Geeks Only: Intruders from the Cool Table Just Move Along!

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200px-Deities_&_Demigods_(front_cover,_first_edition)Just a quick note to say that I am running a summer youth camp right now, which is why the blog has been silent lately. What I’ve posted has been stuff written in advance (like this one for example). The kids will soon dismiss me, though, and I’ll commence bloggenating proper once I taste freedom.

***

Okay, most of you probably aren’t going to get the point of this story, and some of you may flee in terror shouting ‘nerd alert! nerd alert!’ That’s okay, because, well, …guilty as charged.

The game was D&D, and it may have been the mid-90s, but we were playing first edition. I was the Game Master, and two separate gaming groups (one from Las Vegas and one from Flagstaff) had come together for a single game session. Each of the players had several characters on the table and we were engaged in a massive battle with an army led by evil forces. At some point in the evening, the players had achieved a clear victory over that army, so I thought it was time to wrap up the long game session and give the players their just rewards for a battle well-fought.

I told the players that an evil God (Li Kung, I believe) had descended upon the battlefield and congratulated the party on their victory, asking them to consider sparing what remained of the evil army and allowing it to quit the field. In exchange for this, Li Kung would grant a number of favors. At this point I meta-gamed the issue and simply told each player that they could ask for 1 favor for 1 of their characters. The players readily agreed.

It didn’t take long for the players to begin making their requests. Most of the specifics were perfectly forgettable, but one of them stands out. This player prefaced his request with the words; ‘it can’t hurt,” which I actually thought was probably a safe assumption under the circumstances. He then asked for a Holy Avenger for his Paladin.

I thought about explaining to the player that his great and Holy Warrior ought not to ask an evil deity to provide him with a weapon that was supposed to be a symbol of his faithful service to his own (good) god.  Then inspiration struck me. I told the players that Li Kung nodded his head and then disappeared. The players chatted a moment in character, wondering where he went and whether or not this meant the deal was off. Then the evil one reappeared with a great sword, which he offered to the Paladin, the bloody stump of a human hand still gripping its handle.

“Oh goody!” the player was positively beaming.

He wasn’t entirely sure why the sword functioned as a simple +2 weapon.

Vegas Street Art 3, …but First a Couple Pigeons!

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Hot Birds!

Hot Birds!

Just how hot was Vegas this June? Well, just ask the pigeons.

Seriously, ask the pigeons.

My Vegas vacation this year wasn’t entirely a story of hyper-heatitation (it’s a word now, dammit!). My Vegas Vegation was also a story of big-ass moons, …which I failed to capture, of my friend’s Pathfinder campaign, and my Sister’s new truck. Before that it was a story of her grand-daughter, and of course it was also a story of street-performers and odd museums. It was definitely a story of Mongolian grills, Korean BBQ, and of the Komol Kitchen, …which makes the best Tom Yum Ghai Soup in the fricking Milky Way. It was also a few stories best left untold.

Okay, the untold stories aren’t that exciting. No slot machines were hassled and no hangovers were harmed in the preparations for this post.

But, more to the point, it was also a story of street art. Of course, I had already covered much of the street art in Vegas here and here. I did manage to find a few pieces I hadn’t covered before, including a wonderful historical piece in Henderson by an artist named Giuseppe Abriu. Some of them even appear to be new. So, without further mumbly -gumbo…

A Tale of Two Beaches

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I’m busy flying about with a small cadre of students (got to catch up on some comments from earlier posts), but I thought I’d share a couple photos with a nice bit of contrast. Okay, so this many jelly-fish isn’t a common sight on our beach, but then again neither is my friend Lauri.

Laguna beach, June 2013

North Slope, July 2013

North Slope, July 2013

A Rambling Little Bit About Rock Lyrics

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MV5BNzk3OTYyMzc2Nl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTk3NTUyMg@@._V1._SY314_CR27,0,214,314_So, I’m tooling around Vegas a couple weeks back, listening to Ozzy’s Boneyard when I hear this story about the origin of No More Tears. Apparently, Ozzy was in the bathtub, so the story goes, when inspiration struck.

I’d always wondered about that.

It’s just a little disappointing, isn’t it? I mean, this is hard rock and metal. All this time, I thought the Devil himself was supposed to be speaking to us through Ozzy. Is he using commercial jingles for a translator? I suppose that could be, right? Perhaps his evil word is too much for the ears of a professional musician, so maybe the Dark Lord has to find a truly evil minion to convey his word to the chosen spokes-stars. When he wants to reach the masses he turns to rock-stars; when he wants to reach rock-stars, Satan turns to advertisers.

…which actually makes sense to me.

19101819-5431-28That aside, you have to wonder if the folks from Warrant ever realized why the phrase “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” resonated with them. Seriously, I can just imagine it. They are sitting their, doing what rockers do when they write lyrics (and seriously, whatever the procedure is, I hope it’s truly depraved), and they are trying to write a song about a brutal murder out in the boonies, and suddenly somebody comes up with this reference to Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Does everyone just think it has a nice ring to it?

Or better yet, maybe they knew what the were doing all along! Was that song a stealth history lesson, guys? Subliminal edumacation comin’ through your radio. Cause that would be awesome if it were true.

By ‘awesome’ I might mean ‘awful’.

Really, I’m not sure which.

Speaking of Rockin’ History lessons that almost happened, I can only assume Ian Astbury was well aware of the fact that there really was an American Horse. Given his own love of indigenous themes, I’d guess he was thinking about that very person when he wrote the song American Horse. At the very least, I imagine he was thinking about the old Lakota leader when inspiration for that tune began to take form, but of course “American Horse” isn’t actually about American Horse, at least I don’t think so.

…which come to think of it is probably just as well.

Gosh, Old Nick sure does work in mysterious ways:

The Erotic Heritage Museum of Las Vegas: A Misadventure in Mainstream Pornography

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My friend Sarah, from “A Knitty Society” has finished her own critique of the Erotic Heritage Museum. Her thoughts on the subject can be found in this post.

Socioknit's avatar

Ok!! I finally stole some free time to finish up my review of the Erotic Heritage Museum in Las Vegas. Thank you readers for being so patient! 😀 Oh and, before I begin, let me just say that as a person who studies sex and gender is multicultural contexts, I am very sensitive to human sexuality and to the controversy of sex work and its hotly debated legitimacy. My intention with this post is the critical analysis of the Erotic Heritage Museum and its themes -which deserves it- not about the legitimacy of sex work or the porn industry.

Recently, I went with my husband and a friend (Northy) to the Erotic Heritage Museum here in Las Vegas (check out his article here!!). Yeah, I know…the last place you may expect to find a museum about sex, right? Well, that’s one part of the joke; it was actually located…

View original post 1,302 more words

All Your Norths are Belong to Me!!!

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I have been back in the arctic for about half a day now. I arrived just in time to catch the end of the July 4th games. That’s what folks do here on accounta fireworks just aren’t that interesting this time of year. So, here they hold about a week of games. I missed the Umiaq (skin boat) race, but I caught some of the tug-of-war games just before the close of events.

After a week of record heat in Vegas, the differences are quite striking. I like to get out from time to time, but I must say it’s good to be home.

Lefty Love of Country: A Few Self-Indulgent Comments

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036Do you love your country?

For some folks that must be an easy one to answer. For at least a few of us it is a bit more difficult, not the least of reasons for this being the hint of blackmail in the question. Few things will chase off ones affections quite so effectively as the feeling that one is being bullied into it.

It hasn’t always been that difficult.

I remember a particular July 4th (1980, I think) when it was particularly easy for me to say how I felt about my country. I and my rifle team were representing the state of Wyoming at the Daisy International BB-Gun championships in Bowling Green, Kentucky. (As I recall, teams came from 48 states plus Mexico and Japan, …hence the “International” part of a primarily American contest.)

Those that have read my comments about the rights of gun-owners (or at least about some of the craprhetoric produced in support of those rights), might wonder just what I was doing at such an event, let me just say that I was a very different person at 14. I should add that the NRA was also a very different organization at the time.

If your guessing that a double-dose of God and country were part of that ideology, then you are guessing right. With the whole shooting contest falling on Independence Day, you can imagine what the night’s festivities were like. The fireworks were spectacular, and spectacularly close. Bits and pieces fell on us as we looked up in the sky. But long before that bit came the Star Spangled Banner. Standing there, with my hand on my heart, representing my state, I couldn’t have loved my country anymore without causing something to pop.

That was many years before college, before reading certain books, before meeting certain people, before I developed a grasp of the news, and well before I had come to see Ronald Reagan as anything but the best damned President ever to eat a jelly bean in the Oval Office.

It was also well before anyone had ever suggested that a dirty commie like me ought to go live in someplace like China.

Faced with that one, I always wanted to respond with something along these lines; “I live in a Constitutional Democracy where I get to say what I want about m government; if that doesn’t sit well with you, then why don’t you leave!?!” That probably wouldn’t have been the most constructive thing to say, but it would have felt good. …I honestly don’t remember if I ever actually said that, or even if I had many real chances to. I just remember that it was always the response that jumped to mind in the face of the love-it-or-leave-it gambit.

What my pet response does reveal is a conventionally liberal sense of patriotism, a notion that for all it’s problems, American government embodies some principles worth keeping, principles that may help us sort the problems for that matter. The point of this line of thinking was at least partly to take (or perhaps to take back) ownership of the values turned against me (and others) in such rhetoric. It was also, at least partly the emotional response of someone who actually did love his country, perhaps even enough to simply lash out when called on the issue.

***

Which reminds me, somewhere the Lakota writer, Vine Deloria Jr. once wrote that one of the ironies of American patriotism was that it could be expressed both by waving a flag and by burning it. …Deloria could be a very wise man, indeed.

***

I don’t know that I fully embrace that conventional liberal account of this country anymore. The classic themes of liberal politics now compete with criticisms far more sweeping than that, a sense that some of our nation’s problems are beyond the scope of its present virtues. This is perhaps one reason why my July 4th posts are typically filled with self-reflection rather than unabashed celebration.

…although I really just don’t do unabashed celebration.

In the end, I would have to say that I do love my country. I love my country in much the same way that I love my family. Growing up, it is easy to believe in the exceptionalism of one’s own kin, to think of them as standing a head taller than others in one form or another. When you are a child, it is easy to think of the differences between other families one’s own as confessions of sorts on their, each deviance from one’s own model being a flaw in the make-up of other families.

There comes a day (let us hope) when the illusion falls away and one comes to realize that his own father is not necessarily the wisest, bravest, and strongest man that ever lived, that Mother’s love is not quite as pure as a field of fresh snow, and that one’s siblings are not truly unique in their virtues. There comes a time, when one learns to see in the flaws and personal squabbles of his family a fatal case against its superiority. Each of your kin has their merits and their flaws, but what neither you nor any member of your family can really claim is an exalted place above the world of others. And for most of us (again, …let us hope) one goes on loving his family long after realizing this.

You go on loving your family, not because you are deluded about their special qualities, but because they are yours. You feel their heartaches in your own chest, their victories in your own smile, and their frustrations in your own pulse. So too with one’s country. Much as a running feud with a sibling, complaints against your country become yet another source of connection to it, and if you allow this to happen, one which ties your aspirations to the welfare of the nation.

I should add I don’t see anything particularly noble in this sense of affection. I certainly don’t see it as obligatory, and bear no ill-will against those that don’t feel it. I won’t be sneering at those for whom this ambling excuse for a post doesn’t resonate. It’s just my own sense of how I feel about my country. I do love it, not because I think it’s exceptional, but because it is mine.

The Erotic Heritage Museum in Las Vegas: A Very NSFW Review

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050There is a certain kind of pornography that presents itself as a documentary film. It’s been awhile since I’ve watched one of these mondo films, but let’s just say that I learned things about lesbians from that flick that would, …well, probably surprise a lot of lesbians.

…yep.

The Erotic Heritage Museum reminds me a bit of such movies. Oh, I didn’t notice any outright disinformation, but it has that same odd fusion of license and libido, the same sense that an excuse no longer necessary has been turned into its own kink. It’s not just sex, it’s education.

…only it isn’t.

It’s is a damned shame, because a serious effort would have been interesting.

Let’s just take a tour, shall we?

I first noticed the museum in my quest for street art, and I must say that I like a number of the murals on the buildings exterior. Here, at least I have to give the place props for creativity. It is interesting that they had to cover the nipples on a couple of these pieces, as if that would really reduce the funkination passers by will witness upon even the most casual viewing. But of course the letter of the law can be as dull as it is senseless, and the girls had to be covered. …a little.

(Embiggen, …if you dare!)

Once inside, things get a little more interesting, or perhaps a little less, depending on your sense of perspective. One enters into a gift shop, which itself contains two private library collections and an Erotic Wedding chapel. They haven’t quite worked out access to the libraries, so that’s an interesting though currently unfulfilling part of the experience. One might even call it tantalizing! The staff is friendly and helpful, and they seem prepared to emphasize either the educational or the titillating aspects of the museum, perhaps shifting their approach according to the tastes of the customers.

The museum is curated by the Institute for the Advanced Study of Human Sexuality, an unaccredited institution based in San Francisco, California.

According to the Museum’s “About us” page, it is the creation of the Rev. Ted McIlvenna and Harry Mohney, founder of Déjà Vu, a highly successful chain of strip clubs. Money is also a longtime friend and associate of Larry Flynt, of Hustler Magazine fame. His role in creating the museum helps to explain the degree to which ‘erotic heritage’ seems to mean ‘mainstream pornography’ in much of the museum’s presentation. In and of itself, this needn’t be a problem. Located as it is on Industrial Ave., the museum would be a fine fit with much of the adult businesses in the area. And why shouldn’t it be? The problem as I see it is the pretense to commenting on larger issues, only to deliver a sort of ode to the adult entertainment industry. Take for example the following quote from the Museum’s website:

The EHM houses more than 17,000 square feet of permanent and featured exhibits designed to preserve wonders of the erotic imagination as depicted through the artistic expression of acts of sex and love. It is dedicated to the belief that sexual pleasure and fun are natural aspects of the human experience, that such pleasure must be made available to all, and that our individual sexuality belongs to each of us.

The Museum is dedicated to the preservation of great erotic heritage that is typically undervalued, yet is of tremendous importance. The EHM is owned and managed by the Exodus Trust, a non-profit California Trust that has as its sole purpose to perform educational, scientific and literary functions relating to sexual, emotional, mental and physical health. Historical and contemporary erotic materials donated to the Exodus Trust are tax deductible as charitable donations in accordance with federal law. For more information regarding charitable donations, please visit our DONATE page.

What fascinates me about this text is tension between a vision of sexuality as a natural part of life and one which must be shared. …the latter part strikes me as a bit of a euphemism, because I don’t think they are talking about the kind of sharing between a man and a woman in their own bedroom, or even of a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, or two men with 4 women in front of twenty others for that matter. No, the point of the sharing is in this instance the creation of some medium by which this sexuality can be exchanged, and somewhere in here that in itself gives way to the commodification of sexuality. Hence, the broad beautiful mandate for sharing of sexual freedom becomes a function of market values, and the themes explored in that sexuality quickly become a function of ownership and corporate capital.

Of course such commodification happens all around, and I’m not particularly shocked to find it happening with sexuality. But let’s just say that a little self-awareness helps, and when folks promise a museum dedicated to sexuality at large, it is little irritating to find that they have little to say about sex occurring outside of a men’s magazine or a xxx movie theater.

That said, let’s have a look at the Gift Shop (Click to embiggen):

After paying a very reasonable $10.00 entrance fee, one moves through a simulated red light district on the way to the main gallery. The red light district falls completely flat for me. Simply put, a red light district is not a red light district without people. All the store fronts and simulated sex businesses in the world will never convey the sense of such a place, and so this part of the museum more than any other simply fails on all levels.

I would add that the big poster on First Amendment issues is simply too high to be read in the dark, at least by people without superior cat-eye magic-vision. So, that too is lost on the customer. It’s place in the museum is also at least a little odd. Of course the connection comes from the tension between erotic expression and censorship. This is not entirely limited to the porn industry, though they have played a key role in defending such expression. The bottom line here is that there is certainly a place for this content in a discussion of erotic expression, but one has to wonder if the context for it has been well framed, especially when posters like this one are just dropped into a collection that is otherwise on the surface at least a-political. One has to wonder if the rhetoric of free speech hasn’t become an essential part of sexuality for the museum’s curators and staff. …as opposed to a historically situated feature of sexuality as filtered through the conflict between the particular powers of the industrialized West.

In any event, this is the red light district:

The main room actually comes in two floors, both essentially arranged into one large round presentation floor. The top floor is a private collection, and I don’t have any pictures of its content. The bottom floor has an amazing quantity of interesting materials. Unfortunately, the arrangement leaves a lot to be desired. Many of the more exotic items are left almost entirely without explanation, while images associated with the mainstream porn industry and its political battles dominate the outer walls.

For example, we get very little information about sundry deflowering devices scattered throughout display cases, but the sections describing developments in pornography get much fuller treatment, as do numerous celebrity sex scandals. So, a practice that the average customer will not understand without some presentation to put it in context gets nothing in the way of an explanation while stories many of us have seen before get plenty of coverage. This works fine if the point of museum is to promote the pornography industry; it does not work at all when the declared point of the museum is something much broader and more enlightening.

And here, we have an interesting question, what does all the exotic cultural material mean to the average customer as opposed to those for whom these items were originally developed? Indeed, just how sexual is all this sexual memorabilia in its original context? How does a customer interpret an African deflowering device, for example, in the absence of any reason to believe it isn’t just another sex toy?  I can’t help but think that – presented as it is, with so little explanation – the sole lesson that many customers will take away from the ethnographic materials will be that other peoples are damned kinky. There just isn’t enough context to compete with the sexual background of the museum itself and the likely skewing off all things by an emergent narrative emphasizing sex and strangeness.

…it’s a bit like looking through old copies of national Geographic just to see pictures of the naked natives.

Some of more the playful aspects of the exhibit are quite wonderful. The million penny penis is pure gold! …or, copper, really, but the point is, I approve! The bathroom with all its graffiti (pens are provided) is at least a little interesting, but honestly it looks like it’s time to paint it over and let people start again. Other amusing displays certainly can be found, but they are jammed together in such a haphazard fashion, and with so little explanation, that is can be really difficult to make heads or tails of what one is looking at.

Strangely, a number of displays are given to various sexual scandals, and the treatment is (ironically) quite punitive. It makes sense of course for those interested in free sexual expression to feel a little vindicated when various anti-porn crusaders or seemingly repressed right wing cultural warriors get caught with their pants down (sometimes quite literally), but some of the folks appearing on the wall of shame just don’t fit that most. More importantly, at least some level, one ought to appreciate that this is to be expected. Rather than ‘haha’ might one say “welcome back to humanity?”

In any event, the museum never does give us any context in which to elevate the “Wall of Shame” beyond the level of pointing and laughing. That doesn’t strike me as worthy of a museum, and if I am going to laugh, I would rather laugh at a penny penis than people proving themselves all-to-human, …even those who may have wished otherwise.

So, once again the museum presents an odd blending of politics and sexuality, one if which the curators seem to have let the one skew their sense of the other a bit too much in my estimation. In any event, here is the bulk of the first floor stuff (if you click on the pictures, they get bigger, …really!)

Before signing off, I want to say thank you to Sarah from the blog, A Knitty Society. She and her husband accompanied me through the museum. I very much enjoyed discussing the materials with them, and I look forward to reading her own post on the museum. Y’all should definitely check out her blog.

And let’s finish with a bit of zoological interest:

I suppose I should add that I actually think there is a lot of potential in this museum, which is what makes its present state all that much more disappointing. The staff certainly have a diverse range of talents, and they have a fantastic collection of interesting materials on display. What no-one seems to have done at the Erotic Heritage Museum is thought through the kind of effect the want to produce and just how much the museum is intended to promote education as opposed to titillation. Frankly, I think they could manage both a lot better than they presently have. One has only to get past the point where a momentary glimpse of things-sexual is enough to satisfy the mind and the libido all by itself. All of this stuff has context; the folks at this museum really ought to provide that.

A Brief Lapse in Sarcasm and a Moment of Unabashed Provincialism

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ChicagoaginI spent 3 years in Chicago. I well remember how miserable that first few months happened to be. I had plenty of cause to gripe, but truth be told that didn’t quite explain my mood. I couldn’t quite get a handle on what had me so down, but I learned a thing about the matter when I stepped off the plane in Corpus Christi, Texas, and suddenly felt better. I remember just standing there on the tarmac, trying to figure out what was different.

Then I saw it. Only it wasn’t anything specific, but I saw it just the same.

For the first time in months, I could see for miles. In Chicago my view of the skies had been blocked by sky-scrappers, and dense cloud-cover had blocked what little was left of the skies. I hadn’t seen much of the sun in close to a month, but there it was, right where I had grown accustomed to seeing it, along with all that space. And that alone seemed quite sufficient to lift a load off my back.

It was a lesson well learned, though it certainly surprised to me at the time. Place mattered to me, and open skies seemed to be a big part of what gave a place it’s worth in my estimation.

***

I had recently forgotten how much I miss the Southwestern skies. The clouds always seem so much further up in the sky than they do in Alaska. Now that I am down here again, I remember just how beautiful the sunsets can be in these parts. Whether the day went well or worse, they can certainly put a warm finish on it.

(Simon says “Click to embiggen!”)

 

Of course now that I am down here I also miss the arctic skies. The clouds always seem so near the ground, it feels like you could just reach out and touch them. Time and again, I have taken pictures of something else, only to find the Alaskan sky has stolen the show. I will see these skies again soon.

I can’t wait.

 

Casinos Kinda Bore Me (So Let’s Hang with the Street Performers)

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(161)I never go down to the strip. By ‘never’ I really mean ‘almost’, but anyway, this trip was one of those exceptions. I came down a couple times to give my money to these guys (much better than dropping it in a slot machine. …seriously, you walk in a casino and look at all the people playing slots. If you see one person smiling, then you’re beating the odds on that one. But anyway…

There seems to be a fair range of different people working the strip. Some folks appear to be in desperate straights, doing what they can to hustle up some cash. Others have made a genuine profession out of it. …and no, I don’t figure those are mutually exclusive narratives.

The range of performances vary as well. Some folks have reasonably well-developed acts. Others simply dress up in a costume and pose for a dollar a pic. All of them appear to work for tips. They can get rather aggressive about that dollar too; don’t even try to snap one without paying the guy in the costume. No-one looks cool when they are getting their ass kicked by a guy in costume.

Of course the streets are also filled with folks handing out small business cards. They only offer these to the guys, for some unknown reason (cough), but they give you a whole bunch at once. I don’t want to go into details, but let’s just say that apparently a girl named Jackie is just waiting to hear from me, and Heather makes house-calls. Candy might even bring a friend!

Anyway, I have a couple videos below. …click to embiggen.

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