Nocturnal Emissions

Insomnia sucks for the most part, but what it doesn’t suck at is getting me to gaze into the deep, dark crevasses that make up what’s left of my soul. Some nights I think of fluff — like fuzzy kittens, soap scum and sweaters made out of love, merino wool and sunshine.

Then, there are the nights when I can’t get the frightening images of acid wash jeans, people who insist on wearing PJs out in public, post-WW1 German porn and the Dave Matthews Band out of my noggin.

Tonight is no exception and here’s what’s rattling around in what’s left of my once-semi-brilliant mind.

1) When the first-time writer of a hit movie tells an interviewer that he/she just simply sat down with a “How To Write A Screenplay In One Weekend” book, and wrote that semi-literate–but funny celluloid sensation–they’re lying to you.

Here’s what really happened: The studio wanted to work with this person because they’re popular and funny. So, these clueless execs buttered them up, then asked them for an idea and maybe a rough draft of a script. Upon first the reading, the must-hire D-girl who’s fucking the junior exec, quickly learned that this particular popular person is much better at doing late-night sketch comedy. Ahem–mum’s the word, see. So, the studio then hires a team of script doctors (at about $200k a pop) et voila–hit movie!

2) While I’m on the Hollywood trip, here’s another tidbit: When an actor/actress/singer thanks their assistant in their Oscar/Golden Globes/Emmy/Grammy acceptance speech, they’re really thanking their drug dealer. True story.

3) Bulimia never, ever goes away–it just manifests itself in other forms–like the urge to dye one’s hair purple, or start a blog, or build the original Roman Empire out of unused tampons.

4) Naming your children the correct name is vital to their future. Adorning them with monikers like Brittany, Tiff’ny, Zephyr, Madison, Schylur/Skylar, or Savannah, well, they’re bound to grow up to be total assholes, and will either yank their puds for money or spend a lot of time spinning nekkid around a steel pole at a dank truckstop bar on the interstate. I can’t believe that unimaginative parents in this country feel the need to sully the awesome reputations of two of my favorite cities by naming their sub-mental spawn “Madison/Madysun” or “Savannah” because both names are “unusual.” Get over yourselves because you’re only doing your kids a disservice by bestowing them with awful names. Stick with the classics.

5) If you insist on naming one of your kids Marquis, at least have the fucking sense to pronounce it correctly–it’s “Markee” not “Markwiss.”

6) The more I think about it, the more I believe that Stalin was just misunderstood.

7) Write Yiddish and cast British. Never fails. Ever.

8) Once I deem you to be a douchebag, there’s no way to recover. It’s just best to move on and realize that me calling you a douchebag is actually a gift–a kick in the ass of sorts–to get you to fix your douchebagness. Trust me on this–I’m a damn good judge of character.

9) OJ did it.

10) I’ve said this before, but there is no such thing as a social media/content management guru. If you introduce yourself to me as a social media/content management guru–and say it with a straight face–well, you’re about to be called a word that rhymes with schmoucheschmag. Gurus can only be found in ashrams in India, by the way.

11) My god–I love peonies.

12) You know, that rug really DID pull the room together.

13) I can really see a future with this gentleman. He’s all sorts of secksy in his thong, and not to mention his pathway to adventure, which has me a-quivering by the way.

Picture 3Is that a cat?

14) There’s nothing wrong with nom-nomming on chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting for breakfast, lunch and dindin. But you must realize that stuffing your face with all that chocolate goodness will cause you to resemble a mutant hamhock after about a day of this diet. Never fear monkehs–that’s why god invented eating disorders.

15) Everyone should own this album.

ffym

For those of you who have difficulty reading the above image, it’s Ben Harper’s “Fight For Your Mind.” It’s haunting, sensual and beautifully produced.

One of my fave songs ever–

You’re welcome.

16) Elvis is king–Costello, not Presley. Puh-leeze–I’ve never cared for that drug-addled twat.

 

 

 

Lookie here

The McCrabass blog is a distraction for me–it’s fluff, it’s fun–aka it’s mental masturbation.

I consider my blogging as a sort of “Artist’s Way” minus the touchy-feely-I-was-once-married-to-Marty-Scorsese-but-he-dumped-me-so-now-I-write-how-to-books-for-wannabe-artists-aka-bored-housewives –but with box wine, chocolate and Bikram yoga. Oh and dark purple highlights and buttloads of salty language.

Simply put, I’m a writer who blogs for fun. I’m not into that brand-building bullshit. (Side note: what the fuck is branding anyway? Why are we supposed to brand ourselves to each other? What the fuck does it have to do with the price of eggs? It doesn’t help people get meaningful work, believeyoume. It’s basically a bullshit term made up by marketers. You’re only a brand if you’ve been heated up on the range where the deer and the antelope play, and used to tap some livestock ass.)

When I’m not thinking up and composing posts, I’m writing my book and looking for a gig. That type of writing is my true calling, along with journalism which I happen to do quite well when given the opportunity.

The following list is made up of folks who are great writers and use their blogs to display their dog-given talent. Some days they write more than on others by using words and images–or just words or just images–kinda like yours truly here. I’ve been reading these folks for a long time now and I suggest you check ’em out. They write to write, not for the nebulous glory of Internet awards but because they love writing. Oh, and they all have something to say which is the mostest important aspect.

I’m not going to write up brief descriptions of their work because you need to do your own heavy lifting. You won’t regret it either.

In no particular order, if you may …

Reinventing the Event Horizon

Squathole

Lame Adventures

The Learned Fan Girl

Marguerite Darlington

The Musings of a Storyteller

Lloydville

Jonathan Turley

Rufino Cabang

CREW

UnfetteredBS

Robert Loerzel

Adventures By Kim

Violet Blue (NSFW)

Love Letters Are Dying

Herlander-Walking

Learn ’em, know ’em, love ’em.

Putting on airs

There comes a time during long-term unemployment when a gal has to figure out what else she could do for a living. It would have to be something she’s good at, enjoys and will sustain her for a lifetime. While pondering my attributes, I decided to focus on my strengths — my intelligence, sense of humor, wicked wit, strong writing skills, wide knowledge of film making, and a built-in asshole detector — just to name a few.

A few friends have suggested I open my own business (doing what? Being a smartass doesn’t pay all that well). Small problem with starting  a business —  you kind of need a product to sell, and way to get and keep customers. I love how friends and acquaintances feel so triumphant when they tell me to ‘start my own business.’ That smugness is quickly dashed when I tell them I’m not an entrepreneur and not interested in ‘starting my own business.’ What’s truly is sad is they haven’t been paying attention and don’t know me well at all.

And, frankly, I’m sick of building my ‘brand’ and trying to sell myself to others. What brand would that be? Getting folks to click on ads on my blog is not my idea of ‘brand building’ — it’s bullshit and not worth the .001 cents I would get per click. While I’m at it, Tweeting and re-Tweeting my blog posts with the appropriate hashtags is not my idea of ‘brand building.’ Unless, of course, my ‘brand’ is porn because we all know that sex sells.

Until I spied this. From Untapped.Sf

I’ve edited it a bit since it’s waaay too long. Maybe Untapped.Sf should hire an editor.

Urban Profile: Jacki and the Business of Farting…for the Camera

Why didn’t I think of this?

Here’s a fact: WOMEN FART. Yep, we do. We belch, fart, rub one off every once in a while. We flick our nipples, use vibrators, pick our noses, scratch our asses, and walk around our abodes nekkid (shut UP).

In other words, we’re human.

With that, I don’t know why folks are getting their knickers in a twist about some broad who farts on video for money.

I met Jacki at a dance class three years ago. I remember noticing two things about her right off the bat. The first was a large, u-shaped scar on her chest that she made no effort to hide, and the second was just how open and upfront she was about…well, everything. Within minutes of meeting her, I learned that Jacki is, in her own words, a fetish video producer (more on this later), and that a few years prior she had had a life-saving lung transplant (hence the scar) born of a rare respiratory illness.

But first, who is Jacki and what does she do? Quite simply, this Bay Area native is a producer of farting videos. Her videos, which are posted on various fetish-exclusive sites are downloaded and paid for by hundreds of consumers. These video clips, featuring Jacki in various stages of undress, farting noisily into the camera, fulfill a niche community of men who get off on women farting. Yes, you read right. Men watch her fart and tell her how hot she is, how hard they are for her and her farts, and how much they want her to sit on their faces and fart on them.

Fetish isn’t something new to Bay Area folks. As a city that celebrates nudity, ass-less chaps, Kink.com and the Folsom Street Fair, San Franciscans are generally unfazed by what our more conservative counterparts call “sexual perversion.” But Jacki, my girl-next-door friend does not fit the typical profile of a San Francisco sexual deviant. With her fresh-faced cheeriness, completely unblemished skin (no tattoos, no piercings) and Euro-chic dress sense, Jacki looks like the furthest thing from a fetish girl. She jokes:

“When people hear that I’m in the fetish business they think latex, S&M, piercings and dominatrix whipping stuff. Seriously Suicide Girls is so 1998. We’ve moved on to farting people!”

 I am speechless. Why the hell didn’t I think of this? I’d be a gazillionaire by now had I done this first. Thank god for fetishes. Seriously.
Immersing herself full time in the world of selling fetish items, Jacki quickly became highly sought after. She soon transitioned her business from selling used items such as shoes and underwear (and tempting fate by shipping these items with the US Postal System) to filming and selling only fetish videos on the internet, her specialty being fart videos.

Her vidyas are plotless, last anywhere from five to ten minutes in length and are for sale via her website (which she doesn’t want posted). Candid is the name of the game with Staci — she just turns on the camera and let’s ’em rip, but not after telling her viewers how bad she needs to cut one. Charming. And, what’s even better, is she’s basically a gal-next-door type. How refreshing, but the gal-next-door turn-on bodes well for someone like me, who looks like she’s just been found bound and gagged in someone’s crawlspace right next door, and is in dire need of a shower and a shave.

What’s even better about Staci is she’s a true Philosopher Queen when it comes to farting on camera, and what works and doesn’t. Also, her dietary needs that are helping her become as famous as Le Petomane. Spoiler alert — her roughage requirements aren’t that extraordinary.

“All farts are not created equal. Some men like farting girls in underwear, some men only like white underwear farts, some like thongs, some hate thongs, some like farts through jeans, some like bare-bottom farts, some like women farting on furniture, like chairs, or couches or mattresses. … Kashi cereal. I had some this morning, and now I’ve got so much gas!” she groans. “Raw cabbage will do it too, but who wants to eat raw cabbage?”

I’m in awe of this woman because she obviously isn’t filled with the crippling WASP prudishness that invades every single cell in my body. If I didn’t have family OR friends, I’d make over-40 farting vids because you know damn well there’s a market for it.

What makes me say something so bold?

“If you have a sense of humor about farting, you’ll stay young.”