Scootylooty is one of our podcast listeners, and someone who follows both Spacey and me on Twitter.
He totally knocked me out the other day, with a single tweet:
"Random pic of me and my new plushie Mako Spacey in our car seats."
Brother and I both told him we were honored. How adorable is that?!
No, not this guy
So I ran into a little problem with ming the other day.
Not the very tall retired basketball player Yao Ming. I mean the other kind of ming, names.
I have this very dear friend, William. We're very close. He's visited my home, hung out with my wife and ageplaying poly family.
This past year or so has been a turbulent time for him, too. He's been going through some big things in his life, both good and bad. I've been super happy to be there for him, as a confidant, sounding board, advisor, and witness to joy.
I'm not the only one, too. My girlfriend Squee has been there for him too, as has our friend Matti. We have this little private Skype chat going on where we talk all the time. I jokingly (and not so jokingly) named it the Team William Pit Crew. (And then subsequently renamed it to the Team William and Matti Pit Crew - because that's how we roll. Sound of revving engines.)
Anyhow, this has meant a lot to William. He said as much the other day when he said this to all of us in the pit crew:
Can I add you guys as brothers or sisters or something in Fetlife? I feel connected and proud to have you as part of my life :-)
And that was sweet, and good and kind of a red-alert problem for me. Why?
I'm funny about names and labels and such. Funny in a bunch of different directions. First, there's my basic philosophical disconnect with them. There's this Japanese saying I'm very fond of quoting, "The finger that points at the moon is not the moon." Spacey often says this in a less ineffable way, "A label is just a placeholder for a conversation." The name of something is not the thing itself.
I said as much to William yesterday, on the phone. Take the word "water".
"Water" isn't water. It's just sounds. The way water feels splashing on your face, the way it smells when you walk next to it, the sound of it rushing over rocks, or its taste when you swallow it as you swim in it, those are all more "water" than "water" is. The word is not the thing itself.
Second, "brother" is for me, a reserved word of sorts. I've got one brother. You know him - we do that podcast together. For me "Brother" is as much a name I hold for him as a title, or a descriptor. It's kind of a big deal for me, because although I don't throw this around a lot, he is a polyamorous partner of mine, and my relationship with him is one of the most special things in my entire life. I've only got the one, and he's the only one I want.
But I was touched that William felt that way. And I do feel similarly. Over the time I've known him we've become like family. Which I suggested as a label to him. We've done one another many kindnesses, and are always happy to see and talk to one another, to spend time. I've got this amazing present he gave me in my office here at home, it's literally a giant box of spoons, for when I'm out of them. I'm very grateful for him, and happy for the world to know it. He feels much the same.
Skype was being very funny to us the past few days and kind of eating up the instant messages between us. He got around it by giving me a call yesterday, and we spent a good long time on the phone talking about this. He was understanding, and we dug into philosophy, connection, care, validation, and how the world sees us. We had a great conversation, and I told him it would be my gratitude if he didn't mind.
Which he didn't.
Family is like that.
So we have a visiting relative in town, and the four of us went sightseeing around DC. We also had plans (but not reservations) to go get ramen in Chinatown.
We decided to go to Daikaya, a ramen bar I know. It's a tiny hole-in-the-wall sort of place.
We got there and asked for a table and were told it'd be 90 minutes. Then they told us we could leave our number and they would text us when our table was ready.
"Sure," I said.
We tried to go to their sister restaurant upstairs, but it didn't serve ramen.
We opted for a Thai place down the street. About 5 minutes after I placed my order for some choo-chee salmon a whole bunch of cops came screaming up outside our restaurant to go yank somebody out of the ramen place.
Really. I got a picture of it.
Just then the ramen place texted me to let me know they indeed now had a table for us.
I told them we had other plans. I wasn't expecting a human repose, but when they said "no problem", I couldn't help but ask what had just happened. They told me "Someone came running into the restaurant trying to escape the police."
Wow.
I told them thanks and asked if everyone was okay.
They were.
I'm glad it didn't end badly. And glad that whoever-that-was on the end of that text and I connected, ever so briefly over what could have been terrible.
There's a character in my new book, A Little Patch of Sunshine who is something of a badass. Her name is Lana Meadows. She's based on a real world friend of mine, and much like my friend has unique sensibilities.
Lana is an industrial mathematician, a motorcycle and car gear head, an age player, a My Little Pony fanatic (a pegasister), and an ageplayer.
I was at the gym and found her car.
Note the Barbie sticker
"Look pretty, play dirty"
Amazing. This is perfect.
So this morning I was hanging out on the podcast slack, in a special channel we have there called Pornucopia. Hint, it's not for trading meatloaf recipes.
Anyhow, my friend Sinclair posted this crazy hot drawing by an artist called Rocket Manatee. It gave me a great idea. I told them I wanted to do some riffing. Riffing is a form of writing practice, for me. What I do is interview someone about what's currently floating on the top of their erotic consciousness. They tell me ideas, scenes, words, images, sounds, anything and everything that's making them get all hot and bothered deep inside their brain boudoir.
This time we also had the piece of art for our visual referent. Good stuff!
The picture was off an adult baby girl, buckled securely into her carseat. Cuffed to it, in fact. She's got in a pacifier gag, and you can tell from the look in her Mommy's eyes in the rearview mirror, and the bag of "disciplinary" shopping items on the back seat that someone is in trouble.
Anyhow, the way the riffing process works is that the someone I'm interviewing tells me enough detail about what's getting them hot that at a certain point I sort of tip over and have enough to write a 500 word story right on the spot. BAM!
As we were discussing it, Spacey, and our friend Masochista joined us, and got in on the fun. I took all their hot buttons, this lovely art and got writing.
The story I wrote just rolled right on out of me. It was great. I'm grateful for the whole experience. Here, I'll share it with you.
