a lifetime of wet Violet kisses and boob-squishing hugs) wrote them a letter, stating:

“To: tony@avnonline.com; kathee@avnonline.com; jk@avnonline.com
Subject: Violet Blue is not a Porn Actress!

Are you guys crazy?
The actress in the photo here: (url to article)
Is NOT the Violet Blue of the Thrillhammer demonstration. The hot
Violet Blue of Tiny Nibbles and the Ultimate Guides looks like this:
http://www.tinynibbles.com/blogarchives/010.html
Hot hot hot, real, and cracking smart. And she’s NOT a blonde porn
actress! Can you please correct the photo?”

Here was the response from the senior editor:

“Thanks for writing! You’re right: Someone around here is crazy, and I suspect it’s a member of our website team who doesn’t realize there are TWO Violet Blues (the original and the porn star). The original Violet Blue, the one to whom you refer, actually has written for us and is quite a wit — so I hope she sees the humor in this embarrassing mistake. Thanks for pointing it out, and we’ll get it taken care of right away.”

Interesting, after the article was up for over a week with the incorrect photo, to be referred to as the original… But mind you, this email wasn’t addressed to me so they’ll just have to keep on hopin’ I see the humor in the whole thing. I think an apology would be REALLY funny, but that’s just *my* twisted sense of humor for ya. At least they finally changed it.

Neat things I found: Fafinette, Japanese Ultra Hero Blog, Like, Totally Jihad, Luxuria Music, Rubberfish

Every once in a while I have some memories I want to write about here, but they’re not very sexy. I need to breathe them out, so skip these posts if you like.

Last night Hornboy ran to the store to get me some wine to ease my cramps, and some Drano for the tub choking up with my lovely black hair. When he came back he made a physical joke about dripping Drano into his glass — it upset me a little, I said don’t even joke like that. He told me that when he bought it the Salvadoran man who runs the corner store by my house explained throughout the purchase that his first wife’s dad tried to commit suicide with Drano. He drank it with a bottle of wine but lived. Then he tried it with Drano crystals and whiskey, but lived. Then he hung himself. That one worked.

I told Hornboy that I knew a girl once who drank a bottle of rubbing alcohol to try and kill herself, but she lived. He said, “That’s a weird choice.” I said, “She didn’t have a choice.”

I guess I should’ve added, “at the time.” I thought about Christy. In junior high, her and her brother were these sexy blonde surfer/skater kids. I’d steal pot from my drug dealing mom and we’d get baked before our first class every day with our third pal Katie (who was totally into Van Halen); I always had a crush on Christy’s brother and thought Christy was a physical ideal — long kinky blonde/brown hair, blue eyes, dark lashes, gorgeous.

I left home right before I turned fourteen. After a year or so on the streets, I ran into Christy at the bench I panhandled and hustled food from, and told her I was homeless — I had become the master of staying at people’s houses for a weekend to regroup and shower, and get some warm food. Christy had me come stay with her right away; but it was at her grandmother’s house, where she told me her and her brother lived now, away from her parents.

My first night there, we snuck through the house and stole a bottle of really bad wine from her grandmother’s garage. We sat in the dark and quiet of her bedroom, trying not to wake anyone up, yet trying to open the wine bottle. We accidentally broke it at the neck. For some reason we decided that if we put a paper towel over the broken opening it would be safe to drink. While we sipped from the jagged bottle, Christy told me that her grandmother had custody of them now. We sat on her mattress on the floor, looking out her window at the streetlights, and she told me that the whole time we were in 7th grade getting ripped on my mom’s drugs and reeking of reefer in homeroom, her dad was fucking her. And her brother. And beating the shit out of both of them. It made sense; I remembered the bruises and marks on her arms, thighs, legs and hips when we’d put on our bikinis and slather ourselves with oil trying to get tan at Katie’s house after school, in between tokes.

One day her dad beat her so bad she couldn’t get up off the floor, and her brother snapped. He jumped their dad, but the father started hitting him back, and beat him down. Christy made it to the bathroom and locked the door. She ate and drank everything she could find, including an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol. The last thing she remembered was vomiting blood. She floated away.

Anyway, sometimes I remember these things but don’t talk about them. I’m going to go have some wine now. I just talked on the phone with a friend who told me he knew about the AVNOnline article, where they ran the picture of the woman who uses my name to make porn instead of mine in an article about my presentation. My friend knew about the impostor’s picture when the article went up on the 31st, but he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to upset me. Instead, he immediately sent emails to the editorial staff asking them to make a correction. But they didn’t. So basically, they did it on purpose. Porn people make me so sad sometimes.

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And of course, it’s foreign: Veet Hair Remover

I just got a very gentle phone call from my pal Allen (The Thrillhammer) to let me know that AVNOnline ran an article about my teledildonics demonstration last week. It’s an ambrosia of information and possibility so cleverly combined that I’m really really happy that AVNOnline has finally decided to become a version of The Onion, but porn-style. Smart reinvention of a flagging genre. And guess whose picture they ran with the piece? Even despite the fact that I’ve written articles for them in the past *and* the author (Associate Editor) contacted me through my website before going to press?

The question is, what prevented AVNOnline from running the correct picture of me?

a) a painful childhood
b) enormous, bony neanderthal forehead makes picture comprehension difficult
c) dog ate it
d) “porn chicks only” rule in AVNOnline photo department; you should see what we did with the Ann Coulter interview
e) Satan Tom Cruise the scary clown God told me to
f) electronic ankle bracelet limits trips to Starbucks to use computers
g) can’t talk, we have to drink the Kool-Aid now
h) constant erections dreaming of winning Pulitzer writing for AVNOnline simulates persistent vegetative state
i) this is what happens when you make us mad
j) crack

Why oh why oh why didn’t I do *this* when I worked at Good Vibes?

I’m now officially a “sex-obsessed geek.”

Whoah, nobody digs a square label, man. Those pointdexters at Liberty Guys can’t keep *me* down. (What?) Well, anyway, at the moment I must return to the ice pack for my head and large glasses of water that I’m using to ease the pain of the worst hangover, ever. You know that local dominatrix whose parties always trash my liver for a few days? She struck again, this time with a 1940s-style birthday bash, comeplete with cool replica guns and lots of scotch. Well, she didn’t literally strike anyone, though a dame with legs like that can smack me around anytime. Naughty Minx was there, sexier than ever and fondling that heart-shaped place where my bottom meets my tailbone, which is apparently becoming a tasty destination with all the yoga I’ve been doing lately. It was also given a few nice squeezes from Michael Soldier, who decided to crash the party as a “crime scene” wearing a shredded sailor’s uniform smeared with white frosing and fake blood — and yes, his entire (beautiful) ass was totally exposed, with frosting smeared between the cheeks.

At any rate, Hornboy saved my muffins this morning when he delivered coffee, a chocolate croissant and an ice pack for my head. While I recover, check out ShuHaRi (picture from ShuHaRi; model Mai Sakashita).

The amazing Miss Satanica writes me, “I feel like you are one of the only girls around that could possibly understand anything. You are so fucking punk rock - that whole spiritual kind of shit that moves mountains…”

To which I say, WOW. She also tells me that there’s talk about the Teledildonics demo here on Suicide Girls.

I’m really excited now about something totally different, however. It’s been a good couple of years for me in terms of my favorite comic books being made into movies. Being an OG Mike Mignola and Frank Miller fan, I was highly stoked by Hellboy (Selma Blair, Ron Perlman, drool) and practically orgasmed over the true-to-form wanton bloodshed and black humor in Sin City. (Which, poetically, I saw with Mark Pauline.)

I like it when they do it *right* like the comics were meant to be. Not like Batman, which sucked dingleberries but which I’ll happily admit gave us a wider cultural dialogue for PVC catsuits and homoerotic Robins. Batman should have been more like Arkham Asylum’s Batman — not a hero, but a dangerous criminal in a hero suit. Oh, and how they royally fucked up Elektra. If they had done Miller’s Elektra just like the comic (illustrated by my hero, Bill Sienkiewicz), we would have had an insane Sin City version of the animalistic female killer, plus a nice analogy of corrupt politics that befits our times (as it did when it came out in 1986).

At the same time I started collecting all this stuff, right after I got off the streets at the ripe old age of 17, I got into a French comic artist named Enki Bilal. I fell deeply in love with his art and the mythologies he weaved into outer space and future tech (and political corruption and sex) in his series, Gods in Chaos.

Imagine my glee last night when I was trolling the horror movie fest calendar and discovered that Bilal made a movie out of Gods in Chaos called Immortel: Ad Vitam — watch the trailers, beware screen resize (what *is* it with the French and all the Flash and screen resizing?) To my delight, the film was handled completely by Bilal, the artist I’ve worshipped for years. (Photo of main character Jill from Immortel; all her bodily fluids are blue.)

Incidentally, at last year’s horrorfest (Yet) Another Hole in the Head I saw one of the best indy horror films I’ve ever seen — Dead and Breakfast now occupies a spot of honor in my “best splatstick” list, right after Evil Dead 2. Yes, it’s that funny, well-done, and just plain wrong.

I only hope that someday they make a true-to-form movie based on Stray Toasters. Eh, Hollywood’s too chicken for that.

I knew I was a bona-fide troublemaker when afterward, someone asked me what her name was, and I was like, “Um… it’s on my website…”

Actually, I was just flummoxed by having finished my Dorkbot presentation on teledildonics, wading through technical difficulties, then actually having remote sex with a (really hot) girl in New York while I was in SF. We were both being watched by crowds on our respective ends of the remote stimulation, and well, you’ve probably never stood in front of a raucous crowd while piloting a sex machine hoping that you’re giving a woman the right amount of stimulaiton, timing and warm-up… it’s a little hard to explain the feeling. But she did say she had two orgasms, and was “sad” that we signed off because she could’ve “kept going, no problem” (and let me tell you how tempting *that* was).

The presentation went very well, even if we had technical difficulties with the machine at first. There are pictures and video from the event here, it’s been Boing Boinged here (thanks sexy vixen), and there’s a sweeeet report on it here.

I was happy to see so many people — the crowd was sizable and standing-room only, and there were many people from SRL, Webzine 2005, Fucking Machines and other assorted friendly dorks in attendance. I wrote an eight-page (and highly caustic) overview of teledildonics and created a Power Point presentation to go along with it, which was projected onto a big screen. Why so caustic? I’ve grown very tired of people trying to be proprietary about sex and technology; it’s that simple. I’m also sick of sleazebags in the adult industry getting attention for making useless crap and not caring about the end user; *and* having retarded ideas about gender stereotypes shoved down our throats by the people with enough money and access to sexual expression to be able to fucking grow up about it. It’s like everything most of these sex toy/teledildonics/virtual sex entrepreneurs learned about sex and gender comes from TV commercials and their websites are horrid little time capsules of 1998. Grrr!

At first I was bummed I couldn’t present from the audience (my preference), but I hid behind a podium and my iBook, where I spoke into a microphone, had Allen on my cell phone the entire presentaiton (so he could listen in), and had my iSight mounted on my iBook so Allen could watch me while I spoke. The audience laughed at my jokes, but really got their kicks moaning and groaning at all the caveman tech I showed them (the Sinulator interface slide — huge hoots and groans “Arrgh, VRML!”). I was wireless on the web, so when my Power Point presentation was over I just opened the window to the Thrillhammer camera in MoSex New York, and — surprise! There was a close-up shot of Net Michelle’s pretty pussy poised over the dildo, ready to go. Whoa — pressure, on.

She played with her clit and pussy lips as I explained the controls on the Flash interface to the audience. Then I began — and nothing. It wasn’t working. Of course, as with all things like this, it worked perfectly when we’d tested it two hours earlier. I could work the camera, but not the dildo/vibrator. They began troubleshooting in New York and Iowa (where Allen, the inventor was after Shibaricon). I tried to keep the audience’s attention, and tried to speakerphone him to the audience for questions, but the speakerphones didn’t work either. The audience was getting rambunctious, but they were still listening to me on the phone. I stayed near the mic, because I figured the problems were really part of the presentation — this is the stuff that happens with teledildonics in its current state. Also, being dorks, I figured that if they didn’t fetishize technical difficulties, they had no business being at a Dorkbot.

I asked the SRL question: “Is it plugged in?” The audience roared. Then the response — the model had unwittingly stepped on a plug, and yes, it had lost power. Then, we were back on.

The audience was buisily and noisily drinking, chatting, laughing. But I was actually fucking her — having sex with her, and I was focusing on what I should be doing to get her off. After all, Allen had charged me with giving her at least an orgasm for her trouble. Pressure to perform, with a million twists. I spoke into the microphone, over the din — “Hey, if you want to watch, I’m fucking her right now.” It quieted down, but not all the way. I could hear something, and shouted through the mic for the audience to be totally quiet. You could hear the Thrillhammer buzzing, and Net Michelle — having an orgasm.

After that, at the request of the audience I asked the crew in New York to bring the camrea to the model’s face — we’d been unable to see her face throughout the demo. In fact, all we could really see was her pussy, which turned out to be a disappointment for many. It’s funny, that’s such a common complain I hear about regarding porn in general, that you never see the whole person, or their body, just parts. If we do it again, I’m going to make sure we see the whole thing, not just the “pink shot.” Especially because the machine was just as much porn for us as the sex itself. You know how we are.

Here is a list of links to the people I talked about in last night’s presentation (and I’m sure this list will turn into a teledildonics crib sheet for lazy journalists, though there’s much more out there than this brief lecture sample):

Ted Nelson * Howard Rheingold’s Virtual Reality * Vivid’s Cyber Sex Suit (article) * iFriends Network (safesexplus.com is now defunct) * Digital Sexsations * VR Innovations (barf) * The Sinulator * HighJoy (Doc Johnson; Vivid) * Slashdong.org (we WILL open source) * The Thrillhammer * Sybian * Advanced Medical Robotics/Erotichine.com * Moonlite Bunnyranch * Masturbate-A-Thon (Portland chapter) * House of Gord * New York Museum of Sex * and of course… Net Michelle

Very soon I’ll put up the text and photos and documents form last night’s presentation — but I need to think about how many people I might piss off in the process, so it might take me a day and a bit of careful editing… This morning I felt the whip-crack! of my dear Jonno at Fleshbot, who has been so sweet to give me time off for all this… so now, back to the ‘bot.

Tonight’s the Dorkbot SF teledildonics demo — this is just a quick post to let you know that I’m still alive and the event is all set. The NY Museum of Sex is making a huge media frenzy event about it (paparazzi), and if you’re near the museum tonight at around midnight do stop in to watch the beautiful Net Michelle (warning: annoying browser resizing) drop trou (pudenda) and mount The Thrillhammer for a joy ride courtesy of us dorks in San Francisco. Unfortunately, the journalist who wrote a nice article about the event in Wired.com news called the SF gallery owner and “joked” about her article possibly causing a flood of attendees (piehole); he panicked so much that we had to change the location. Amusingly, another “journalist” (piehole 2) from an “adult industry magazine” emailed me and actually asked how I “happened to be tapped to do the demonstration.” Because I couldn’t have possibly come up with the knowledge to do this myself. I wonder how he “happened to be tapped” to be a journalist. I’m really considering calling him up and pretending to be brainless tits and ass who “got picked” to run it because “they” need a hot chick for the cameras. Anyway, tonight will be fun, and I’ll be back to my regularly blogging self tomorrow (hopefully with pictures from the event).