Giggling with delight as I gaze upon some of the recent journal entries.  The only thing that is more amusing than dudes who are all bent out of shape over being snookered by some lazy scammer are foul mouthed dorks with woman issues.  Misogyny is not dominance, old boy.  :)

The journal entries kvetching about being taken in by "fakes" make The Dude snort and cackle derisively.  "Oh my, time travelling unfrozen cavemen, welcome to the internet!  What wonders you will see!"  At this late stage in the game, if you honestly cannot spot a fake at an hundred paces, you probably ought to be culled from the herd.  It reminds me of those hack standup comics in the 80s who could never set the clocks on their VCR or use their microwave.  Oh how cruel and frustrating their lives were!  I remember being 8 or 9 and watching them do their little hacky jokes and thinking "Wow.  I'm a dumb kid and I can totally use a microwave.  These people are seriously like, running the world and stuff?  Boy are we screwed."

Ennui + a Kindle + free books in public domain = downloading sundry collections of the letters and correspondence of several flamboyant literary heroes.  The most entertaining about reading the letters of, for instance, Byron and Fitzgerald and Wilde is how much their lives resemble those of teenage girls on a WB series.  Byron is especially hilarious, worrying about his figure (added fact:  he was almost certainly bulimic) and spending nine or ten letters to his bff fretting over whether they'd be able to get good tickets to see Othello.

So I just received a spam email (that somehow slipped through Gmail which is usually reliable but anyway) from Lava Soft encouraging me to purchase "Virus protection for my Valentine."

Now this is troubling on several levels.  First, either they were deliberately making a terrible and fairly appalling innuendo or they were totally unaware of the innuendo (virus protection for Valentine's Day!) and I don't know which is worse.

Second, and just as important, there is the paternalistic and chauvinist implication that a girl wouldn't know how to protect her own computer (or protect herself from viruses, va va voom!) which is absurd and insulting.

I've been listening to old Lifter Puller albums the past few days.  I'd forgotten how much I used to love their gritty, throbbing sound.  The world they created with their concept albums, full of secretly savage club kids, gangsters, exploitative sex, booze, and hedonism spinning feverishly into dystopian dreams is fucking hot.

I've read a number of theories (in Deleuze, and other places) that masochists crave contracts and scripts.  They want to know from the outset what might happen.  They want terms defined, scenes spelled out.  Sadists, on the other hand, crave the free exercise of power.  They want their will to be exerted in whichever direction their impulses happen to roam.

I have the same impulse to want to control and script the scene as any maso, but for me the most thrilling thing is to put myself fully in the hands of a sadist with a twisted mind and a sick sense of humor.  Before anything even happens, just knowing that I've abandoned my urges to try to keep any semblance of control over the scene, throws my nerves into riot and my libido into pandemonium.  Finding someone who wants to make me suffer and to make me suffer on her terms, not mine, is the grail.

Tonight has been a sort of slapstick farce at my expense on an epic level.  Snowed into a hotel suite in a town where I don't really know anybody, I was forced to start getting drunk on bourbon and watch a surprisingly wonderful documentary on Netflix about two dudes competing for the title of World Champion Donkey Kong player (seriously).  Then I farted while taking a shower, which is basically the most horrifying thing ever and which I may never recover from eww eww eww.

So now I am settling on which movie to watch next having toweled off and gotten some fresh air.  I'm in the mood for either a cheesy horror movie or something in the Ringwald oeuvre.  If only Ringwald and Bruce Campbell had made a movie together...

One truth The Dude has observed in his one day on this site is that in browsing profiles, the guys who say they are into "CFNM" stuff tend to be the very last guys on the planet any sane person would want to see naked.  Bros, on the real, there's a difference between "masochism" and just being downright self-defeating.

Other than a raw wind howling and screeching across this damnably flat landscape, there is a perfect fragile-blue silence outside.  The snow has piled up during the course of the night and after staying up watching horror movies I'm reminded of an old folk tale my great uncle told me in hushed, decorous tones about how he woke up one morning and saw cloven hoofprints outside his bedroom window.  The prints extended for miles and miles all through his town, over the boneyard just outside town, and on into the woods.   The locals all said the Devil himself had galloped across Jersey that night and left prints and the vague smell of sulfur in his wake.  The story creeped me out then and now, 25 years later, at just the right time of morning in just the right lighting and just far enough away from home it creeps me out again.

The snow is accumulating at a semi-alarming rate outside.  Everything is this achingly gorgeous translucent blue and dead solid silent outside my window.  I'm watching a medium gory zombie movie set at a ski lodge, which seems like the ideal way to pass the evening as the snow falls, as the ice clings to power lines, as the equilibrium of this slice of the world hangs in the balance.  There's something about the combination of gore, comedy and dread that a good horror movie provokes that stimulates an old, underused, sacred part of my brain.  There's something about watching kids try to plow through Nazi zombies with snowmobiles and chainsaws that delights, amuses, arouses, and exhilarates me all at the same time.

Bracing for what is expected to be a monumental blizzard by sipping White Russians and watching Dead Snow.  Say what you will about the Scandinavians, they know how to make stylish looking balsa wood furniture and they also know how to make a pretty awesome zombie flick.  You can't go too far wrong with pretty Scandi college kids, zombies, Nazis, and a cursed ski lodge.

Bonus, the only English words in the movie are a quote from The Temple of Doom ("Fortune and glory, kid, fortune and glory.")

Hello world.  I'm a weirdo.  I'm a masochist.  I'm a pioneer in the field of the de-wussification of male subbies.  Pleased to meet you.  I am...The Dude.