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Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Book Review: "Amorous Woman"
I read it a while back, but I wanted to write a review for Donna George Storey's book Amorous Woman, because it's rare that an erotic book captivates me as much as this one did. I had been eagerly awaiting its release since I first heard about it, and not only did it not disappoint, but it even managed to impress this old jaded reader. And with 23 5-star reviews on Amazon- almost unheard of in terms of book reviews, especially erotica, which rarely can satisfy all the disparate predilections of its very diverse readers- it's destined to be a classic in the genre.Don't let its rather tacky cover fool you: it really should be a Caucasian woman on the cover, since that is its protagonist. As the book blurb says, "For a sum much smaller than a plane ticket an American woman can travel to a rustic hot-spring inn where anything goes after midnight, don the gorgeous kimono of a Japanese bride, romp in the dungeon rooms of tacky love hotels, act out an orgy straight from manga porn, and slip inside Kyoto’s most exclusive restaurants for exquisite dinners of seduction. The Amorous Woman experiences almost every flavor of erotic pleasure Japan has to offer—and she’s happy to take you along for the ride. Inspired by Ihara Saikaku’s 17th-century satiric novel of the pleasure quarters, this story of an American woman’s love affair with Japan— and many sexy men and women along the way— gives readers a chance to journey to a Japan few tourists ever see."
It's interesting . . . I read Amorous Woman in the same period of time that I read Sheridan Prasso's The Asian Mystique: Dragon Ladies, Geisha Girls, And Our Fantasies of the Exotic Orient (as I am wont to do . . . too ADD to focus on one at a time, I suppose), and the effect was disorienting: one book critically dissecting the racism, stereotyping, objectification, and imperialist fantasies that provide the erotic charge and fetishization of Asia, and the other blatantly encouraging it (well, not the racism- mostly just the objectification), relishing in the exoticism in what could almost be considered an affair with an entire country, and not just the men in it. And yet while she's certainly fetishizing Japan, it doesn't feel bad in any way (I wonder if I'd feel the same if it was written by a white man?). Donna's love and respect for Japan and Japanese culture comes across as strong and pure.
I'm sure, of course, that I'm bringing my own experiences to the reading. Certainly, the history-drenched Kyoto Prefecture is as different from Ibaraki Prefecture (where I stayed) as New York differs from, say, Houston. But the experiences of a foreigner in Japan seems to be mostly the same everywhere, and everything resonates beautifully, from the evocative descriptions, the perfectly selected details, even to the sex (as someone shocked by my attraction to other foreigners who I wouldn't have given a glance in America, I appreciated the gaijin-gaijin fling in the book- it rang very true for me). Those who have visited Japan will undoubtedly be instantly transported back, and those who haven't will be introduced to a rich panoply of cultural landscape.
And then there's the next best thing: straight Asian guys! Yay! They still may not have much of a/any representation in porn, but Storey definitely adds to the small but precious list of eroticized, heterosexual male Asian characters, with loving, hot descriptions that come from someone who truly 'gets it'. (For all you looking for more, I've compiled a short list of some other Asian men in erotica- got any more?: the scrumpdidilyupmtious character of Takeshi in Madelynne Ellis' Dark Designs, David Imakita of Emma Holly's In The Flesh, the unnamed lover of Marguerite Duras' The Lover, and the collection On A Bed Of Rice).
But enough discussion of the Asian/Japanese aspects of the book (since, I'm aware, there are folks out there who aren't as in love with it as I am). This book is well-written. I mean, seriously well-written. I'm not talking about your usual "hey, hot erotica without typos and grammar errors!", but about the kind of writing style, in terms both of lyricism and structuring, that almost gives you chills. Everything seems crafted to add deep layers of eroticism and emotion, from the general outlay of the narration (it takes place as Lydia's recounting of her experiences to two men preparing to go to Japan), to the clever introduction that foreshadows the tale, and the neat tricks used to jam-pack sexy action in and up its levels of heat without turning our heroine into a cliched slut or throwing away reality. And this is only the structure. The sensuality of the words, the way they flow and build- it's all very, very delicious. The entire novel has a deep mood about it that's almost haunting. And the story is good; good enough that I'd be willing to read it even with all the sexin' taken out. Not to mention that so much of the book goes back to feeling real (probably because a good deal of it was autobiographical . . . how much, I'm not sure, though I certainly am curious). I won't give away any plot points, but it's rare for an erotic book to address some of the unsexy issues here, and to do it so well- the portrayal of an entire woman, instead of just segmented-off sexuality and happy-ending-no-complications romance. But don't be fooled- the sex in here is wonderfully varied and very steamy.
So yeah. Amorous Woman gets 6 stars out of five for making me pull it out of the drawer more times than anything else- and for making me daydream about it when I'm not reading it.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Two Roads
Deep personal revelations- or rather, confusion- after the jump.
I’m at a little bit of a loss. By December, assuming that I don’t punk out and fail all of my classes (which, considering my levels of procrastination lately, isn’t all that much of a stretch), I will be graduated with a B.A. in Linguistics. I will have spent four years (plus one pesky extra semester) in college, will have spent God knows how much of my parents’ money, and . . . may have nothing to show for it.
Don’t get me wrong; I love linguistics. Language has always captivated me. I know that I like it because I can go on and on about how English doesn’t have any voiced stops, not really- can you believe it?- and other people try to politely change the subject. Despite my hatred of most sciences (I loved the math behind chemistry and the cool explanations of biology but detested the requisite experimentation in each), I found an academic branch that adheres to the scientific method but doesn’t require peering through microscopes. I even managed to allay my parents’ fears and find the sub-branch that would give me a steady job (i.e. teaching). I’ve gotten just a little bit (not enough) over my intense nervousness when speaking in front of large groups, and heck, I think I could manage to teach and grow pretty good at it. I have lots of ideas, and, in honor of delusions of grandeur, I still fantasize about publishing some field-altering research on second language acquisition, becoming an acknowledged expert who can teach the bigwigs in Washington about what sort of education would best suit the bilingual children of our nation, or even going so far as to open and run my own language school, implementing my highly individualized and principled methodology to great renown.
I should be happy.
And yet, there’s something tugging at me. I’ve struggled this semester to keep up with my schoolwork, not because of my general laziness and procrastination (well, okay, that, too), but because I’m busier writing blogs, consuming and producing erotic content of various types, and generally keeping up on the online world of sex, sexuality, porn, the queer movement, and so on and so on. If I had to list my passions, so-called ‘sexology’ would come out leaps and bounds ahead of linguistics. I obviously give it priority in my life; it excites me intellectually and brings out a fiery passion you just can’t get when debating whether we really do have Chomsky’s language acquisition devices in our brains. I’ve always wanted to change the world, to make an impact, to have some weight and sway. I still long to publish a book, to see it on library shelves and know that people are reading it and my ever-opinionated thoughts are being disseminated for discussion and contemplation. I want a sexy advice column. I want to review sex toys. I want to write professional erotica. I want to help make queer porn, the kind of porn I want to see. I want to open sexuality centers. I want to lobby and protest and march for gay rights. I want to subvert the system. I want to influence public policy about sex education. I want to help make sex work safe. I want to do so much. I just don’t know if doing it on the side would be satisfying enough. Aren’t there some sort of unspoken rules about teachers not doing such controversial things? (Not that I want to shy away from controversy, but I do tend to like keeping a job).
It’s interesting . . . my best friend and I are both graduating, and our struggles in regards to the future eerily mirror one another’s. We went to school together, and she now has a completed B.A. in deaf education, something she has decided she doesn’t want to do (much to her mother’s horror). Much in the same way that I quietly went from a naïve little freshman who barely knew she was queer (much less about the big world of porn and sex radicalism) to the person I am today, she was undergoing her own transformation, from a naïve little freshman whose church work was mainly self-contained to a sophisticated, globally-thinking urban minister and missionary, fighting on the fronts of social/racial justice, poverty, and environmentalism. Her dedication, her passion, and her zeal continue to amaze me- and inspire me. I used to feel less important in my own passions, as if what I was doing/feeling couldn’t be as important as hers. I’ve since gained a lot more confidence and, no doubt due to our fascinating discussions and the help of the very provocative book “That’s Revolting!”, learned the intersections where the two meet (even if we would take different paths to try to better the life of a prostitute- me fighting for rights and decriminalization, she for proselytizing them out of the trade). But where she and I differ is in her utter devotion. She wants to throw herself into the work, regardless of condemnation from her friends and family or any care to money. Maybe I’m greedy, and maybe I care too much what others think (although I’ll argue it’s a lot harder selling “sex work advocacy” than “urban ministry” to your family), but I want some steadiness in my life, some financial guarantees. And what with any sex/porn-advocacy job at the very least usually freelance and, in today’s economy, perhaps nonexistent, I just don’t know that I could throw myself full-heartedly into it, confident I could wring a salary and a life from it.
I take a little solace in knowing that I have time. There’s still either a Masters or a teaching credential waiting before I can legally assume the title of ‘professor’. I’m trying for the JET Program for next year- a program that, if I get accepted, will send me back to that crazy beautiful land of Japan to do some hands-on teaching. I’ve justified it as a good way to save up money for grad school, to expand my resume (look, I taught abroad!), to make sure this is what I want to do. But I know my own real reason: I’m running away. I’m buying myself time. It’s what I’ve done over and over again. I’ve had people express surprise that such a quiet, introverted little thing like myself would go abroad. It used to surprise even me, but I’ve thought about it, and I think I like it so because my choices are made for me. I know who I am in Japan- I am the gaijin, the foreigner, absolved of any responsibility as I play out the cultural script set out for me and fulfill the expectations. My family and old friends are far away, and I can craft a new identity for myself. When I think about perhaps settling there, I feel an almost sense of relief, regardless of what I’d be doing. When I imagine the rest of my life in America, my anxieties increase tenfold. My best friend also wants to go somewhere else- maybe to Oklahoma with her estranged father, or Chicago, for the amazing urban ministry work they’re doing there. I’m not saying that Fresno/the Central Valley is at all alluring for us to stay, but I feel the same desperation, that same “If I move myself from here bodily, maybe it will take me where I want to be emotionally.” I can’t tell if it’s a good strategy or one of avoidance.
What a long, strange, meandering blog. Again, as always, I just don’t have the answers. Four years ago, it would have been inconceivable to imagine me trying to choose between teaching English or educating sexuality. It still feels impossible. But I know where my heart wants to go. Can I follow it?
Comments- at least the encouraging kind- are welcome.
I’m at a little bit of a loss. By December, assuming that I don’t punk out and fail all of my classes (which, considering my levels of procrastination lately, isn’t all that much of a stretch), I will be graduated with a B.A. in Linguistics. I will have spent four years (plus one pesky extra semester) in college, will have spent God knows how much of my parents’ money, and . . . may have nothing to show for it.
Don’t get me wrong; I love linguistics. Language has always captivated me. I know that I like it because I can go on and on about how English doesn’t have any voiced stops, not really- can you believe it?- and other people try to politely change the subject. Despite my hatred of most sciences (I loved the math behind chemistry and the cool explanations of biology but detested the requisite experimentation in each), I found an academic branch that adheres to the scientific method but doesn’t require peering through microscopes. I even managed to allay my parents’ fears and find the sub-branch that would give me a steady job (i.e. teaching). I’ve gotten just a little bit (not enough) over my intense nervousness when speaking in front of large groups, and heck, I think I could manage to teach and grow pretty good at it. I have lots of ideas, and, in honor of delusions of grandeur, I still fantasize about publishing some field-altering research on second language acquisition, becoming an acknowledged expert who can teach the bigwigs in Washington about what sort of education would best suit the bilingual children of our nation, or even going so far as to open and run my own language school, implementing my highly individualized and principled methodology to great renown.
I should be happy.
And yet, there’s something tugging at me. I’ve struggled this semester to keep up with my schoolwork, not because of my general laziness and procrastination (well, okay, that, too), but because I’m busier writing blogs, consuming and producing erotic content of various types, and generally keeping up on the online world of sex, sexuality, porn, the queer movement, and so on and so on. If I had to list my passions, so-called ‘sexology’ would come out leaps and bounds ahead of linguistics. I obviously give it priority in my life; it excites me intellectually and brings out a fiery passion you just can’t get when debating whether we really do have Chomsky’s language acquisition devices in our brains. I’ve always wanted to change the world, to make an impact, to have some weight and sway. I still long to publish a book, to see it on library shelves and know that people are reading it and my ever-opinionated thoughts are being disseminated for discussion and contemplation. I want a sexy advice column. I want to review sex toys. I want to write professional erotica. I want to help make queer porn, the kind of porn I want to see. I want to open sexuality centers. I want to lobby and protest and march for gay rights. I want to subvert the system. I want to influence public policy about sex education. I want to help make sex work safe. I want to do so much. I just don’t know if doing it on the side would be satisfying enough. Aren’t there some sort of unspoken rules about teachers not doing such controversial things? (Not that I want to shy away from controversy, but I do tend to like keeping a job).
It’s interesting . . . my best friend and I are both graduating, and our struggles in regards to the future eerily mirror one another’s. We went to school together, and she now has a completed B.A. in deaf education, something she has decided she doesn’t want to do (much to her mother’s horror). Much in the same way that I quietly went from a naïve little freshman who barely knew she was queer (much less about the big world of porn and sex radicalism) to the person I am today, she was undergoing her own transformation, from a naïve little freshman whose church work was mainly self-contained to a sophisticated, globally-thinking urban minister and missionary, fighting on the fronts of social/racial justice, poverty, and environmentalism. Her dedication, her passion, and her zeal continue to amaze me- and inspire me. I used to feel less important in my own passions, as if what I was doing/feeling couldn’t be as important as hers. I’ve since gained a lot more confidence and, no doubt due to our fascinating discussions and the help of the very provocative book “That’s Revolting!”, learned the intersections where the two meet (even if we would take different paths to try to better the life of a prostitute- me fighting for rights and decriminalization, she for proselytizing them out of the trade). But where she and I differ is in her utter devotion. She wants to throw herself into the work, regardless of condemnation from her friends and family or any care to money. Maybe I’m greedy, and maybe I care too much what others think (although I’ll argue it’s a lot harder selling “sex work advocacy” than “urban ministry” to your family), but I want some steadiness in my life, some financial guarantees. And what with any sex/porn-advocacy job at the very least usually freelance and, in today’s economy, perhaps nonexistent, I just don’t know that I could throw myself full-heartedly into it, confident I could wring a salary and a life from it.
I take a little solace in knowing that I have time. There’s still either a Masters or a teaching credential waiting before I can legally assume the title of ‘professor’. I’m trying for the JET Program for next year- a program that, if I get accepted, will send me back to that crazy beautiful land of Japan to do some hands-on teaching. I’ve justified it as a good way to save up money for grad school, to expand my resume (look, I taught abroad!), to make sure this is what I want to do. But I know my own real reason: I’m running away. I’m buying myself time. It’s what I’ve done over and over again. I’ve had people express surprise that such a quiet, introverted little thing like myself would go abroad. It used to surprise even me, but I’ve thought about it, and I think I like it so because my choices are made for me. I know who I am in Japan- I am the gaijin, the foreigner, absolved of any responsibility as I play out the cultural script set out for me and fulfill the expectations. My family and old friends are far away, and I can craft a new identity for myself. When I think about perhaps settling there, I feel an almost sense of relief, regardless of what I’d be doing. When I imagine the rest of my life in America, my anxieties increase tenfold. My best friend also wants to go somewhere else- maybe to Oklahoma with her estranged father, or Chicago, for the amazing urban ministry work they’re doing there. I’m not saying that Fresno/the Central Valley is at all alluring for us to stay, but I feel the same desperation, that same “If I move myself from here bodily, maybe it will take me where I want to be emotionally.” I can’t tell if it’s a good strategy or one of avoidance.
What a long, strange, meandering blog. Again, as always, I just don’t have the answers. Four years ago, it would have been inconceivable to imagine me trying to choose between teaching English or educating sexuality. It still feels impossible. But I know where my heart wants to go. Can I follow it?
Comments- at least the encouraging kind- are welcome.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Japanese Queer Girls FTW!
I'm so thrilled!
Lots of countries seem to be jumping onto the scene with their queer grrl revolutions in ways that let us not-so-worldly Americans get a taste of their national dyke cultures. Just take a look at Emilie Jouvet- whose incredible porno "Pour Une Nuit" (translation: "One Night Stand") suddenly brought it to my attention that, hey, whoa . . . France has gay girls, too! It's just amazing, really, to be exposed to cross-cultural queerness.
And yet, my favorite country, the one I visited twice and long to return back to, has kept itself surprisingly mum on the whole lesbian thing. I searched longingly high and low for Japanese GLBT resources. Of course, there are amazingly talented Asian-American queer men and women doing really great things- just take a look at, for one example, Good Asian Drivers (okay, okay, I admit it- I'm pimping them mostly because I'm in love with their totally queer version of "I Kissed A Girl"). But every attempt to explore Japanese GLBT culture (from the States, that is) pretty much let me down.
In Japan, I made sure I didn't leave before visiting Tokyo's famous Shinjuku No Chome- a fantastic little street lined with gay and lesbian bars- the one and only place that queerness was openly celebrated (flags on the street proclaimed it, in English, as "Friendly Town"), and, indeed, even just visible. Finally, there were some girls who escaped the "kawaii syndrome" (wherein everything for girls is cute, feminine, and quite often girlish, even for older women) and validated my theory that there's queerness everywhere, even if it's in hiding. My Japanese language skills at the time limited the scope of our conversations, unfortunately, but the tantalizing glimpses of a rich community were there.
Lots of countries seem to be jumping onto the scene with their queer grrl revolutions in ways that let us not-so-worldly Americans get a taste of their national dyke cultures. Just take a look at Emilie Jouvet- whose incredible porno "Pour Une Nuit" (translation: "One Night Stand") suddenly brought it to my attention that, hey, whoa . . . France has gay girls, too! It's just amazing, really, to be exposed to cross-cultural queerness.And yet, my favorite country, the one I visited twice and long to return back to, has kept itself surprisingly mum on the whole lesbian thing. I searched longingly high and low for Japanese GLBT resources. Of course, there are amazingly talented Asian-American queer men and women doing really great things- just take a look at, for one example, Good Asian Drivers (okay, okay, I admit it- I'm pimping them mostly because I'm in love with their totally queer version of "I Kissed A Girl"). But every attempt to explore Japanese GLBT culture (from the States, that is) pretty much let me down.
In Japan, I made sure I didn't leave before visiting Tokyo's famous Shinjuku No Chome- a fantastic little street lined with gay and lesbian bars- the one and only place that queerness was openly celebrated (flags on the street proclaimed it, in English, as "Friendly Town"), and, indeed, even just visible. Finally, there were some girls who escaped the "kawaii syndrome" (wherein everything for girls is cute, feminine, and quite often girlish, even for older women) and validated my theory that there's queerness everywhere, even if it's in hiding. My Japanese language skills at the time limited the scope of our conversations, unfortunately, but the tantalizing glimpses of a rich community were there.
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But once back in America, it suddenly became that much harder. Books on the subject were either incredibly academic and dry (Sharon Chalmer's "Emerging Lesbian Voices From Japan"), fetishized (any manga featuring yuri, a.k.a. cartoon lesbian love comic books), or both general and outdated (the 1998 "Queer Japan: Personal Stories Of Japanese Lesbians, Gays, Transsexuals, and Bisexuals"). (There is, however, a wonderful exception: the new "Sparkling Rain", which I haven't gotten my hands on yet, but greatly hope to soon). The highly-touted first Japanese film both by and about lesbians ("Sugar Sweet") was directed by Malaysian Desiree Lim and pretty much flopped, even by independent film standards. And what with the website AuntieTeck.com (which worked to faciliate building community between lesbians in Asia) all-too-recently going belly-up since its creation in 1997, my Google searches for "Japanese + lesbian" get me lots and lots of porn sites . . . and none of them, unfortunately, are Crash Pad-style.
It seemed hopeless. Surely there were resources out there for Japanese lesbians, unfortunately in kanji-laden, .jp domain websites that would take me years to completely translate and decipher. All information that readily came up in English were pretty basic and very fragmented . . . there was nothing personal, nothing revolutionary, nothing very queer. No big sites to guide you through Japanese lesbian culture.
Until now!
Or, really, I suppose the fabulous Tokyo-based website Tokyo Wrestling has been around for a while . . . since April '07, according to its archives (now celebrating its one-year anniversary!). Perhaps you more in-tune folks had previously discovered it. But for me, the site, with extensive information, numerous links, GLBT news headlines, and the ability to view it in Japanese, English, and even French, is pretty astounding. The focus on being not only lesbian, but rather queer oriented, is really refreshing. And it's even prettily designed and consistently updated.I'm just happy as a clam. And even if you aren't a total Japanophile, I suggest checking it out.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Updates
I'm just lolling around here on a lazy Sunday, no real desire to do anything productive and much more of a desire to waste time on the Internet.
So here are a few updates from my life, the Internet, and even just random junk.
I'm still here in Japan, taking part in a TESOL (that's Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages, for all you normal folks) program at my favorite university, Tokiwa Daigaku. Going wonderfully, as usual- busy, having fun, occasionally hung-over. I swear, while I do like my regular glass of wine, I never drink as much at home as I do in Japan. It must be something about those nomihoudai's (a flat fee for 2 hours of all-the-alcohol-you-can-drink . . . can you imagine how Americans would abuse that system!?!) and every friend I made and teacher I knew last year inviting me out to go do something. My wallet is stretched to its limit, but I've been able to go a little farther thanks to the generosity of some very kind people. Thanks, guys.
On a different and more genderqueer-y note, I found out how to write my (real) name in kanji. Sorry, folks, but Gwen is only a pseudonym. And while I'd like to maintain web anonymity, the ancient Chinese character coincidences are just too cool to not mention. My real name, like that of most foreigners, has all of those pesky sounds which they can now deal with but just weren't equipped for back in the day when kanji were drifting from the Chinese mainland to the land of the rising sun. So while I can write the hard "D" sound at the end of Candy with katakana (キャンディ), no kanji exists to express that sound. If I want to use kanji, I need my whole name, Candice, and I change the pronunciation to "day", closer to its real sound instead of the spelling. Anyways, this is just background for those who don't know how to switch borrowed English into Japanese. But with the help of some Japanese friends and electronic dictionaries, whe found some kanji that works to represent my name. Interestingly enough, there's only one kanji for the sound of the first syllable of my name (kyan), and I was amazed to find that the meaning is something roughly akin to tomboy.
So here are a few updates from my life, the Internet, and even just random junk.
I'm still here in Japan, taking part in a TESOL (that's Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages, for all you normal folks) program at my favorite university, Tokiwa Daigaku. Going wonderfully, as usual- busy, having fun, occasionally hung-over. I swear, while I do like my regular glass of wine, I never drink as much at home as I do in Japan. It must be something about those nomihoudai's (a flat fee for 2 hours of all-the-alcohol-you-can-drink . . . can you imagine how Americans would abuse that system!?!) and every friend I made and teacher I knew last year inviting me out to go do something. My wallet is stretched to its limit, but I've been able to go a little farther thanks to the generosity of some very kind people. Thanks, guys.
On a different and more genderqueer-y note, I found out how to write my (real) name in kanji. Sorry, folks, but Gwen is only a pseudonym. And while I'd like to maintain web anonymity, the ancient Chinese character coincidences are just too cool to not mention. My real name, like that of most foreigners, has all of those pesky sounds which they can now deal with but just weren't equipped for back in the day when kanji were drifting from the Chinese mainland to the land of the rising sun. So while I can write the hard "D" sound at the end of Candy with katakana (キャンディ), no kanji exists to express that sound. If I want to use kanji, I need my whole name, Candice, and I change the pronunciation to "day", closer to its real sound instead of the spelling. Anyways, this is just background for those who don't know how to switch borrowed English into Japanese. But with the help of some Japanese friends and electronic dictionaries, whe found some kanji that works to represent my name. Interestingly enough, there's only one kanji for the sound of the first syllable of my name (kyan), and I was amazed to find that the meaning is something roughly akin to tomboy.
How cool is that? Add in the "de" and "su" sounds that complete the Japanese version of "Candice", and the result is very interesting. There are tons of kanji for each of these sounds, respectively, but my buddies chose 出 and 州, the former which means "exit, leaving" and the latter "state". Okay, so "state" in this case refers more to a concrete demarcated land area, like the 50 American states or Japanese prefectures, but I like to be more whimsical, and call it a state as in a state of mind. If you combine all three of these, then, you get a few interesting readings. It might be leaving the state of tomboyishness- a representation of my leaving androgyny and tomboy genderqueerness to seek out my inner queer femme (as I have lately been longing to do, in a safe space)? Or is it more like I'm leaving my normal state to seek out more tomboyishness, to the point of drag and purposeful genderbending? Either way, I'm thrilled at the fact that my name isn't something trite and silly- no "beautiful child" like is so common here. It's rare and strange, just like me, 侠出州.
In other news that isn't all about me . . .
1) Butch-Boi.com is up! Members Pages are now available, which means you can participate in the forum with other hot bois and lovers of bois, and interact in a multitude of ways. Good job, Butch-Boi.com, and we look forward to more!
2) Do you belief in that old superstition about someone dying for every new child that is born? Well, it isn't that serious, but just as Butch-Boi.com has been birthed, CrashPadSeries.com is a little bit ill. She isn't dying- no way, Jose- because you can't kill something so successful and loved with such a talented and determined team behind it. But for the moment, the site is down due to its web hosting service. No more forum. No more hot sex. Just a holding page that is as depressing and yet hopeful as the old-fashioned rainbow "Technical Difficulties" that used to appear on TV's- you kept watching hoping it would disappear and the good stuff would come back. Hopefully things get remedied soon. Good luck, Crash Pad, and looking forward to your return.
That's all for now, I guess, since my brain has gone on strike until my stomach gets the late lunch it is demanding. Bye, all!
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