I feel like this article is really lacking context.

You get this sort of thing pretty often.  Some shocking revelation that people you didn’t think were doing drugs actually are

And I’m sure people who work in silicone valley do drugs, just like people in all kinds of fields.  They say in the article that they don’t have hard numbers, but there is data out there breaking down drug use rates by industry (http://www.samhsa.gov/data/2k7/industry/worker.htm) and tech workers are not at the top of the list.

I would like to see them compared to other white collar workers.  Or to other white suburban kids (who currently have a higher rate of non-pot drug use than other demographics)

Heroin use is up all over the country, and is most likely related to the crackdown on prescription opiate diversion.  Also maybe related to panic over meth.  These things tend to go in waves as a certain drug gets villainized and people move onto the next one.

And I am concerned by an article that uncritically suggests that we should be moving towards more random drug testing.

And this quote really bugs me:
"You see very few of the old-school addicts; most of these are college-educated folks" like that is something new.  Of course the rich high tech workers are seeing other rich, educated people at their NA meetings — the meetings are organized by where you live or work. So if you live and work in an affluent, expensive area, you’re most likely to be in a group with other affluent people.
butcherbaby:

Patti Smith / Jim Carroll

butcherbaby:

Patti Smith / Jim Carroll

(via obsessee)

I was Caliban in our high school production of the Tempest.  Or at least in the first half. (It was a senior project organized by the English teachers, so they abridged the play within an inch of its life, and divided all the roles in two so everyone in the class could be included.)  I overacted the hell out of it.  All furious and snarling in my green leotard.

But then there was the “beast with four legs” scene in Act 2 Scene 2 with Caliban being tormented by Trinculo under a poncho.  And the English teacher took me and the girl who was playing Trinculo aside and basically told us to mime anal sex, and after the teacher left us alone, I told the girl I’d never had sex, let alone anal sex, and she said the same.  So we ended up doing our best impression of sex under a tarp on stage in front of everyone’s parents.

And I just found out a friend of mine has the video.  I’m pretty much terrified to see it.

A couple of years ago, I was making a big push to do something with my old photos (taken with Brigit’s old Asahi, all T-Max 3200, like some kind of epically self-involved photo journalism).  I had had the best of them printed into a book by a vanity press in LA, and I was, for some reason, showing them to my mother.  She stopped on a picture of Ian, because he was beautiful, and it’s a great photo of him, with a warm open smile (I’m sure he was high) instead of the wattage turned to 11.  I told my mother that I thought his beauty was part of what Kate wanted out of him.  (She was charismatic as fuck, but not really beautiful.  Like me, her face was just too weird, though she did have that boyish model build.  But showing up with an actual model on your shoulder must be a real ego boost.)  But that, in the end, Ian was probably the one person I’ve met who I think is actually a sociopath.

And my mother’s response was that that’s what she’d finally realized about my father, after the charm had worn off.  And, I mean, there’s a difference between being a sociopath and being a charming alcoholic asshole (a difference of degree, if nothing else). [Reminds me of someone’s quip about Dick Cheney and how people should stop calling him a sociopath, since sociopath’s need to be at least superficially charming.]  But also, who thinks that’s an OK thing to say to someone about their father.  I didn’t choose him as my parent, she did.  And she knows how much effort I’ve put into being on good terms with him.

Tags: family

60 Black Women In Horror Writing

burymeinarmor:

sumikosaulson:

60 Black Women In Horror Writing

Sumiko Saulson:

A really cool article / review of 60 Black Women in Horror Writing …

Originally posted on Illuminite Caliginosus:

This book, 60 Black Women In Horror, is something of an eye-opener.  Let’s face it: other than Octavia Butler and L.A. Banks, the number of black women known for writing anything other than Urban Romance and whatnot is mighty damn slim.   I’ll admit to the shortcoming…

View On WordPress

Oooo

(via nemesissy)

steampoweredsazerac:

Here’s a picture of Steve Buscemi dressed up as John Waters for John Waters’ christmas card.
You’re welcome.

steampoweredsazerac:

Here’s a picture of Steve Buscemi dressed up as John Waters for John Waters’ christmas card.

You’re welcome.

(via yatvowel)

I get such a visceral response when I see Donate Blood signs.  Like a want to start a fight with some poor volunteer.  Tell them that, no, apparently they don’t want my blood. They think there’s something lurking in my blood, the next HIV or HCV, some vague untestable menace.

But I’m nice.  I don’t want to pick a fight, and anyway, they don’t stick volunteers out next to the signs any more, soliciting passers by for blood.

Just found out that “Julian” from this post, is now an associate professor at The Prestigious University we got our PhDs at.

God, I feel jealous, and like a total fuck up.  Screaming children and all.

I’m too tired for this shit.

Rachel, the first girl I ever lusted after was maybe the first person I was actually sexually attracted to, as opposed to the weird chaste crushes I would develop on any boy who was nice to me.  And actual sexual attraction, particularly for a girl, threw me for a loop.  Overnight, I decided that I was done trying to avoid the pleasures of the world.  I abandoned Christian Science and God and decided that I was evil.  And while I’m happy being an atheist, I’m sure it wasn’t helpful for me to spend so many years thinking of myself as bad.

Rachel was part of the nerd girl group that took me in when I was the new kid sophomore year.  We had all the honors classes together and she was the GM of our role playing group.  We both had long scraggly hair and were androgynous in that way where you look more like a sketchy long-haired guy than any of the normal markers of being butch.  She rebuffed my probably none too subtle advances, and I ended up switching my overpowering crush to Carmen, since she was much more into romantic stuff like holding hands and letting me smell her hair.

And then, half-way through junior year, Rachel stopped talking to me.  At first she would still talk to me when we were playing roll playing games, which was weird and awkward, and then she reorganized the roll playing group without me, which was probably for the best.  She got a short fashionable haircut, stopped wearing her ratty old jacket covered in snarky buttons, and wore a strapless dress to prom.  She almost got suspended for running away from a chorus trip to spend the night with her former councilor from music camp, a guy who was at least ten years older than her.

Carmen followed me out of the nerd girl group, and we ended up cobbling together a new group of friends.

Rachel and I hadn’t really talked in years (though there was a sort of reconciliation when the nerd girl group got back together once during college, and we all kind of decided we didn’t have much in common any more).  And we’ve been FB friends for a while, in that vague disconnected way where you Like each other’s baby pictures.

And I just found out from a mutual friend that he pretty recently transitioned, and I want to send him some kind of note offering friendship and support, but that seems weird and out of the blue.  And I should probably spend a little more time working out my feelings over our history.

Tags: teen angst

clarawebbwillcutoffyourhead:

I want to make a master post of your favourite sex worker books, from trashy memoir to labour theory! Please add on and I’ll keep editing this post to include additions.
@leighalannaworn-smoothmarginalutilite
toomuchperfumeifiwakeinthemorningilikethatnoisetransluminescence

I don’t want to talk over the sex workers in this thread, but having been invited to talk about books, I can’t resist adding my two cents.

I’m not sure that I could give an unalloyed recommendation for any of these.  But I’m interested to get other people’s opinions.

Probably my favorite is Danielle Willis’s writing (a lot of it is here: http://www.languageisavirus.com/danielle_willis/ also check the #danielle willis tag)

The butch perspective on their femme sex worker partners in both Leslie Feinberg’s Stone Butch Blues and Lynn Breedlove’s Godspeed (spoilers: it’s not particularly nuanced in either case, even though the books are set 30 years apart).  Also Luke Davies’ Candy for the economics/tensions of a drug using couple where the woman brings home the majority of the money because she’s a sex worker.

Heather Lewis’s Notice, because I want everyone to love her work (though House Rules is probably the more readable book).  Caty Simon’s essay is required co-reading

I’m currently reading (i.e. I started reading them at some point in the past and haven’t given up on them yet):

David Henry Sterry’s Chicken — not that you always need to get a man’s point of view, but so many of the arguments about sex work are so gendered, it’s interesting to see how it plays out with the genders reversed

Colette’s La Vagabonde — because, historical

I’m still working my way through Captive Genders (ed. by Nat Smith and Eric A Stanley).  I mostly bought it for the piece on pre-Stonewall activism in the SF Tenderloin.