Tag: daily photo

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It’s cold and foggy here. It doesn’t feel like spring, but rather the downward creep of fall. I’ve been playing catch up with some responsibilities, and reliving some of the high points of IMsL through other people’s recaps.

I’ve been looking for my copy of “Watchmen” around my house for months and have been unable to find it. So I bought another one in the SF airport to read on the way home. Getting through it made me even less interested in seeing the movie. For one thing, it’s not at all an action story: violent things happen, but the guts of it all is reflection, memory and discussion. The narrative moves forward very slightly compared to how much it moves backwards or sideways and it’s not propelled by people doing superhero type things. When I try to think of the directors who could do it justice I think of Tarkovsky or maybe War Wong Kai. If Fassbinder wasn’t dead he could do a great version, with everyone sitting around some broken down warehouse some where.

In other pop culture news, last night’s South Park was one of their tortured analogy episodes, where a goofy incident is made to stand in for a social issue. I laughed harder at a picture of a jar in The Onion with the caption “Heroic Pickles Holding Lid Shut From Inside”.

Speaking of beloved book adaptations, on Tuesday night TCM showed “The Phantom TollBooth”, Chuck Jones’ take on one of my favorite books from my childhood. I’ve seen it before but really forgotten how dreary it was. The backgrounds are mainly recycled from “What’s Opera Doc” and the character design is shabby. Jules Pfeiffer did a great job illustrating the book, but Jones utterly jettisoned his line and balance for the movie. The songs are lackluster and forgettable, and the end is a rushed knockoff of the “All Too Much” sequence from “Yellow Submarine”.

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Now that I’m wearing my glasses more often, I’m sticking them in my pockets more, which means that they are getting more and more smudged. It’s an irritating habit that I can’t really break myself of, and it means I’m wiping my lenses all the time it seems.

I remember how felt when I got the first “floaters” in my eyes: I was 34 and in New York, and it freaked me out. Now I have the same thing happening when I put my glasses on: flecks of something floating in my field of vision.

Except there is no medical explanation for schmutz. I’m just untidy.

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…are what I need to buy today on the way home. But really this post is about IMsL.

This was the first Leather Contest I’ve attended, and only the second title contest (in the late 90’s I was part of helping the Metro Bears put on a run/contest that had very little impact). On the whole I have stayed away from organized leather, but if there was going to be a first one, I’m happy that it was this one. The stakes, while high for the contestants, seemed low for the rest of the event. People were there for a whole array for reasons, only one of which were the contests.

It was very interesting to be at a women’s event; my Seventies feminist training kicked in and it combined with my shyness to make me quite reticent about approaching people. I was trying to mind my ps and qs, not wanting to be intrusive and to listen twice befreo speaking once. I wasn’t always successful, but on the whole it was more relaxing than it sounds.

My class fell victim to the vagaries of San Francisco’s climate. Since what I was teaching involved smoking, it had to place outdoors, on the patio outside of the hospitality suite. This was fine when the sun was shining directly on it, but once there was no sunshine, the classroom turned chill to such an extent that people were stepping inside to watch from beyond the glass patio doors. I had to cut things a little short, both on the demonstration end and in general, because it was just getting silly. Scheduling also meant that many folks could only attend part of the class, which meant that there was a constant trickle of people in and out of the session. That tends to rattle me, and I feel like I didn’t do as good a job as I might have. I did have a stalwart demo bottom, and good friends in the audience, two factors that made the whole thing much easier.

There were many great people there to connect with, and despite the above mentioned shyness, I did have some wonderful conversations and saw some hot action. My own experience was mixed. I had one encounter go wrong on me and was really rattled by it. Luckily my friends were there to help me process it all.

Maybe its because I was fairly close to the operating staff, but the event seemed exceptionally well run to me; things happened when they were supposed to with a minimum of fuss. When that happens, it means that everyone can relax and enjoy what’s happening. Problems don’t become crises.

On the whole I feel like the women’s community is a lot more vibrant and diverse than the men’s. And it’s really interesting to me the way that a younger generation is upending questions about gender style and play. There’s a kind of giddiness in the exploration and reconfiguration of rules that speaks to my heart (and other parts, since I find that kind of energy very hot).

I don’t think I’ll ever find a place in “Leather Tradition”, and I’m not really interested in doing so in any event. But I am glad to have been a small part of IMsL. And very grateful to folks who brought me there.

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True the flight was oversold, but all of my car connections went swimmingly, and overall this was so much easier than my trip back from LA. There’s a lot of stuff to write about the trip, but I can’t get to it right now.

To the folks in the Bay Area: I know I came in and out quietly this trip, and I’m sorry that it worked out that I couldn’t get around town to see more of you. I’m definitely coming back for a longer visit this year and I’ll be able to plan more get-togethers.

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Doof that I am, I’m postring this via gogo, American Airlines inflight wifi service. Thus I am able to live blog the kicking of the child in the seat behind me and the $10 chicken sandwich on offer during meal service. Instead of giving that money to the Boar’s Head people (or whatever entity is responsible for assembling the dreary packaged fare), I chose to spend it on online access so that I can keep abreast of LJ drama and promptly answer all my facebook friend requests. And yet, I’m here with nothing to say, and two hours of battery time to say it in. We’ll there is one thing I can talk about:

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See that color? Remember that waffle I told you that I ate two days ago? That green you see above, roughly the green of the Starbuck’s logo, is the color of every dump I have taken since. The first one subsequent to the waffle literally looked like I had chewed up and crapped out the 18 holes of a puttputt golf course. I honestly debated getting out the camera and providing evidence because the color was so vibrant. So count your blessings that I’m just providing a surrogate swatch. I can only image the amount of food coloring they put in that batter.

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Dear Pepsico,

When marketing your canned chemical/corn syrup infused water brew in neighborhoods whose population is primarily African-American, it might be better to think for a minute before using slogans that are so redolent of the dialect stylings of Messrs Amos and Andy.

An’ dat’s de troof!

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Acid stomach – bleh.

I made the mistake of eating a green Belgian Waffle from the waffle truck at lunch. I should have backed away when the guy who made it asked me to let him know how it tasted. “You mean no one else has bought one of these?” I squeaked, surprised since it was already like 2:15 pm and green waffles were pretty much the only waffles he was offering. He said nothing and raised his eyebrows. Unfortunately I had already handed over my money by that point and the hot viridian waffle was already sitting in front of me on the truck’s counter. It looked like it was stuffed with chlorophyll. I took a bite and everything seemed normal, so I gave the thumbs up and walked on, eating the thing as I went. It was only after I had finished that the food coloring’s chemical aftertaste kicked in.

I can taste it still around the edges of my tongue, a flat chemical burn. I don’t even have the excuse of drunkenness to cover for my foolish impulse buy.

But maybe I can use my foolish impulse buy as an excuse for my future drunkenness: it’s going to take a lot of Guinness to wash this taste away.

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A view through the house. Stuffed with crap isn’t it? I took care of some overdue tasks today, but there’s so much more to do.

(insert screeching needle being pulled off a record sound)

You know what, this is the second time I started this post. I lost the first draft. But it’s just as well because it was just a whine about one of my usual whine topics. Neither one of us needs that really. I don’t need to keep writing it and you don’t need to read it.

Truth be told I’m running around like a demented gerbil, eating like a pig and operating with the attention span of a gnat. It’s not a good situationa all in all, but I don’t need to be mealy mouthed about it. Lots in my life is great: I’ve got a job, health and sex.

Off to try to pay some attention to the necessary.

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…for the present and for the delightful dinner company, and splitting the indian pudding with me. What a nice way to wind down from three days of interviews, and six days straight of work.

I’m so glad to have a day off tomorrow before the next work week.

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Today you visited me in the form of a cinnamon roll, disappointment. A roll that looked so rich and caramelized on the platter. A roll with promise.

But once bitten into you were stale, dry, crusty without being crispy, and the icing that coated your top was bland and hard. No yummy raisins lurked on your depths, only the ashen mockery of a morning treat.

You won this round disappointment, but but I vow that ultimate victory shall be mine.

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After work today I rushed downtown to get to Daredevil to get in on the $13.00 tattoo deal. I got my name on the list, along with that of a friend who was joining me, and found out that I wouldn’t be in the chair for a bout an hour and a half.

I’ve written about this deal before: on every Friday the 13th, the shop offers a special sheet of flash that you can chose from. You can’t ask for anything custom on the designs, and there’s only certain places they will work on : no necks, torsos, etc. The variation this month was that ther was a second sheet of flash that had a batch of “Daredevil appreciation” designs, mostly devils with the name of the shop worked into them. The “13” themed designs were all very sexual this time around, which seemed designed to weed out the less serious customers. I’ve gotten all of my tattoos from these events in the same place, along the inner surface of my right calf, meaning that they’re visible in the summer when I’m in shorts. When I looked over the sheets in anticipation I couldn’t get my mind around displaying rats fucking, or a mutant skull/hardon or a shemale pinup on a regular basis. So I mentally picked out a stylized devil and went out to have some pastrami and kill and hour or so.

When my friend and I got back to the shop, I found out that they had retired the devil sheet: the designs were more elaborate, the day had been long, and the artists were tiring out. I was in a jam: the only designs left were the raunchier ones, but I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to get stuck, given that I had missed last months opportunity. So I ended up getting the wimpiest design on the sheet, a simple 13, that for me is simply a commemorative marker. I was in the chair for probably all of four minutes. The is was my friend’s turn. She’d found something on the sheet that she really wanted and we went into the back room of the shop for her to get it. While we were there the shop shut the operation down, so we ended up being the last customers in the place. The artists were winding down, joking around. We heard that there was one design on the flash that no one had picked: a spurting cock with stylized wings. There was a tattooist who really wanted to do it and was trying to talk someone into it. He was offering to do it for free. My friend was finished up and we were heading out. I looked at the sheet and and the people around the shop started egging me on to get the orphaned tat: C’mon, it was going to be free. The thirteen I had just gotten was so small I hadn’t even felt that endorphin jolt. I was still hungry for the needle. So I got to ask myself a question I never thought I would: Are my tattooing addiction and inherent cheapness a strong enough combination for me to locate a spot on my body where I would be willing to have a permanent drawing of a spurting winged phallus?

The answer is no. I was teetering on the brink there, but ultimately my snooty design sense trumped all and it just wasn’t a nice enough drawing for me to get that jolt, even for free. The artist razzed me, but the manager of the shop was understanding as she ushered us out the door and and said to me “See you in November”.

“If not sooner” I replied.

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…you think you’re being thorough, you’re not. And by you I mean me.

Projects project projects, at home and at work and in the extra-curricular realms as well. And all of them filled with details to be attended to, and prickly personalities on either side to be assuaged.

I am very happy to get home and wrestle with Lehigh, for the simple panty, snorty, licky experience it is.

And I’m also happy for those folks on LJ who make extra special eye-popping posts that take mind off of all those details on all those projects such that I get the feeling that I’m missing something. Like this one from Thor.

And I’m very happy that Dave White turned me on to Blut Aus Nord. It makes New York Subway rides so much more interesting.

And in further randomness, I have officially moved into “I don’t give a fuck about/ don’t want to hear any more about Watchmen” territory. Dunno why, but there it is.

Oh also, I finished up Zot, and can see much more clearly how it is that folks would like it, but it still wasn’t quite enough for me.

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Sometimes teachin’ is fun!

A great evening at TES: big turnout and people seemed to genuinely like the class.

And I had a very comfy foot rest for most of it.

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Got some free time tomorrow evening? Then come by TES for my class:

“The Artist’s Way to Designing Scenes”

Things start at 8pm. Admission info and address on the TES website, which you probably shouldn’t access from work.

And then next week I’ll be teaching on cigars and pipes at IMsL. And in May I’ll be teaching at GMSA, on photography.

It seems that if it has an acronym, I’ll teach at it.

What does that have to do with the milkshake photo? No idea.

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I spent most of today at Kink For All, a kind of cross between a conference and speed dating for the alternative sexualities communities. I initially thought I wasn’t going to go at all, as I was getting things done around the house. Then I decided I would drop in for an hour. Once there, I stayed until it ended: five hours. I did a presentation, saw friends and soaked up the great good will that permeated the event.

I went in skeptical given the looseness of the organizational structure. But it all worked, in part because everyone who came committed to doing something to make the event a success. It was a low pressure volunteerism, that might not work for achieving other sorts of goals, but was perfect for something of this scope.

Presentations were twenty minutes apiece, which allowed people who didn’t have full topics to step forward and start discussions, and encouraged the more seasoned people to keep it crisp. I heard a lot of interesting discussion, and that’s what kept me around. It was exciting to learn how many people are thinking deeply about issues of gender and kink.

If New York is going to move beyond its current sexual doldrums, it will be because of many different people working on many different fronts. Today felt like a good step towards that.

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Don’t you want to be like him?

Today started so fresh and clean in the weather department. And it’s turning greyer by the minute. I’m relieved to have some time around the house. Almost every sheet I own has been been washed. Still a bunch of other clothes to work my way through and I should also do some weeding of my various outfits. Last night I had an online exchange with a friend that unexpectedly turned revealing and tender. What a gift. He talked about me becoming more myself. Is that the trajectory I’ve been on for the past few years? It’s all muddled from where I sit.

I’m trying to work up the enthusiasm for Watchmen, but it’s not forthcoming. I only found out about the books about ten years ago when people were insisting on their importance. My memory of them is that they were intriguing but not epoch-making. So I’m not a first generation fan, and I’m not sure I want to sit through three hours of something big and shiny that doesn’t really matter to me. As a result of the past year’s hoopla about the movie I’ve been trying to locate my copy of the trade paperback for the past ten weeks or so. (That should tell you something about the state of my apartment if a book could hide out in it for more than three months) I’ve been thinking about comics a lot lately though, partly through listening to the “Comic Book Queers” podcast and checking out the comic reviews on the Onion. I’m making my way through Scott McCloud’s Zot at the moment, thanks to the latter, but it isn’t doing much for me, neither on the drawing level nor that of the writing.

If there there was a 1980’s comic adaptation that I would geek out over, with all the attendant anxiety about casting and whether they could “get it right”, it would be Jaime Hernandez’ Hoppers stories from Love and Rockets. I’ve just read two recent collections of the newer books and my admiration continues unabated, as well as my massive crush on Margarita Luisa Chascarrillo. Reading those stories back to back with being in Los Angeles again puts me in a nostalgic mood.

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These are a few of the edition that I made as a benefit item for Location one. Last night they celebrated their tenth anniversary and the editions were a premium giveaway for the people how contributed the most.

I’m looking at my calendar and it’s filled with commitments for pieces for benefits. I’m trying to sort out what I need to do when. It’s a sad fact that the non profit art world runs on such contributions. For the most part I’m happy to do them when asked. I understand that without non profits, I’d have no career, and I believe in there being some way for artists to take control of their own methods of exhibition and value.

But deadlines are still deadlines, and it’s only now, after much rushing that I’m sitting down to get things straight. I haven’t been inclined to post here for a while, and in fact have missed out on much of the “March Question Month” stuff. I may not do it, given that I’ve just spent close to six hours sorting through my email inbox, and there’s more than enough stuff that I need to respond to there. Taking on another set of exchanges is probably not the best thing for me to do right now.

Al in all, my news is pretty good right now: the visit to LA allowed me to connect with friends both long-time and previously virtual. Last night I heard something about the work that if it should come to fruition, would be a remarkable step forward. The only downside to my recent life is that all of my rushing about has lead to little exercise and poor even slightly compulsive eating. I’m feeling distinctly unhealthy.

Here’s a hint: I sometimes backdate posts, especially photo posts. If you care to, you might want to look at this blog off of your friends page, and see what else has been going on.