Love Love Love Don't Live Here Anymore

Geary and Jones (I think).

It obviously ain't my corner.

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Ways Dave Is Trying To Conserve Money Number #1:

I'm checking out sites like Redtube and Xtube for free porn, rather than paying for video-on-demand.

I am such a hypocrite. Being poor robs you of your soul! It's like being a racist, but much less fun.

Also: Redtube and Xtube suck.

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You know, the question over whether the use of "nigga" by black folks is ever appropriate or not, whether in music or in person or wherever, is one thing that I think about when I smoke.

But the use of "faggot" is generally accepted to be wrong by most people (exception: gay humor?). Straight people shouldn't refer to anyone, really, as a "faggot," whether as either a homophobic or childishly emasculating putdown. Sure, there are bigots and hill people and some ghetto people and six year-olds out there, but for the rest of us, we kinda know it's bad. If you're local newscaster referred to your local mayor as a "faggot," that'd be a "What the fuck did he/she just say?" kinda moment, and then you'd immediately Twitter/Facebook/Blog/Text Message Your Friends about it, because you are an attention-seeking whore.

Where was I? Oh right, the other "f-word." So in my old age, I still get embarrassingly shocked whenever I hear Dire Straits' Money For Nothing and then this comes along:

See the little faggot with the earring and the makeup
Yeah buddy that's his own hair
That little faggot got his own jet airplane
That little faggot he's a millionaire

I know this song came out in 1984 or whatever, and times and attitudes were different. But still.

Liberal guilt. Harumph.

(Also: Blogger accepts the other "f-word" as a correctly spelled word in its spellcheck.)

You Can Say I'm Desperate, Even Call Me Perverted

I'm not much of a reader of books. I get bored, I guess. Also: I have no capacity to understand literature at all. Metaphors, analogies, themes, characterizations, whatever -- I don't fucking get it. Two years of honors English classes followed by a year of AP English translated in me not passing the AP English test and having to take English 101.

I'm not -- or at least, I wasn't -- a terrible writer, so I was able to get by in English classes, especially the more writing-focused ones, but I just don't get literature. I wish I did -- it's one of my failings that makes me feel like a failure -- but I don't.

Franz Kafka's birthday was last Friday, July 3. He'd have been 126 if tuberculosis hadn't killed him in 1924.

I read three Kafka works in high school -- The Trial, in 10th grade, and The Metamorphosis and The Castle in 12th. I actually had to read them, and then do research on them to discover literary conventions like themes and allegories and whatnot, then write papers, with footnotes and stuff, on them.

Man, those were not good books for a depressed, self-hating teenager who was terrified of the world to spend a lot of time on. You are alone! There are forces working against you that you cannot understand and have no control over! Women are strange, and probably won't like you! If you're weird and ugly, not even your parents will want to deal with you!

At least, that's what I took away from them.

So the above-linked mentions that Kafka was really into porn, which linked to this piece that showed that, wow, he was really into porn.

Thanks to the masturbation superhighway as well as changing attitudes towards fucking, we're pretty cognizant as a society that lots of people look at porn. I'm guessing that most people -- certainly most men -- I see look at porn at least occasionally. Kids, lawyers, politicians, Jews, stoners, busboys -- most of them look at porn, especially if they have semblance of privacy and lack a willing and perpetually horny sex partner.

("SWM, 35, Tired of masturbating to porn, looking for willing and perpetually horny sex partner. No water sports.")

Porn has become more acceptable because it is so available, and because it is easily available and horny people crave it, we're aware that a lot of people enjoy it. However, when Kafka was chilling in early 20th century Prague, that wasn't the case. There was no internet, no glossy smut magazines available on the top shelf at the bookstore or the airport, and, presumably, no sex shops located adjacent to a strip club where people could wonder in and get their cellophane-wrapped foot fetish magazines and vibrating vaginas.

But where there are men, there is horniness. And where there is horniness, there is a buck to be made. And where there is a buck to be made off of horniness, you can bet you'll find someone willing to exploit themselves for it. So, yes, there was porn back then.

When I read that Kafka was into porn, I thought, "Well, he probably just had some grainy black-and-white photos of zaftig, pale ladies posing nude or having awkward-looking sex with an awkward looking dude." While of course there was real... "sexual weirdness" (defined as "any kind of sex to kinky or illegal for me"), I kinda assumed that there wasn't some sort of sordid, underground porn industry back then, at least not in Central Europe. And if there was, then Franz Kafka wouldn't have been collecting that shit.

Wrong!

"These are not naughty postcards from the beach. They are undoubtedly porn, pure and simple. Some of it is quite dark, with animals committing fellatio and girl-on-girl action... It's quite unpleasant."

GAH! Franz Kafka was whacking it to horses giving dudes blow jobs! I mean, "girl-on-girl" action, that's cool. Hell, if he was secretly getting off to "guy-on-guy" action -- well, that'd shed some light on a facet of his personality that no one knew about. But... horses and blow jobs. Kafka fantasized about horses (well, "animals" -- dogs, pigs, cows... none of it sounds pleasant) licking his wiener. I think I saw an episode of South Park where that was part of the story.

Anyhow, normally I don't give a shit as to whatever floats your boat -- consensual sex between adults is all good. But bestiality, ugh. Really, Kafka? I mean, porn was hard for me to get when I was a kid, but homie, I was never so hard up I thought about animal porn. (Never mind the kook who got off getting photographed while having a tongue bath from a four-legged friend.)

I guess it doesn't matter. All those people (and animals!) are dead now. I wan't on planning on reading any more Kafka anyway. But his works live on for all to enjoy, free of any underlying themes of bestiality. I think. There definitely wasn't any girl-on-girl action going on in The Trial. I'd have remembered that.

(SIGH) I'm a pretty sexual liberal person and all that, but bestiality, pedophilia and rape are all really, really bad, wrong things. I do not approve!

Also: I'm not sure how much I approve of this:



I'm not sure how down I am with Seinfeld porn, either.

Newspaper Taxis Appear on the Shore

Saturday morning, the four most viewed articles on the LA Times site were all about porn:


This kind of interest over a unnamed and apparently not well-known porn contracting HIV leads me to wonder where the LA Times should establish a permanent porn beat to drum up circulation and views.

Also in the news, the unhappiness over Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's apparently sham re-election caused riots in the streets. According to Bill Keller at the NY Times:

"On the streets around Fatemi Square, near the headquarters of the leading opposition candidate, Mir Hussein Moussavi, riot police officers dressed in RoboCop gear roared down the sidewalks on motorcycles to disperse and intimidate the clots of pedestrians who had gathered to share rumors and dismay."

It's fantastic that a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter is now using "Robocop" to describe riot police gear. Charles Manson, what do you think of Robocop gear?



(It's times like this when I regret not having any Photoshoppin' skills. Cuz I'd totally color Robocop in Iranian national colors. Robocoppin'. With Robotussin'.)

And then, today, a kinda inspiring story of UCLA legend (and one-time fellow student) Ed O'Bannon, trying to maintain in Nevada despite the disappointment of his adult life. Go Ed!

It's OK, It's All Right, Nothing's Wrong

I'm sitting here, up since six 6:20 am, stoned, depressed but trying to distract myself by thinking about porn star tattoos and how much they resemble the more typical tattoo work that people get done. (My guess is not much, but then I don't hang out and have sex with too many naked people. Especially dudes.)

I check my e-mail, and I get an email from my mom:

Hope you are doing okay

Remy bit a chow when the chow ran out and wanted to attack Max ; Remy bit the chow and the chow ran away

I think my mom is some sort of poetry idiot savant. There is little in life that is less appealing to me than poetry, but the thousand-monkeys my mom has typing away in her head can produce some amazing results.

Sobriety is good for her.