Only a few more Brandon postings - I don’t want to belabor the point here.

Hell, I love the man, warts and all. He might not be the best representative for sex-positive rough sex, but he’s honest, and I think that’s more than I can say for that crowd, too. He’s honest to a fault.

I received an interesting message from Brandon, recently - he’s spending more time in Canada and more time at home, reevaluating some of his life decisions. I wish him luck in any direction he goes.

And that pretty much takes care of the rough sex discussion over these parts - it’s not, like, the only interest I have. By chance, Edenfantasys sent me that DVD of Taormino’s to review, and that sent me on a whole new tailspin - but, I repeat, I do have other aspects to my sexual life that I’m interested to explore, both in writing and in action. I think the next thing EF is sending me to review is something like “Music to Make Love To” - which should be crucial. Cuh-ruh-shul.

Heading to San Francisco this weekend! Super excited to get there. A good friend of mine from when we were kids is flying me out. There are advantages of having your buddies strike it rich! It’s like, Love Parade, or Love Weekend, or something like that . . . turns out I’ll miss the SF Decom by only a week, but no biggie . . . there’s something about that Burning Man afterparty that’s a little depressing. Except for that one year, 2003, when I took e and hung out with Gypsy, this incredible stripper from LA’s Jumbo’s Clown Room . . . I can’t remember exactly what we did together . . . nothing physical . . . but we were touching hearts, it was clear. My aunt had just died, I was in Northern California to go to her funeral . . . on the way back down, I impulsively passed through the city, and met up with friends, who basically pushed this pill on me . . . you just take it and a half an hour later you’ve forgotten you’ve even swallowed anything . . . until like fifteen minutes after that, when a warm feeling swells across your chest and the people wearing furry nonsense on their heads start to look, well, cosmic . . .

None of that for me anymore.

Speaking of childhood friends, another buddy of mine from the Hebrew School days started a site recently for “Cool married guys and the guys who love them and the women who love the guys who love cool married guys.” (I made that up).  I’m going to be writing for the site every now and then, so definitely check it out: Cool Married Guy.

And after I get back from San Francisco, I’m actually going to have to get a real job, great lord almighty . . . As far as I can tell, my goal is to make enough cash to move back to Los Angeles . . . I’m in the deep south now, for the love of God . . . nearly completely broke . . . now, as to what I’ll eventually do in Los Angeles, you tell me. Maybe I can make a living working on mainstream sets there, doing production work - who the hell knows. Maybe I’ll write a screenplay - Diablo Cody did.

What I definitely don’t want to do is get sucked into working on porn sets. I have no problem writing about the industry, thinking about it, reporting on it, interviewing members of it. But I can’t film anymore. That period is over, and it would be a terrifically irresponsible decision to begin peeling off the scab.

Okay, one more Slap Happy: just ’cause I can.