Antarctica
November 28, 2005
Here are a few minutes of pure delight .
You can thank me later, but don’t complain about the download time. If you have a slow connection, you’ll have to find your delight elsewhere.
Enjoy.
Ah…sweet blessed tryptophan….
November 24, 2005
…I won’t be wearing the corset tonight or tomorrow, that’s for sure.
Happy turkey day, all.
Too Much Information
November 23, 2005
I suppose I have myself to blame for this. I left a comment on a friend’s blog about the mechanics of deep throating. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess, because now I’m getting mail about it. So, in answer:
Yes, I like guys. I like them a lot. In fact, men are my preferred sex partners. I’ve had lots of sex with men, too, so I’m not “curious” about it. I’ve sampled the goods and I like it.
But, NO, I’m not going to fly to Dubai or Singapore or where ever just so I can demonstrate my deep throating technique on you. Hell, I’m probably not even willing to drive more than a half-hour for it unless I know you as something more than just a pattern of phosphor dots on a computer screen. Sending me a picture of how huge it is is NOT going to entice me. I’m flattered that you view me as a sex object, but let’s be real, shall we? Mind you, if you happen to be the Sultan of Brunei, and send the invitation via private jet along with a diamond necklace, we can certainly negotiate things…
Happy thanksgiving, all.
High Heels
November 18, 2005
I have to admit, when I started dressing up in earnest as an adult, I went for the highest heels I could find. For the most part, that meant 3 or 4 inch heels. I\’m fortunate enough to be in the \”normal\” range of women\’s shoe sizes, so I can buy shoes pretty much anywhere. But these weren\’t tall enough for my own self image of what is and isn\’t sexy (and, let\’s face it, I was absolutely obsessed with dressing to be \”sexy\” back then–and still am, to an extent). Eventually, I found a fetish shop that not only had 6 inch heels, they had 6 inch heels in my size. Between, say, 1995 and 2000, I don\’t think I ever wore heels lower than 6 inches. I don\’t own a pair of ballet heels, but, by golly, I DO want a pair.
But, as the saying goes, the chickens are coming home to roost. Since 2000, I\’ve had a series of foot and ankle injuries.
Mind you, only one of those injuries is directly attributable to high heels: I wore a pair of 7 inch heels with a 1 inch platform for 7 hours straight. Ordinarily, I would have slipped them off occasionally to give my feet a rest, but I was wearing them as part of a bondage scene, and they were locked on. The next morning, at 3:00 a.m., I discovered that I had pulled a tendon in my right foot. The emergency room attendant was greatly amused by the fetish outfit I was still wearing. No use lying about how I injured my foot. This was the first such injury.
Since then, I\’ve been suffering ankle and tendon sprains about once every three or four months, often suffering these injuries in my sleep. How I\’m doing this in my sleep, I know not, though I\’ve always been a restless sleeper. Are these injuries directly attributable to the fact that I love to wear towering fuck-me pumps? Possibly. Possibly not. I don\’t know. I do know that there are a number of studies that suggest that wearing high heels long term are very bad for your feet. Since I only wear them very, very occasionally, I don\’t know if my wearing of high heels can be considered \”long term,\” but lately, I\’ve been thinking it can.
I currently have a case of turf toe on my left foot. Here what that is, for those of you who don\’t follow football:
\”a minor but painful usually sports-related injury involving hyperextension of the big toe that results in spraining or tearing of the ligament of the metatarsophalangeal joint\”
Believe you me, it\’s not pleasant.
The question now becomes, \”Am I going to continue to wear those kinds of shoes?\” Probably. While I have injured myself once while wearing them, I\’ve worn them countless other times during which my feet were no worse for the wear. But it won\’t be for a while. Probably a long while.
High Heels
November 18, 2005
I have to admit, when I started dressing up in earnest as an adult, I went for the highest heels I could find. For the most part, that meant 3 or 4 inch heels. I\’m fortunate enough to be in the \”normal\” range of women\’s shoe sizes, so I can buy shoes pretty much anywhere. But these weren\’t tall enough for my own self image of what is and isn\’t sexy (and, let\’s face it, I was absolutely obsessed with dressing to be \”sexy\” back then–and still am, to an extent). Eventually, I found a fetish shop that not only had 6 inch heels, they had 6 inch heels in my size. Between, say, 1995 and 2000, I don\’t think I ever wore heels lower than 6 inches. I don\’t own a pair of ballet heels, but, by golly, I DO want a pair.
But, as the saying goes, the chickens are coming home to roost. Since 2000, I\’ve had a series of foot and ankle injuries.
Mind you, only one of those injuries is directly attributable to high heels: I wore a pair of 7 inch heels with a 1 inch platform for 7 hours straight. Ordinarily, I would have slipped them off occasionally to give my feet a rest, but I was wearing them as part of a bondage scene, and they were locked on. The next morning, at 3:00 a.m., I discovered that I had pulled a tendon in my right foot. The emergency room attendant was greatly amused by the fetish outfit I was still wearing. No use lying about how I injured my foot. This was the first such injury.
Since then, I\’ve been suffering ankle and tendon sprains about once every three or four months, often suffering these injuries in my sleep. How I\’m doing this in my sleep, I know not, though I\’ve always been a restless sleeper. Are these injuries directly attributable to the fact that I love to wear towering fuck-me pumps? Possibly. Possibly not. I don\’t know. I do know that there are a number of studies that suggest that wearing high heels long term are very bad for your feet. Since I only wear them very, very occasionally, I don\’t know if my wearing of high heels can be considered \”long term,\” but lately, I\’ve been thinking it can.
I currently have a case of turf toe on my left foot. Here what that is, for those of you who don\’t follow football:
\”a minor but painful usually sports-related injury involving hyperextension of the big toe that results in spraining or tearing of the ligament of the metatarsophalangeal joint\”
Believe you me, it\’s not pleasant.
The question now becomes, \”Am I going to continue to wear those kinds of shoes?\” Probably. While I have injured myself once while wearing them, I\’ve worn them countless other times during which my feet were no worse for the wear. But it won\’t be for a while. Probably a long while.
Heavy Rotation, November edition…
November 15, 2005
Here\’s what I\’ve been listening to recently.
The Donnas Turn 21
Gold Medal — The Donnas
Ah, the yawning gulf of time. It seems like only yesterday that The Donnas were a punk band comprised of 13 year-old girls and called The Electro-Cutes. Nine years later (jeez, has it been that long?) and they\’ve turned into seasoned professionals. Not punk anymore, really, but they\’ve retained the \”fun quotient\” of their early stuff. I\’ll even forgive them for selling one of their songs to a car company. Still and all, I miss the 2 minute songs. Ah, well.
Is This Desire? — PJ Harvey
After the rootsy To Bring You My Love, she released this. Probably her most inaccessible album, it\’s grown on me since its release. \”Catherine,\” with it\’s litany of envious proclamations gets into my head like nothing else Polly Jean has written. Side two still gives me fits, but I can live with it these days.
Palomine — Bettie Serveert
It\’s all about the mood with some of the Big Star-ish indy bands from the mid-nineties, and Bettie Serveert\’s debut album is moodier than most. Lots of irresistable guitar hooks, but it\’s Carol Van Dijk\’s voice, with its strange mix of innocence and experience that sucks you in.
Los Angeles
The Wild Gift — X
The Los Angeles one finds in X\’s early albums is as distinctive as the LA of Raymond Chandler\’s novels. Love the song titles on this CD double-dip: \”Your Phone\’s Off the Hook, But You\’re Not,\” \”The World\’s a Mess, It\’s in his Kiss,\” \”When Our Love Passed Out on the Couch.\” Ennui, casual brutality (interpersonal and otherwise), a haze of drugs and too much sun. Nasty stuff. One of the great punk albums, Los Angeles is.
Avalon — Roxy Music
The smoothest make-out album of the post-Beatles era. Everything on this album is burnished to a high goss sheen. Who knew that Bryan Ferry could do sincerity with such…um….sincerity. Lovely, lovely album.
Katy Lied — Steely Dan
There\’s a sunsplashed decadence in Donald Fagen\’s lyrics, and a merciless black humor.
\”When Black Friday comes
I\’ll stand down by the door
And catch the grey men when they
Dive from the fourteenth floor\”
Priceless.
Star Time — James Brown
The godfather of soul spends four discs demonstrating what a motherfucker he is. I mean, like a sex machine, baby. Get up. Get into it.
The Bootleg Series, Volume 2 — Bob Dylan
\”Tangled Up in Blue\” has long been my favorite Bob Dylan song. I don\’t honestly know why Dylan chose to leave the version found on The Bootleg Series off of Blood on the Tracks. I have my suspicions, but whatever the reason, the unused version is an astonishment.
World Clique –Deee-Lite
\”The Groove is in the Heart\” has the most powerful hook in all of music. It\’s a force of nature. Bootsie Collins doesn\’t hurt.
Enjoy.
Heavy Rotation, November edition…
November 15, 2005
Here\’s what I\’ve been listening to recently.
The Donnas Turn 21
Gold Medal — The Donnas
Ah, the yawning gulf of time. It seems like only yesterday that The Donnas were a punk band comprised of 13 year-old girls and called The Electro-Cutes. Nine years later (jeez, has it been that long?) and they\’ve turned into seasoned professionals. Not punk anymore, really, but they\’ve retained the \”fun quotient\” of their early stuff. I\’ll even forgive them for selling one of their songs to a car company. Still and all, I miss the 2 minute songs. Ah, well.
Is This Desire? — PJ Harvey
After the rootsy To Bring You My Love, she released this. Probably her most inaccessible album, it\’s grown on me since its release. \”Catherine,\” with it\’s litany of envious proclamations gets into my head like nothing else Polly Jean has written. Side two still gives me fits, but I can live with it these days.
Palomine — Bettie Serveert
It\’s all about the mood with some of the Big Star-ish indy bands from the mid-nineties, and Bettie Serveert\’s debut album is moodier than most. Lots of irresistable guitar hooks, but it\’s Carol Van Dijk\’s voice, with its strange mix of innocence and experience that sucks you in.
Los Angeles
The Wild Gift — X
The Los Angeles one finds in X\’s early albums is as distinctive as the LA of Raymond Chandler\’s novels. Love the song titles on this CD double-dip: \”Your Phone\’s Off the Hook, But You\’re Not,\” \”The World\’s a Mess, It\’s in his Kiss,\” \”When Our Love Passed Out on the Couch.\” Ennui, casual brutality (interpersonal and otherwise), a haze of drugs and too much sun. Nasty stuff. One of the great punk albums, Los Angeles is.
Avalon — Roxy Music
The smoothest make-out album of the post-Beatles era. Everything on this album is burnished to a high goss sheen. Who knew that Bryan Ferry could do sincerity with such…um….sincerity. Lovely, lovely album.
Katy Lied — Steely Dan
There\’s a sunsplashed decadence in Donald Fagen\’s lyrics, and a merciless black humor.
\”When Black Friday comes
I\’ll stand down by the door
And catch the grey men when they
Dive from the fourteenth floor\”
Priceless.
Star Time — James Brown
The godfather of soul spends four discs demonstrating what a motherfucker he is. I mean, like a sex machine, baby. Get up. Get into it.
The Bootleg Series, Volume 2 — Bob Dylan
\”Tangled Up in Blue\” has long been my favorite Bob Dylan song. I don\’t honestly know why Dylan chose to leave the version found on The Bootleg Series off of Blood on the Tracks. I have my suspicions, but whatever the reason, the unused version is an astonishment.
World Clique –Deee-Lite
\”The Groove is in the Heart\” has the most powerful hook in all of music. It\’s a force of nature. Bootsie Collins doesn\’t hurt.
Enjoy.
Dementia! Daughter of horror….
November 14, 2005
So…have you ever wondered what the “Nightmare of Ecstasy” sequence from Glen or Glenda would have looked like if it had been directed by Orson Welles? Perhaps you’ve thought Touch of Evil might have worked out fine if Ed Wood had made it.
Yeah. Me neither. And yet this hypothetical is suggested by Tim Burton’s fantasy meeting between Wood and Welles at the end of his biopic of Wood. I wonder if Burton ever saw Dementia or its butchered version, Daughter of Horror, which plays like what I described in the last paragraph. It’s Welles’s Glen of Glenda or Wood’s Touch of Evil. Take your pick. The evidence: it was photographed by Wood’s longtime cinematographer, William C. Thompson (who shows that it wasn’t HIS fault that Wood’s movies looked like crap). The film was shot on the same locations in Venice Beach where Welles shot Touch of Evil. Further, director John Parker never met a dutch tilt he didn’t like and the skewed perspectives and deep-focus shots that make up the entire film are straight out of Welles. But the plot is pure Wood. A young woman (“The Gamine” in the credits) wakes from a nightmare, grabs a switchblade, and heads out into the city at night. She falls in with bad company. A pimp sets her up with a fat rich man (who bears a startling resemblance to Welles), and her encounter with him sends her into a spiral of madness that ends with a confrontation in a jazz club. Then she wakes up again. Go figure.
Fortunately for the film there’s no dialogue, unless you happened to be watching the “Daughter of Horror” version, in which there is a hysterical voice-over that out Criswells any of Criswell’s pronouncements in any of Wood’s films. Even in the original version, the viewer is treated to a deranged George Antheil score in which Marni Nixon (later the singing voice of Deborah Kerr and Audrey Hepburn) shreiks like a human theramin. This score seems to have been re-used by a ton of grade z movies, but it was new here, so I’ll forgive the familiarity.
If a film that seems like the mutant love-child of Maya Deren and Albert Zugsmith sounds like your cup of tea, then by all means, check this out. It’s a one of a kind weirdie. Plus, it’s short, so if Marni Nixon’s voice begins to send you scrambling up the wall, you won’t have to endure it for long…
Football Season
November 7, 2005
A couple of weeks ago, my brother called me to offer me dibs on a couple of Chiefs games in Kansas City. He has season tickets, but since he’s splitting time between KC and the desert Southwest, he has some games available. I had the choice of the Raiders game or the Broncos game. I went to the Raiders game last year, so I figured I’d pick the Broncos game this year. My older brother got the Raiders game, which was played yesterday, as it so happens.
A couple of hours after the game, my older brother called me to thank me. Oh, that’s not why he REALLY called me. He called to gloat. To rub salt into the wound. He didn’t actually SAY “You fucked up bigtime,” but you could hear it in his voice. Bastard.
Picture this: The Chiefs are down by three points with less than two minutes to go. They drive down to the one-yard line and call their last time out. There are five seconds left on the clock. Go for it? Kick a field goal to send the game to OT? Oh, the drama. I have never seen anyone visibly grow a pair of brass balls in the NFL. It’s a game of percentages, after all. But Kansas City’s head coach grew a big ol’ pair of ‘em yesterday. Chiefs 27, Raiders 23.
For the record, I may be a girlie girl, but the part of my Y-chromosome that regulates football functions just like the rest of the Y-chromosome’d population. And if you’ve never been tailgating at Arrowhead Stadium, you are missing one of the world’s cullinary delights. That’s the best-smelling place in the world if you like barbecue.
I’m sure that the Broncos will trample the Chiefs at the game I actually go to. Oh, the ignominy.
CSI
November 7, 2005
I’m not a regular viewer of CSI (in any of its incarnations). Truth be told, I tend not to watch series television these days. I do occasionally watch it after the late news on Sundays, though, where our local station has the syndicated reruns. Last night, they ran the transgendered episode, which I had seen twice before. I thought about including this episode in the presentation I took to Southern Comfort, but eventually decided against it. Mainly, I decided against it because, for all the liberal compassion glad-handed to the viewer by this episode, I think it’s largely a negative depiction that falls into the common tropes of transgendered depictions in the mass media. We have the transgendered as victim, the transgendered as medical freak, the transgendered as deceiver, and the transgendered as criminal, all rolled into one single package. And the package itself is grisly. CSI is on the cutting edge–if you’ll pardon the pun–of television violence. The violence and its aftermath here isn’t far off what you’ll find in The Silence of the Lambs. The TG episode is one of the series’s ghastliest episodes. The imagery is so strong that it overwhelms whatever message of tolerance might be there. And the villain of the piece is a piece of work. Holy crap, they couldn’t create a more monstrous transgendered individual without exhuming the grave of Ed Gein.
Of course, this isn’t the first time CSI has offered this sort of bait and switch. For a while, I thought the show was exploring crime in an “alternative lifestyle of the week” setting (it had an episode about “furries,” fer pete’s sake!). It’s the number one show on television, but, y’know, it still feels like exploitation to me…
Cheers.
