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November 29, 2001

the dark side I

Okay, now this is the series that's gonna make people cringe I think. Hell, it makes me cringe just thinking about writing it. Most of this stuff all comes from one part of my life, and I think that during this time I survived solely on the grace of the angels if you know what I mean. And I am serious, this is sorta hardcore shit, so if you don't think you can handle it, wait until the "dark side" series is over. Don't worry, I'll bring it all back around to love again. I promise.

I had lived in Seattle before, and then traveled around the US, finally ending up back in my hometown of Rockford, IL, staying with my mom. This is back in 1995 or so, if I remember correctly.

Anyway, I moved back to Seattle finally that fall, and moved in with some friends I had known before in Seattle. They were living in a big loft space in Pioneer Square, the south part of downtown Seattle, mere blocks from crack central. It was a huge cube of space with no heat, and a bathroom out in the hall. It was never meant for human habitation, and therefore often felt like being sort of strangely homeless myself. Plus, the other people who lived in the bulding were pretty trippy as well.

Going back to Seattle was like hitting a wall of drugs and bad vibes. Next door lived a couple who were longtime heroin users, and down the hall was a rough and tumble stripper and hustler par excellance who gave me some serious education via the school o' hard knocks. Also, it turned out that 2 of my friends (a couple) had been kinda harboring resentment towards me about things that happened when I lived in Seattle before. The other person who lived in the space was a huge pothead, and since we were nearly constant companions, I became one too.

Four people, two of them a couple, one with a day job, made for some really difficult living, and huge resentment and bad feeling quickly began to accumulate. Toss in some hallucinogens, some really bad passive aggressive behavior, and a really wierd sketchy environment, and sometimes living there had begun to resemble a living hell.

I came back to Seattle to go to massage school, and I actually did get the loan together and was going in the spring, but things degenerated quickly. First they asked that I find somewhere else to live, and then they told me that it had better be my last month there. I was working a crappy telemarketing job, and I hadn't been able to save up any money, and I just couldn't see any possible way that I was going to get together the money to get out of that fucking hellhole and put together First, Last and Deposit in a city noted for it's high rents.

So one day I was over at the hustler girl's house...let's call her Miss Banana, and I was saying, "God Miss Banana, I have got to figure out a way to make some money. I am fucking desperate. I don't care if it's legal or not at this point. I'd sell drugs, but all I know how to sell is pot, and all my friends already buy from Big Mama. I don't want to undercut her or anything. But I'd do anything, Miss Banana. I'm serious. I'd...I'd suck a dick for rent money."

Miss Banana looked me up and down. "Hmmn," she said, thoughfully.

(you know it's gonna be continued)

A Year of Blogging

I know I've already mentioned it several times, but today is my first Bloggy Birthday, and I just thought it worthwhile to thank two people.

When I had been posting for only about 2 weeks, it had started to get kind of old, and I was thinking about just letting the tinyblog die. It was cool, I wrote some fun things, and then I just wasn't sure if it was worth the effort.

Then, I visited one of first weblogs I read regularly, The Booge and realized, that for the first time, I was linked on his sidebar.

Well now I could hardly NOT UPDATE! In fact, I realized it was nothing less than my civic duty to post regularly. Really though, seeing that made me decide that I did want to keep up with it after all, and it's been a really cool place to be able to put my writing, and practice my newfound web design skills in a laid-back kinda way.

Then, the first real weblog I ever read (unless you count lileks.com's daily bleat, and I don't) was Shauny.org's What's New Pussycat. Not only was she friendly to my initial stalking of her, but when I wanted more reliable hosting, she allowed me to park the tinyblog at her site, where it sits even now. Now it has grown into the deepest online friendship I've ever had, and if for that reason alone I'm glad I started weblogging. Thanks, Shauna.

Someday I may even see what she looks like.

November 28, 2001

it's very pleasant: childhood stuff III

My mom was very forthright about sex, in case you're wondering where all this came from. Forthright, in her friendly, honest, and slightly clinical way. I had a penis, and my sister had a vagina. There was none of this pee pee stuff that I can remember, even when I was a very little boy.

I was very curious about what it felt like. One time I passed a note to my friend Jim in 5th grade (who insisted he had sex with hundreds of girls) asking what sex was like. "They screm and it feels good," he wrote, eloquently, on a scrap of paper.

I asked my mom a similar question. She had explained the mechanics pretty well, but I wanted to know how it felt, "Well," she said, "it's very pleasant." She also said that she had tried fucking, and she had tried making love, and that although it was true that both could be fun, making love felt much better.

That was sort of revealing, but I had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Luckily there was Men's Sexual Fantasies, sort of a Penthouse Letters in paperback form, convienantly located low on the shelf at the now defunct Kroch's and Brentano's Booksellers in Cherryvale Mall. I am quite sure I read it cover to cover in my many furtive browsings of it while hanging out at the mall.

I read "the 'g' spot" and I read Masters and Johnson, and basically every damn thing I got my hands on. In my mind, I was studying. I wasn't going to be some inept fool, blindly missing the clitoris...I would know exactly what I was doing the very moment I got my chance.

I had done all kinds of fussing with my penis, and I knew there was some kind of orgasm to be had, but I didn't finally have one until 6th grade. At 6th grade. At the very top of the bleachers as a matter of fact. They were huge tall retractable bleachers, many rows high, and during LAP, I was just laying there prone looking out over the few kids shooting baskets after school.

That's when I noticed that just a gentle pressure against the bleachers was really doing me right. With almost no movement I felt it well up in me, and then finally fill my whole body with sensation. It felt so yummy to have that experience, especially with people around, and with no risk. It was very pleasant.

not.so.soft: sex week guest post

Alright then, I've asked a few of my favorite online writers to come up with an apropos post for sex week (which I have a feeling is going to take longer than a week).

The first of them is Meg, of the fine weblog not.so.soft, who offers first this fine story:

not.so.soft sex


I'd been having sex for eighteen months, before I finally had sex in a bed. Tents? Sure. Sofas? Of course. The floor of the reading room in the college library? Absolutely. But never in a bed.

Before we go any further, let's get something straight. I'm no slapper. I'm more chaste than plenty of people I know, and this rather unusual start to my active sexual life is a product of circumstance rather than choice.

I'm not sure why, exactly - put it down to a combination of sharing a dorm-room in college and wrong time/place issues - but I remember the sheer guilty pleasure achieved the first time we slipped between cool sheets and did the dirty. I was more interested in the pattern on the duvet cover and the sensation of springs digging into my back than anything that was going on above me. It even smelt different. Like warmth, and cosiness, and...bed. So different from the smell of stale beercans, new books, or damp wetsuits. Smell has always been important.

I have a page of bad poetry written at eighteen, in which I manage to declare undying lust for my then boyfriend while simultaneously bemoaning the fact that we had only ever made love in a pile of discarded wetsuits in the dive room. Sex with him smelt of neoprene and brine and kelp. A sensual activity, indeed.


Later in the week, when we get into some seriouser stuff, we will also have a poetry offering by the lovely noomeejahoor. What I want to know is, what exactly is a slapper?

November 27, 2001

I don't like mustard: childhood stuff II

When I was around that same age, perhaps a little younger, perhaps a little older, it's hard to say. My mom was working, and as working moms do, had to find some kind of childcare situation for my infant sister and I.

One of them was the house of a lady named Grace, and her hellion son who was about my age. I can't remember his name so we'll call him Jared. I had never met a kid up to that point who was such a damn troublemaker.

Once we had hot dogs for lunch. When I told him that I didn't like mustard he seemed genuinely surprised. He told me to close my eyes. While my eyes were closed, he put mustard on my hot dog. When I opened my eyes, I wailed to Grace, and she graciously replaced my hot dog with a new, mustardless one.

"Close your eyes," he said again.

"No!" I said, "You'll put mustard on my hot dog!"

"No I won't," he said, "just close your eyes."

I closed my eyes, and again he put mustard on my hot dog. I was shocked by such deceit. I complained, and was again given a fresh hot dog.

"Close your eyes."

You may find it hard to believe, but he somehow smoothly talked me into trusting him a third time, and of course put mustard on my hot dog. This time grace had less sympathy and told me I was stuck with the hot dog. I think he tried it next time we had hot dogs and I told him to go to hell, but what does this have to do with sex, you're wondering...

Well, it's just to sort of set up what kind of guy Jared was. One time I walked downstairs in the middle of a game Jared was playing, involving one other participant, and several spectators, of which I was soon one.

There was a girl laying on the floor, and I guess the pretense was that she wasn't aware that Jared was gradually pulling down her pants. She had her eyes closed. He would tell her to turn over, and then he would scoot down her pants just a tiny little bit, and then have her turn over again. I think the idea was that he was doing it SO gradually, that she couldn't detect that her little bits would soon be showing.

Now unlike haunted house, which was just sort of sybaritic pleasure, this was a genuine sexual thrill. I remember my excitement at the idea that we were going to see this girl's business, and she wasn't going to know about it. He did get her pants most of the way down by the time the game was interrupted, and I can remember even now the intense hot feeling in my chest that I have had many times since.

In retrospect the girl must have been a willing participant, in the same way I was a willing participant in having mustard put on my hot dog the third time, but I wonder if she enjoyed herself?

haunted house: childhood stuff I

I thought I'd start this off by writing about my own first sexual experience. It was with another boy, as were my first several, and it happened when I was about 4 or 5 years old.

I lived in an apartment complex in Arlington Heights, IL, and had a couple of friends there. One, Jerry, was my age, or a little younger. The other, was a boy of about 7 years old, who one day suggested we play, "Haunted House".

Obviously it's been about 20 years, and the details of Haunted House are fuzzy, but I do remember that one person was the "girl" and one person was...well, the boy I guess. I think. It was definately played under the bed, and it involved the girl giving oral sex to the boy. While I didn't mind being the girl terribly, I much preferred the other role, and I think it was like that most of the time.

I really liked it...I had no sense of the weight behind the whole operation, or exactly why it was a haunted house, but the role-playing of it did include some kind of spooky element and it was nice. I remember I found it very pleasurable and relaxing and didn't have any bad feelings about it at all.

I don't remember how many times we played haunted house, but I do remember the last time. I think I actually suggested we play. The kid wasn't into it at first, but consented on two conditions. That I be the girl, and that we play it with him sitting in a chair. It hadn't been going on for very long at all, when I felt my mouth fill...with pee. He peed in my mouth. And by his reaction it was clearly a pre-meditated thing.

I wasn't disgusted really, just a little disconcerted. He seemed to find it pretty funny, and I got sort of a striking revelation when he told me that he had done the same thing to my friend Jerry a few days earlier. I think I got a little savvier right at that moment when I realized that I wasn't the only person he had played haunted house with. I was kinda surprised that Jerry had gone for it, he was usually a pretty timid kid.

Haunted house never happened again, but I did have another sexual experience right around that same time...

November 26, 2001

almost one year of tinyblogging!

On November 29th, 2000, I somehow got the idea that I wanted my own weblog, and so I started one! Here's what my masthead looked like back then:

In honor of 1 year I'm doing a few things. For one thing, I moved the blog over to movable type, where I have much more control over everything. CONTROL!

In addition, I put a little ad on blogger!

And last but not least, I'm doing a very special ALL SEX edition of the tinyblog for several days starting on the 29th, my one year anniversary.

Thank you everyone who reads, I really do appreciate it.

what's with that tinyblog guy anyway?

Well, for one thing, he's been saving up all his pennies to move over to the Movable Type content management system (translation: thingy like blogger and greymatter, but cooler). Or is that marbles? Yes, saving up marbles.

So what you're looking at, is the new, and hopefully improved MT generated tinyblog. I've been posting on both systems for awhile now, so it's nice to only have to post to one place. Allelujia!

While basically the same design, let me take you on a leetle tour of the new features: the sidebar is super-fancy now, making it much easier to find things in my archives, if anyone were inclined to do such a thing. Also, I have the link to my current blog page in the form of .'s in the shape of TINYBLOG. I had this in an earlier design and, well, just sort of missed it.

Also, the comments system is the new MT one, and has been revamped a little.

There is a link to a pop-up window, which, as of this writing does not work yet, but it's little things like that that have kept me from just moving over to this version for months now and I've had enough! It will work soon and it will be beautiful!

November 21, 2001

I still ♥ blogs

As if all of that exhaustive ass-kissing weren't enough, I remembered a couple of other blogs that really should have been mentioned.

First of all, I can't believe I forgot Brian J Busch, who's lovely weblog has been delighting me lately with it's sweet humanness and sorta tender observation. It's extremely tiny.

And a blog I can't believe I've been missing all this time, Rabbit Blog!. (and what a URL!) Particularly awesome is her fantastic advice on surviving family holidays. Very impressive, and very via Rosebaby, the blog.

I ♥ other blogs

The first order of business is the new and so improved Perils of Leisure. I've got some free hosting over at tinyplace.f2s.com, and finally decided to put it to some good use. I installed a copy of Movable Type over there, and let some people I think are worthy run a blog over there.

Well, Paula over at the Perils of Liesure is more than worthy, and has used her amazing design capabilities and the flexibility of Movable Type, to come up with 5 blogs in one(!) with a super cool DHTML implementation.

Also coming soon from that Movable Type installation, the web version of Jonathan Cameron's serialized Email set of ass-kicking poems, The National Weekly Poetry Address. If you just can't wait to see the web version to read Jonathan's amazing modern poetry, you can always email him and get on the Email list version.

In other weblog lovin' news, Serialdeviant.org(y) has a new design, and writes one hell of a dense little weblog. Political commentary, mini-photos of herself, and other general deviance.

Poagao is currently out of Taiwan, and chronicling his exploits in Australia.

If you don't read every episode of Dooce, you are doing yourself a serious disfavor. Every couple of days she drops a new essay, along with her hilarious little sidebar featurettes. She changes her sweeeeet and totally tight design just about as often, and also usually includes a playlist (complete with mp3's) of what she's listening to these days. A pleasure! I check it far more than she updates.

Geegaw could be one of the most impenatrably brilliant weblogs I have ever seen. I don't always understand it, but I'm always glad I read it. You only have 7 more days to catch her before she goes on vacation. Plus, she's a fellow Seattle webloggers, and SWUD!

I, Asshole continues to shock and vilify even the most jaded bloggers with her astounding autobiographical messiness. One day she tells a story about her shady punk rock past, and then the next day she talks about a baby, school and married life. Strangely enough, it's the latter that come off as more deeply disturbing. Go figure. SWUD!

Menucha blog is packed with featurettes that you just won't find anywhere else: The MAL Bag, where Tom gives ill-advised counsel to any reader unfortunate enough to ask Tom for some, and even some readers who don't! Other features (all with their very own compelling, yet gorge-turning header graphic, include, Tom's Mid-Day Podium of Wisdom, Chairman of the Blog, Tom's Unsubstantiated Theories of Conspiracy and Assuming the Coffee Position

And don't forget the rock-solid weblog standards, Pie in the Sky, The Booge, Accidental Julie, A Fire Inside, not.so.soft and one of my new favs, Jerry Kindall. They provide me with multiple posts a day, something I have always found inexplicable and impressive.

And last, but SO certainly not least, Shauna has finally decided to grace us with a lovely excerpt from her eagerly anticipated NaNoWriMo novel. Where's the rest of it, baby?

November 20, 2001

a hearty welcome to my fellow bitch

I'd like to welcome to the Shauny.Org family of bloggers the fine, fine blogger and man, SaigonSam. I liked his blog so much after I'd been reading it for a little while that I asked if I could do a redesign for him. Many months and much tweaking later, we are launching the new design today. Please update your links...

In addition, since he's coming on board here with me, to live under Shauna's benevolent, yet iron-handed rule...since she pays the bills around here, she's our sugar momma, and me and SaigonSam are her sweeeet, sweeeet bitches.

In other news of relating to other bloggers, I went on a little Seattle MeFi excursion, and again had the pleasure of meeting the amazingly fun and scrappy Jessamyn from Librarian.net, the coolest blog about information science I've ever seen. Also in attendance was Jerry Kindall, who I believe might just have played his first game of bowling last night. Crazy.

November 19, 2001

grouchy grouch from grouchport

I've been intermittantly grouchy for about 3 weeks now. Nothing is working. I went to a fun party the other night and that cheered me up for about 24 hours.

I don't know exactly why...a couple of interpersonal doors slamming shut in my face, a little bit of general complication, nothing to write, been sick for weeks...

I know, I know, there's starving kids in Afghanistan, and just because I feel like I don't have a creative bone in my body doesn't mean I never did. In fact, I once wrote a little fairy tale about grouchiness itself, maybe I can learn a little from the protagonist.

It's called Buckskin Bean and the Grouchies. Please enjoy (now in beautiful HTML), and wellwishing will not be scorn'd.

November 16, 2001

pickles

This week's topic over at Meeting of the Minds is pickles. is my contribution.

November 15, 2001

movable mena

Well, tonight I finally met Mena and Ben (movable type, dollarshort.org, ben in perl) on their trek from San Fran to Canada. I dragged them to my favorite little Chinese dive, the Hing Loon Seafood Restaurant and forced them to contend with the mass of noodles that is 'Wonton noodle soup with dumpling'.

I have to say that I got quite a thrill from it. They are just pretty normal people, and oh so sweet, but they're still my weblog celebrities of choice and it really was a big deal for me to meet them.

Quote of the night: Jerry, you look just like this guy I knew, only he was black...and toothless.

In attendance was:

Bloggertinyblog codename
MenaCameraAngle
BenPowerPacked
JessamynWickedLibrarian
JeniferTenderBitch
Jerry KindallWhiteWithTeeth
I, Asshole4Ever4Star

November 14, 2001

from albert hoffman's 'lsd - my problem child'

"If LSD-25 had indeed been the cause of this bizarre experience, then it must be a substance of extraordinary potency. There seemed to be only one way of getting to the bottom of this. I decided on a self-experiment.

Exercising extreme caution, I began the planned series of experiments with the smallest quantity that could be expected to produce some effect, considering the activity of the ergot alkaloids known at the time: namely, 0.25 mg (mg = milligram = one thousandth of a gram) of lysergic acid diethylamide tartrate. Quoted below is the entry for this experiment in my laboratory journal of April 19, 1943.

Self-Experiments
4/19/43 16:20: 0.5 cc of 1/2 promil aqueous solution of diethylamide tartrate orally = 0.25 mg tartrate. Taken diluted with about 10 cc water. Tasteless.
17:00: Beginning dizziness, feeling of anxiety, visual distortions, symptoms of paralysis, desire to laugh.

Supplement of 4/21: Home by bicycle. From 18:00- ca.20:00 most severe crisis. (See special report.)

Here the notes in my laboratory journal cease. I was able to write the last words only with great effort. By now it was already clear to me that LSD had been the cause of the remarkable experience of the previous Friday, for the altered perceptions were of the same type as before, only much more intense. I had to struggle to speak intelligibly. I asked my laboratory assistant, who was informed of the self-experiment, to escort me home.

[...]

Every exertion of my will, every attempt to put an end to the disintegration of the outer world and the dissolution of my ego, seemed to be wasted effort. A demon had invaded me, had taken possession of my body, mind, and soul. I jumped up and screamed, trying to free myself from him, but then sank down again and lay helpless on the sofa. The substance, with which I had wanted to experiment, had vanquished me. It was the demon that scornfully triumphed over my will. I was seized by the dreadful fear of going insane. I was taken to another world, another place, another time. My body seemed to be without sensation, lifeless, strange. Was I dying? Was this the transition?

[...]

Now, little by little I could begin to enjoy the unprecedented colors and plays of shapes that persisted behind my closed eyes. Kaleidoscopic, fantastic images surged in on me, alternating, variegated, opening and then closing themselves in circles and spirals, exploding in colored fountains, rearranging and hybridizing themselves in constant flux. It was particularly remarkable how every acoustic perception, such as the sound of a door handle or a passing automobile, became transformed into optical perceptions. Every sound generated a vividly changing image, with its own consistent form and color.

Late in the evening my wife returned from Lucerne. Someone had informed her by telephone that I was suffering a mysterious breakdown. She had returned home at once, leaving the children behind with her parents. By now, I had recovered myself sufficiently to tell her what had happened."

Ever done it?

November 12, 2001

markus

My friend Mark just told me about the best pick-up line he ever heard while he lived in Austria.

He walked into a bar in Vienna, and this guy just kinda singled him out. "Hey beautiful man-boy," he said, "what's your name?"

"Mark, " he said.

Now, a little background...the way the name is said in German is, "Markus", so the man said, "With a kus?" which is the German word for "kiss".

"Yes," said Mark, "with a Kus."

"Well," said the man, "then you need the Kus," and he promptly laid one on him.

November 9, 2001

the late afternoon program

For 5th and 6th grade I went to a private school in Rockford, IL called Keith Country Day School. Since both my parents worked full time, I would stay after school in a kind of glorified daycare supervised by a grade school teacher called The Late Afternoon Program, or more commonly called LAP (each letter pronounced).

Calling it a "program" was truly a bit of a stretch, since it was mostly just time we could run amok on the campus and entertain ourselves. It was a little boring, but actually kind of nice. I had two LAP friends who provided me with vastly different kinds of entertainment.

One was T.J., who would play with me an elaborate realtime role-playing adventure called simply, "The Spy Game". It was sort of an ongoing set of missions...we would just sort of lounge around on the playground equipment and tell this storytelling game where I was a master spy and he was...well...everything else. I can't really describe how fun this game was, but I really looked forward to it, 'cause T.J. was a really good storyteller and always kept it compelling. He was only there a couple of days a week though.

A couple of the other days of the week, I would hang out with Lynn, the most sophisticated 5th grader I had ever met. She would tell me stories like:

"So I was at T.C.B.Y. and this guy was, like, totally winking at me. So after a while I finally walked over to him and said, 'Do you have something in your eye?' and he said, 'uhhhh, yeah, I guess,' and I said, 'Well, get it out!"

She was already deeply into the dating scene at age 11. She would always impress me...she was one of the few people in this world where I would just shut up and listen and mentally take notes. In retrospect I wonder what was behind her persistant need to impress me. Maybe she liked me. I'd like to think that, cause I liked her, even though I totally considered her out of my reach.

Okay, so I know I'm already several paragraphs into this, but here's where my real story begins:

There had recently been a school vacation, and, since like I said, both of my parents worked, they were forced to find some other child care options. We ended up hanging out at this daycare run by a presbyterian church. While I was there, I flirted deeply with one of the other kids there. She was really cute and sort of compellingly sexy for a gradeschooler. I asked her in code if she would be my girlfriend (big dork!) and she said yes. She gave me her phone number, and in not too many days I was back in The Late Afternoon Program with Lynn.

Eager to finally have a story to share, I told her about the girl, who I was now "going out" with. Lynn laughed at me, "Really? What's her phone number?"

I rattled it off, just to prove that such a thing existed. She laughed again and asked me to repeat it. She repeated it a few times to herself like a threat.

The next time I saw Lynn at LAP, she looked at me with a gleam in her eye, "I called that girl. She says you never asked her out, and that she wouldn't have gone out with you anyway 'cause she's only eight." She laughed.

I had previously thought that "being someone's girlfriend" included "going out" but at that moment I realized my painful lack of sophistication about the subject. I couldn't understand why Lynn had chosen to pointedly humiliate me in this way, and I still don't.

November 8, 2001

genuine difference of opinions

My mom and I would get into some pretty serious debates, often involving household policy as it pertained to me.

She really wanted her reasons to be understood, and so she would verbally spar with me as long as it seemed like it could be productive. However, sometimes there would be a point where she would look at me and say, "Kiddo, what we have here is a Genuine Difference of Opinions."

I think at the time it really frustrated me, usually because that meant I wasn't going to convince her of anything else, and she wasn't going to try to convince me of anything else. The issue had settled, and the outcome basically came down to authority, which at the time was her.

Now, though, I love the genuine difference of opinions. It means that two people can hold completely different ideas, even be in the same room, and that is O-K. It means I don't have to try and convince you of anything, and you don't have to try and convince me of anything.

It's interesting though, when I say to people, "Well, what we have here is a Genuine Difference of Opinions," I get to sometimes see the very same dismayed look upon their face that I once had on mine.

My mom rocks.

November 6, 2001

the sun on the smooth flat rocks, and me

Once, while riding in a VW bus into Oregon with three sweet hippies, a hard core runaway, and a mad genius, I got so sick. We stayed with some friends of the people I was travelling with in Eugene, OR for about a week. Then finally we headed into the Oregon rainforest with a box of food we had obtained from the local Christian charity.

The night we got there it was raining and so wet I didn't think they'd get a fire started to warm the beans, but they did. By that time I didn't care. I was huddled in my tiny spot on the floor of the van, shivering with cramps and fever. The next three nights were so cold I could not sleep, until the sun warmed things up a bit during the day. I just remember hoping it would be over for hours at a time.

My lungs and gastrointestinal system were inflamed and it was uncomfortable to breathe, move, live, anything. Finally, after the third night, as the sun came up, I thought, "Today I'm going to bathe."

I still felt like shit, but I knew the corner had been turned, and that I somehow needed to drag myself down to the riverbed, with its round flat stones, and the ice cold water at the cusp between winter and spring. My friend Rob came down with me and I was glad for the company.

It wasn't much of a bath. I jumped in to my solar plexus and the cold of the river sucked all the air out of my body. Somehow I still managed to get my head under and rub frantically at myself for a moment. That was enough, it was like being encased in ice.

I staggered up onto the rocks and the sun hit me full on and even though it was probably 60 degrees it felt like 80. The sun tore away my sickness and I realized at that moment how deeply sick I had been. Sick with fear for my whole life up to that point of some imagined crisis of pride that just didn't make sense.

It dawned on me that moment that I had no responsibility other than to simply keep myself alive, and that it wasn't really all that tough. Some wieght left me that day, and I have gone through harder times since, but never that same deep wieght that I had ever since childhood. It left me on that day.

I mention this because I'm getting over a cold, and feeling a little wieghty, and a bath in the river sounds very nice right now, so I can feel the warm intensity of the sun on my naked chest.

November 5, 2001

oh, my sweet carabear is gone

Hey Daniel,

Well, 4 audio books, some Art Bell, a very near miss with an elk --- herd, running out of gas in the middle of the night once, and a 200 mile lightning storm later I'm still hanging on. I got this postcard in Nebraska; I didn't sleep at all last night and I'm writing this from your home state of Illinois. I'm surprised at how beautiful this part of the state us (somewhere near Peoria). Nathan and I make good travelling companions and although we're weary we're having a grand time. I miss you already. Much much love,

xoxoxo Cara

November 4, 2001

upcoming bloggy birthday

On 11-29 of last year, I made my first post to the tinyblog. I remember sitting there, messing with Blogger that day, trying to see if I could make it all work.

Now, over 300 posts later, it has almost been a year since I started.

Pressing my ear to the glass of my monitor I can hear someone whispering, "What are you going to do, to celebrate such a grand occaision?"

(And even though it was just me whispering,) I answer like I was on Larry King Live...oh no, wait, sort of like a cross between Larry King Live and those fake interviews on the WWF smackdown...no, like David Letterman back in the early 80's:

For one thing, I'm going to finally complete my swap over to MovableType, along with a few enhancements of course, to prettify the place up.

And for another thing, I'm going to do a long rambling series of posts, (much like my earlier ones on catholic grade school, my gruesome accident tales, and my ex-girlfriend Cammy) only this one is going to be about the most fun and prurient of all post topics, SEX.

Not that it hasn't been mentioned, but I'm really going to exhaust the topic if at all possible. Then it'll be down here on the internet and I never have to worry about having a political career ever again (although that milestone was reached when I went naked on cable TV). I'm just going to write about it for days on end until I can't think of anything else to say.

And it's going to be more candid than...well, more candid than maybe you can stomach, but you'll have fair warning, hopefully.

And when? Well, sometime in November...that's all I can pin down right now.

November 2, 2001

no, the cruel world will make our children cry. I will make our children pancakes.

I just thought this was so sweet. And a Seattle blogger no less. Speaking of, the Downhome Seattle Blogger Area of my linklist is getting quite fat. Check it out!

November 1, 2001

hilot

"The majority of abortions in Olangpo [Philippines] are done by a hilot, the traditional woman healer. Several trips to the hilot are necessary, and fees depend on how advanced the pregnancy is. Abortion is illegal in the Philippines. If a woman has complications as a result of the abortion, she may have difficulty obtaining the necessary health care.

The hilot massages the abdomen to dislodge the fetus so that it will miscarry. No studies have been done regarding the saftey and effectiveness of this method. However, if done during the first trimester, it appears to be successful."

- From Let the Good Times Roll: Prostitution and the U.S. Military in Asia

I mention this because I was once asked to do this, by a massage client. (I am a liscensed massage practitioner in the state of Washington.) "Please," she said, "It would be so much easier if you could mush some things around and I didn't have to have surgery."

I said no.

Let's just put aside for a moment the nightmare of medical risk, liability, and criminal risk. Also the idea that who knows if I could even do it, (although when I think of it, I'll bet that I could) but really those are secondary.

In the final balance I thought about whether or not I wanted to be directly, personally responsible for killing a being and I did not. It may not be a human being yet, but it is a being.

Of course she went and had an abortion anyway, but even today I'm glad I didn't try it. Then I just recently came across this excellent book and it brought it all to the front for me. For one thing I highly recommend the book. It is compelling and educational. It's sad, but the stories are so real and even inspirational that it's worth it.

Would you do it if you thought you could? If it would save the woman's life, or if she was raped, or the rest of those hypotheticals?