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| THE GOOG |  | Category: Social
Thursday, September 30th, 2004 @ 09:38 am
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 I don't know what's going on, but I've noticed my interaction with a certain sect of society has increased lately. This is a group of people who, from heretoforth, will be reffered to as "The Googs".
The name is derived from the 15th century Welsh, in which one who believed... just kidding. It actually comes from Pete, who had a friend with a googley eyeball, so, in proper Pete peculiarity (alliteration!), he fashioned this gent a nickname out of thin air. From henceforth, this young lad would be known simply as the Goog.
Anyway, getting back on track, as of late, I've been encountering googs out the wazoo. Googs at work, googs working the counters at convenience stores, googs standing in line behind me at the supermarket, etc. The funny thing is, I've also been talking to alot of "eye contact avoiders." The kind of people who, when holding a conversation with you, will shift their line of sight down, and a little to the left. Now this bugs the shit out of me, but I get by.
The problem arises when I'm constantly being bombarded by conversations from both googs and eye-avoiders. The problem is as follows: A goog approaches me and initiates a conversation. I raise my eyes in the all too familiar "I am acknowleging the existence of this conversation" eye contact lock. Eeep! Not only is it a goog, but one of their eyes is making contact with mine, and one is shifted down and to the left!
Thus a problem develops: Is the eye contact eye the good eye, and the other is the goog? Or, are they an eye-contact-avoider, and their goog eye is the one looking at me while the perfectly healthy one is busy avoiding eye contact? My eyes start darting back and forth from the dead on eye to the suspected goog, searching for any sign of life in either so that I can lock on to the sentient eye. Of course, while doing this, I become fully aware that it looks like I'm totally checking out their goog, but what the fuck am I going to do, ask them which of their eyes is the fucked up one? I mean, I'm not a dick. Mostly.
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| GMAIL, BE-OTCH! |  | Category: Tech
Friday, September 24th, 2004 @ 11:10 am
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 That's right bitches, I've joined the revolution. Gmail is mine at last. For those of you who thought you could swoop on in and claim the almighty glitch13 gmail address, as you haughtily laugh and ride off, kicking up dust and pebbles in your wake, you will now rue the day you ever planned to do that stuff I just said.
So, how does life feel post gmail address acquisition? Hrm, well, the air does smell a little sweeter, and I do feel like I have the strength of an ox, albeit an ox with four broken legs, currently strapped to a yoke digging rows in a cornfield, but an ox none the less.
So, what will I do with this new found glory, you ask? Well, I will hold gmail invites over your heads and watch you squirm and buck as you try to differentiate yourself from the crowd and look deserving of my invites. Of course, I don't have any invites to give out as of yet, but trust me, when I get them, that squirming/bucking thing will definitely be on. Bitches.
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| IVAN THE TERRIBLE |  | Category: Work
Tuesday, September 14th, 2004 @ 09:01 am
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 Well, the Wrath of God is pretty much headed to my home town, and my company being the catastrophe bandits we are, have decided to move our entire operation to Shreveport, LA so we can keep working while our base of operations is pummeled by an angry god.
I'll try to keep you all updated as to my status from here, but Jesus, this isn't going to be fun.
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| THE CURRENT STATE OF PORN |  | Category: Sex
Tuesday, September 7th, 2004 @ 03:05 pm
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The Best Porn Director of all Time
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I have been a porn fan for a long time. When I was 13 I used to laboriously record the titty scenes from every movie on Showtime. I had a collage of sci-fi T&A, bikini car washes, softcore porn, and the boob scene from Stripes. I can remember watching Forbidden World and climaxing perfectly in time with all three of the sex scenes.
Porn has grown with me. I did not see my first hardcore porn movie until right around the time I was actually having sex. It was a Ginger Lynn collection. The porn, that is, not the actual sex. The porn had a scene with Peter North and Ginger Lynn which remains one of my very favorites to this day (Penis length and ejaculation distance envy notwithstanding). Over time I very gradually obtained other movies and their subject matter broadened along with my own personal experience. I remember with nostalgia the movie Back Road to Paradise. It was a watershed moment in my life.
Once porn became readily available on the computer note that this is pre-internet explosion I had a 250 meg tape backup to archive my porn. That was a lot of porn back then. I also collected magazines and VHS tapes, and it got to a point where I could no longer fit it in my bed stand and had to move it to a foot locker. All the while the collection steadily matured with me. My mind turned to three ways and fetish, to anilingus and costumes.
Then something went wrong. Something horrible has happened to porn.
Glitch and I fancy ourselves to be sex freaks. We are huge porn fiends, and in addition we actually have real life sex with real girls. We do this a lot, and when we aren't doing these things we often talk about doing them, or post ramblings about them on glitch13.com.
The truth is, however, we are obsolete models. We are throwbacks to a bygone era. If you have ever seen the movie Soldier, we are Kurt Russel. I quote the Winkle:
"Doesn't anyone just fuck anymore?"
Porn is a reflection of the desires of those who watch it. What people want to see is what gets made. If the current state of porn is any indication, the world is hopelessly fucked up and I have been left behind.
I have a bit of a rep as a misogynist, and in some senses it is deserved. But I do not hold a candle to what is apparently the vast majority of the male population.
When I go into the porn video store I now find it exceedlingly difficult to find anything I can watch. Porn has become unbelievably brutal towards women. I blame it on the disease known as Rocco Siffredi. The first time I saw him on a box I thought, "Hey, all of these people are good looking, and I'm sick of seeing Tom Byron in every goddamn movie." But then I tried to watch it.
I find Rocco unwatchable. He makes it a point to stretch women's assholes beyond any reasonable point of pleasure. He shoves their heads into toilets. He spits in their faces. He slaps them. And he is immensely popular.
There is a whole Rocco section in the porn store. And while these movies are teeming with beautiful women, there is a catch: You have to watch Rocco abuse them.
Then you have slap happy. This is literally a video full of dudes writing the word "whore" on women in paint, and then slapping them in the face in between brutal bursts of fucking. Also a popular series.
Then you have Max Hardcore. You get to watch a 50 year old man brutalize a beautiful young girl.
Then you have Nacho Vidal. The list goes on and on.
I have always been an ardent supporter of porn. I have always defended it, and argued that is no more degrading to women than men. Given the current state of the industry I really cannot make that argument any longer. It now seems that humiliation is the actual point of the porn rather than being an undesired by-product.
John Stagliano - Buttman - and Joey Silvera are virtually the only big porn directors I can still watch. They use their cameras to worship women's beauty. They linger over every inch of their body and end with good old fashioned ass love. And that is the very best.
But even these bastions of porn quality are not untouched by the horrid Rocco Effect. Even they are slowly moving closer to what is now the mainstream. One day there will be nothing left of that quaint old world that I remember. My children will never know the simpler pleasures in life that do not involve ass fisting or creampie. My children will never live in a world where gangbangs are the exception rather than the rule. And this is a sad world indeed.
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| BLOGS AND DALI | | Category: Social
Saturday, September 4th, 2004 @ 05:34 pm
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Well, the other day I happened to notice that one "Ms A" has started updating her blog again. I am acutally a pretty big fan of her writing style, for reasons unknown. Maybe it's because I want to have mad monkey butt sex with her, but who knows.
Anywho, while reading, she enlightened me to the existance of a blog by one Poppy Z. Brite, a New Orleans native who's authored a few books that I read in my incoragable teenage years. Being star-struck for me usually happens in this order: 1) Wow! this person is famous! This is so cool that I am getting this intimate look into thier day to day life! 2) (8 seconds later) Who gives a shit.
I once "met" Poppy Z Brite around 5 or 6 years ago. I have met in quotations because we weren't at a glitzy party, clinking our champagne glasses and discussing tawdry and lascivious tales of others in the public eye, like ourselves. No, I was working the graveyard shift at the Kinko's uptown (when it was still on Carrollton), and she came in around 3am to copy some comic book representation she did of a story where she was a kid and her mother brought her to a museum to see jewelry created by Salvidor Dali. I brought up the fact that I had read a few books by her and enjoyed them, then mentioned that I didn't expect her to be 3 fucking feet tall (exaggeration). Uncomfortable small talk insued for about a minute, then she left.
What she didn't know was that I secretly had made my own copy of the one page "graphic story", and after she left, blew it up to poster size and mounted it on a foam core board. It hung prestigeously in my room in my apartment uptown until I moved and threw it away for reasons unknown to me now. I wish I still had it, I'd email her a picture of me standing in front of it hanging on a wall behind me in my house and just sit there being giddy about the confusion it would bring her.
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