Boymeat

I feel like my life is enriched due to the fact that I can read often brilliant tweets from the frighteningly genius Warren Ellis.

Just from this morning alone:

• I am returned from the pub. You are delighted. Dance for me and flap your arms in the air like Kermit The Cocaine Frog now.

• I am going down the pub. This was essential information to you. You are glad to have learned of it.

• @arivindabraham I'm afraid I have nowhere to put an intern. There's something already in the basement, and it has tentacles. Sorry.

Love love love.

If this is old traditional leather, I'm in. Here is a community that a friend of mine (hi there!) found on FetLife:

Gay Masochists Who Occasionally Enjoy Being Bathed in Tapioca Pudding While Listening to Rush by a Transgenderqueer Pansexual Named Robert Who Calls Himself Mr. Ball Gag Bob.

I'm too intimidated to join, though. I don't think I'm hardcore enough.

Edit: And of course, FetLife being Fetlife, there is the group formed our of a political split from the original. The new group?

Gay Masochists Who Regularly Enjoy Being Bathed in Tapioca Pudding While Listening to Rush by a Transgenderqueer-identifying Polysexual  Named Richard Who Calls Himself Mr. Ball Gag Dick. 

The governor of Maine just signed into law the right to gay marriage.

Wow. The momentum is rising.

Dear Phil,

Please stop getting involved in pointless arguments about leather protocols and history on FetLife with people who refuse to remove their heads from the holes they are in. You have learned this lesson before, and yet you insist on continuing. May I suggest you bang your head against a brick wall instead? The bricks will accept your argument much quicker, you will feel a much greater sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, and the resulting major trauma will allow you to forget all about FetLife.

Love, your caring and loving self,
Phil

One of my favorite comedic actors, Dom DeLuise, passed away yesterday. I'm so sad to know that there will never be another DeLuise/Reynolds movie made.

He was also my auto mechanic's first cousin. I wonder if I should call the shop to give my regrets. Maybe a card.

Sad.

As those who have visited my home in the past know all full well... I can be a bit of a slob.

When left to my own devices, my apartment sometimes gets forgotten in the hustles and bustles of life. Clothes get thrown on the floor, newspapers and boxes completely and totally succeed at avoiding the recycling room downstairs, and various scraps of paper and wrappers fail to find their way to the trash receptacle.

Would one go as far as calling it a bachelor pad? Perhaps... though I think bachelor pads are generally cleaner.

So when kathryntact came up to NY last Friday for her final visit to NY as a non-New Yorker, I was both ecstatic and scared out of my wits. Ecstatic to see her and have her going to slumber and waking up with me daily for a week. Yet, horrified because she would see that state of my apartment and truly decide that beheading me would be a much more satisfying option than living with me.

Thankfully, I am still in possession of my head, one week later. But it was close. Real close.

It was a week of cleaning (more her than me), apologizing (so much of the me), time with friends, dining in, snuggling on the couch watching TV, geeking out on books or video games, and sex. (Gotta slip the sex in there.) In one week, my apartment has transformed itself from tornado victim to... home.

Her books are on the shelves next to mine. Her DVDs mingle and party with mine. A photo of her mother clutching a baby Kathryn sits on the shelves next to the bed. It feels good.

kathryntact drove back home yesterday afternoon, and I did not feel sadness per se as I knew it will be mere weeks until we see each other again, and then begin seeing each other a whole lot more (i.e. daily, living together, oh dear lord she's gonna learn to hate me kind of thing.) Instead of sadness, I felt loneliness.

You see, a clean apartment is a wonderful thing, yes. But all that clutter that I had before takes up space. Lots of it. And it makes the apartment feel crowded and tight and cramped. But now that everything is where it should be, after bags and boxes of stuff leaving the apartment for parts unknown, after the great reveal of more floorspace than anyone ever knew I had... the apartment is open. Way open. Wide clean empty spaces everywhere you look.

And it's lonely in there now. I laid in bed last night looking around my apartment, and wondered what was missing.

And I can honestly say kathryntact was missing. It doesn't feel like home without her now.

Pardon me as I publicly humiliate myself here.

Would any of you know how or where to get the collections of BJ and the Bear or Sheriff Lobo on DVD? My google-foo reveals a lot of schlocky looking companies that I wouldn't trust my pet rock to.

Anyone? I need my bad 80's TV fix.

It suddenly got crazy busy at work for me. I'm in the middle of a big project that is incredibly detail oriented and requires lots of specific letters and numbers to be communicated and if anything screws up all fingers will point at me and my client will yell and then my boss will take a lava lamp and break it off inside my ass.

That is... if he would ever even consider touching a lava lamp. (He wouldn't. Not in a million years.)

This is after a week in which when immediately returning from Frolicon I was briefed on what happened at the office during my days off by bending over and getting repeatedly fucked up my ass without any lube whatsoever and then was sent off back into the wild with threats of more painful buggery.

So, to sum up: Last week and this week are/were giant run-on sentences with lots of painful and not pleasurable anal sex.

That is all.

Being back at work after a whirlwind weekend through an adult playground frankly sucks.

I have not beaten or hit or made out or touched anyone in a sexual manner today.

I am wearing a button down shirt and an argyle sweater vest to fit in at work, as opposed to wearing leather jeans and a t-shirt to get ready for play.

I am in work meetings, as opposed to teaching classes on SM.

I am getting yelled at by my boss, as opposed to pretty girls yelling ouch at me.

I had to encourage myself to get a full night of sleep last night in preparation of waking up at 7:00 AM this morning, as opposed to saying fuck it and staying up horrendously late and not caring that I would only have 4-5 hours of sleep before I'm set to teach.

I have eaten fast food for lunch... wait... that's not so different.

Kathryn isn't here. Blah.

Lolita isn't here. Blah.

My family isn't here. Blah.

Scantily clad girls and boys aren't making my tongue waggle every time I turn my head. BLAH!

One of the hallmarks of a SM 101 class is teaching all the different terms and phrasing the SM community has. Every community has its own language, and in order to better navigate it knowledge of some terms helps.

Words like top, bottom, switch, scene, toys, etc.

When you attend an event like Frolicon, the need to understand the words becomes doubly important. Here is an event that is chock full of SM, but isn't a SM event, and takes inspiration much more from Sci-Fi events than SM. While most the following words seem intuitive, it is an interesting thing to contrast and compare.

SM Event	Frolicon
Event	Con
Presenters	Guests
Vending Area	Dealer Room
Classes	Panels

There are other major differences.

At a SM event, there is no photography. At Frolicon, cameras are everywhere, and almost everyone wants to see themselves in photos. One thing that does remain the same in both events is that photography is not allowed in the dungeon. Players still get their privacy.

At a SM event, there is no drinking encouraged. Occasionally the hotel bar will be open, but all official events are dry. At Frolicon, there are drinks everywhere. There are official events like the Party Battles (where party hosts compete for being the best party of Saturday night), the Concoction contest (best drink), etc. Now again, there are some similarities. No drinking is allowed in the dungeon (hell, no outside drinks period), and if you seem to be drunk, you're out.

What I like about the above is that the conference assumes that you are an adult, and that you are responsible for your own actions. From their own rulebook posted on the website:

"Rule #1 - Do not be an idiot – If you insist on acting like an idiot, Frolicon can and will boot out without giving you a refund. If in doubt about any of the following rules, always consider this one first."

I've seen so many SM groups and events feel it necessary to hand hold their members and attendees every step of the way. And yes, I understand that there are social idiots out there, and that the SM community sometimes seems to draw them out even more. Yet events like Frolicon manage to exist fairly barrier free (the only real one being having a minimum age of 21 because of all the drinking), and still manages to provide one hell of a good time without being taken over by the idiots. How? Why?

Things to ponder over, certainly.