The Fat Lady sings out her Brains!

Recent Scenes from North Korea

( Material for an SF novel right here! )

Economies do better under Democrats

Michael Kinsey says (and I concur), "Correlation is not causation, but as long as the correlation holds... who cares?"

The White House refuses to back John McCain

( The President will not say 'The fundamentals of our economy are strong. )

The current crisis was caused by the SEC willfully allowing five firms to ignore SEC regulations

( Interesting detail from SEC director Lee Pickard )

Chris Matthews: "Bush is pulling one of those Katrinas again."

( A culture of ethical failure, continued. )

Brutal Snark from Gail Collins: "This Week's John McCain"

( Ouch! )

It's from Kos, but it seems solid: Why Sarah Palin charged rape victims for evidence collection kits

( A consistent culture of ethical failure, continued )

Really, George? Is this all we have left?

( Losing the Will to vote )

McCain: "I'd fire the Chairman of the SEC."

( Except he doesn't have that authority. )

Bonus McCain pre-emptive lying!

( I willen on non hasen been telling the truth! )

Californians unprepared to destroy existing marriages, even if they're gay

( Yay! )

John McCain, Party Animal

( The photo John McCain doesn't want you to see )

For Science Hackers: The Democratization of Biosciences

( “Biohacking may occur, but this negative externality is a byproduct of democratization.” )

John, John, John

( Oh, give it up already. )

Sarah Palin is running for President

( The 'Palin and McCain' Campaign? )

The other war goes badly

( Taliban field commanders say 'Things are going well for us.' )

Fairness where it is due. I've heard the interview with El Pais, rather than read a transcript. How John McCain could understand her at all through that accent and rapid speech was a mystery. I agree with most people; she blindsided him and he handled it badly, but I don't think it's indicative of incompetence or senility. Also, Randy Scheuenemann is being roundly criticized for referring to Prime Minister Zapatero as "President Zapatero," but apparently calling him "President Zapatero" is not uncommon in Spanish media, as he is president of his party, and his party is the ruling party in Spain at the moment. I think Scheuenmann was talking out his ass, but he's at least got plausible deniability.

And in good news, blogger and journalist Brian Beutler surfaces after disappearing for three months, dropping off the Earth without any warning. He now informs us that he "bravely robbed three bullets of their deadly momentum." And we Seattlites thought our summer sucked this year.

The Shrieker

Last night, Omaha and I managed to get a babysitter and go out. We had a lovely dinner and then headed over to an S&M party we knew about, where I practiced tying her down and then, well, you can imagine what happened next. Well, you can try.

The remainder of the evening, however, was not so delightful.

Parties are meant to be public, by definition. There aren't that many private spaces, and even the semi-private ones usually allow others to watch, sometimes with limits or restrictions. S&M parties are going to be filled with noise: a giggle, a slap of a hand, the creak of a wooden frame, the clink of a suspension harness, a moan. You go to the party expecting that kind of thing. Sometimes, for a moment, a couple goes way hard and loud with screaming and sobbing. Eventually, it fades.

Back in the 1960s and 1970s it was fashionable to write articles for 'mainstream magazines' about the kinky wildlife going on "somewhere else," and one of the universal phrases found in these articles was that while there were "S-and-M parties" going on somewhere you were not, "nobody ever really inflicts pain on one another during these games. A little slapping, a little tickling, that's about it." That's simply not true, and reading Geoff Mains, who chronicled the S&M scene in the mid-1970s in San Francisco, it was never true.

And when a very heavy pain scene breaks out at a party, there's a rhythm and flow to it that assures onlookers that everything is okay, that both people know what they're doing (or at least getting into).

Last night, though, there was this one couple, man top, woman bottom, and she shrieked at every thing he did. And not in a good way. I mean, full on "I'm being eviscerated please dear god someone stop him help me I'm going to die I'm being murdered!" shrieking. It was horrible. It was the kind of screaming that went on, that reached deep into the ancient lizard part of your brain and shook the alarming ganglia that insisted a member of the tribe was being hurt and you should do something now. It was agonizing being in the same room with them. Every time you'd think they'd reached an end point, that it couldn't possibly get any worse, they'd start right up again.

It was terribly unfair to the rest of the people there. Those two involved the rest of the party in their scene without attendees consent. They ruined other people's scenes. They made mere attendance unpleasant. I spoke with several other people at the party whom I've known a long time ago, and almost universally they agreed.

I complained to one of the party organizers. He shrugged and said, "What can we do? It's an open night. Maybe they come here because she's so loud like that her neighbors hate her."

I mean, it's gotten to the point now where, next time I go to a kinky party around here, I'll have to ask if I can come in for a look-see first and if that couple is attending, I'll leave.

Hardwood Cabin, Redux

A couple of months ago, I blogged about the Hardwood Cabin, a local swingers club nearly in my back yard that the city chose to shut down, claiming that it was a "business" rather than the very large and frequent "private parties" affair that the hosts claimed it was.

In the time since then, I've been thinking on and off about the Hardwood Cabin, and what it means. Most of my "thinking" has been informed, sadly, by the negative reaction to the club that I've seen, mostly coming off the right-wing websites like Drudge and Free Republic. If you want to see reactionary, "freedom for me but not for thee, because you're fat and/or kinky," go read a couple of the entries on those links. Phrases like, "They're not normal, they're sick individuals, like dogs in heat," and "These people are narcissists who insist on the freedom to do as they choose without having to take responsibility for their choices or even make responsible choices," and finally, " They tend to be overweight, middle ages unattractive types."

Oh, I dunno. I thought they were kinda cute. (Last night I met a beautiful and very big redheaded girl at the party, and Omaha asked me if I was "getting into fat women." Uh, dear, it's been clear for years that my tastes run to extremes.)

A friend of mine thought that my interest might be annoyance that I wasn't invited. There may be some truth there. Then again, I had no idea it was going on and obviously didn't have any interest in hunting down new spaces; there are plenty out there already. Goddess knows I'm booked to the hilt already.

When I was 25 years old and pretty much a blithering idiot, I went to a few swingers' club events, usually as an AIDS educator, gave my safer sex presentation and then watched it be blissfully ignored by people who thought that STDs didn't happen to them. I looked down upon those people as desperate, aging, out to prove they can still "do it," and not thinking much beyond my own peer group.

I'm 42 now. I'm the same age as most of the people who went to Hardwood, the age of a lot of the people I once dismissed. While I'm not quite into the random exchange of bodily fluids that is a swinger's event, I enjoy having a life full of wonderful people who are willing to get naked and do dirty things with me. I'm grateful for all the opportunities, from the kinkiest to the most sweet and innocenct. As I've documented before, the passage of time has made me painfully aware of the slow wearing on the equipment, from the knees to the eyes, just like most people my age, and with it two illuminating realizations: my age cohort did not get to sling mud, drop acid, and fuck like crazy at Woodstock, and we have only so many more years to get in all the pleasures of life we can before we have to start thinking seriously about hip replacements and Metamucil.

I have compassion now for the older people I saw seventeen years ago. I understand why the Elf of 25 thought that way. And part of me can't wait until all those snot-nose Freepers reach this age and wonder why they spent so many damn nights in front of the keyboard, whining about libruls.

Now that kid has his priorities in order!

Yesterday, when I went to pick up Kouryou-chan from her ballet class, I was a few minutes waiting in the outer reception area because she was taking her good sweet time getting changed. She's apparently made a new friend and had to tell her all sorts of secrets, like her "real name." There were other parents waiting for their kids. One woman was with a little boy, maybe seven year old, who was busily writing something down on the back of an orange sheet of paper, some flyer for the dance school.

When they left, I went to look at what he'd written. I think we should have the Men In Black follow this kid around, 'cause he really knows what he wants. In blocky capital letters he'd written:

Learn how to make:

• Robots
• World War 3
• Fractions