Susie Bright's Journal

The New Year's Resolution Experiment

 

Are you ready?

Go get a piece of paper and pen. Or open up a separate blank page you can type in on your computer.

I'm going to ask you three questions.

Don't think about them too much, just go with your gut.

1.  Name a goal you have— any goal for the future, be it near or far, small or large, heavy or light. Whatever means the most to you at the moment.

2. Imagine yourself right after having accomplished this goal, in the minutes or hours after you've DONE it. You're on the other side. It's the day after, it's behind you.

Write down how you would FEEL. A few words, one word, a phrase or two.

3. Write down the date you'd like to see this goal accomplished. Could be a day, weeks, months, years. Your ideal time to see it happen.

In the comments, I'll tell you how I answered these questions— and the little trick that will turn your perspective on its ear.

I took this  quiz at my last WeightWatchers meeting, led by Jennifer Barley. She always likes to get into the deep end of the pool. After we wrote down our answers, she changed the topic to some general discussion about self-care in the new year.

At the end, she had us open up our scraps of paper and asked for some volunteers to share what they'd written.

One young cutie-pie sitting behind me said she wanted to get into a bikini by the end of the year, and I teased her by saying I wanted to see her march into the meeting with whatever she picked out. She high-fived me.

But there were other equally heartfelt goals, like: "I want to leave work on time for once," "get a decent night's sleep," or "run a 10K." Most of the people in the room are working mothers and grandmothers.

Is the suspense killing you? Don't peek at the comments until you answer the questions! I'd love to hear what you wrote, if you feel so bold. (Remember, you can comment "anonymously"!)

Photo: Richard Byrom

Susie's Stories on BoingBoing - The Saga!

The "most popular blog in the world," BoingBoing.net, invited me to be a guest writer for the holidays— and for two weeks I posted stories as fast as Mark "Rumpelstiltskin" Frauenfelder, my editor there, could paste them down.

I haven't written that much copy, that quick, since I was a cub reporter in the 70s, with a teletype machine at my side! 

Blogging for BB offered tsunami-level immediate gratification, because I  heard from hundreds of commenters in a matter of... minutes. 

I laid my head down and cried on the second day, but after an hour I  strapped on my diaper/harness/hairnet and settled down for all the bumps and thrills.

Here's a list of everything I wrote:

Guest blogger: Susie Bright!   

The most fun resume I've ever written.

Rick Warren can either come out of his closet, or go take a hike

In which I experience disemvowelment for the first time!

Raising the Minimum Age for Porn: A Satire from Jon Swift

Jon is so outrageous that a few always take him seriously.

The Story Behind Pot Medicine

My IBWSB interview with Wendy Chapkis... she is so great.

My Little Chat with Playboy Today: Who Are the Most Influential People in Sex?

Even the PB editors know that putting "Bo Derek" on the list is shambolic.

Daughter Songs -- Death and Loss at the End of the Year

The most emotional posting, the most private emails in response.

The Christmas Miracle on the Road to Oaxaca

A great, great, story from Andy Griffin.

This Date, from Henry David Thoreau's Journal

Kris Holmes keeps a daily blog of Thoreau's diaries...  perfect for winter snow.

Greta Christina and Her Godless Pursuits

That girl is in league with the Devil.

Take Me To Your Jelly Leader

I want to sign up for the Monterey Bay Aquarium sleepover night!

Out with the old, in with the shoe

This is by FAR the best George Bush shoe-throwing game...

"My Psychoanalyst Says There Ain't Any Santa Claus"

I had a perverse desire to get vintage Shirley Temple on BoingBoing...

I'm a Lumberjack and I'm Okay

I won a few hearts with this one...

 Susie Bright reads Thurber's version of a "The Night Before Christmas," in the Hemingway Manner

This was my oddball genius discovery. I recorded it at dawn on Xmas eve.

The League of Amazing Latkes Q & A

—Almost as much controversy as Rick Warren's story!

George Carlin, Meet Kris Kovick

An homage to one of the greats.

The Bunny Trip: A Chapter from My Memoir

Read it and send me your memoir-writing advice!

If You Want to Live in a Van or Be a Stripper, then She's Got Some Tips for You

Our dear HoboStripper, Tara, is now living off the grid in an Alaska cabin where she can't get out until the next thaw! The response to this one crashed her server.

Au Revoir, Mes Amis!           

I finally got to show off a cute photo of Aretha. Plus all my schemes for the future...

By far the most popular stories I wrote were the two on food: eggnog and latkes. Sex took a back seat!

The next most popular story— and certainly the most controversial— was my irate assessment of Rick Warren. Some comments called for my head; a couple people were "disemvoweled" for their ugly manners. There was also plenty of respectful and passionate debate! I got the feeling it was a massive "coming out" party for many BB regulars, who wanted to put it out on the line, one way or the other.

I learned a lot about blog reporting and writing over the course of two weeks. The BB staff is so accomplished. You're called upon to be an expert copywriter, broadcaster, coder, interviewer, fact-checker, researcher, proofreader— and to do it all in double time, perfectly. It's like being the Nadia Comeneci of Journalism.

I, uh, fell off the bars a few times.

Pulling the whole thing off is impossible, of course, without a team, which made me keen a bit for the potential and power of a cohesive group blog. A small group, especially. I've blogged for Huffington Post and Alternet before— and while they provided high-traffic thrills, I didn't get to learn from the other editors/publishers or share a group sensibility.

BB has their own fulltime comment-moderators.  What a difference that makes!  My blog's comment flow is so modest, I can handle it myself.  But at BB, they have a few people dedicated to keeping a troll-free, civilized, lively discussion going, and it was wonderful...  I haven't experienced anything like that since The Well, which pioneered the protocol of hospitable bulletin board discussion.

My thanks to all of you who came over and egged me on... and also to Mark, Xeni, Theresa, Derek, Cory, David, and John for a most illuminating ride!

The Biggest Crooks of the Year... The Golden Dukes!

We've looked, we've puked, we've voted!  The Golden Dukes Has Triumphed Again!

I love judging this contest, produced by my favorite political blog, Talking Points Memo. Thanks to everyone at TPM for allowing me to wallow in the wickedness.

Check out the winners in the video above, and read what the other five judges had to say, in detail! 

Below, are my original voting notes:

Special  Achievement Award

I would like to echo the TPM reader suggestion that Sarah Palin deserves an Achievement Award all to herself.

Not since Shirley Temple burst forth in “The Good Ship Lollipop” have we seen such a prodigious ingenue. Palin’s Gothic family life, Alaska-size fibs, unshakable corruption, lunatic religiosity— all in one gorgeous package made for TV...  Can’t you at least send her a t-shirt?

And don’t ask for it back!

1. Sarah Palin, Uber Alles

Sleaziest Campaign Ad

The next time I go to San Francisco— or get an abortion— I’m going to whip out my spandex glitter pants and boogie on down to the disco floor Sam Graves concocted for his commercial against Kay Barnes. What a laff riot!

However, for prize-winning impact, I will choose the Elizabeth Dole attack on "Godless Atheism" as the ultimate barn-burner.

What makes her commercial extraordinary, beyond its slander to her opponent, is that it elevates “not believing in God” to the big-time in American politicking. That hasn’t happened in existential dog years. It was only 1961 that self-proclaimed atheists were  allowed to sit on juries or serve in public office in every state in the union.

Atheists really ARE angry about Bush’s “divine mission”— and this commercial, in its foaming lunacy, proves that godless heathens are making an impact. As a recovering Irish Catholic, I couldn't be more thrilled!

Honorable Mention: That evil kindergarten sex teacher, Barack Obama.

1. Elizabeth Dole
2. Sam Graves
3. John McCain

Best Election Season Fib

The word “fib” indicates that one has some knowledge that the truth is being stretched, as opposed to pure cluelessness or the messianic zeal of the True Believer.

Hillary Clinton, therefore, is the only viable candidate in this category. I respect her enough to believe she knows she wasn’t  G.I. Jane in Bosnia,  but she has the political penchant for hyperbole and braggadocio. It was foolish of her to think she wouldn't get caught. Like Bush, she is  under the impression that she is “pre-YouTube” simply by dint of her age.

By comparison, in this category, McCain doesn’t know if the economy is strong, weak, or needs more nutmeg. Palin gets  special recordings from God slipped under her pillow— and deserves her own statuette.

1. Hillary
2. Mitty
3. Johnny

Outstanding Achievement in Corruption-based Chutzpah

The entire Bush/Cheney Kleptocracy has this one, dead to rights.  What requires more chutzpah than to take a country right into the crapper to enrich a handful of your cronies? Dick Cheney’s recent “office-exit” interviews are mind-boggling. No remorse for the blood on your hands is what I would call the ultimate corruption.

Out of the TPM candidates, I’ll take Ted Stevens first, since he is the most powerful and wreaked the most damage. Rod is hilarious, but such an amateur— a dandelion fluff compared to Stevens. Give him a few years. I wasn’t aware of Edward "Naughty" Nottingham before this contest, but he’s irresistible trying to muscle a paralyzed  woman out of her handicapped parking space. He reminds me of people I meet on the road every day.

1. Teddy
2. Roddy
3. Naughty

Best Scandal -- Sex and Generalized Carnality

We don’t have the quality of X-rated hypocrisy in this category that we enjoyed in 2007, with the trifecta of Larry Craig, David Vitter, and Bob Allen. Where are our Kinky Kristian Warriors this past year? Vanilla heterosexual adultery seems like kinda a snooze.  But given what I’ve got...

I’ll hand the big Dukey to John Edwards— though not because of the insult to his wife, which was grievous but sadly ordinary.

No, people do terrible things when cancer hits their family— there should be a warning brochure on the subject. The enormity of Edwards' hubris is that he led millions of people  on a wild goose chase as their chosen “progressive” candidate; he had a chance. And he thought that what the Democratic Party needed right now was a Presidential Philanderer? Is he on Clinton Quaaludes? If he had slapped each of his supporters in the face, he couldn't have done more damage.

I’ll take Gregory Smith next, as a run-of-the-mill example of how Bush’s policies and appointments destroyed any semblance of good government. What a disgrace.

I guess the fame of Eliot Spitzer gets Door Number 3, but I always take it for granted that the Top Prosecutors are embedded with Top Service Providers. I mean, who else can relate to them?

1. Edwards
2. Smith
3. Spitzer

Best Scandal Local Venue

This is my favorite category— and  the most difficult to judge. Humor plays such a large role!  If “Best” means “Best Buffoon,” I don’t know which Deadhead to pick: Mayor Funky’s wife with that unbelievable prostate exam Xmas letter or The Pisser from New Jersey.

Still, I give the Duke Award with more gravitas. If malicious destruction of working people's lives got a particle of respect in this country, then Bill Sizemore would be a household name. His union busting is extraordinary... does he think workers should be shackled to the wheel and given company script for canned goods? How despicable. He’s a crook, with a theology— and there’s nothing more dangerous.

I’ll hand Kwame the second slot, because of his Titanic disrespect and indifference to the tenacious citizens of Detroit, who’ve suffered more fools and plunderers than anyone should be asked to bear.

1. Sizemore
2. Kilpatrick
3. Funk by a hair

Best Scandal -- General Interest

1. Bush/Cheney
2. Bush/Cheney
3. Bush/Cheney

Everyone else is just playing “follow the leader.”

The Quote of the Year End Day

I belong to a "quotation of the day" email list, where I get a little pearl of wisdom each morning, befitting the day's offing. I love it.

Quotation of the Day for December 31, 2008

We Have Been Here Before

I think I remember this mooreland,
The tower on the tip of the tor;
I feel in the distance another existence;
I think I have been here before.

And I think you were sitting beside me
In a fold in the face of the fell;
For Time at its work'll go round in a circle,
And what is befalling, befell.

"I have been here before!" I asserted,
In a nook on a neck of the Nile.
I once in a crisis was punished by Isis,
And you smiled. I remember your smile.

I had the same sense of persistence
On the site of the seat of the Sioux;
I heard in the teepee the sound of a sleepy
Pleistocene grunt. It was you.

The past made a promise, before it
Began to begin to begone.
This limited gamut brings you again. Damn it,
How long has this got to go on?

- Morris Bishop (1893-1973), The New Yorker, October 29, 1938.

Submitted by: thom newlin

The Quotation Of The Day Mailing List

A Working Class Broad Is Something to Be

R. Gay is a Midwestern-dwelling writer whose new story, “Broads,” is the first chapter in my new Treasury of erotic short stories.

Jimmy Nolan has a thing for broads—loud, brassy women who sit with their legs open and drink beer straight from the bottle—women who always say exactly what they’re thinking and for better or worse, mean what they say.

Jimmy Nolan has a hard time meeting broads.  He’s not quite sure if this is the result of geography, circumstance, or personal limitation.  Jimmy’s ex-girlfriend Marissa was the antithesis of a broad—pale, thin, precise and polite with a watery voice and weak handshake. She says that Jimmy isn’t the kind of guy broads go for.

What is it about the nebbishy guy being the new working class sex hero today?

For so long, the iconic male hero has been a guy with rippling muscles and chiseled features. The heroine likes the bad boy who treats her like crap but knows how to
make her moan.  That is well and good. I don't mind that guy.

But I think there is also space for the narrow, timid somewhat invisible guy who finds a way to make himself seen in the world. There's space for the guy who is nice and kind and I think that we need to stop equating kindness with weakness. They are not synonymous. By that same token, kindness is not antonymous to sex appeal.

I love that your story is the first vanilla story I've ever read about fisting.

It’s always been fairly surprising to me that fisting is considered taboo and  kinky and wrong. I realized this while watching a depressing Lifetime movie called Human Trafficking with Mira Sorvino, when one of the trafficked women was lamenting her unfortunate circumstances by crying, "They fisted me," in a tone that implied that
being fisted was one step away from death.

To my mind, the pussy is the perfect place for a hand. Writers these days (and I don't exclude myself) want to be as "edgy" as possible, so they create hot scenarios where they push that sexual envelope. They take something like fisting and make it seem like a dark, dangerous thing. Perhaps it has simply never crossed a writer's mind to treat fisting as normal as other, more socially traditional forms of sexual interaction.

The good news is that it crossed my mind. I just loved the idea that there is this sweet guy who wants to use his beautiful hands to please the woman with whom he is infatuated.

How would you describe yourself in a phrase, school-wise?

If navigating a university is a game of chess, my favorite move is castling.

Have you ever held Political Office?

The more interesting question, I think, is have I ever held a political member in his office?

What comes to mind when you consider your ancestors, who they were...

My ancestors were free.

I’m Haitian, and it’s always been drilled into me that my ancestors were free and that my ancestors put the idea of freedom into the consciousness of the American people. I think knowing that gives me extra confidence (as if I needed that).

Do you have any noteworthy collections?

I collect old and new Monopoly sets from around the world.

Photo: Duane Dial, Mamluke's Flickr stream. 

Interviews: To read all forty of the Erotic Treasury author Q&A's, find the PDF here.

Eartha Kitt: The Genius, The Purr, the Deep Down Goodness

Eartha Kitt: 1/17/27 - 12/25/08

The Bunny Trip

I was a high school swim team score-girl before I was a commie.

I’m glad things ended up that way, because otherwise I never would’ve been able to touch the Playboy Bunny, and carry on my sensual, if guilty, disposition.

The high school swim team was my ticket to an almost-prom, to halcyon schooldays, to a bartended, dress-up affair. 

The Trotskyists, the Yippies, the lavender pinkos— they gave me guns and a good deal to think about, but nothing soft or fluffy.

I went to a school called University High— a white, mostly Jewish school in West Los Angeles. Its public face was one-part Hollywood Colony, one part UCLA professors' kids.

In the ‘70s, there was no truly integrated school in the district. A discreet number of black students from South Central Los Angeles were bused into white schools from the time they were in Kindergarten.

It was not a two-way street. It was a cradle-to-cap affair.

Rick Warren Can Either Come Out of His Closet, or Go Take a Hike

Who the fuck— many of you are asking today — is Rick Warren?  And why is he threatening to stink up Obama's inauguration?

Well, Obama invited him. He invited this Billy Graham-pretender pastor to give the invocation at the big ball.

This is a guy who believes that every abortion is a holocaust, who thinks the Iranian PM should be assassinated by early this afternoon, who campaigned like Atilla the HUN for Proposition 8, and yet whines that he "has eaten dinner with gay people, so don't call me phobic." 

Oh yeah, and he will fight stem cell research with his last dying breath. Don't I wish.

My beloved Steve Benen at the Washington Monthly writes:

After having had a chance to sleep on it, does Barack Obama's decision to invite Rick Warren to deliver the invocation at his presidential inauguration look any better? Actually, no. I'm probably even more annoyed about it now than I was yesterday.

That said, I've been curious to see what others have come up with as a defense. I suppose, to borrow Rachel Maddow's phrase, I want someone to "talk me down."

I can't talk you down, Steve, and here's why:

 1. The only reason this "invitation" flies at all is because anti-gay and sexually divisive bigotry is still considered palatable, while racial and ethnic bigotry is not.

No one can imagine a pastor being invited to speak at any Presidential event who'd made a career of racist invective— and then  compounded it by whining, "I'm not phobic; I love all the little colored people!"

2. Warren has ALL the earmarks in his behavior that we saw with Ted Haggard, Larry Craig, Bob Allen, David Vitter, Jimmy Swaggart, et al.  Look at his history... where have you heard ALL this before?

 If this dude isn't found in a bathroom with a wide stance and a hooker in the next year, someone's not doing their job. Paging Jeff Gannon!

I have a different nomination, if Obama would like to take a second look.

Of course, my first choice would be an The Giant Spaghetti Monster.  But if you have to go X-tian for the inauguration, how about Reverend Angela Denise Davis, a black Southern pastor, graduate of Vanderbilt divinity school, who belongs to CLOUT: Christian Lesbians OUT: "proudly progressive, actively anti-racist, creatively spiritual, milagro-bound."

I'd go to one of her services in a minute!

Photos:

1. Portrait of a drowning man: Orange County Register

2. A real church sign, not a fake! This is from a fundie church outside of Columbus, Ohio. Thanks, Tamara!

3. Some of the nice, equality-loving, caring, Christian Lesbian Ministers that Obama could choose from...  from CLOUT.

Please take my Blog Reader Project survey!

Thank you so much. This is what allows me to find advertisers for my site, and thus, run the circus.  Here's the info from last year, if you're curious.

My First Vlog — With a Little Help from Brian Eno

BoingBoing asked me to make a video for them to introduce myself to their readers. I'd never tried any of the various "recording" apps on my computer; it's something I always thought I'd take a class in— someday.

Instead, it was more like the swim class where they throw the six-month-old into the deep end. I made this by myself, over about three hours. Yes, three hours to clean up, script, mike and light, rehearse, record, and export just a couple minutes of video.  At least I didn't drown!

I gave myself some inspiration for both action and intent by using Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt's infamous "Oblique Strategy" cards.  The card I picked for the day was: Balance the consistency principle with the inconsistency principle.

Works for me!

I made this with my Mac's iMovie application. I have no idea how to edit anything, so what you see is what I recorded. I put on mascara and lipstick; I fooled around with the natural light and a couple lamps.  I was blind with technical ignorance, but I got a kick out of the result. I shall try this again with some meatier material!

Perhaps I shall throw a shoe at someone.

Do any of you vlog? Do you like it? Are they any talking-head vlogs you find captivating? I want to get inspired.

I Love "You Suck At Photoshop"

This is Episode 4 of You Suck at Photoshop, the original web-video series that beats the hell of just about anything you'd find on regular TV.

Note! You don't even have to know what Photoshop *is* — in order to be deeply moved by this little gem. You only have to know what it's like to have your heart broken!

What is YSAP about? It's the epic story of "Donnie," an expressive genius at Photoshop who's a desperate loser at just about everything else.

I laughed, I cried— and I learned more about digital art in five minutes than I have in a lifetime!

Here's the rest of the ten-part series.

This show has thousands of fans and critical raves, but that's not how I discovered it. No, I was having a meltdown the other night because I was trying to design a banner all by myself, and I don't have a clue how to use Photoshop. In a self-hating fit of spite, I typed "I Suck at Photoshop" into my Google search window. And this is what appeared before my tear-stained eyes!

I found a story in TIME about the show's creators, Troy Hitch & Matt Bledsoe, who live in Covington, Kentucky— I used to drive through Covington every week, commuting from Louisville to Cincinnati. WHO knew?

Help Me, Darlin' — I'm Blogging at BoingBoing!

To my great delight, I've been asked to guest-blog at BoingBoing.net— the most popular blog in the world.

Hand me my cane, Martha!

I'm starting fresh on Monday morning the 15th, and will rant right through the holidays until December 28th.

I plan a STRONG editorial on eggnog.

Obviously, I can't pull this off without you, my faithful readers!

BoingBoing specializes in sharing news about unique and interesting things that you won''t pick up just anywhere.

I need groovy TIPS so I can keep up with the regulars!  Of course, I will credit you, so send me a link to yourself if you want to be ID'ed. 

Don't bother with big headlines from the dailies— the more cherished, obscure, brilliant, the better. Take a look at one of any of BB's pages and you'll get the idea.

Anything goes, not just sex, or politics— my usual beat. Pique my curiousity!  I’ll try anything once. I'd love to learn about, and share, your special favorites on the web.

P.S.  I will still blog here, of course. And on Facebook. I plan to go completely insane.

Here's my exclusive Email address for BoingBoing tips: susie@susiebright.com

 

How to Three-Way Your Way Through Hannukah!

Download In Bed with Susie Bright 369:

How to Three-Way Your Way Thru College 

Susie starts off today's show with a sexual-political reflection on the issues surrounding the new movie Milk. 

Next, Susie found a church that might be of interest to those couples looking for the go-ahead to have more sex. Pastor Ed Young from the evangelical Fellowship Church in Texas is asking all married couples in the congregation to have sex every day, for God's sake. This super-church reverend plans to wipe out extra-marital affairs, addiction, and pornography, all thru daily marital coitus.

Then, in the "Try This at Home" mailbag, Susie responds to an extra long letter from a listener who talks about his very successful three-way encounters, which were aided and abetted by the Jewish High Holidays. 

The Radiance of Bettie Page, 1923 - 2008

I was first introduced to the radiance of Bettie Page in 1983, by the editors of a gay leathermen's magazine, Drummer.

John Rowberry lent me a VHS bondage tape of Bettie modeling from the 1950's which was so cute—there's no better word to describe it— I played it continuously during Thanksgiving dinner that year. It was the beginning of a devoted affair.

(I first ran this essay in 2006. With the announcement today of Bettie's passing, I'm reprinting it, with all my appreciation.)

Miss Page came a long way in American limelight from the time her pictures were the subject of a full federal obscenity investigation, intent on saving juveniles from the depravity of smut. She became a Christian missionary and no one thought they would ever hear from her again.

But Bettie's story was different from the average Suicide Girl. She was doing fetish photography when the subject was completely removed from any sense of camp or fashion. The closet was shut so tight not even a filament of sex-positivity could be imagined. The damnation she faced must have been entirely without context to comprehend.

 It is this history that's the focus of director/writer Mary Harron's film, The Notorious Bettie Page. Mary was the director of my episode on Six Feet Under last year, and after meeting her, I marveled, "Wow, a feminist is making the Bettie Page biopic, I can't believe it."

I asked her to talk to me more about her adventures with Bettie.

SB: I was first introduced to Bettie in the milieu of gay life, the counter-culture of 1980s San Francisco and New York.

She was the post-AIDS pin-up girl, a ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak period.

At the same time, bondage and fetish were entering mainstream fashion, fueled by gay and punk culture. What do you make of such an unusual rebirth?

 
MH: It's interesting that gay men and young women have been the twin engines of the Bettie cult. I wonder if her original gay cult had something to do with the ironies inherent in her image, as well as her innate fabulousness as an image.

The Bettie bondage shots are filled with contradiction: her sunny smiles and cheesecake poses are at variance with the pictures' supposed message of dark S&M.

She was the first person to do bondage as fashion, because for her it really was all about dressing up. And there is a camp element in the Bettie catalog: the bondage shots next to homely wallpaper and living room furniture in the Klaw pictures, the leopards with leopard-skin bathing suits in the Bunny Yeager shots.

SB: Bettie was the "ne plus ultra" of photogenic. What kind of beauty does the camera love like this? What made Page's image so spectacular?

MH: She knew just how to position her face and body for the camera. More importantly, she was so relaxed.

One of the secrets of being a great photographic model, as it is for a great film actor, is that you let the camera in. It's an intimacy that the model or actor creates with the lens, that then transmits itself to the viewer.

SB: You point a finger, without drawing a thick line, at her history of sexual abuse, incest, — and also, at her survival of a gang rape when she was a teenager, long before her modeling career.

How do you think women recover, sexually, from situations like that?

MH: The abuse by her father was the most damaging, because she was still a child. She was a traumatized person, but she did have an active sex life. Billy Neal, her first husband, told me they had a great sex life and I believe him— it was clearly the motor in their relationship. 

Sexual abuse, or rape, is an awful trauma but it doesn't mean you will never enjoy sex— although it may mean you become more sexually-identified, as the careers of countless porn stars will attest.

Many men who've seen the film complain that Bettie doesn't react much to the sexual abuse: she doesn't show more rage or grief. But most men have no idea how much sexual shit women go through, how many of their female friends, relatives, and co-workers have been raped or abused in some way. They don't know about it because the women don't talk about it, and just get on with their lives, as Bettie did.

 
SB: My interpretation of Page's "naivete," and her various personalities as model, missionary, etc., is that she was coping the best way anyone does when they are suffering from mental demons.

But if she had been homely— and crazy— or even just plain, what would have happened then? Sexual allure is often both the salvation and damnation of people who need to be seen more deeply than the surface....

MH: If she had been homely, her mental problems would have been spotted earlier. The people I talked to who knew her in the Fifties all talked about how sweet, friendly, unassuming she was— but at the same time, no one seemed to know her intimately.

Even her first husband, Billy Neal, found her a mystery. That suggests to me that she had sealed herself off: there was something blank and inaccessible about her. She was always late, often hours late, which implies that she would just space out.

Someone can be mentally ill, but if they are young and beautiful and their life is going well, people don't notice because at that point the cracks are almost imperceptible. I think it's significant that Bettie's breakdowns happened in her middle age.

There were a lot of things going wrong for her by then. Her fourth marriage had collapsed, and with it her hopes of happy family life.

There were the demons from the past, her father's abuse and the gang rape. You can't discount the traumatic effects of aging. By now she was a middle-aged woman, and she had spent her whole adult life as a beauty. Her identity, her finances, her social life, her sense of herself: everything depended on that, and it was gone.

Bettie's "naivete" in the film should have quotation marks around it. It was deliberate. She had sealed herself off in some protective way from what disturbed her— not an uncommon mode among 50's women— and lived in her own bubble. She had all the evidence in front of her about what the fetish photographs were for, but she chose not to examine it.

 Thanks to Mary, Joe Westmoreland, John Rowberry, and all my collector friends, for the photos and Bettie memories.

Diary of a Love and Sex Junkie: Susie Interviews Rachel Resnick

Download In Bed with Susie Bright 368: Diary of a Love and Sex Junkie

Click on the link to listen to a chunky excerpt from this week's show.

"Can we ever have too much sex? Can we ever love someone too much? On today's show, Susie speaks with author Rachel Resnick about her new book, Love Junkie: A Memoir. 

"Do your relationships ruin your wallet, your friends, and your own peace of mind? Yikes, everyone can learn something from this discussion. Susie and Rachel really get into the heart of healthy versus obsessive sex.

"Then, in the "Try This at Home" mailbag, Susie responds to a listener who wants to know if she can truly be a good feminist if she also really likes kinky sex. —Who is she hiding in the closet from?

You can purchase the entire audio program, or get a sweet deal with a subscription to my weekly podcast.

Memories of Harvey Milk

I just came back  from the press screening of "Milk."

It wasn't ten seconds  before I burst into tears. The film opens with the 1978 newscast footage of then-City Supervisor Dianne Feinstein announcing that Mayor George Moscone and fellow Supervisor Harvey Milk have been gunned down and are dead. Her steely voice breaks— the first and last time you ever saw that— and the crowd falls apart.

The movie is fantastic, as a movie— but for those of us who lived in San Francisco at the time, it brings the era back like a wet slap. The tears, though wrenching, are welcome.

The timing of this film's release, so close to the recent election and Proposition 8's horrible victory, make watching Gus Van Sant's feature a bit like reading into a crystal ball. What would Harvey have done, if he had lived? Is Obama going to see this film? I hope he cries hard enough to hold a cathartic press conference.

After I watched Milk, I ran out to rent Rob Epstein's Oscar-winning documentary, "The Times of Harvey Milk," which has a more satisfying ending for me than the Hollywood version.

In "The Times.." the movie ends not with the miles-long candlelight march of Milk and Moscone's memorial, but with the night a few months later— when Dan White, the assassin, got his verdict and sentence: Five Years. This guy crawled through a window, armed, his pockets filled with extra ammo, and shot Mayor Moscone where he sat. Then he walked into Harvey's office and shot him in the head, back, and scrotum.

Dan— who looked like a 1960s Ken doll— told the jury of his peers that he was under stress, suffering marital problems, wasn't eating right, coping with a shitty job. They wept. This dude is the only man in America who really did get an audience of his peers: No minorities, no gays, no liberals. Involuntary manslaughter, step on down.

That night, the city rioted. There were blazing fires instead of melting candles. Everyone knew that if White had only killed Mayor Moscone—not that anyone would want that awful choice— he would've been given a serious sentence. But because Dan killed a "fruit," he was blessed with the ultimate Hail Mary.

It's interesting that there's been so much chafe about "race politics" in the wake of Prop 8, because on "White Night"— as it was called—  the straight black community and the gay ghetto reached  their deepest rapport. All critical eyes were on the criminal justice system, where there are far too many victims deemed unimportant, the human beings who just "don't count."

Eighteen months after Dan was released back homr to the Excelsior district, he killed himself in his garage, running the exhaust fumes and playing his favorite song on the car radio.

I remember when I heard of his suicide I was driving, and pulled over the car. "My god," I thought, as unprepared as I was tonight in the theater: "He was a closet case." —Just felt it in my gut, right then.

I wrote to a few of my old friends in San Francisco to ask them about their memories in light of the recent movie, and I'd like to share what they wrote me.

Heather:

We all watched Di Fi being replayed over and over again. No one could believe what had happened. Everyone I ever knew was at the Memorial that night; it was very emotional.
 
Of course I participated in the White Night Riots; what an outrage! My blood still boils when I remember. Doreen and I were in the thick of it, pushing in the doors at City Hall. Police cars burning, rocks  thrown, the cops charging and gassing us. I saw two guys pull a parking meter out of the sidewalk and heave it at City Hall. The only person the crowd would listen to that night was Amber Hollibaugh. Every one else was shouted down.

 



Most of the people in the streets that night were not the type you see lobbying for gay civil rights today in suits and ties. It was the young, the hustlers, the working stiffs, the whores, the dispossessed, who had been hounded and beaten and arrested by the police for years for the crime of being queer. It was everyone who'd been told, "Your life isn't worth two cents."

Honey Lee:

I associate Harvey Milk with "coming out."

The term made me think about how I revealed myself to others. I did not consider myself closeted back when I came to San Francisco from Michigan in 1969, but discretion was a way of life. Unless someone asked me point blank I did not volunteer any information.

My rule was if they asked me, then I would tell ‘em. Hardly anyone asked, though, and my parents did not get near the subject.

Harvey wanted us to tell everyone— with our parents at the top of our list. My mother did cry when I told her and my father was honest in his judgment. He said he had lots of male friends whom he did not need to sleep with and I could do the same.

I met Harvey Milk on a quiet residential San Francisco street miles away from the
Castro district, when he was running for supervisor. I was walking with my lover, Tee. He came right up to us, with his big, bright face and floppy ears and told us he was gay, running for supervisor, and we should vote for him.

It was odd, because we were doing a "blend-with-the-neighborhood" thing and he outed us as lesbians on the spot! We were speechless and could barely manage a "well, alright then!" before he continued merrily down the street.

It was a spontaneous moment to be recognized by a total stranger within a positive gay context, in a foreign neighborhood. That moment had no history, and for a brief flash I could see its light project into the future.

I started my drive to come out by first telling my parents and working my way down to total strangers. I changed my rule from "wait ‘til they ask" to "tell ‘em before they even think to ask."

The results were unnerving. I expected people to unleash their vitriolic disgust, but instead they treated it like an adventure in a foreign land and seemed thrilled to meet such a rare bird as I.

That winter of 1978 was a hard one. I broke up with Tee. I didn't have a strong network of friends and I needed to change many aspects of my life, from work and housing to friendship and psychological outlook.

On top of that, I had run into trouble with the law. I regularly turned myself into the county jail to work off parking ticket violations by spending the night in the pokey— but i missed some critical deadline and a bench warrant was issued for my arrest.

The judge said I could go to jail or do therapy. Naturally, I chose therapy and began  to scheme a plan that would turn the sentence into a positive experience. I chose a traditional Freudian shrink out of the phone book, thinking I would do battle with the devil himself and shine my coming-out light.

The "devil" turned out to be a woman who looked the part of a proper Freudian shrink and was as quiet as a sphinx. She didn't blink an eye when I announced I was a lesbian and that I liked it that way. We sat in matching burgundy leather chairs that reached over our heads. I couldn't sit comfortably in my chair without my feet coming up off the floor which made me feel like an infant. Not at all like the messenger I intended to be.

Things really south in November. I caught a terrible flu that made me delirious
and then— Jonestown happened. (Nine hundred people, mostly from San Francisco, were offed in a mass Kool-Aid suicide/killing). 

The news was surreal and caught me off guard. I was tipping off the edge of the merry-go-round, “a lost ball in the tall weeds,” as my grandmother would say.

Whatever messianic journey I was on, I abandoned— and started to pay attention to my basic survival needs.

A week later, Harvey Milk was assassinated.

That night, I recall a therapy secession in which I was barely able to speak. The sphinx spoke to me with kindness. I couldn't understand what she said, but I recognized her tone of compassion.

I remember searching for my parked car for an hour and a half, determined to find it, despite the raising panic that threatened to overrule me. All around me, for miles down Market Street, was a large, quiet crowd of people walking with candles. I can see myself looking down on many candles melting into the concrete.

Looking back at that time, the boundary between "them and us" was permanently
altered— both at large and within my own system. I love to laugh at myself but
some of it was not so funny. What an enormous effort it took to move things around a
bit!

The mechanics of our current consciousness surrounding queerfolk is grounded on this coming-out process that Harvey Milk insisted upon. Person to person— and brick by brick— the whole wall has been altered. It's still there— but much easier to step over.

Film & Photo Credit:  1. Clip from Half Nelson.  2. Trailer for Milk. 3. Photo from Honey Lee of two of her prints in the darkroom, one of herself on right, and Amber Hollibaugh on left.

Kindle Krazy: Yep, I Got One, and I Can't Get Enough!

I've gone Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs... over the Kindle.

You read that right... I take my little "electronic book" with me everywhere, right in my purse, reading more today than I have since I was the kid who got kicked out at closing time from the public library.

Much to my surprise, I've purchased more books in the past couple months... and read them... than I have all year.

A Kindle is... a wireless reading device. It looks like a book, but it's an e-book reader, where you electronically "flip the pages."

Why is the Kindle so attractive?

Number one, it's instant gratification. If I see a title that strikes my fancy, I can download a sample of it, FREE, in ten seconds.

Then, if I like what I read, I can click "buy" and for a few dollars— much less than a paperback— and the e-book immediately appears on my Kindle.

And reading it? —Like butter, people. Or perhaps I should say, like reading a lovely printed book about butter. It's beautiful, clear, large-text reading. The battery lasts for a week, unlike my computer or cell phone.

Instead of cramming my knapsack or suitcase with ten books to read on the train, I put the feather-weight Kindle into my bag, and I have as many hours of reading as I want.

AND!  It's got an Internet connection, via the phone lines... you don't need WiFi. Or a special bill from the phone company. It's "free," with the book. So you can write email or browse the web if you don't want to read a book. Yes!

So why doesn't EVERYONE have a Kindle already? Well, first, it's so weird. It's not TV, it's not a Gameboy. It's for people who LOVE TO READ— what a concept.

It's "something completely different." And, it's pricey... $359 for one of these babies. But given the amount I read, and how much I use it, it's  the cheapest, more value-laden gizmo I've ever purchased.

I find myself trying all kinds of books I wouldn't have bothered with before because it's so cheap and impetuous. I am reading movie star tell-alls I wouldn't have let myself splurge on. (Let me tell you about Eric Clapton's sex life!) But I'm also reading political tomes I would've thought, "Oh god, no, it's too thick." Nothing deters me now!

Plus—  I love this, as a writer and reviewer— you can electronically "bookmark" anything on the page with one click. You can add your own notes with the keyboard. This allows you to quote or refer to some favorite passage without fumbling or searching for a second. It's better than post-its!

Your friends and colleagues can send PDF files to you Kindle, by using a Kindle email-address that comes with your "book." So when authors tell me they have a new masterpiece coming out, I say, "Would you mind sending your galleys to my Kindle?" No more sending  pounds of paper to my mailbox that end up in the trash!

Here's how I got hooked: I had NO interest in e-books as a consumer; I was simply a starving author trying to figure out how to make a dime out of the "new technology" that has largely brought our old-school publishing model to its knees. 

I knew that Kindles were hot among the early-adopter set, and I wanted to put my books into their exclusive library of titles.

As I started researching the matter, I realized I needed to READ a book on a Kindle to see if it was a pleasurable experience. What if it was a bad joke on bookworms? I didn't want to put all the effort into transforming my old books into digital miracles only to be ashamed of the final result. (More on that later.)

I didn't know a single friend who owned a Kindle I could sneak a peek at. So I decided this was a work-related tax expense if there ever was one, and placed my order.

It took me two minutes to realize that YES, I wanted to turn all my work into ebooks— YES, I would be able to make a decent royalty for once in my career— and WOW!— This was so darn fun to use! I started calling my leather-clad Kindle baby names by the end of the first day. (Those are too embarrassing to tell you about).

My New E-Books on Kindle

I have four books you can read on the Kindle, if you're looking for something yummy to start out with, with some of the stories I'm most famous for:

SexWise: Interviews and Obsessions with The Black Panthers, Madonna, Paglia, Kitty MacKinnon, Stephen King, Dan Quayle's Cock, the GOP, and More...

Mommy's Little Girl:Sex, Motherhood, Porn, & Cherry Pie— Polyamory, Raising Kids, Sex Gurus, and Wrecking Your Sex Life in a couple easy steps...

Sexual Reality: Egg Sex, Rape "Scenes", Story of O Birthday, Strip Tea Party, and Being BlindSexual

Susie Sexpert's Lesbian Sex World: My classic stories on Vibrator Everything, the G-Spot, Fisting One and Two, and Why Straight Women Drive Us NUTTY.

Kindle Madness.. A Short FAQ:

"I'm e-phobic. How do I learn to use this thing without some awful learning curve?"

Watch a video demo here.

Then get a copy of the book that became my Kindle Bible: The Complete User's Guide to the Amazing Amazon Kindle.

* Holy smokes, I just went to Amazon's Kindle page, and they're sold out and taking names on a Kindle Waiting List. Get on it! Used models are also for sale...

"I hate the Kindle for "x" Reason. Can I get your e-books elsewhere?"

Some of you already have PDAs and PCs, where you already enjoy e-books without a Kindle.

No problem, you can get my books on the Mobipocket site, same nice format and price. Go for it!

For Mobipocket ONLY:

Here's Sexwise, here's Mommy's Little Girl, Susie Sexpert's Lesbian Sex World, and finally,  Susie Sexpert's Sexual Reality.

"Why can't you just send me the PDF file?"

Because I don't have an easy way to protect my work from pirate copies— and, I'd like have Amazon or Mobipocket handle the order fullfillment and tech support.

"I want a Kindle but it's too expensive."

I know; it's daunting. I hope that changes with popularity. What I can say to encourage you, though, is this:  if you read voraciously, if you are an author or editor or journalist— you need one. So start up that lemonade stand!

"Does this mean you hate real books now?"

Good grief, no. I am a book fetishist. In fact, I feel more drawn to the extremes now— I collect old books of all kinds, and I relish every production detail. Paper gets me high— don't even get me started on letterset printing.

Now that I have the Kindle, it's like having one of the first transistor radios; it's a new medium. It's perfect for when I need to read quickly, cheaply, and voluminously.

But for long lazy afternoons of book wanking, I'd rather linger in an antiquarian bookshop!

"The browser and buttons on the Kindle are dorky."

Yes, the interface is no iPhone. It's easy, but it's  not "elegant." It's not a touch screen. But it's perfect for people who've never used a computer before... it's got a simple dumbness that never leads you astray. If you want Grandma to use a computer, this might be the one that she loves. LARGE print rules, baby!

"What if I'd like to read those books of yours...on paper?"

I'm honored to be read in any form. I'd rather you read me anywhere, anytime, than not at all. Ask your library to order more copies!

However, if you're interested in supporting an author financially, check it out:

If I can sell you an ebook, I will receive income...   but my out-of-print paperbacks that are still in circulation are all used copies, and the author doesn't get a cut of "used" sales. I don't make a royalty on any of those OOP books. (My paperback royalty would typically be 7.5% per title on full retail price).

With e-books, even though they're very cheap, I make a bigger share of the income, every time, in perpetuity— because I'm self-publishing the title. I share the profit with the distributor.

I plan to make my own copies of "print-on-demand" paperbacks in the future, too, for my OOP titles. Stay tuned! 

"Amazon is a cruel behemoth, and I don't want to support them."

I agree!— but then I guess you didn't know my last seven "ex-wives"— I mean "publishers and distributors."   ;-)

American authors have been waging "David vs. Goliath" death matches for their entire careers, long before Amazon came around. Except we're not usually as victorious as David. 

"I'm an author and I want to know if I can get rich doing Kindle editions."

Then you better click below to get the second page! This is for "authors only."  Proceed at your own geeky risk!

My Favorite Dozen Movies I Saw in 2008!

Below you'll find my list of the movies that blew my mind this past year, regardless of their release dates.

I envy the critics who see everything the minute it comes out, but I'm delirious with pleasure when I discover a favorite new treat that was released fifty years ago. 

I don't envy all the Hollywood crap the pros had to sit through this year. Has there been a worse year for studio pictures in living memory?

What meant the most to me  were movies and television that went beyond anything printed words, still photography, or the sound of the human voice could do on its own. I fell in love with films that I never would have chosen by subject, but which seduced me into the most wayward and unexpected infatuations.

There's one film I haven't seen yet this year that I want to see right away: Milk. It's not playing in my podunk town yet! Gus Van Sant is already on my love list, though, with Paranoid Park.

Who did you love this year, on small or large screens?

The Furies - link

They don't make spitfire heroines in the movies anymore, and they certainly broke the mold with Barbara Stanwyck. She makes Scarlett O'Hara look like a slacker, in this Western family saga where Walter Huston plays his last role as Stanwyck's patriarch, matching her tooth for tooth.

The Counterfeiters - link

I like a good Nazi intrigue story as much as anyone, and I thought I'd heard and seen all the crazy stories that came out of the war. But this one! It's like the Third Reich's Miller's Daughter: a master counterfeiter is locked in a room and told to produce the perfect American dollar bill... millions of them... in order to save his life, as well as those of his printing press compatriots.

Louisiana Story - link

This clip is insufficient... it shows a little dialog for linguistic interest, but that's not why you'd watch this film with your mouth hanging open. It's about a boy who goes out in a paddle canoe to the swamp to hunt alligator with his pet racoon... and the best parts have no dialog at all.  The photography of the Bayou is unearthly, spellbinding. A trance state of America that may not exist at all anymore.

Two Lane Blacktop - link

How did I miss this the first time around? This is the best film I've seen in years, and its subject would normally hold no interest to me: streetcar racing and wagering down the highways of America.

But that's not what this story is really about. Take the fellow you'll see talking below: every story out of his mouth is a lie. And yes, later on you'll see James Taylor, as mean and sexy as a rattlesnake gut. This is a film about a state of mind in America just before all the wheels came off.