Monthly Archives: August 2013

There’s an instant. It’s a subtle, but palpable, change in the wind. An inescapable judder in the rotation of the Earth under your feet.

I suppose, under different circumstances I might even have missed it. There have been times in my life when I would have; when the background noise was so loud, when I was so entranced by the chaos, that I wouldn’t have noticed the color of the night sky changing over my head.

It’s the instant when you stop thinking “Could Be,” and start thinking “Is.” The instant that will mark “Before” and “After.”

To say this time was different is a vast understatement. There was no way I could miss it. It was significant. An apotheosis. A moment.

I can’t say when the shift came for her; I know only that she has a moment of her own. For me, I know exactly when it was…

We’d just come from getting pizza at a little joint in Cambria. By the time we finally left our bed at a beachside motel in San Simeon, the pizza place was all that was open.

On the way back, we noticed a sign for the beach, and drove down to the parking lot. The beach was closed and dark and cold, but we didn’t care. We took off our shoes and walked down to the surf. The sand was freezing, so I had her climb onto my back.

I recited — from memory — the prologue to The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy as I carried her down the beach, her face in my neck, the smell of her hair in my nose, and she listened, rapt; charmed by the absurdity of the situation.

After a while, I carried her back to the landing at the edge of the beach. The stairs we climbed up seemed different somehow than the stairs we had climbed down… the stars seemed slightly brighter. Everything had changed.

“Could Be” had become “Is.”


As far as I’m concerned, these are some of the sexiest things a Woman can possibly say to you.

I’m not Afraid.”

I trust you.”

You can’t scare me away.”

Go ahead and hurt me.”

Even if it doesn’t fit, you should try to get it in.”

I have no words.”

Yes. Please.”

This post is dedicated to The Unicorn, because I heard all of these things this weekend.

A gajillion people have asked me today what I think about Ben Affleck being cast as Batman in the next Snyderman movie.

Here’s the answer: I couldn’t care less.

Man of Steel was such a monumental, offensive, insufferable, illogical pile of steaming dogshit, it doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference who plays Batman. Get Ryan Reynolds for all I care. Get Burt Reynolds. It doesn’t matter; the movie is doomed. The new Warner Superman franchise is a heartless, tone-deaf, cynical money-grab. The sequel will be more of the same.

I never posted a review of Man of Steel because, frankly, a lot of other people did it better. These two reviews (read the entirety of each; it’s worth it) sum up my feelings nicely.

It’s pretty safe to say that I’ve done just about every job you can do in my nearly 46 year turn of service, with the exception of working with food (which I resolutely refuse to do). I’ve driven a cab, managed a video store, and mucked stables. I’ve been a stuntman, pool boy, masseur, bodyguard, stage tech, carpenter, mechanic, warehouse manager, reporter, et alad infinitum.  I’ve also (naturally) done my time as a security guard.

One of the things that broke up the tedium inherent in that gig was the guard I spent time with at one particular post. His name was Dan, and he was a cross between Herman Munster, Fred Flintstone, Ralph Kramden and Archie Bunker.

Just let that image simmer for a minute.

He had a particular gift for breaking the English language and inventing words. This was done with no sense of cleverness or irony on Dan’s part; he simply believed the words that came out of his mouth were actual English. One of my favorites was misconstrusion. This was usually part of a rant about how he was going to go quit the job next week because of some imagined slight or insult, to wit, “Monday morning, I’m going in to the dispatch office and I’m gonna tell ’em to take this job and shove it up their ass. They think I’m gonna take this, they got some misconstrusions.”

Much as I hate to say it, I think Dan was onto something. There’s a semantic underpinning to the word I really like; a sense of willful negligence that “misconception” just doesn’t impart. It reminds me of a malaprop committed in a script I once read that had someone being beaten “unmerciously.” It just kinda has a ring to it.

So, as I consider how best to recount a recent festival of misunderstood tweets and subtweets, and the resulting misunderstandings and miscommunication, the only phrase that seems appropriate is to say some people in my online circle have been the victims of their own misconstrusions.

It’s a politically volatile time in the porn business. Like the America that existed in Joe McCarthy’s head, we are currently under attack from without and within, by forces seen and unseen. One of those forces is a rabble-rousing retard who has once again burned every bridge her ever crossed and now sees his volatile mouth and illiterate ranting as his only method of maintaining the tiniest toe-hold at the bottom rung of the only industry that will have him.

Some of you know who I’m talking about. For those who don’t, it’s of no consequence. I’ll call him The Miscreant. He’s someone who swore to destroy my friends & I 12 years ago, and he had a better chance of accomplishing it then. The only way I know about his attacks on me now is when a particular, gossip-obsessed friend feels the need to make me aware, just for the comedy factor.

The Miscreant himself is utterly irrelevant, and his comments are ludicrous and laughable. Just for my own amusement, I tweeted this after his last minor salvo across my broadside:

When the mongoloids, the retards, the absolute worst of the worst decry your actions… you’re doing something right. Praise indeed. ;)

Anonymous subtweet? Sure, but I figured it was pretty obvious to whom it was addressed.

I also, apparently, had some misconstrusions. Four different people — none of them the retard in question — got incredibly offended. One of them — Let’s call him the Wicker Man — went so far as to launch his own Vaguebook tirade…

“I know some real assholes. Real bitter people.. Fuck yer day.
One day when your (sic) all alone and cant (sic) convince young girls to sleep with u.
You will once again regret the path u picked.”

Now, I can’t really argue with this. I admit to being both bitter and an asshole, and I’m becoming completely smitten with The Unicorn, who is less than half my age. The only issue I take is with the concept that I have ever stopped regretting the path I picked, but that’s splitting hairs.

Here’s my thing; my post was insulting The Miscreant for trashing my name. But at least he’s doing it in public. Obviously, the Wicker Man has been going after me behind my back, and thought he’d been caught. So what have you been sayin’ about me… buddy?

This is a tiny business. If you think I won’t find out, well… you got some unmercious misconstrusions.




In the interest of full disclosure, and to give this story another layer, I need to admit that I already knew the Wicker Man had been talking shit about me when I tweeted back at The Miscreant. I knew what WM had said, and when and where he said it. To add some genuine irony, I actually had subtweeted this at the Wicker Man that same morning:

The Hamlet quote, “That one may smile and smile and be a villain,” makes me think of someone I JUST worked with.

Unfortunately, the Wicker Man seems to have completely missed that one. Maybe I should retweet it…

We are all a little weird, and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.” —Dr. Seuss


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