Some guys are so picky
Given a healthy dose of luck, I should have a Cosmo Thirteen for you this week; but as I worked my way through the November issue, one article caught my attention — one so special, I knew I would never be able to do it justice within the narrow confines of a Thirteen.
What Not to Do in Bed
Most guys aren’t going to tell you to your face that one of your mattress moves isn’t hitting the mark . . . but they’ll tell us! Read carefully as dudes confess the techniques that left them less than enthralled.
By Daniel Kraus
I know a certain 19-year-old boy who is getting well and truly and regularly laid. Recently, I told him, in absolute seriousness, never ever to take a steady supply of sex for granted. With that advice in mind, let me lambaste the sensitive morons of Cosmo who would have women believe there is anything they shouldn’t do in bed.
SBD: Notice me! *updated*
For Smart Bitches Day, if Kate gets to rant about sloppy publishers and Lyvvie gets to crit I, Lucifer, I say it’s fair game for me to kvetch about my damned romance.
Why won’t anyone notice me? I sent out seven query packages and got seven rejections. Not one request for more material, not one personalized note — form letters, all of them. Then I sent off four queries electronically, to agents who prefer to deal with writers that way, and I haven’t heard back from anyone yet.
Admittedly, eleven queries is bupkes in this biz. Y’all send out dozens, I imagine, but between working a day job, cooking great meals for my family, and sitting on my ass reading people’s blogs, who has time to prepare dozens of queries? Because they all ask for something different. It’s almost a point of honor with these agents.
Rampant in the self-help-for-wannabe-authors literature is the notion that quality sells. If you write well enough, you WILL be noticed, you WILL be published. Hah! If it were that easy, I would have received at least one personalized comment — “Not right for us, but I like your style. Keep trying.” Is that so much to ask? As much as I might bitch about the short story market (and I could bitch a lot), I received several notes of encouragement. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
This is not an ego issue. Surgical internship toughens the ego into this leathery thing you wouldn’t let your dog chew — you try working 80 hours a week on a steady diet of “Doogie” this and “Doogie” that, “Touch that one more time and I’ll rip off your head and shit down your neck,” or “What were you thinking? We don’t pay you to think.” I survived internship at the biggest county hospital in the nation. I don’t need an agent’s (editor’s, publisher’s) recognition to make me whole.
It’s more a problem-solving issue with me. I’ve set myself a task and I’m unhappy with the murky, chance-riddled path to success. Nothing left to do but send out more queries, right? Because, short of becoming a stalker, there’s no other way to be noticed, is there?
*checking computer clock* Well, that successfully spent another thirty minutes of free time. The laundry’s done, the kitchen’s clean, my wife and son are well fed. Nothing left to do but (don’tclickonDailyKos don’tclickonDailyKos don’tclickonDailyKos) get to work on those queries.
Oh. Don’t forget Kate’s contest and my contest.
D.
Update
Now I’m looking at the publishing houses. First up, Avalon Books.
Our books are wholesome adult fiction, suitable for family reading. There is no graphic or premarital sex or sexual tension in any of our novels; kisses and embraces are as far as our characters go.
Hmm. I take it rimming is a deal-breaker?
Farsumauro (meat-stuffed meat. It’s meatylicious!)
The concept is so simple: use a thin sheet of meat to wrap a filling of one sort or another. Brown, braise, and serve.
I adapted this from a recipe I found in the last Italian cookbook you’ll ever need, Marcella Hazan’s Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. Like all the recipes I’ve tried from this book, farsumauro rocks.
Don’t miss the contest (next post down). After you enter the contest, meet me below the fold for some meat-stuffed meat.
The Gimme A Good Book Contest
(Not literally “gimme.” I’m not begging for books.)
We have some vacation time coming up — the Bay Area for Thanksgiving, Vegas for Christmas – New Years. That means I’ll have access to real bookstores and won’t be dependent on Barnes & Noble online or Paperback Swap. But I need ideas, people, because whenever I have time for a REAL bookstore, I never have enough time to browse. And if I browse, who knows, maybe I’ll miss something great.
Here’s the contest: in the comments, sell me on a book. Authors, feel free to pimp your own books; the rest of you, pimp your friends’ books, if you like. Or just sell me on the best damned book you’ve read lately. Distant past, best-book-I’ve-ever-read is fair game, too. Easy, isn’t it? As I read through the comments, I’ll keep a running list of the books I want to buy. Of those, I’ll pick two people as winners, and each of you will get a $20 gift certificate to Barnes & Noble or Amazon or whichever bookseller you choose.
The contest ends Saturday, Nov. 17, since we’ll be leaving next Sunday.
Likes, in general: genre fiction, but no horror or cowpunchers, please. I like SF, fantasy (interesting stuff like Neil Gaiman or Tam’s novels, not the 900-page Tolkien wannabes, please), romance (especially if it’s funny or nasty — preferably both), hardboiled/noir, and the occasional crime novel.
I dislike SERIOUS fiction, the kind of novel that aims at revealing the Deep Thoughts of Life and forgets to entertain.
Technical excellence is important.
***
I should have a nifty food photo-blog for you later today. Stay tuned.
If you would be interested in guest-blogging while we’re on vacation, email me at (azureus at harborside dot com). We’ll have our laptop with us, so I should be able to do some blogging; nevertheless, Balls and Walnuts hasn’t had any guest bloggers in a long time, and it could be great fun.
D.
Kate has a contest
I expended my evening’s creativity on those 400 words, so if you want something to read, you know where to find it. And you’ll see lots of our friends among the entries — Sam, Dean, microsoar, and a few folks I haven’t met.
Live blogging tonight, but I’m not sure when. Depends on the leg o’ lamb. And oy, I’m tired; I think I’ve been cooking and cleaning continuously since noon. Aside from the lamb, I made some kind of eggplant dip, dough for a focaccia, tiramisu, and a pumpkin sweet potato pie. Oh, and I made breakfast for the fam, too.
Check in around 8 PM PST . . . hopefully I’ll be here.
D.
Friday Flickr Babes: nude, of course
Untrusting, originally uploaded by Delerina.
Dean, I think you’ll like Delerina’s portfolio. Let me know.
I would like to take this opportunity to alert you to an overlooked health problem that afflicts roughly 50.5% of the general population: PSAS — Priapic Sleep Arousal Syndrome. While REM Sleep Behavior Syndrome (violent physical outbursts during dream sleep) has a more dramatic presentation, it is still an uncommon condition. Priapic Sleep Arousal Syndrome, on the other hand, can strike anyone burdened with unsatisfied erectile tissue.
Extreme cases are easily recognized (pdf):
His wife also reported episodes of amnestic sexual behavior that began 4 years before referral. During the episodes, the patient typically procured his wife, achieving complete sexual intercourse with total amnesia. Episodes of sexual behavior during sleep occurred once a month. His wife remained in bed with him after the episodes. The patient did not consent to being videotaped.
The 50.5% figure may be an underestimation by nearly 100%, as erection during REM sleep (dream sleep) is not limited to men.
A man experiences penile erections; a woman experiences clitoral engorgement.
Priapic Sleep Arousal Syndrome: a silent killer!
Prevent Priapic Sleep Arousal Syndrome!
Fuck Your Spouse Today
D.
Porno Pimpage!
O’Brien did it. I could only imagine doing it, but she did it. She wrote a Thursday Thirteen composed of YouPorn video links.
Admittedly, it’s not a Thursday Thirteen (it’s a Thursday Nineteen, by my count), not all of the links go to YouPorn, and the links are so varied one would have a difficult time finding some overarching theme. Except for the porn, of course. “Favorite” YouPorn videos? No, some of these are pretty gross. “Most Interesting” YouPorn videos? Naw. She missed the one of the guy who put his whole head into a woman’s vagina*, and that one she’s watching here? I have standards. I won’t watch any YouPorns with a rating below 2.
(Seriously, that looked like one boring video. Far more interesting, and erotic, watching O’Brien’s reaction to that crappy video.)
She did it all for the sake of journalism. Once again proving that I chose the wrong profession. To think, right now I could be groveling before Mistress Matisse, and when Karen complains about it, I’d say, “It’s for this piece I’m writing. Deal with it.” Then I would race into the other room for my, “Bwahahahahahahaaaa!”
On the other hand, if I ever publish my romance, I can declare that my next novel will focus on the BDSM community, and I Must Do Research!
Yeah. That’ll work.
D.
*And another personal favorite, Woman Giving Birth To Cell Phone.
Thirteen diary quotes
My boy will be a teenager in one year. Guess I had better re-familiarize myself with adolescent angst . . . and how better to do accomplish that, than to pilfer my old diaries for quotes?
To be honest, this struck me as a horrible idea when I first thought of it. I was a depressed, nihilistic kid, and I tend to absorb that mood if I spend too much time futzing with the old diaries. Nevertheless, the first quote I found was so wonderful, it encouraged me to continue.
Another world
I’m recovering quickly, thanks. Been back at work for the last two days, and while that’s going well, I tend to be pretty exhausted by the end of the day. Fatigue saps creativity, of course, so tonight I was having trouble coming up with a blog topic.
I considered writing about unusual wikis, but aside from a really lame sex wiki, I couldn’t seem to find anything too weird. Then, SOMEHOW, I mean I don’t know HOW I always end up on this page, I ended up perusing Wikipedia’s list of fetishes and discovered two Japanese fetishes I hadn’t heard of before: zentai (skin-tight body suits) and omorashi (full bladder eroticism). That led me to an exploration of gyaru, which is, I gather, a collective noun describing various style-cliques common at one time or another among young women in Japan.
The young woman in the picture exemplifies ganguro. Ganguro girls are heavily tanned, use lots of “contouring make-up,” and lurve the color pink. Other gyaru styles include baika (biker chicks), yamanba (“the early form of Manba, characterized by over the top make-up and stickers of popular Disney characters or cartoons as well as jewels or stick-on earrings. The clothing style is heavy “I just got back from Hawaii” complete with lei’s on wrists, necks, ankles and even in hair. Thick Ganguro style “panda” make-up, and usually orange, hot pink, teal blue, blue or bleached white hair”), and my favorite, himegyaru:
Meaning Princess GAL it is a style characterized by pink make-up and long eyelashes as well as either tan or very light skin. Huge hair in a bouffant/beehive is practically the uniform. Himegyaru wear Liz Lisa typically because the brand sums up the style. Lots of fur and rich materials as well as lace and velvet are common. High heels are always a must, as well as a good structured handbag preferably white, black, or pink. Animal prints as well as rhinestones, roses, orchids, and other flowers. Pearl and cameo inlays and beadwork on nails is a big trend. Hair is teased up on top and curled tightly in spirals on the bottom. Hair color is always caramel, black, or dark brown. Rarely is hair dyed white and never unnatural colors.
They look like anime chicks, don’t they? Except humans don’t have those huge anime eyes.
Or do they? Meet Ukrainian model Masha Tielne.
I wish I had something profound to say about the wondrous variety of human cultures and the many notions of beauty, some of which seem transcendent, others, impossible for anyone outside the group to understand. But I’m tired. I ain’t got nothin’.
D.
A memory without pain
Let every man in mankind’s frailty
Consider his last day; and let none
Presume on his good fortune until he find
Life, at his death, a memory without pain.-Sophocles, Oedipus Rex
I wonder when we started dying in hospitals. Not by accident (we’ve been doing that, I’m sure, for as long as we’ve had hospitals), but by intention.
All four of my grandparents died in hospitals. My mother’s brother died alone, his body undiscovered for a few days; that’s even worse. But I’m not sure it matters where we die. Dead is dead, right? And yet, like many people, I play with the fantasy of dying in my own home with at least one loved one by my side.
Anyone in medicine can tell you stories of patients’ last days. Nearly all of the terminally ill grab for that desperate last chance — salvage chemotherapy, anyone? — rather than admit to the inevitable. Many times during training, my senior residents and my attending physicians would, when presented with one horrid diagnosis or another, say, “Someone should give him a one-way ticket to Hawaii and tell him to stock up on good booze and strong narcotics.”
Today, I finally met someone who decided to go to Hawaii.
He’s coming back, he says, and when he does, he’ll take that last stab at radiation therapy. But dammit, he’s going to enjoy Hawaii while he can. Radiation can wait; he’s gonna live.
I’m sad about his diagnosis, but I’m happy for him. Somehow, I don’t see this fellow dying in a hospital.
D.