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Web Log Archives: August 03, 2003 - August 09, 2003 Saturday, August 9, 2003
I arrived before Russell did. He appeared a few minutes later. No sooner had we been introduced than Calverton turned to him and said: "Well, you old s.o.b., what have you been up to? I was in the john with Joy the other day. Do you know what she told me after she watched me peeing? 'Daddy, Uncle Bertie's wee-wee is larger than yours.'" "Bless her little heart," Russell responded without turning a hair, "for her generous commendation." "Well," grumbled Calverton with a kind of mock indignation, "I hope she's learning more than this kind of physiology." Hook later recalls that Russell enjoyed reciting "not only extensive passages from the great poets of the past but also the most obscene limericks, which he attributed to Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his circle but some of which, I was convinced, were original with him." In a footnote he reprints "one of them which [Russell] recited with glee": There was a young girl from Aberystwyth Bertrand Russell, Nobel prize-winning philosopher and dirty old man with a big dick. (Pages 358-59 and 371.)
Connected Selves is a blog "about Friendster and the emerging social network tools that are emerging." Friday, August 8, 2003
Fiendster is a online community that connects people through networks of fiends who are into boring the pants of each other or who want to make new fiends fast. Introvertster is an online community that prevents stupid people and friends from harrassing you online. STD-ster is an online community that connects people through networks of sexual partners for tracking STD contraction. Santesh has some very funny and mildly funny Friendster humor. Also at Santesh, the Fakester Manifesto defends the practice of creating phony celebrity profiles. And there's even a prefab Friendster urban legend making the rounds. From: Random User Check this out! Hello, [end snip] This bastard is selling your email address, to more than one spam fuck. The frienster network claims to be able to hold up to 2 million simultaneous visitors, but in reality the number is less then half of that. All of his servers are runnining PIRATED aka ILLEGAL software and he only has 15 IP addresses... The whole network is connected to the Internet by small wires compareble to your dial-up 56k modem realitive to the task. Friendster is tanking fast, lets all throw rocks at the drowning boy. Burn in Silicon Valley, John Abrams, you lying rat bastard. Die. You should never have questioned my kung-foo by asking me to hack into your own account you fucker. You think I haven't been watching you.. 5 years in prison gives you a long time to think about shit, now its your turn. -km Please copy this message in it's entirety and paste it on your own bulletin board and help spread the word. "km" = Kevin Mitnick? In any case, it's a joke.
Thursday, August 7, 2003
The first part of the segment deals with BMX XXX, the extreme bicycle game that let you watch brief stripper videos as bonuses for achieving certain goals. The name says it all. And it's part of the fastest-growing segment of the video game business: mature titles aimed at people over 17. Videogames have a rating system like movies: E for everyone, T for teen, M for mature. Only about 20% of videogames are rated M, the smallest of the three categories. And most M games are rated that way for violence and gore, not sex and nudity. There's very little erotic content in videogames. BMX XXX and Dead or Alive Xtreme Beach Volleyball got so much attention because they were novelties, not because they were part of a trend. It's not surprising that Wal-Mart and Toys 'R' Us won’t sell the game. Or that Sony will only allow a cleaned-up version for its PlayStation system. But XBox allows adults to play the uncensored version of the game. Why? To sell more XBoxes, of course. Let me get this straight. Companies make products that people enjoy in order to make money? How can this be allowed?!? Then there's this quote from Bill Gates. "Video games are getting more realistic. But the key is that you have to bring that level of realism to a point where people forget they are playing a game," he adds. I came across this sort of rhetoric a lot in academic film studies. Certain techniques were said to make viewers "forget" they were watching a movie, while other techniques would "remind" viewers they were watching a movie. I always hated this formulation. Has anyone ever actually "forgotten" they were watching a movie (or playing a videogame) and instead believed, even for a moment, that they were really experiencing the events on screen? OK, that's just a personal bugbear of mine. The last part of the 60 Minutes II segment deals with The Sims and The Sims Online, which the show misleadingly treats as identical. While The Sims is indeed "the best-selling computer game of all time" (stats), The Sims Online has been a flop despite the teaser screenshot suggesting virtual hot tub orgies.
Every week Sarah Jessica Parker finds an analogy for love. It used to be a winner, but last week we were informed that it's a bit like the stock market.. er... you put something in... er... and you take something out, and... er... it can go up and down. In order to prove that anyone can write this kind of dross I asked the editor of this column to suggest the first thing that came into his head. It was a hot day. He said "air conditioning". So here goes. Love is indeed like air conditioning. That's the set-up. Go read the whole tortured analogy for yourself if you're hooked. It's even funnier if you read it to yourself in that cloying, singsongy voice SJP uses in her voiceovers. Wednesday, August 6, 2003
The duo lunched with pals at the Chat 'n Chew restaurant (fried chicken for him, a salad with salmon for her). Later that evening, they had dinner with Jack's bandmate (and ex-wife!) Meg White and Beck at SoHo's trendy Fiamma Osteria. After dinner, the animated group had a bottle of dessert wine before calling it quits at 12:15 am. Looks like Renée has finally found her White (Stripe) knight! That might be the coolest double date ever. (Us doesn't put any content on the web, so you'll just have to track down the magazine at your own grocery store checkout line. Which you probably already have, oh stop lying.)
UPDATE: Lopez denies the earlier story and insists the wedding is still on. We'll see. UPDATE: More denials in the Winnipeg Sun. "A large, sparkling jewel was visible on Jennifer Lopez's left hand yesterday, suggesting she and Ben Affleck are still an item despite rumours they split." Tuesday, August 5, 2003
Back in the Reagan era she would sprawl naked, legs akimbo, before some unshaved schlub clutching a Nikon. She'd let herself be filmed performing every form of sexual act except -- as she assures us -- anal sex. Those were pre-video days. You couldn't watch Traci in your living room with a Bud and a bag of chips. Guys had to slink into creepy movie houses, sit on sperm-stained seats with their raincoats bunched in their laps. Not even close. Lords did porno flicks between 1984 to 1986. Home VCRs and porn videos first appeared in the late 1970s, and by 1986 around 40% of American homes had VCRs. Salon probably can't afford a factchecking department these days, but that's just dumb. Still, the interview is quite good. Did you bond with Patty Hearst? Patty Hearst played my mother in "Cry-Baby." I had a lot of respect for her. I have a lot of respect for her. She is a survivor. She's been through a lot of intense stuff in her life. She still has a sense of humor. [Pause.] But I didn't ask her about robbing banks, and she didn't ask me about porn. Nerve also has an interview with Traci Lords by Lisa Carver, whose introduction captures my ambivalent admiration for Lords. She's like a steamroller: she sees what she wants, she is what she wants. I liked her. I like steamrollers, because they have so much gumption. Right now she's on a victim kick. I don't like victims, but I do like her version, because she's such a big, powerful snake of a victim. The "victim kick" bugs me too. Everyone exploited her and should be ashamed, but she bears no responsibility for anything she did to anyone else. Would it be so hard to say, "Yeah, I was a dumb, fucked-up kid at the time, but I feel bad for all those people I lied to and who risked losing their businesses and going to jail simply because they trusted me, even though I think they're all sleazebags"? This whiny, helpless victim stance about her porn years seems completely at odds with the admirable "decide what I want in life and go for it" attitude she adopts in talking about her life since then.
The co-owners of Xtreme Novelties say the complaints started coming in when they put up a sign that spelled extreme with three "x's". City planners received several complaints too and when they visited the store, it appeared that much of the merchandise was sexually oriented. The present location does not meet the zoning requirements for such a business because it is next to a residential neighborhood. But owners say the triple "x's" on the sign was a mistake and they have no intention of opening a sex shop. Simple mistake, could happen to anyone. (Link snagged from Fark.) Monday, August 4, 2003
Unlike the older sex shops, which are dark and dingy, the Penthouse store is big and brash and brightly lighted. Offering a ladies' night and marketing itself as a fun place for happy couples to shop, the store is part of a trend that has been spreading in suburbs from Louisville to Los Angeles in an attempt to take the industry out of the shadows and make it mainstream. It has touched off a swirl of protests. Classical nude sculptures that were put up outside the store have been smashed. Pickets paraded at the gala grand opening, and the shop had to be emptied of much of its merchandise for several days as the government tightened its regulations on pornographic businesses. The store has even the more receptive residents asking what it is about their city, on the shore of Long Island Sound, that makes it so appealing for purveyors of pornography. There's an abridged but registration-free version of this article here. The local Milford paper also covers the controversy.
Rejecting a gay culture they perceive as white and effeminate, many black men have settled on a new identity, with its own vocabulary and customs and its own name: Down Low. There have always been men -- black and white -- who have had secret sexual lives with men. But the creation of an organized, underground subculture largely made up of black men who otherwise live straight lives is a phenomenon of the last decade. Many of the men at Flex tonight -- and many of the black men I met these past months in Cleveland, Atlanta, Florida, New York and Boston -- are on the Down Low, or on the DL, as they more often call it. Most date or marry women and engage sexually with men they meet only in anonymous settings like bathhouses and parks or through the Internet. Many of these men are young and from the inner city, where they live in a hypermasculine ''thug'' culture. Other DL men form romantic relationships with men and may even be peripheral participants in mainstream gay culture, all unknown to their colleagues and families. Most DL men identify themselves not as gay or bisexual but first and foremost as black. To them, as to many blacks, that equates to being inherently masculine. Being discussed at Metafilter. A bunch of articles about the down low appeared in early 2002, collected here. Sunday, August 3, 2003
In 1995 I was hired as entertainment editor of Hustler magazine at Larry Flynt Publications. I was 30, divorced and at the end of a screenwriting career that had been flatlining for several years. Not only had I failed as a writer, but I had functioned only marginally in a variety of menial, no-brainer day jobs. On my first day as an assistant location manager in charge of finding an office building for a commercial shoot, I had become lost. As a telemarketer of computer-printer supplies, the first week my employers put me on straight commission I earned $61. I failed at other jobs simply because I didn't get out of bed. Prior to working at LFP, I had found a niche at a Beverly Hills law firm, where I temped in the word-processing department correcting typographical and formatting errors in legal documents. It was a dull job, but its focus on minutiae dovetailed nicely with my habit of smoking several bowls throughout the day in the parking garage. Sitting for hours in a white cubicle hunting through densely written 200-page legal contracts for missing periods and double commas was a pleasant way to ride out a solid buzz. I held that job for nearly three months, a record length of time in my employment history.
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