Almost Mainstream [Don Mace]

Wired.com's Regina Lynn on polyamory:
Internet Pushes Polyamory to Its 'Tipping Point'

Oddly enough internet magazine Wired.com's internet sex columnist thinks you lot can all thank... the internet.

"You can argue that before the internet, the poly community didn't exist," says Franklin Veaux, author of What, Like, Two Girlfriends?, a respected polyamory FAQ. "There's no question that the rise of the internet and the rise of polyamory coincided, although poly does predate the net by 6,000 years or so."

And it's not just internet sex columnist Regina Lynn. No, you're all geeks.

Geeks have not traditionally been viewed as relationship experts, yet as a subculture, we are open to alternative ways of life. We immerse ourselves in science fiction and fantasy, imagining other cultures and experiencing relationships not necessarily bound by puritanical traditions.

Thanks, Blake's Seven fanfic!

Which reminds me, one day I have to do that cybersex post. Ah, reminiscences.

Ambiguity [Don Mace]

Reader poll. Late one night last week, after a formal dinner¹ there were four of us in my room sampling (I would say tasting, but by that stage we really weren't) some whiskies. Smoking girl was one of them. The first boy left at 2:30. The other boy (the straight, single one) left at 3. Smokey just waves goodnight, smiles and pours another whisky...

I turf her at 3:45. (Though it's all I can do to tell time at that point.)

Now, no one made a move. There wasn't even so much as an "in other circumstances". On the other hand, if that sort of thing had happened when I was single I would happily have drawn the obvious conclusion. So am I being cynical/egotistical/jumpy? Answers in a comment please.

But really, no one comes here to read about me not having sex. And with Char alternating between not-getting-any and too-busy-getting-some-to-blog-about-it, the polyamorous content of this blog has rather evaporated. So, to the mailbag:

Dear Mr Vanilla Person,

I've been with my boyfriend for four years now. We got together at university, have been together more or less happily ever since, and now we own a dog together. My parents have started showing him invitation stationery. But I'm only 23! What if I'm settling? What if I change? I don't want to lose him if he's the one, but how can I find out without actually having other boyfriends? And should I really be getting drunk with you and asking you these questions?

You know, polyamory would be a good solution to this tension between the fundamental human needs for commitment and strange. And, probably not. I'm feeling a bit egotistical at the moment.

I have a friend who calls herself polyamorous. And indeed, she has three boyfriends. But she's following the n+1 rule: boyfriend n+1 knows about boyfriends 1..n. But not vice versa. (And boyfriend n has a girlfriend who's, er, his #1.) Isn't this just logistically sophisticated cheating?

Absolutely. Polyamory is about openness and communication. (And, of course, sex with several people.)

[1] Much like Eskimos don't have forty-seven different words for snow, and Australian English is composed almost entirely of synonyms for "fuck", Cambridgese has thirty-odd words for binge drinking. "Formal" means "binge drinking in hall with suits on". Similarly "garden party" means binge drinking outdoors, and "punting" means binge drinking on a funny little boat.

Update: other synonyms for binge drinking include "evening seminar" and "term".

back soon

Apologies for the temporary blogging absence.  Busy falling in love.

 

Laundry list [Don Mace]

Charmaine made me promise to update her loyal readers with the results of my réunion avec Titania. Sadly for said readers, however, it's not very salacious. We had fun, no one got too drunk, and what flattery there, ahem, might have been stayed regretful rather than seductive. This might just work, if we eat first and she maybe wears more clothes. (Charmaine will kill me for this: but Jesus Christ, the girl is hot.)

But since you lot don't come here for stories of good behaviour, I'll reminisce about another story I told Chaton that night. Once upon a time, way back even before the attack of the friend's date, there was Delphine. Delphine wasn't actually French, but she might have been. Cultured, beautifully dressed, educated to within an inch of her life; really, the only thing missing was the accent. She certainly had a French attitude towards marriage.

She was... sexy. Slim, but not too, with a low, slightly sulky voice; skin that could star in an advertisement for skin; hair like a waterfall at night. Yet also insecure, distrusting of both her abilities and her effect on men. Which didn't exactly put them off. On the contrary, she was surrounded by men who wanted her (more than one of whom thought they had her), and so her interest in me seemed perverse. But there it was. Sometimes shy and sometimes coy, but always with the best lines in the business. (Settle. I'm saving them for my screenplay.)

That's it: there's no climax to this story, and no psychological moral. Except perhaps that if I feel anywhere near as comfortable socialising with kids born in the mid-80s as I do with normal people, it's muchly thanks to Delphine.

In due course, she left Cambridge, found a boyfriend (a lucky man whose place I wouldn't take if it came with a car, a pension plan and a half-share in Château Le Pin) and a job. We stayed in touch, and met up a couple of times as geography permitted; she never stopped making me smile. But all things fade except facebook friendship, and her hands have filled with career and closer men. My ego has to look after itself now. I remember her fondly and with a guilty gratitude; I'll admit to missing her a bit. And I wish I could have given her what she was worth.

Things I hope he doesn't say in public [Don Mace]

Besides his various "fuck"-like monosyllables: "guck" for truck, "cuck" for cuddle; not to mention "cock" for crocodile (and for horse, which had better be phonetic or I'm going to have a word with the nursery people)...

The Doniño has now taken to greeting me in the morning with "Hot Dad!". He's talking about my coffee. (Tea is "Hot Mum!", which reveals the etymology. And is also more accurate.)

Mummy issues [Don Mace]

So it's official, Carla married Sarko.

Presumably she'll be on the market again before long, but during this brief time of sadness it's fitting that we take two minutes and twenty-seven seconds to reflect upon what we've lost.



Ahh.

(Video via AFOE.)

A hard man is good to find [Don Mace]

Next up on the Charmaine X book club: "Love and Sex with Robots" by David Levy.

Short version: since people love pets and fuck dolls now, it's only a matter of time before sophisticated robots become the object of both kinds of attachment.

Well, quite. Once again, I'm glad I got married already: I wouldn't fancy my chances when sybians know how to make breakfast.

Metapsychology review here. (I'm not sure "metapsychology" means what I thought it meant.)

ain't no fun (if my comrades can't have none)

You know why the Democrats keep messing up -- as one commentator said a propos their 2004 election failure, "snatching defeat from the jaws of victory"? Sure, they fight for the nomination like a pack of teenage mothers squabbling over their shared crackhead boyfriend on Ricki Lake. And yeah, they did change their mind about the war, and change their mind again, and then claim they never changed their mind in the first place, much like the aforementioned boyfriend claiming they're not his babies when everyone done saw him hanging around at Sharon's place when he wud supposed to be at Sayenna's. And okay, so the Democrats have an uncanny knack for gaining the support of one minority voter group by alienating all the others, much like talk show rivals taking turns pandering to the non-booing half of the live TV audience.

But -- and I hope you will imagine this spoken in the authoritative tones of Dr Phil -- those are not the root issue. No, the real problem here is that the Democrats don't have any good music.

Think about it. Hillary Clinton's official presidential campaign song: "You and I" by Celine Dion. Nasal wailing? Is this really the image she wants to associate with her candidacy? Worse, when I think of Edwards or Obama, no music comes to mind at all. What is this, the anti-party Party?

Ladies, gentlemen and other, I don't know about you but I reckon it's time to prune the Shrub and his cronies till they're bonsai. To paraphrase the commander guy himself, we're gonna smoke 'em outta their holes (he was referring to Ay-rabs, but it works just as well for Republicans). And what better way to rally the troops than your good old-fashioned protest lyrics? That's right, we'll sing them out of office!

I hereby present to you Charmaine X's official Only-Bush-I-Trust-Is-My-Own campaign song of 2008, to be sung to the tune of the eponymous Snoop Dogg number:

Ain't No Fun (if my comrades can't have none)

When I met you last night, baby
Before you showed me your income gap
I had respect for your political party
But now I take it all back

'Cos you fucked up the economy
And you didn't tax your cash
You did a number on the immigrants
And your supporters like to gay-bash

Next time I'm feeling kind of angry
Don't try to tell me, 'cos I'll cut you off
And if you're on your ranch in Texas
Even better -- don't open your mouth

'Cos I have never met a boy
Who's so oblivious to the geopolitical implications of his actions in the
whole wide world*

Ain't no fun
If the comrades can't ha-a-ave none
Ain't no fun
If the comrades can't ha-a-ave none
...

[punch chad, repeat.]


*If you have trouble making this line scan, I recommend that you study the classic syllable-compressing style of il ritmo e azzurro as epitomized by the oeuvre of Divo Craig David.