My beef with pole-dancing

A couple of months ago, I posted a cryptic and derogatory comment about pole-dancing. Naturally, I offended at least one pole dancer, who promptly left a polite but cryptic comment. This week, one of my podcast listeners sent me a few links to stories about the rising popularity of pole-dancing parties in the suburbs, including this one to a story in the New York Times.

I made a few disparaging remarks, which surprised him, but then proceeded to think about just why this whole pole-dancing thing rubs me the wrong way. (That pun just happened, by the way. I didn't plan it.)

I should begin by saying that I once knew a woman who was a dancer in Las Vegas, pre-pole-dancing era. She denigrated the pole dancers whenever the subject arose because she saw them as talentless. "They wrap themselves around a pole. Big deal. I've been dancing my feet off and wearing elaborate costumes for years. How can they call themselves dancers?" That was my first introduction to the pole-dancing phenomenon. My friend had led me to believe -- and I had no reason to doubt her -- that pole-dancers were simply an inferior version of exotic dancer.

What do I know from exotic dancing, really? I grew up in suburbia, was an honor student, and went to KC and the Sunshine Band concerts in high school. When an exotic dancer tells a non-exotic dancer that pole-dancers are the bottom of the barrel in the exotic dancing business, the non-exotic dancer tends to accept that information as truth.

So, my next exposure to pole-dancers was via The Sopranos. Here we have a seedy strip club with women who look like they'd just as soon scrub a toilet as let you watch them pretend a large pole is, in fact, your cock. They look bored and unhappy, and what the fuck, they work at a place called Badda-Bing! for cryin' out loud. Not a resume-enhancer, you know what I mean?

Now, I am aware that it is often unwise to base an opinion on what one sees on television or the movies. If we all did that, we'd think that all crime labs had the latest technology (a la CSI) and that everybody in America only eats barbeque between the months of June and August (according to the Food Network). Nevertheless, what else did I really have to go on?

When my friend sent me those links this week and was surprised by my reaction, I had to devote some time to thinking about why I felt as I did and figure out whether I was really being fair to the much-maligned pole-dancing crowd, whether they love their poles as a livelihood or a lark.

I read the New York Times article and had several reactions. It's always been my belief that anything that makes a person feel sexy is a great and worthy pastime. I also believe that an experiential one is better than a virtual or imaginary one, meaning that pole-dancing in your living room is going to make you feel sexier than doing it in Second Life or having me write a story about you doing it. I don't have children to sap my energy and I don't have a boring or sexless domestic life, but I know I'm lucky in that regard -- plenty of women do need activities or interests that will reignite their sexual selves. Who am I to find fault with whatever does this for them?

Pole-dancers who dance for money have made a conscious choice to do so, and whatever motivates them is obviously no different than whatever motivates any stripper or exotic dancer. That they choose a pole as their primary prop is of no never-mind to me. If they're happy and having fun, great. The world should be full of people who are happy and having fun.

My beef is not with professional pole-dancers -- it's with the women who do it in their living rooms, at parties, and such. I find it sad that a woman's sexual self could be so buried that she must emulate the movements, wear the clothing, and employ the props (namely, the pole) of women that society tells her are sexy.

For me, this pole-dancing-at-home phenomenon is yet another symptom of applying a topical treatment to a systemic ailment. Yes, women will feel temporarily exhilarated by pretending they are pole-dancers. Ten years ago, women were reading about how to strip for their men. Three years ago, they were learning to "make love like a porn star."

Yes, these are harmless pastimes and they may help loosen some inhibitions. But they may also frustrate women who approach them expecting to feel sexiness descend upon them. Lots of women will discover that sexing up a pole feels silly to them, that stripping for their husbands or boyfriends only makes their men look at them quizzically, or that making love like a porn star means that they are acting rather than feeling passionate. They will feel inadequate because aren't these things supposed to make them feel sexy? There must be something wrong with them, they'll think, if these activities are failing to meet that goal.

Realistically, what can we expect bored, confused, desperate, naive, young, or sexually shut-down women to do to feel sexy? They can't ship their kids off to boarding school or make their husbands work fewer hours. They can't afford to hire maids and cooks to relieve them of housework. (And in the case of young women, they aren't old enough to look within for their inner source of sexuality and sensuality. We have to excuse them, I guess. They are led to believe that if they look and move like a Pussycat Doll,, they will be sexy, not understanding that they will be perceived as sexy, which is different than the confidence that comes from knowing who you are sexually.)

Pole-dancing seems innocuous to most people. To me, it's just another way that our culture has distracted us from introspection and self-examination so that it can lure us with quick fixes and immediate gratification. After all, the former are free but the latter can be had at any price the market will bear. I feel sad that so many women think they have to pay somebody to access what is available to them 24/7 at no cost whatsoever.

Okay. Now go ahead and attack me. I'm ready.

Weird Al made me do it

Once a day, I used to check my MySpace account to see if there were new "friend requests." There usually were, although half the time it was some porn come-on or a sales scam. Tonight, though, I signed on and saw an ad for a Weird Al Yankovic video. Being a long-time fan of Weird Al, I clicked on the link.

It took me to his page but his video wasn't working.

And that was the straw that broke this particular camel's back. MySpace is a colossal waste of time and I think I was there for all the wrong reasons. Ninety percent of my "friends" were writers I never even heard of who thought I gave a shit about their books and their careers (I don't). Most of their pages had music players on them, so although I might be playing my iTunes, I was assaulted by their stupid music if I went to their page. Lunatics with pointless diatribes would post bulletins every other day. And several times a week, the ubiquitous "Tom" would explain why some functionality wasn't, well, functioning. Oh, and did I mention the plethora of flashing and blinking ads? Words cannot describe the sublime pleasure that is MySpace. I'd rather be kicked in the ass with a frozen boot than check my MySpace page.

And, by remaining a member of MySpace, wasn't I being just as disingeuous and hypocritical as the people I criticized?

So, when I had a chance to see Weird Al and MySpace couldn't even get that right, I finally said, "Fuck this." I closed my account.

I feel like I've just lost a bunch of weight. Or been told that men will still find me attractive if I let my leg hair grow. Or that chocolate is not only healthy to eat
but good to apply topically.

Good riddance, MySpace. You are such a piece of crap. And thank you, Weird Al, for making me see reason.

How an artist works

I feel the same way about art as I do about food -- I enjoy consuming it but find it best for all concerned if I don't attempt to create it.

So, I was intrigued to find artist Jackie Adshead's site, which not only displays her beautiful artwork but shows how a piece is created. Click on the "Online Demonstration" link to see the step-by-step process.

For a paint-by-numbers gal like me, I was quite mesmerized.

And here's something even more incredible. It's a real-time sketch of a woman that begins with her skeleton and ends with her being fully clothed. In the process, she is naked. Very cool.

Outlaugh-The Nellie Olesons-Ann Coulter Spoof-NSFW!

Here's a little spoof of the most sexless human on the planet. Doesn't it make you hot?

What's in the water of Lake Wobegon?

If you ever thought Garrison Keillor was an amusing, unassuming fellow with a liberal mindset (just because he's on public radio), you might want to read this blog post from Dan Savage.

Boy. You think you know a person....

I'm suddenly proud of the fact that I've always found Keillor to be boring in the extreme.

Addendum: Thanks to an anonymous comment to this post, I was alerted to the possibility that Keillor meant his remarks as satire. I did some research and found this ... apology? correction? clarification? ... by Keillor himself. It seems inadequate and yet, it does seem to suggest that Keillor understands his attempt at satire failed and that he has some 'splainin' to do...

Erotica writing in the SF Bay Area

I recently hired a few writers to help out at Custom Erotica Source. Some have written professionally, some haven't, but each and every one of them is creative in some awesome way. Jen Cross, for instance, teaches writing workshops here in the greater San Francisco area and I think hers are especially unique because they link writing to "wholeness." Her Web site is Writing Ourselves Whole and her mission is:

To offer safe, confidential writing groups -- that allow for transformation, risk, laughter, and artistic manifestation -- to a broad cross-section of the community, focusing particularly on those who've felt marginalized and silenced (survivors of sexual trauma and domestic violence, members of the LGBTQQI communities, and those who are poor, underemployed, or homeless).

What a beautiful concept. And she places a strong emphasis on erotica, which is utterly brilliant, not to mention inspired. Few things are more essential to the core of the soul than sexuality. And sadly, so many souls are damaged there... Check her site for a class schedule.

The best movie EVER

There are days when I think this Interweb thing is really going to catch on. Today is one of them.

After much planning and collaboration, Flash animator Andy Pinder and I have finally finished and uploaded our interactive movie about your erotic personality. (That's right. Yours.) It stars the lady you see pictured here.

I'd love to know what you think of it!

Don't stick THAT in there

I've been reading a lot about the evils of plastics in the past few months. There's a great site called Delicious Organics that goes into informative detail about which kinds of plastic will end up in your bloodstream and which won't. From this site, for instance, I learned that reusing a plastic water bottle is just about the worst thing you can do. And here I thought I was helping the environment by doing so. Little did I know I might be killing myself in the process.

So, anyway, turns out that not everything you need to know about plastics is at that site. Good Vibrations recently decided it's going to phase out all sex toys made with Phthalates. (Just trying to pronounce that word probably has a detrimental effect on one's health...) Science is still working to determine just how bad Phthalates might be for us, so Good Vibrations (and Smitten Kitten) is going to gradually phase out its inventory of toys made from this plastic. By October of this year, they won't be selling anything containing it.

Better safe than sorry, especially since they had been recommending that condoms be used on the toys. Am I the only one who finds that notion worthy of a giggle? Not only are condoms designed for people but what irony that we would be using one man-made substance to stifle the dangers of another.

I am a big fan of sex toys but when you hear stuff like this, it just makes you want to go natural and opt for fingers and cocks exclusively, you know?

Quirky, erudite, and just plain fun

M. Christian -- my partner in all things -- recently started a blog with his brother Sam, and it's quickly turning into something rather remarkable.

It's called Meine Kleine Fabrik, which means "my little factory" in German. As many of you know, I find most blogs (even my own on occassion!) are not terribly compelling, amusing, or enlightening, and like reality shows, they seem mostly to be a way for people to have the say or voice that they cannot have in their everyday lives. (Yes, yes, I know the Internet is the great equalizer and that everybody deserves to have a voice, but let's face it, there are some people with opinions and thoughts that stir you and others who just winge on. Most are wingers, methinks.)

I was surprised when Chris wanted to start a blog because he has always been more anti-blog than I. But once he and his brother began posting things, I started to realize that they were using the concept of a blog in a whole new way.

You see, Chris and Sam are tremendously curious people. Intellectually insatiable, I think you could safely say. They take great pleasure in discovering small, perhaps even relatively unknown creations/inventions/facts/phenomena and delving in to learn more. (I am witness to their weekly get-togethers, where they tackle the problems of the world, play video games, eat crazy food from Japantown, and put their heads together on graphic novels they want to write. There is so much energy in the room, I often have to leave!)

Meine Kleine Fabrik is their avenue for reminiscing, celebrating, and exploring all the intruiging stuff they've ever encountered and/or enjoyed in their lives. The depth and breadth of their collective knowledge never ceases to amaze me, and now that the Internet truly does seem to contain virtually everything that ever existed, Chris and Sam are using the blog to post, marvel at, and catalog all the wild stuff they've ever had occasion to be influenced, taught, or entertained by.

But what I find the most touching of all is that they are using the blog as another way to bond with each other. They are titillated by one another's posts and although I sense a healthy level of competition between them regarding who can post the coolest stuff, each genuinely applauds what the other one puts up. The blog functions not only as an information sharing tool, but an emotional one, as well.

I'm so touched by what they've done for each other through this blog. Not to mention excited by what they're doing for anybody who reads it.

I encourage you to check it out. You won't find gratuitous puffery, pedantic prose, or anything even remotely mundane. And I guarantee you will learn something.

Mika sings "Grace Kelly"

I cannot stop listening to this song. I am quite thoroughly addicted -- so much so that I have to share it with you. (Mika is a U.K. artist but I'm hoping he swims over to this side of the pond soon.) Find him on MySpace at: http://www.myspace.com/mikamyspace

Glamour Magazine wants your lies

For Glamour magazine, writer Natasha Chilingerian is looking for anecdotes from women, age 20-40, that describe how you got out of a lie you told. The lie doesn't need to be 'outrageous.'
The lie should have occurred in adulthood (no stories from high school
or younger).

She'd love to hear how you handled a lie that you told:

- at work
- to a guy
- to a friend
- to your parents (as an adult)

Also, she'd love stories about lies told while doing online
dating (you lied about age/height/jobs/hobbies, etc.)

The anecdote should include:
An explanation of how you got out of a big lie you told someone. Give
all the details on why you told the lie, and how you handled the
fallout.

Glamour will only run first name and age if selected, but please also
include your phone number and email address for fact checking. Email
natashachilingerian@gmail.com if you have anecdotes!
She needs these by Tuesday morning, Feb. 20. Thanks so much.

They like it!

It's hard to write a book. And not necessarily for the reasons you think.

Popular wisdom holds that fiction writers struggle with periods when the muse does not visit or the creative well is dry. This is certainly a real and pervasive problem for some fiction writers. But it's just the beginning of the hell that awaits them after they are published.

Add to that struggle the disturbing eventuality of getting published and then having the unwashed masses take potshots at what took you weeks, months, or even years to create, polish, edit, and refine. If they don't understand your finely honed nuances or your incredibly clever plot twists, you and your book are villified and maybe you will have trouble earning money by being creative in the future.

Non-fiction, however, poses a somewhat different but equally irritating set of problems. It is far less dependent on visitations from the unpredictable muse but it does rely heavily on the writer's knowledge of the book's subject matter. Even if you thought you knew exactly what you'd write about and felt confident in your depth and breadth of knowledge to take the topic on, at some point during the writing, you will experience panic attacks of varying degrees because you will question whether you really know enough to write an entire book.

I faced such a question when I wrote YOUR EROTIC PERSONALITY. Suddenly, I was questioning everything I thought I knew, anticipating the "she doesn't know what she's talking about" criticisms that probably every writer gets (regardless of whether she actually does know anything about her subject matter!

So, when The Erotic Woman's review of my book came out this week, I breathed a sigh of relief. They gave it a glowing review, for which I am eternally grateful.

One down, approximately 50 more reviewers to go... Do they make a version of Valium especially for writers, I wonder? If so, I may consider acquiring a few thousand doses.

The Last Seduction

A young and virtually inexhaustible aspiring writer friend of mine, Lucy Felthouse, recently told me about the book she's writing: The Last Seduction. But she's writing it via blog entries and is letting the book take twists and turns based on reader feedback (and her own whim, of course!). The results are quite compelling.

Lucy is an engaging person and good writer -- check out her ongoing novel and give her some comments. She's taken custom erotica writing in a whole new direction!

(This image is by one of my CES illustrators, Gradiva. It screamed "seduction" to me....)

I want one!

As a dutiful San Franciscan, I am rarely without my iPod. It's true that I love the device itself, but I also feel happy when my music is with me. So, imagine my delight when my mischeivous beau brought the OhMiBod music-powered vibrator to my attention!

It syncs with your iPod to deliver a new level of musical satisfaction. And it is appropriately priced at -- what else -- $69.

With Valentine's Day just around the corner, I can't imagine why this little beauty wouldn't be on your list.

I can't help but think about how I might be able to make the most of this device on my daily commute...

What's a little pole among friends?

Did you ever long to be one of those zombie-faced women in a seedy bar who makes her living by pretending that a pole is one big penis?

You did?

Well, aside from the fact that I'm a little sorry for you, I'd like to tell you about a contest that might make your day. It's a pole party -- and it can happen right in your home! Yes! Now you too can aspire to objectify yourself for money! It's a good thing you stopped by today, huh?

Chasers War On Everything - Americans

I don't think any commentary can properly introduce the massive stupidity you're about to witness with this video. Having watched the film Idiocracy last night, I find this video only confirms my fear that morons are multiplying in alarming numbers in this country... I mean, we elected one, for crying out loud.

What do you think? Are most Americans really this dumb and uninformed? Or is it just the ones who live in Texas (where this video was apparently filmed)? (My apologies to intelligent people who happen to live in that state. I know you're out there. Please tell me you're out there.)

I want to be proud to be an American, but man, it's getting harder all the time...

LOVE those stereotypes

About two weeks ago, Village Voice columnist Rachel Kramer Bussel was given her walking papers. This was a rather stunning move on the part of the Village Voice because Rachel's column wass not only well-read and much enjoyed by many, but the publishing industry even acknowledged its importance by granting her several books deals in the past few years. Frankly, only her column and Violet Blue's are funny, informative, and worth your time. They are very different columns but they both provide(d) a connection to what's happening in the world of sex-related events and philosophies.

I thought it was strange that Rachel's was terminated, but I was curious about what might replace it.

Holy crap -- you should see what replaced it.

Here's a blog post from fellow writer Jolie du Pre that sums it up well, I think. (And if you want to read the whole column, god help you, go here.)

I am a woman in my forties and this new column is just outright stupid. I don't relate to it at all. True, I don't have children, but the Village Voice is supposed to stand for cutting edge perspectives -- since when does that include suburban mothers with nonexistent sex lives? And if such mothers have the time or inclination to read anything at all, will they choose to read about their waning and/or shriveling sex lives?

Now, it should also be noted that I'm not known in the industry as being somebody who's out there consuming all manner of sexual information and "freak show" news stories. For the most part, I let all that stuff flow right past me because it seems like a lot of ephemera to me. But I don't ignore all of it, because frankly, the very publication of any of those stories is further evidence that the world is becoming more accepting of sex in all its iterations -- and that's a good thing. So my primary objection to this new Village Voice column is simply this: I fail to see how it advances the idea of open-minded sex philosophies and sex acts. To hear the whining and complaints of women who aren't getting any sex may feel just great to the women doing the whining, but the rest of us -- those who have healthy sex lives, with or without children -- are not enhanced, educated, or otherwise enlightened by anything this new column would spew out.

In other words, do we need another column of hackneyed, unoriginal thoughts penned by stereotypes that nobody finds interesting anyway?

I feel sure Rachel is going to turn up in a new and better place. Meanwhile, the flushing sound you hear is the Village Voice going down the toilet.

Book reviewers wanted!

I have uncorrected proofs of my upcoming book, YOUR EROTIC PERSONALITY for anyone who might be willing to review it or otherwise talk about it on a Web site or blog. The book will be released in April. If you're interested in receiving a copy for a review, please write me at sagevivant@yahoo.com and tell me who the review is for and where to send your copy. Many thanks!

But they don't miss him there, either, I'll bet

Saw this bumper sticker today and loved it so much, I had to share it with you.

You, Coming and Going

Attention Orgasm Fans! Now there's a site that allows you to see the faces of others in their petite morts and even to upload your own.

Beautiful Agony is a rather brilliantly conceived site that offers a voyeuristic as well as an exhibitionistic opportunity for those interested in either. Capitalizing on both is also a clever way to make money, but then again, that's what the sex on the Internet is all about, I guess!

Upload your own video or watch those recorded by others. You'll see a wide range of facial expressions, sounds, and sexual attitudes -- it is indeed a novel concept. What I especially like about this site, though, is that the focus is on the face. No nudity allowed. It makes the watching more personal, somehow, not to have the distraction of bodies. It also makes the experience more intense because you have nowhere to look but the person's face.

And no, you won't be seeing my face up there, despite my exhibitionist tendencies! Special thanks to Leo for alerting me to this very unique site.