In each interview I’ve done about Open Source Sex, the journaist always asks me why I started podcasting in the first place. Invariably, my answer never ends up in the final piece; likely because it’s not a neat soundbite. Part of the tech-geek-fetish blame falls squarely on the shoulders of Annalee Newitz, who at a party commiserated with me about how Podcast Alley (at the time) was a ’sausage party’, and Adam Curry, who still owes me a RealDoll orgy, hopefully himself included.

But podcasting, and especially Open Source Sex, was already in my plans for world domination. My site, as you may notice, has a simple design, with no Flash or any other crap that makes it slow to download or might clog up a browser — or might make it difficult for blind site readers to ‘read’ my site. It’s not that fact that I’m a self-taught web designer that leads to this bare-bones result; it’s because I want my site to be accessible to *everyone*. As a result, I’ve gotten a regular stream of fan mail from happy, horny blind and sight-impaired visitors. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that blind people must have more difficulty than anyone to getting access to sex ed, sex entertainment and life’s essential healthy pasttime, porn. Especially content that doesn’t insult, judge, preach absitnence or spread homphobia.

The next step was obvious: audio files. Podcasting, serialized subscriptions even better — and it would force me to nail down audio file compression, making it even easier for more people to have access to. (I wonder how the iTunes interface is for blind reading software?) But yesterday I got an email from a blind Open Source Sex listener that told me everything I needed and wanted to know, and was the closest thing to a hug from the universe I’ve ever had:

“This was meant to be a short letter and its gone on way longer than I intended. I really just wanted to thank you, provide you with another perspective which you may not have considered and point out that for some people, like myself, podcasts like yours really do provide a important, appreciated and welcomed service. If you think its unfortunate that sex education is too often oriented towards reproduction and not presented as something to be enjoyed, its often far worse for people with a disability - its seems that disabled people are not thought of as being sexual beings or if they are, its assumed you will only explore your sexuality with others who have the same disability etc. Many organisations which provide critical services like talking books tend to be dominated by well-meaing Christians who find the idea of erotic talking books offensive and/or obscene. Many who are blind are too embarrassed to seek out erotic material or even ask questions regarding sexuality etc. Podcasts such as yours offer a very valuable resource and possibly something which should be pointed out to the neo-conservative and overly judgemental who feel they need to protect us from ourselves.”

* I found the sexy photos here Update: original page, with video!!!

Still no news on my friend. Things that made me happy tonight: an 11-month-old kitten in my backyard, and I happened to have a bottle of bubbles (no, really!), and a long motorcycle ride to the ocean, and back through Golden Gate park at night (I can’t wait to see the DeYoung Museum when it’s finished). Tonight I did some Fleshbotting; below is a little sample of my travels, liveblogged as I clicked around on my nightly rounds. Think of it as an odd, mostly NSFW drive around the web:

Google: disappear
gomi
Urban Pinup (thanks Laust!)
Luba: Orange (pictured)
obedient mechanical organism trained for observation and potential infiltration (cool name)
Subgenius: Filth
Customized rubber shirts (via 3xL)
Andreaxmas
super cute sushi
sick of Suicide Girls: girls walked out, tell their side, SG model claims erroneous FBI censorship (now prefaced with disclaimer by SG), Xeni reports, SG denies, Zentastic tells it like it is. (Update: my model login at SG is no longer valid. Shocking!)
Just posted: Morning Wood (Wherein I post a link to the Iran Defence Forum on a Gawker site and Ron Jeremy actually impresses me by hilariously debating a born-again anti-porn pundit. I met him in January, and he was quite polite and nice, fyi…)

Last night’s reading was awesome — we packed the place and had six contribs from Best Sex Writing ‘05 read to the full house. Quite fun; afterward I found myself in very cozy drunken bliss between Hornboy and Jake at the bar… very sexy.

I feel all turned around. I’ve been asked to whip and spank (yet another) hot boy tonight as part of an all-male revue for “ladies” and it all sounds so campy and fun… Except I found out a couple hours ago that a close friend, whom I’ve known for ten years, is suddenly in surgery today for breast cancer. Last year we lost her partner to cancer; they have a child. I love her so much. Everyone’s an ocean drowning, with no one to help you out.

Okay, I just called and opted out for tonight; fuck, I just can’t stop crying. I wept openly into my phone while I told the hot boy that I can’t make it… I started putting together the Sex Blog Roundup for Fleshbot and went into my kitchen to get an energy drink. I took out a glass and poured. I don’t know what I was thinking about. It overflowed and I didn’t even notice until I felt the cold and wet and it fizzed all over my countertop. I found my cell phone and tried to call Jonno; I still can’t fucking get through to Louisiana. But I somehow, slowly, cried and wrote the post.

I feel like all the air is gone.

Remember how I told you about those awesome press releases we get at Fleshbot? Like the Penthouse one where it was spelled “Penhouse”? You know what this one means — FREE used butt plugs!

—————————- Original Message —————————-
Subject: Rent-a-Dildo Discontinues Anal Sex Toys
From: [redacted]
Date: Tue, September 27, 2005 1:04 am
To: tips@fleshbot.com
————————————————————————–

http://www.rent-a-dildo.com/notice.htm
Effective immediately, we will cease lending anal sex toys to customers. This includes butt plugs, anal beads, anal probes, and dual-penetration dildos. If you currently have one of these types of rental toys, you may keep it without charge as a courtesy accommodation.

We have taken this step due to concerns raised by health officials about the possible spread of fecal-borne disease. Please note, we are confident that our patent-pending cleaning process is sufficient to sterilize toys, even after extensive inter-anal use, and no infections have been reported by our customers. However, we have decided to err on the side of caution by eliminating anal toys from our rental inventory.

As a further precaution, all sex toys returned to us will be tested for fecal matter. If a toy tests positive, the customer returning the toy will be given a warning. Any repeat violations will result in the cancellation of the customer’s account and being billed for the cost of the soiled toy.

We appreciate your cooperation with this new protocol and your continued patronage of our sex toy rental service.

At 3am friday night (actually saturday morning), I sat in my kitchen over a Camapri over ice listeneing to “Bootylicious” for the thrid time, and I heard drunk, 95-lb. Macki call out from my closet-turned-office, “hey, how do you get this thing into ‘terminal’?” I knew I was in trouble.

Well, maybe not total trouble, but when you have a guy on your computer that likes to do this, that and the other thing totally wasted from the Webzine 2005 launch party careening around on your porn-soaked hard drive with a snappy connection, things could get… erm, interesting. That night had started out as getting chalked up to be a total loss. Another email from Jonno about evacuations and power outages, and no guest editor relief in sight for us on the blog, then silence… did he lose power? Did he have to leave? Could it hurt anymore to remember what it’s like to be homeless? I am physically unabvle to fall asleep with my shoes on, or anything on my feet, still, to this day. My friend was having a birthday beach bonfire, and there was a sex party that might’ve had me wrapped in rubber and in a cab by ten, but the gulf between my heart and my head was dark, yawning, too open to be out and about. I was staying home.

But then Macki called me. Most people don’t call me anymore because I never answer my phone — too many publicists over the years have given out my phone number, and truth be told, I prefer the accuracy of email conversations. But I bought myself a new phone for my bithday — one of the new iTunes phones — and was back into looking at the phone when it rang. (ringtone: “Dontcha”) My former phone was the first cell phone I’d ever owned and was quite old; having survived several SRL shows it literally fell into pieces when I unwrapped the electrical tape to remove the sim card.

Macki was at the party, down the street from my house, was tipsy, and not letting me off the hook. “Um, there’s a lot of *guys* here. I think they’re all *computer geeks*. I think you’ll be safe.” Walking up to the bar, I couldn’t find him. But then again, he really is tiny; this is the guy who had a party when he turned 100 (pounds). Me, on the phone: Macki, I can’t see you. You’re too small. Macki: I’ll take my dick out. Me: Ohmigawd a redwood tree just sprouted on Market Street.

Out front we were met by Jake, who I had only met briefly before, never enough to have a conversation. I have a hard time remembering people I just met, but some people I meet form an instant connection to something inside of me. Like Jonno. Jake is one of those people, but I was too shy to ever say anything and pretended he was just like anyone else. Regardless of the internal dialogue and dark bloody crash of emotion threatening my ability to make appropriate small talk, I was happy to see Jake, and when I was told the list was closed (we were supposed to be on it), I managed to talk the doorman into 2-for-1 cover price and paid Jake’s way in. In return he bought me a cosmo, and one for Macki too, who totally did not need one and told me gleefully that it would make him barf everywhere after he drank it.

So we got smashed; Macki hung on me a lot and sneakily kissed my shoulder a few times when I wasn’t paying attention, and I hauled him out of there to retrofit his bite-sized self onto my couch at about 2am. We stayed up taking about relationships and friends, and when I expressed nervousness about being on two Webzine panels the next day, he’d wisely change the subject. Me: Should I do anything to prepare? Macki: Hell no. Let’s see if the photos from tonight’s party are up on Laughing Squid yet!

We passed out and woke up late: the plan was to get up, get breakfast on the way to Webzine and be there by one for Jake’s presentation. I was to be on the 18 and Over panel at three, and breaking the rules, had been happily invited to be on the Podcasting panel at 4. Which sunk me into a hair and makeup panic — this wasn’t just me dragging my hungover bootie (and Macki’s and Hornboy’s) to a bloody mary brunch; this was eat, be smart, be onstage, get pictures taken, wind up on the web instantly… All three of us opted for bagles and coffee from the freezer while I applied glitter and hot rollers. And slid on the sock garters, of course.

We got there, found Jake. How are you, I asked. “My presentation is so fucked, I’m so screwed,” he laughed. Apparently there was a technical difficulty, though I’m fairly sure it got repaired and Jake went on. Hornboy and I sat in the balcony; I wasn’t sure what to expect; at this conference it seemed like there were a lot of tech elite and hackers of many stripes, bloggers and people generally interested in the cutting edge of tech and free expression; bloggers’ rights and the whole lot. There were also a good number of tinfoil-hat tech types, and the usual gross self-promoters trying to get their ‘brand’ into as many ‘markets’ as possible; the sort of human spam I always find at every tech or computer gathering. I generally felt like I didn’t belong, but was at least among a few friends.

Up on the scree: a photo of track marks; abscessed needle holes. The familiar roadmap of a painful life seeking comfort as tattooed on skin vis the puncture of a needle. For me, a reminder of growing up; also the obituary I wrote for Eva Lux on my birthday. Jake explained that it was his father. each slide showed his father’s decline to death, here in San Francisco; like the junkies you pass on 5th and Market when you come to see our beautiful downtown cable car turnaround. Jake had documented his father’s slide into death, hastened by squatters who injected him with bacteria that killed him. Jake showed the photos he took of the evidence the SFPD destroyed. Up there it was just Jake; a slightly quavering voice, a heart larger than The City, a mind on fire, and only his laptop between us (the crowd) and him.

He told us went to Iraq to die. Actually, “To come back whole or full of holes.” He showed us the photos and told us his story; dear reader, have you ever spoken to, or talked to anyone who has been to Iraq in the past year who is not in the military, or a private military organization? It is life-changing, regardless of where your politics lie. We need more human witnesses. And please don’t underestimate how much we need them to blog and document their experiences. This is not Fox or CNN; this is us, as people. We need to be the media more than ever. If you have a blog, even if it’s just about knitting, don’t stop blogging. And don’t ever be afraid to blog about your aunt dying on your knitting blog; technology is giving us back our capacity to be more human than ever.

He continued with his trip to NOLA; no, he’s not one of those fucked up adventure tourists with a camera. Read his blog and see what he did, trying to create and build communication technology to people who had nothing, so they get could get something — information, at least. He talked about how he did these things, and about how he only saw the Red Cross one fucking time the whole time he was down there. How only *the people* were helping and taking care of each other; how a black face in the car with you would get you turned away checkpoints.

It was over, and I cried through the applause. Macki rushed up to hug Jake. I can’t remember what happened next, but I was so glad I came to be a part of something so much greater than another masturbatory tech conference.

I went on next for the 18 and Over panel; which was supposed to be about the 2257 laws; the crowd was restless, even though we opened with a stellar presentation on the realities of these laws by Jason Schultz; how they affect everyone (not just sex and porn people), and how they’re totally not effective in preventing the “reason” they’re being passed — child porn. Hopefully I can persuade Jason to put this online… But then the panel took a few left turns, as these things always seem to do. You know, I was on a panel about bloggers’ rights for the EFF a while back that did the same thing; people on the panel were so fucking into themselves and their brands and their self-promotion and personal genda that we didn’t fucking talk about anything that mattered. Which was pretty much what happened, especially when the Lavender Lounge guy took over the mike (repeatedly) and gave his (incorrect) history of censorship and politics, and his (incorrect) perspective on 2257 laws. An example was that he stated that 2257 means that if you put a nude sex picture from the (OLD) film Blue Lagoon on your blog, you could be prosecuted under 2257 for not having the correct info about the actors. Which is totally wrong; for starters, the 2257 regulations only extend back to pictures produced after July 3, 1995.

Hey, I’m just saying. But then some woman from the audience, wearing an AdBrite shirt and maybe a tinfoil bra told us how she thought 2257 was important to protect us from child porn.

And I realized that no one was paying attention anyway.

Next up was the Podcasting panel, with my new favorite podcaster on it, DailySonic. The moderator was loud and lively, though when he read the bio for the woman on my left, she leaned over and whispered, “Uh, that last part isn’t me.” I wondered whose bio he was actually reading. Then the moderator asked a variety of questions to different panelists on topics specific to their areas of podcasting; when he got to me it was (of course) an iTunes question. But before I had a chance to speak on my own in the panel, he prefaced his question with “I’ve been to your website. And you have some really nice breasts.”

I’m pretty sure the auditorium went quiet, except for the roaring in my ears and the pounding in my chest. I wasn’t quite sure what to do next. I mean, what if you were speaking in front of a crowd of friends, peers and professionals you might want to impress a little bit about the fact that you’re a woman (one of the first on PodcastAlley, thank you very much) and your topic is sex and you have a brain, and aren’t we all pretty much on the same page about this because we’re all in this room…? Okay, you’re not me but what if you were on a panel at a tech conference and the moderator asked your first question after mentioning you had a nice uncut dick? Or alluded that he’d seen naked pictures of you and got turned on by them, oh, and what was that thing that got you well known for that tech thing you do?

I think about stuff like this all the time, of course. I walk a line in this culture by posting intelligent opinions on sex and culture and showing you pictures of myself naked. But I also know that most of you are pretty fucking sophisitcated and know that if you go into a liquor store to buy a copy of Hustler to take home and jack off to, it does not mean the girl who rang you up is the same as the girls in the magazine she’s selling you and it’s not okay to comment on her breasts.

I was taken out to coffee a couple of weeks ago by the programming director at NPR. He wanted to talk to me about podcasting, my show and where I think this is all headed. he was here from New York to meet with other radio and podcast content people; I might have been the only podcaster he took time out to meet one on one, in person. He told me no trip to San Francisco would be right unless he got a chance to meet me. One of the questions he asked me was if I got weird emails or if there were inappropriate listeners. And the really interesting answer I gave him, and the truth is, no. I never get emails from rude men, or scary emails or fucked up or insulting comments. The only rude email I’ve ever gotten and subsequent mean blog post (on his blog when I didn’t reply fast enough) was from Ian Kerner, who is, by the way, a giant sized, homphobic douchebag. I know, you’re like, who? No, the people who like my podcast and my blog, and who read my books and contact me are across the board tech-savvy, well-read, polite, extremely nice, usually very funny, totally helpful and I’ve formed many friendships over the years based on “fan mail”. The only odd exception was the marriage proposal form the 400-lb Elvis impersonator, but that’s another story…

So, back on the moment time stopped on the panel, I thought about the comment for a minute. I really wanted to just get up and leave. I think I could have. But I wanted to answer the iTunes question, and I felt I really needed to represent as a non-commercial podcaster on the panel (was I the only one?). So I answered. And predictably, someone else whose tinfoil garment made it through the tinfoil-detector at the door felt the need to use the Q and A to accuse me of “cheapening” the word censorship in reference to what happened with my podcast and iTunes (which is *so* ancient history now). I, in fact, never said they censored me on the panel at any time, but that was so not the guy’s point. I did mention that someone at Apple emailed me to tell me that people there think that I “rock”. I told the guy as politely as I could that his issues were with the media spin on the whole situaiton, but he still thoguht I was “cheapening” the concept of censorship with my podcast, so I resigned myself to images of the moderator and tin hat dude being pulverized by my favorite SRL machines. You know, the ones I work on, operate and fix, even though my boobies are like totally on my chest all the time. I didn’t even bother mentioning the time Focus on the Family campaigned to get my books banned.

After the panel, I had the pleasure of running straight into David Pescovitz’s arms, which is a pretty nice place to land. Jake came after me and attched himself to me physically, and I was releived to hear that all that lame shit really did just happen to me. I was bent on getting a drink and going home and staying there like for the rest of my life, but Jake persuaded all of us (me, Macki, Hornboy) to stay and listen to Phillip from Make Magazine, who gave the coolest and most amazing presentation ever, and then Michael Shiloh’s all-too-brief talk about his ultra-cool server controlled robot.

It was one of those times where a group of people forms, and we don’t want to make a move without planning on when to see each other again. My trio came back to my place for a disco nap, then over to Jake’s house where a whole bunch of really cool people drank beer, talked tech, listened to Jake’s comparisons of Iraq and NOLA (chilling) and we watched some of Jake’s videos — one in which he interviews an Iraqi sniper. Then the industrial pallet wrap came out — I don’t remember how it came up, but the next thing I knew… this really pretty girl was naked, except for her piercings and black socks, and we wrapped her in saran wrap. She really wanted to try it; it looked really fun and incredibly sexy. She had the prettiest little A-cup breasts, with big pink fluffy nipples, and she’d just waxed her pussy so it was bare and puffy; also very hot. The vibe in the room was really fun; not a weird or creepy vibe at all, which is the total opposite of what happens when girls drop trou at porn events and porn parties. This was innocent, playful, yes very sexual, but totally fun. There were other girls there, too but we had fun watching and helping our playful little exhibitionist.

Here is Jake’s entire set of pallet wrap photos.
More photos from the party.

We released her, but then re-wrapped her when we decided to crash the Webzine party with our new Miss Webzine 2005; we wrote “Fuck 2257″ on her, stuck her with Webzine stickers and a “Powered by Laughing Squid” sticker on her bum, and off we went. The party was fun and easygoing, there was only one creepy ogling guy (and the party was very self-regulating in that no one tolerated his nonconsensual filming of various girls, and even took his camera at one point), and lots of fun. I spent a while in the kitchen bound in X-mas lights, and got accosted by the party’s “kissing bandit” for a minute. Sadly, she kept asking me what to do and if we were done yet… why can’t I get the girls who want to go for it? Maybe next time, sigh. I could think of at least one scorchingly hot girl who should have been at the conferenece that would have *known* what do do…

I woke up the next morning to Macki on my computer shouting “YOU”VE BEEN BOINGBOINGED!” It was before coffee. And it was quite a weekend. Later, more beer and fun at Jake’s house, and with Phillip there we all got to drunkenly tell him the Make Magazine issues we’d like to see, shouting “Revenge Make!” “Naughty Make!” he is a very patient man.

Photo by Jake Appelbaum, one hour ago (more).

Just a few, but if you want to see the others I took in the bathroom yesterday, they start here.

And thank you, everyone, for all the birthday wishes and compliments! The most interesting comment was this: “while I ought to be saying something like what pretty breasts or what a curvy waist but really what I want to know is… has anyone told you you’ve got beautiful eyelids?”

Why no, my dear Figleaf. You’re my first!

Now Rita. I received an email last night saying it looks like Jonno is going to have to evacuate again, from the house he’s been crashing at, still unable to go home after almost a month (read the tearful story of his cat Lola here). Next week on Fleshbot should have a guest editor to give us relief, though I did play hooky yesterday, as you might be able to tell.

So I’m getting posts together on Fleshbot right now, but just received an email from Siege’s girlfriend expressing thanks and an update. His mom lost pretty much everything; and he’s blogging his journey and experiences. Take a minute to check out his Operation Eden blog, but most of all please do visit to see his heart-stopping portraits of the survivors. You won’t see this in the New York Times, in Time, or anywhere else — no media outlet has the courage to do what Siege is doing, though I can see that as an artist, and because of those extra-soft spots us creative people have that give us paralyzing empathy, this is the way he’s surviving it. By recording it. Like with his portrait of the woman on the right: Orealia Marshall, 45. Her face is so beautiful. “Orealia and her two children and a cousin survived by clinging to the branches of a tree. The cousin died the day after the disaster struck, and Orealia and her two children waited three days for officials to take the body.”

Finally, after way too long and too much working and no playing… Open Source Sex 17, with all the trimmings. Also I put the photo on the right (by Thomas Roche) into my iTunes files… let’s hope to see it in the podcast directory soon! Happy birthday to meeeeee!

What am I doing for my big day? A podcast, a blog post, an iTunes music shopping spree, I wrote 3K words for my book, I’m pretending I don’t have to do any Fleshbot work, and later I might crack a bottle of something yummy and intoxicating and take naked pictures of myself. If they look good, I’ll post them!

Rant: I use Garageband and iTunes to make my podcast, and I’m about to throw my laptop out the window. Garageband is NOT intuitive and iTunes reset itself when I updated so my podcast is in mono *again* and I didn’t know before I ‘cast it, grrr… It really needs to be a lot easier than this. I want to open a program, record, add music and edit the volume levels of both tracks, then make the file. And not have anything change or reset itself after that point, hello! Just a wee cry to the heavens from a girl who knows very little about complex audio recording or programs, sigh. It’s a little humbling when now most of the podcasts out there are made by professional studios like CNN and NPR, and the rest of us *really* look even more like amateurs, and not in the cool indy way anymore, what with all the pros on the playing field…

This billboard alteration is brilliant! Especially because Nicholas Cage is so lame (and that brand new stretch of freeway needed something). Thanks Jason!

I’m oh-so-happy to be mentioned today in my local weekly, The San Francisco Bay Guardian, who in their article “By the numbers: Our top 20 favorite things about sex this year” have me and Open Source Sex at #7! (Also check this list if you’re visiting this weekend for Folsom and want extra-curricular activities.) I must also note that I’m in the #9 position as well, because I’ve been wearing sock garters all the time for well over a year — and I know Annalee Newitz is responsible for that comment because I saw her eyes follow my garters around the room at the July ‘06 Bay EFF panel… Wait, a sock garter reverie:

“Pause for a minute to imagine me running through the old cemetery with my long black hair, big sunglasses, black shoes and socks and skirt (and sock garters). Now try it in slow motion.” (Waiting in Heathrow)

“Later, he told me he thought that was just as hot as my sock garters and 8″ heels, nice.” (The Swinging Accident)

Ahhh, sock garters. I completely admit to stealing the look from the uber-hot flag team in the Extra Action Marching Band, who no longer wear them so I felt it was okay to copy them. Actually, I’m surprised the weeklies know I exist at all. San Francisco is one of those places where someone can be in major media elsewhere yet get totally omitted from local reportage — happens all the time, which is probably why so many celebrities like living here. But being in the Guardian is a really cool thing, something I’ll celebrate, for sure.

But I can follow Annalee’s garters around the room next week: if you’re in San Francisco, please do come to the reading for Best Sex Writing 2005 at Modern Times Bookstore on Wednesday, September 28. In attendance will be Paul Festa, Chris Ohnesorge, Annalee Newitz, Carol Queen, K. St. Germaine (up from LA for the event), Timothy Archibald (also traveling in for the reading) and myself, who won’t do much traveling but will plan on much drinking afterward. No, I don’t know why it’s not on my publsher’s website, or I would totally link to them.

Better yet, if you’re in town this weekend (like a million other pervs for the Folsom St. Fair), stop into Webzine 2005 at the Swiss American Hall. On Saturday I’ll be on the “18 or Over Only: A Look at the Laws, Technology, and Style of Adult Sites” hosted by none other than Thomas Roche! (And yes, I see on the schedule that there’s also a podcasting panel afterward, and no, I’m not invited to be on it. I was actually told I had to choose one panel or the other, no exceptions. That’s what I get for calling it ‘democratic’ in Newsweek…)

And if you’re thinking, I can’t do any of that so I’m just going to sit there and drink, then I am very jealous. I would like to join you. But maybe as you plan your busy drinking schedule you can pre-order two fabulous books that I happen to be in that are also well worth spilling drinks on: Carly Milne’s Naked Ambition and Russ Kick’s Everything You Know About Sex is Wrong.

Me, I’ll be working those sock garters all weekend long at a few sex parties and any other mischief I can get into. I wrote a little over 3000 words last night and have no plan on slowing down until the weekend.

And last but never least, a sad and heartfelt goodbye to Eva Lux, who lived through the adult industry HIV scare but found that herion was more formidable as an adversary — and a comfort. I’ll miss reading your blog in my sex blog roundup list. (thank you, Xeni and Stacy Jill)

Seen today at Fleshbot, a fairly massive walk/shutout at Suicide Girls — I’ve been getting emails from my friends who are (now) former SG models for about a week about the “ghosting” of models, and trying to follow the posts here and here and here. I’ve always had misgivings about their reluctance to get anywhere near the word “porn”, as that strikes me as oh-so-odd for an alterna chick nudie site. But wow, what a mess. I wonder if it’ll change their podcast, Suicide Girls Radio… will one girl have to do a bunch of different voices until they re-stock their cupboards? Here’s a snippet from UnPink:

“…Even as SG expanded from 10 girls to 800, these remained the stars. Until, the last few days, half of them, very publicly, quit.

Here’s the score.

One of the most popular SG’s, Sicily, was booted off the site after an anti Suicidegirls journal entry she wrote (caused by financial disagreements with the owner). You can see the text here. Two other popular girls, Katie and Apnea (of Lithium Picnic fame) shot for another site and got their passwords taken away. Staff changed Apnea’s journal and made it look like they were active. Voltaire quit in protest. Staff pulled same move on her.

By this time, it’s all over the blogsphere. Girls are quitting left and right. Claudia, Sita, Molly, Gillian, Ciel, Annabelle, Angie, Shera, Annie, Genivieve, Mistidawn, Les, and a new one every hour or three.. SG, in response to four of its best girls quitting, changes entire site format. Archived girls and active girls are indistinguishable- except archived girls have no access to the site.”

There’s more in the full entry, and I declined to duplicate the links to the Suicide Girls site; you can click through on the original post. Well, all I have to really say about this is that once Dave Navarro likes you, it’s all downhill from there. (He shot one of SG’s ‘celebrity’ galleries.) He’s totally the kind of guy that if his younger self traveled through time into the future and met himself now, he would totally beat the crap out of icky-2005 Dave Navarro.

I’m currently writing 3-4000 words a day and working on a new logo for my site… previews are being tested on other pages. I’ll make a formal launch soon, hopefully by my b-day. (Thursday, ugh!)

I’m starting to realize that if you read my blog regularly, it’s a lot like dating me. And if we were indeed dating, dear reader, I’d like to remind you of two things you might want to do to help Hurricane Katrina victims while making your life a much sexier place, indeed.

One: you have six hours left (until midnight PST) to place an order for any Comstock Films DVD. This indy porn is fucking fabulous, and the great thing here is that the company is making no profit on anything they sell today; instead the entire purchase price and a matching donaiton goes directly to the Red Cross Katrina fund. So, a $25 purchase becomes a $50 donation, and you get hot sexy couples’ porn with real live hot sexy couples. Tony Comstock is blogging the donation progess here.

Two: buy a sexy erotic print from Siege (photo on right is a sample). It was a week until his mother and brother were found living in an abandoned home, having lost everything in the hurricane. Siege grew up in total poverty, like me, and if you buy a print the money goes toward rebuilding his mother’s trailer (or buying her a new one, depending). Seriously: his little brother needs asthma meds, they have nothing. Siege happens to be one of the more amazing young erotic photographers of our time (my opinion). Read the whole story here.

… But I’m not sure why most people can find me, while a few others can’t. Truth be told, it’s all out of my hands anyway, though I have to say I seriously doubt foul play, even though I overreacted in my last post; I am after all, an Apple fetishist and now have it on good authority that the feelings may be mutual. Nonetheless, emails like this are great:

“i can find your podcast through a search by violet blue, open source
sex, and you’re #5 under “sex”, (whorecast is 3), and listed under arts
and entertainment->entertainment.

i also see your picture there, cutie.

and let me just say that there is *no way* that “winecast” is ahead of
you in subscriber rankings. and don’t even talk to me about bill oreilly.”

I’m finally getting to everyone’s emails now that Jonno is somewhat back, though he’s trying to blog on a borrowed, breaking laptop and friend’s unfriendly PC, still with pretty much just the clothes on his back. We finally got through on the phone to each other yesterday, for the fist time since the hurricane. I had just reached the end of my rope, and tendered my resignation at Fleshbot. It was an emotional conversation; he’s simply happy to be alive, that his boyfriend and dogs are alive. I am *not allowed* to quit; the laws of friendship, love and sex blogging apparently do not permit it. But my contributions to Fleshbot will be scaled back for the next two months as I write a book I’m under a tight deadline for, which is what had me in a panic in the first place… a 200-page sex guide, and only 200 pages to go…. Woo-hoo!

Still, I’m having out-of-my-mind fun on Fleshbot, even if I had to start the week with “we’re not friends anymore” emails from people who maybe I’m better off without anyway (*sigh*). Don’t they know the rest of my life is a mess, too? I’ve been unable to respond to business people trying to contact me as well. The one non-urgent person I took time out to respond and talk to was the programming guy @ NPR; Hustler, CBS and even a moneyed publisher’s offer have fallen by the wasteside… Not that anything matters more than friendship. Anyway, here are a few Fleshy highlights:

Used Panty Portal
Cuffz by Linz
Morning Wood: Buy a Siege Print (Do it, I command you!)
Brenda Staudenmaier
Breastlove’s Babes

* Like the mew mascot for my Mini? She was $12 at Tower Records, and the Mini and I were getting soooo lonely…

** Quick afterthought: the Hustler interview, which I didn’t respond to, had a question in it I’ve only seen in a few interviews, but one I’m *never* asked in interviews from “respected” sources like Newsweek and CNN, etc. “What is your full name and age?” Now, I didn’t go to journalism school, but this doesn’t seem to be a standard question. What is this question for, what purpose does it serve? I’ve answered it each time I’ve been asked, but the response has never been printed, though the journalist always regards my answer with interest. So it must be personal interest. It kind of reminds me of how like Yahoo, when you set up an account, asks for your age, clearly for marketing purposes, as do social networking sites like Tribe.net. So, since it doesn’t apply to podcasting (what the Hustler interview was about), it only stands to reason that questions of a non-topical personal nature should be pranked. I never lie to journalists; if I don’t want to tell them something or if I quesiton their motivaitons I stop the interview. I have nothing to lose. But from now on, my official age is 18. Ohmigawd, like totally BARELY LEGAL!

Also, one should always be cautious about Hustler.

As if things weren’t difficult enough for me right now… A listener/reader has let me know that my podcast is no longer listed in iTunes; the direct link to my iTunes page works, but search for my name, my podcast, or sex, and Open Source Sex is gone.

I wonder who else they’ve done this to: I see I also cannot find Whorecast. Are they now quietly making it very difficult to find the sex podcasts? The best way to make someone go away is to remove them from searches… Not hip and cool, iTunes; lame and douchy censorship.

Update: Literally — update. If you update to the new iTunes 5.0, all is as it should be (as far as I can tell). But for everyone else who isn’t/hasn’t/can’t/won’t update to this brand new version of iTunes, it appears as though a large number of podcasts have been “flushed” from iTunes. Not just sex podcasts, either, though I hope everyone finds my paranoia funny and hilarious, like the drunk chick at the party with cocktail weenie breath who later steps on the host’s infant/puppy/cherished childhood keepsake. And buys the goddamn iTunes phone when it comes out.

And the best news, ever: Jonno is back at Fleshbot!!!! Blogging from a temporary Fleshbot HQ outside NO, set up with a handmade net of porn screener DVDs for shade and a modified Julain Snelling buttplug as a wifi transmitter. And just when I was getting used to angry emails from Fleshbot Gay readers (”where the hell are you?”) and emails from (now former) friends who have officially dumped me because I haven’t been able to return their calls and emails, and I guess I just generally suck as a friend.

I’m going to go clean my house now for the first time since the hurricane, and pay some bills, before I have to hack a butt plug transmitter myself…

Today I finally have my head above water, unlike the citizens of New Orleans, whose heads were held under by our federal government just long enough to drown. Jonno and I still can’t get through to each other by phone (cell or land line), but we’ve somehow been able to leave messages for each other almost every day, and of course his cell phone company is totally able to text message him his bill. Site managing Fleshbot has been unbeleivably stressful, not just due to exacting editorial stress getting 12 posts a day up on a major media site, the low low pay (couldn’t survive on it if I had to), the two book deadlines I missed (and the upcoming one in November), or the fear of inarguable suffering inflicted on a friend I love very very much (my Jonno).

Porn blogging during a disaster is painful, stupid and wrong. But it is also bizarrely right. It tore me to shreds to not hear from Jonno for days, to watch Anderson Cooper unravel, hear the mayor of New Orleans cry in anger and helpessness, and *still* get emails about Lindsay Lohan’s lesbian leanings. I didn’t give a fuck about Beyonce’s nipple slip before, and now I hate misspelled porn press releases offering me as an “esteemed journalist” a trip to the set of “choke on monster black cocks #5″ more than ever. (Not a real title, though similar to the actual. Mmm, I bet the craft services on that one were sublime.) At the same time, I’ve helped keep my friend’s site running (who is now a disaster refugee of sorts, one of the few with a job to return to) and hopefully provided those watching Fleshbot several much-needed sex positive distractions, maybe even a few moments of pleasure as we learn to live with pain and shame that isn’t going away for a long time.

I don’t know. I felt utterly worthless crying at my keyboard last week, and outrageously angry. I wrote harsh words on Fleshbot about the porn industry’s inactivity that were removed. Many people emailed in support for Jonno, Fleshbot, myself, but the continual flood of porn promotion into my inbox and lack of activity by people in porn made me insane. I was told that maybe the adult industry was slow to react because they were stunned; don’t tell me that when I’m updating and changing a site over a dozen times a day and managing to hit my own as well. I didn’t need to be scared to know that the people in NO were scared. I don’t need to know any disaster victims to imagine their grief and wish to help them, but I DO. In the light of this, the signifigance of porn blogging, of making porn, only adds to a scream to the universe of everyone unable to help, to do something, and yes, it makes me turn and ask, okay, so what the fuck *are* you doing? Nothing? Then go away.

Maybe it’s silly, childish to think that people who make Girls Gone Wild would care. Anne Rice wrote in the New York Times*;

“But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us “Sin City,” and turned your backs.

Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you.”

Which explains why I overstepped my emotional bounds, and got edited. Or not. The question I struggle with, even today, is what am I doing, how am I helping anything by porn blogging? It goes against my nature to post a celebrity nipple slip unless I think it’s giving someone somewhere a monent of reprise from the insanity, or maybe what I wrote today about hoping the Bush administration has a doomsday gene that can be activated by the push of a button (in the context of a porn review) can give a little levity, a little sanity, if only to me. Because this week, I seem to be writing with the filter off. Maybe they will keep me at Gawker, maybe they will not. As with everything in the history of my entire life, I still have nothing to lose.

It is impossible for me to just sit here and look at porn all day. Many porn detractors will say that Fleshbot is not a contribution to culture, but another wrong that needs to be righted, and anyone who enjoys it is sick and wrong, and doing so during a national crisis is evil. This is what the conservative christian family values voices in my head tell me, that is when they’re not telling others to go on killing sprees — or to go golfing after Hurricane Katrina. I’m not listening. Because I’m moving forward with heart, conscience and I’m trying with every ounce to put this whole damn thing in persepctive in every word I write. It’s all I can do.

Which is insanely frustrating to a girl who usually feels like she can do anything. I build and operate giant renegade machines. When something breaks, I fix it. I have no family; I have survived. I was a ward of the state who escaped on my 14th birthday, and lived as a homeless teen almost until I turned 18. Looking at NO, I instantly got what was happening when the homeless, the poor, the drug addicts with no fix were trapped without food and water among subruban families and residents with no way out — and there were many, as there are in every city. More so in a city with no harsh winters. I remember what it was like when Regan cut social services funding and released all the crazy people onto the streets with no shelters to take them in; I was there with a bunch of other young kids who’d been beaten and abused all their lives and were hard as nails at 14, and having to protect ourselves and find food and shelter and water day after day with all these dangerous crazies roaming around. You can’t just go stay with friends for a while or get a hotel room. It is your life, and no one from the state or government will help you because they don’t understand. People help you — by literally saving your life sometimes, by risking everything to make a difference, by dying, by keeping life in context, and yes, by totally losing it and saying something about it all (like Cooper, Rivera, Nagin, Kane…).

On saturday I had friends over at my house, to get very drunk and come together. (That explains the pictures in this post; above group is Paul Festa, myself, Polly Enmity and Arlo Tolesco all from Best Sex Writing 2005.) We did, and had a few former NOLA residents among us, one a NO native whose sister lost everything. And in the morning, the envelope I’d left out on a table labeled “American Red Cross” had $300 in it, and I had a few emails from hungover pals with drunkenly forgotten, but forthcoming checks.

* If NY Times asks for a password or registration, just clear any cookies with “nytimes’ on them.

I got this email from my pal erotic writer Sage Vivant (we’ve worked together quite often over the years) about a writer in our community, and felt I should reprint it here as I know several people who will want to know that Jamie is okay:

“Today we learned that New Orleans-based erotica writer Jamie Joy Gatto did manage to escape the worst of the storm and has found shelter with friends in Houston, Texas. Although she escaped (walking for five hours through waist deep water), she was unable to bring any of her personal belongings with her, including clothing. She is in dire need of assistance.

Jamie Joy has long been a personal friend to me. Through her various Web sites (most notably, Mind Caviar, which recently closed but hopefully will soon reopen), she has helped other writers get their work seen and been a source of encouragement for many. She is also one of Custom Erotica Source’s celebrity writers.

I and author M. Christian have started a fund to help get Jamie Joy and her fiance on their feet again. Her good friend and fellow writer Tina Hess is helping to spread the word about Jamie Joy’s predicament and has even begun a search for a laptop so that she can begin writing again (if any of you have or know of a laptop that Jamie Joy might benefit from, please write me and I’ll pass the information along to Tina). Probably many of you have already made donations to the organization of your choice to help Katrina’s thousands of victims, but it is unlikely that people like Jamie Joy will benefit from those contributions. Therefore, we’d like to collect money for her and send her a check as soon as possible to help her out.

If you’d like to contribute (and honestly, any amount you can spare will be helpful), please go to PayPal and send money to me (sage@customeroticasource.com), specifying that your payment is for Jamie Joy. PayPal’s records will help me keep track of who gave what, and I will then send her a check for the total amount collected along with a list of names who contributed. M. Christian and I would like to send this check no later than September 8.”

The hot straight girl (with glasses) sent me this audio clip of New Orleans Mayor Nagin (via C&L, MP3 file). I cried and cried and cried, while trying to finish a harrowing week site managing Fleshbot. Listen to it. All the way to the end. You have to.

It made me very, very pissed off at a lot of things. What is the adult industry doing to help? Bikini wrestling. Congratulating each other, just like the politicians. And New Orleans will never, ever be the same. New Orleans is, in fact, dying. And our government will not save them. Think I’m crazy? Watch this video.

So I did this:

Wet Spots: Hurricane Edition*

BoingBoing is the best source of news in the United States, with Crooks and Liars as your audio/video source. They’re both faster than anyone, especially CNN and FOX. I am going to go get drunk now. Tomorrow I’m getting drunk with friends and we are putting together an envelope with checks for the Red Cross; the Marching Band is devastated and organizing a benefit for hurricane relief. I’ll post details when I get them. And when I’m in a better mood, I’ll share with you the bizarre press releases Fleshbot gets from the porn industry and you will laugh and your nose will turn into a beverage shooter.

Random shares before the cocktail takes over: A beautiful girl. Porn I must own. Lingerie I wish I owned (but am giving my panty money to Red Cross instead).

* Update: The intro had more venom, but was edited out (not by me).

I live in San Francisco, but the situation in New Orleans has stopped my life. I have a lot to explain and share, but for now I’m the site manager at Fleshbot and will be for an unforseeable amount of time. Jonno is safe and dry, though things are still intense.

I just found this LiveJournal blog, where a man is somehow literally live blogging from inside New Orleans, or what’s left of it. he seems to be able to do a post every couple of hours.

More soon, lovelies.

One minute update: My SFisting colmn is up: Things in Rubbers — The Interview

Also read: This Week in Porn Hysteria and Save the Mardi Gras Babes