Susie Bright's Journal

Susie's Maiden Voyage in a ZipCar

"I'm as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a school-boy. I am as giddy as a drunken—"

Well, I'm not quite that drunk, because I have just stepped out from behind the wheel of my maiden voyage in a ZipCar.

The whole experience was so exhilarating, I'm already scheming for my next Zip-Date: I want a gleaming convertible in San Francisco, and I will not be deterred!

ZipCar is a "car-sharing" operation where you sign up for a membership and gain access to a fleet of autos parked all around your town—  or any town they operate in, for that matter.

Within minutes, days, or weeks notice, you reserve your date with whatever vehicle you choose, be it Tacoma Truck, Prius, or MiniCooper.

You show up at one of the Zippy parking spots with your magic membership card, and wave it like a wand in front of the windshield. It opens up and you drive away!

The car is new. You don't pay for gas, insurance, or anything to do with the car's upkeep. The parking spot is always waiting for you. There is no maddening car rental counter to suffer through; it's all DIY. You save beaucoup bucks by not operating your own vehicle, and obviously, your "carbon footprint" becomes much more dainty.

Okay, that's the Greenish explanation. But I am here to tell you of the psychological effect!

It all started when a certain unlicensed, uninsured someone, who shall remain nameless, totaled our old Toyota van in the driveway.

The Previa wasn't put into "Park" at the conclusion of its illegal journey— and so it drifted down the driveway, headless, until it was stopped by our gnarled orange tree rather than careening out into traffic. The door was badly bashed, and the cost of even minimal repairs exceeded the value of the car. We had to let her go.

Now here's the thing. Our home has a massive solar array— I could light up a small planet. If I had an electric car, I would just plug in the bastard and we would never pay for a drop of fuel again.

But those type of cars aren't going to be commercially available, at a price I can afford, for another year or two. I've never read the "Auto" section the news before in my life, but now I drop anything for updates on the Chevy Volt, the plugin Prius, or the VW Diesel-Hybrid. "Yoo Hoo, Mr. Auto Mogul, I am READY for you!"

We have one other car we share in our household. Much to our relief, relying on one pony has worked out pretty well. We all started biking more— a lot more. I can now pedal up the big hill to my house and daydream instead of crying and gasping for air. I lost weight. The plummet in our gas bill... well, you can imagine... was astounding. It was fun to drop the insurance and say adieu to all the crap of a second car.

How very noble and wholesome.

But every once in a while, we hit a snag. One of us has to go out of town for a few days, and it's tough to  leave the other one car-less. I live in a semi-rural town with abysmal public transportation. What else is new in America? There is no such thing, in my village, as hailing a cab. To get to a train to San Francisco, I have to take a bus that runs on what's politely called a "limited schedule." The 40-minute trip to the San Jose train station can take three hours.

Then I read in the local paper that ZipCar has an outpost in our town, thanks to a collaboration with the UC Santa Cruz. In fact, one of the things that sold me on the deal, is that if I reserve a local ZipCar, I can park in any of the 'A'-Lot spaces on campus, which is such a rare thrill that I feel like reserving a few Zip hours to park all over school and sneer at the meter maids who bankrupted me at this same campus when I was an undergrad.

You can reserve ZipCar dates over the phone, but the geeky thrills are on their Web site, or your mobile browser. You feel like you're shopping for shoes at Zappos. You tell it what time and day you want to begin your trip, and it shows how many, and which kind, of cars are available, with a map of locations. I checked a whole bunch of times, from "right this minute" to weeks in advance, and there was always a few choices close by. Always.

They charge you by the hour, which is an novel way to look at driving costs. Zip publishes numerous cost comparisons— as this is their main selling point— and you always come out ahead, way ahead, by sharing rather than shouldering the burden of single-owner maintenance.

Plus, no matter how many times the ZipCar flacks re-do their cost-savings examples, the price of gas goes up another dime by the time they post to their site. No wonder they're signing up new members like there's no tomorrow.

For my first reservation, I picked out the car by color— Tango Red!— and got all dressed up to go meet my beau.

It was a brand new car. A Honda Element. With roof racks. I'm going to put my canoe on it next time.

Do you know how often I drive new cars? Never. I called up some friends in the Valley who didn't know what I was babbling about. "Do you want me to pick you up in my NEW TANGO RED and go for a joy ride?" 

I got into the driver's seat and cackled at the full gas tank. There is even a gas credit card in the sun-visor, in case I go hog wild. I can fill up the tank at any service station on Zipcar's tab.

It was a little unfamiliar to check the mirrors and set the seat before I got underway. I'm so sheltered I've never even driven a Honda before. The most shocking aspect, truthfully, is that I couldn't trash the car and leave all my snot rags and coffee cups behind me. Cleaning out the vehicle before I tucked it back into its stable was the most mindful I've ever been in the auto-care department.

Yes, there are rules, lots of little Golden Auxiliaries. You cannot invite your big hairy mutt to share the front seat. You can't stay out late without telling anyone and screw the next driver out of their reservation. You can't smoke hash. I realize that any of these limitations could be the last straw!

But I am still in the Euphoria Stage. I love to look at the fleets in dozens of other cities, and imagine showing up in London, or Vancouver, and reserving my mount.

I walked home from my Zippy Parking Spot at the end of my three-hour tour. I live a few blocks away, a five minute walk, and I wondered if that aspect would exasperate me. But the walk home was actually delightful, part of the whole dating atmosphere. We stopped for chocolate cake at the Nickelodeon. The smell of jasmine and ginger flowers along Lincoln St. were especially fragrant.

I said, "I feel so smug, I think I might explode." I kicked a eucalyptus nut in my path and watched it bounce up ahead of me like a skipping stone. Ha! Life is good!

  Zipcar did not pay me to write this; although they should, after this tongue bath! But believe me, as I continue my grand car-sharing experiment, I will tell ALL, including any disillusionments or shocks. I'm sure you have a million questions, as I did, and their web site anticipates all of them, so go check it out. As a new member, they encourage me to hand out $25 driving credits to my friends, so please enjoy!

The Spitting Truth with Chelsea Girl

  Interview with Sex Blogger, Chelsea Girl

Download this free sample of In Bed with Susie Bright!

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Susie talks with legendary sex blogger, "Chelsea Girl." They discuss "viscous porn-starry spit," stripteasing your way to a scholarly interest in Victorian erotica, and Chelsea's always-revealing web diary, Pretty Dumb Things.

If you like this sample and want to hear more, you can subscribe (for $2 a show) to my weekly show at Audible.com. I'm offering a 12-episode season on iTunes to give new listeners a taste!

My Daughter, My Sister, My Mom— The Porn Star

Today, on my In Bed podcast, I've made a special hour and a half compilation of my most personal interviews and oral histories of women in the porn business.

The Bizarre Destiny of Linda Lovelace,

Peep Show Secrets with Carol Queen,

Masturbation Guru Betty Dodson on her insights into younger lovers,

How Candida Royalle went from "shut up, you're just a porn star," to the pioneer of women's erotica,

The Truth About Traci Lords,

How Tristan Taormino made the first Anal Sex movies with a Woman's Point of View,

Greta Christina on fisting, the nature of "extreme" porn, and why the porn industry gets nervous about just how far women's fantasies go.

Listen to an excerpt

Listen to the whole show: LINK

$2 a show, for a year, why not? LINK
 

It starts with my memories of Linda Lovelace, whom I encountered in some of those "Only in LA" moments that define the 1970s for me. I witnessed her crowning stage moment at Cal Jam 1 on my first acid trip, in 10th grade...just for starters!  The phenomenon of her career and my own early impressions of porn are inseparable. I recorded this before her untimely death.

Another personal history here is my memories of Traci Lords. I covered Traci as a Penthouse film critic, (and, bizarrely, appeared with her in the same movie, The Grafenberg Spot), before her revelations that she was working as an underage performer.

The other audio segments are frank interviews with my friends about their personal and professional lives in the sex business.

I've been sisters and colleagues with these women for many years... we don't put on an act, or dress up the facts. There's no politically-correct, cheerleading for porn—trying to make it cute for the mike. You may have never heard women talk about sex this way, and if you have, you're going to feel in very good company!

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions and feedback about the show to susie@audible.com.

Photo Credit: Honey Lee Cottrell, 1984, Kathy Andrew's first leatherwork studio, for On Our Backs

America's Joyous Future

Katie Jamison from Lulu and I went to the Chicago's Museum of Contemporary Art last summer, after the BlogHer fest. This was one of favorite pieces, on the first floor, next to the Ladies Room. It's by Erika Rothenberg.

No Sex, No Pity

Today, on my In Bed podcast, I take a look into the darker side of the Sex and the City phenomenon.

You know, I wouldn't care so much if those four neanderthal-ettes showed you how to shop for sexual insight— if that's their forté— but they even fail at that.

An unintentional erotic moment in the movie makes the point quite bitterly: three of the girlfriends realize that their fourth, Miranda, has neglected to shave her bikini line.

The camera shows a close-up of a couple of errant bright-red pubic hairs curling out from Miranda's upper thigh.

Her BFFs excoriate her: How can she destroy any hope of a sex life by refusing to shave! She must be turning her back on men altogether!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is what red cunt hair, the most prized of all genital details, has been reduced to.

When the film debuted, I spoke to Susannah Breslin at Salon, about the nausea of SATC:

"Did you see the recent New Yorker essay, "The Fall of Conservatism," by George Packer?  It paraphrases social theorist Eric Hoffer: 'Every great cause begins as a movement, becomes a business, and eventually degenerates into a racket.'

"Sex and the City is the 'racket' part of what once was recognizable as the sexual self-emancipation of the feminist movement... I can't watch these women, you know, make asses of themselves and be so petty and small-minded about sexual possibility. I take it too personally."

Listen to an excerpt

Listen to the whole show: LINK

Get the show free for a month: LINK

$2 a show, for a year, why not? LINK
 

In the second half of my show, a news story in France catches my eye- can a traditional marriage can be annulled because the wife isn't a virgin?

And finally, in my Try This at Home mailbag, I answer a letter from a worried mom: "My son is way too sexually precocious, and it's causing me alarm..."

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions, and feedback about the show, to susie@audible.com. (Episode 347, July 4, 2008).

Photo Credit: This image is the top hit when you search Google for "Merchandising."

"Usually Tight" — Barnard Girls Go Wild in the Gilded Age!

While cleaning out my desk this past week, I discovered a wonderful "sex shock" news clipping that a friend in Boston found for me in her collection of early 20th century newspapers.

There is no annual date on the story. I'd guess it's from the late 20s, given the use of flapper language like "getting tight" and "tipplers."

If you recognize the newspaper or can pin down the year, let me know!

The culprit in this tabloid shockeroo was The Jester, a campus humor magazine, founded in 1901. But that the student editors published this survey at all, given the era, was quite scandalous:

Girls Answer Quiz on Purity

Barnard Students Admit Necking and "Soul Kissing"

New York, Oct.22— Answers to an amazingly frank "purity test" taken by girl students at Barnard College were published in the Columbia Jester at the university today. Shocked professors immediately ordered the magazine suppressed.

Within 45 minutes, however, the ban was lifted by Dean Herbert E. Hawkes. He made no explanation.

The test went to the ultimate of candor— and in publishing it, the authors of the Jester article inferred that some of the questions were too hot to print. 

They reported that: 51% of the 70 girls considered "one or more propositions to be contrary to their honor; that more than 50% indulge in necking; that 34% practice the "soul kiss"; that 49% had kissed ten different men; than 29% have gone out with other women's husbands, and that no one would answer the question: "Have you ever swum nude in mixed company?"

Of the group, the authors reported that 80% were smokers and 66% tipplers. Answering the question: "Have you ever been tight?" 38 wrote "no," 32 wrote "yes." Of those answering in the affirmative, 14 said they had been tight once, 14 said they had been tight often, and four said that they were "usually tight."

Susie and Kate Bornstein Break a Few Gender Plates

 Susie Bright Interviews Transgender Outlaw Kate Bornstein

Download this free sample of In Bed with Susie Bright!

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When it comes to turning boys and girls upside down, and shaking up every orgasmic assumption you ever had, no one does it better than transgender author, playwright, and performance artist Kate Bornstein.

Susie and Kate discuss Bornstein's latest book, Hello, Cruel World: 101 Alternatives to Suicide for Teens, Freaks and Other Outlaws, as well as gender hierarchy and depression. 

If you've ever wanted to hear the un-cutesy truth about how people stay alive when all seems lost, this is it.

If you like this sample and want to hear more, you can subscribe (for $2 a show) to my weekly show at Audible.com. I'm offering a 12-episode season on iTunes to give new listeners a taste!

Photo Credit: Poster by Kath Moonan and Alexandra Lazar  from the International Festival of Transgender Arts.

The Women Kill Coyote By Repeated Intercourse

Coyote started on again. He came to a camp. He inquired about the location of the chief's camp. Someone told him, "See that tipi over there with the reddish smoke flap? That's where the chief lives."

Coyote went over there. He entered the tipi. A woman was in there. He said, "Your husband sent me over to fuck you."

"No, my husband wouldn't do that."

Coyote repeated it. So she went to bed with him. The husband was playing hoop and pole. When Coyote finished, he came out and yelled, "Do the cunts of all women look like those of the chief's wife?"

All the women in the camp heard him. They chased him around. Antelope Woman could run fast. She smelled pretty bad too. She could run fast, but she held herself back. Peccary Woman smelled bad too. She was big and fat. They chased Coyote and tired him out. Finally they caught him by the hair.

They dragged him back. All the women came. They took him under a tree and held his arms and legs. Each of the women crawled over him, pressing their cunts against him from his feet to his head. They made him smell. The Antelope Woman and the Peccary Woman came last.

When they started in, Coyote said, "I don't like to smell that stuff!" But they made him smell it. Those last two finished with Coyote, then they killed him.

His cock was sticking up. They all sat on him and fucked him. Pretty soon he had had enough. He begged to be let up. His penis went down. But they hit it on the end with a stick and it swelled up at the tip again and got large enough so they could fuck him again. They kept it up till they killed him. Then they threw him away.

That is why coyotes and dogs are that way now, and get stuck together when they have intercourse.

Happy 4th of July! I wanted to publish a Native story for a little relief.

This Coyote legend is one of hundreds of stories collected in the 1930s in a book called Myths and Legends of the Lipan Apache Indians, by Morris Edward Opler. I found it in my late father's library collection, where he indexed thousands and thousands of Coyote stories, from tribes all over the Americas.

Bill, my dad, was such a Coyote fan that he did his own book, A Coyote Reader,  a collection of translations and contemporary takes on what Coyote is all about. He included authors like Leslie Silko, Gary Snyder, Wendy Rose, Peter Blue Cloud, and Simon Ortiz— even Mark Twain has something wonderful to say about Coyote.

I remember Bill was happy to say his was the first book from the University of California Press with the word "asshole" on the back cover copy. The reason Coyote is so unavoidably scatological and sexual is that... that's just the way he's been for the past four million years. The original stories are frequently involved with his shit, or his cock, or both. These stories weren't hidden from any age or temperament— they were like family jokes. Coyote is always horny and greedy, always making a mess of it, and always coming back from the dead. Remind you of anyone you know? ;-)

Photo: Coyote hits up Quiznos in Chicago.

Fuck, Marry, Kill: What Sex Game Are YOU Playing?

Susie Talks to the Strip Poker and Sex Game Experts

Download the free interview!

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Susie investigates why people love Sex Games— the card-playing, "Truth or Dare" kind— and why usually-monogamous couples will push the envelope if "rules of the game" are employed. 

One avid player named Amy told me: "Two reasons I like to play sex games: a), the joy of winning!— and,  b), the threat of losing!"

Uh... don't let Amy get me in a headlock!

I discovered  the iTunes sex side of podcasting when I met the people behind of one of the most popular new sex games ever, Great Sex Games. They certainly have improved "Spin the Bottle," but remember— I'm still too scared to play with Amy.

One of my author friends, Shanna Germain, just wrote a story for me* that involves a sex game called "Fuck Marry Kill." She was surprised when I told her I didn't know what FMK means— but I love that title.

Has everyone played this except me? The rules are, you get put on the hot seat, and asked to choose among a group of people— either your companions, or a hypothetical list they give you— who you would fuck, who you would marry, who you would... assassinate. What if all three amount to the same person?

If you like this sample and want to hear more, you can subscribe (for $2 a show) to my weekly show at Audible.com. I'm offering a 12-episode season on iTunes to give new listeners a taste!

Photo Credit: Yes, I have played Naked Twister.
* More on this soon! I'm doing a new erotic collection....

Susie & Katha Pollitt, on "Virginity or Death!"

Susie Talks with Katha Pollitt at The Nation: Download the free interview!

Here's the iTunes link.

Susie talks with feminist author Katha Pollitt, one of the mothers of American women's liberation, and notorious for her Nation magazine column "Subject to Debate".

Susie and Katha talk about how sexual liberation got separated from women's liberation, "Virginity or Death!" the sexual licks of the male ego, and global feminism at its most provocative.

If you like this sample and want to hear more, you can subscribe (for $2 a show) to my weekly show at Audible.com. I'm offering a 12-episode season on iTunes to give new listeners a taste!

Momma Tried

 Today I got my author's copy of a new anthology, The Maternal is Political.

My story in the collection, "First Grade Values," is about the year when my daughter turned six, and shocked me with her innocent recitations of playground politics:

"I'm going to clean up after the boys today, so that we can get ice cream," Aretha said, when I dropped her off at school.

“Miss Rogers says if we don't clean up our snack, then we won’t get ice cream—and the boys never do it, so I'm going to clean up theirs, too."

"I'll give you a double dip of anything you like if you promise me you'll never clean up after a boy again," I said, in my first spontaneous bribe. "You start now and it never stops."

It was fun to read my story again, now that Aretha is turning EIGHTEEN tomorrow. She still comes home and sets my hair on fire with her trenchant observations.

I sat down with my copy of MIP, and read the whole book in one sitting, searching for inspiration. Here's a few that caught my attention:

Marion Winik wants to know why if "Mothers Against Drunk Drivers," is so relevant, why there isn't an even greater need for "Mothers Against Religion and Ideology." What a beautiful writer she is... Speaking of 9-11, she says,

"Faith moves mountains.That may well be true. It certainly knocks over buildings. Wonder, I think, might be a gentler way to live."

Ona Gritz is a physically-disabled mom who has a son with her husband, Dan, who is blind. Strangers are always "congratulating" their family on the street.  One day their kid asks, "Why do they do that?" and Mom cracks back, "Because I'm not dead." This is the best-written story in the book, and the one I learned the most from.

Mary Akers: A stepmom who did "everything right," is furious that her 18-year-old stepdaughter, single and flipping burgers, has decided to have a baby. The teenager's birth mom is a born-again who's cheering her on.

I disagreed with Akers' hopelessness assessment, but I appreciated that she didn't mince words. It was good to hear the raw parts. I wonder if she had the same epiphany I had after reading her rant: her stepdaughter is following her birth mother's footsteps, as much as she criticized them all the previous years. The urge to reproductively "make it right," seems to be the greatest force in the world.

Marrit Ingman:

Well, this is what happens when you have a serious mental break after childbirth, realize you'll be dancing with a bi-polar diagnosis for the rest of your life, and you want to explain to your kids, "what happened to mom." Her candor is gutsy, and eyeopening.

Cindy Sheehan:

Cindy has the best titled-chapter in the book: "Good Riddance, Attention Whore." She is sarcastically quoting her enemies and doubters, unconsciously echoing Nixon's famous press conference in '62 where he told the press they wouldn't have old Dickie to kick around any more.

In this statement, written a year ago, Sheehan announces her resignation as the bruised "face" of the American anti-war movement, and bitterly concludes that after what she's seen, she believes that her son Casey did indeed, "die for nothing."

Since she wrote this, Cindy got some of her mojo back, and mounted her own senatorial campaign, against Nancy Pelosi, who also has a story in this book. (Nancy is every bit as circumspect as Sheehan is transparent).

Cindy didn't have a chance of winning, but she wanted to highlight the spinelessness of the Democratic Party for their failure to initiate impeachment proceedings against W. The Dems found out Sheehan wasn't some cute little putty-pacifist housewife eager to play ball. And because she was such one-woman show, it was easy to attack her personally, to make sport of her convictions, and act like her private failings made her... politically suspect.

This is a typical sexist shithole that so many female activists get trapped in. We might be bad in bed, rude housewives, fight with our kids, slobs who pull out the TV dinner and say "Fuck it." But, you know what?  Cindy is right— Bush should be impeached. The Dems are culpable for their war-enabling. "Patriotism" is insufferable.

There is no graceful way to talk about being a martyr when you really are one, and that's why I like Sheehan's painful talk. Ego involvement goes along with the job of jumping into fires. You have to believe something beyond reason to take the risks, and make the sacrifices. The next time someone holds a gun to your belly— be prepared for others to call you "self-centered" if you go public with it. For men, it's normal to be outraged— for women, you might as well put on your Whore Paint right now. 

Rebecca Walker:

I might not have jumped in to read this chapter, except that Rebecca recently made Tabloid Headlines in the Daily Mail of London. She described her mother, Alice Walker— an icon of American literature and feminism—  as an incompetent, narcissistic, bitch, who abandoned her daughter for celebrity and the chance to live as a "feminist," i.e, a woman unencumbered by motherhood.

Yowza!

According to Daughter Walker, she was abandoned as a child, and when she called her mother to celebrate her own first pregnancy, Mumsie hung up the phone and hasn't spoken to her since, let alone seen her only grandchild.

My question was, "What are the family-of-origin issues in play here?"

Rebecca, however, chalked the whole thing up to "mother's feminism," which is what made me drop my shot glass. I'm sure it's not Alice Walker's POLITICS that caused this rift with her only child. It never is.

Rebecca's story in this anthology seems written by a different person than the one in the right-wing Daily Mail. The Rebecca in MIP is one of those dutiful progressive parents who worries how to feed her kid pure organics and teach him to be a good environmentalist. She also mentions fighting sexual slavery. It's on the "twee PC" side. I wouldn't have raked it over with a fine tooth comb if it wasn't for the back story!

I can't feature why Rebecca would wash her dirty laundry in public... unless she were desperate for money. Or losing her mind. Or both. And even then— how are you suppose to reconcile with your family after this? I guess you pretend they're dead. But they're... not.  R. says A. has cut her out of the will, which is presumably worth millions. For having a baby? Does money really drive people this batshit? You feel like calling each member of the Walker family into the room, and interviewing them separately. What a tragedy.

I fought a lot with my mom from puberty on, when I first began to critique the human condition. I thought I had her all figured out by the time I was 14. My best friend and I would sit around and hash out how screwed-up our parents were, every detail. We were forensic psychologists.

And yet around strangers, or anyone my mother came up against, I would ferociously defend her. I still do. Nowadays I have the pleasure of my own daughter giving me scalding analysis when I behave badly, and this very cycle makes me forgive my own mommy a tiny bit more.

For family high drama, all you can do is dedicate a song. Let's send this one out to the Walker Women, and to every mommy and baby who can't always get it right. My favorite version is Joan Baez, singing with Jeffrey Shurtleff:

I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole.
No-one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried.
Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading, I denied.
That leaves only me to blame 'cause Mama tried.

Big Sur Burn

The Central Coast is burning down— and no, I'm not kidding. The Santa Cruz Mountains, and the Ventana Wilderness, my community, have been ablaze with fires for the past few weeks. Big Sur has been on the edge of destruction since the weekend, and if you can read a satellite map, be prepared for a shock.

The air is orange and choking gray with smoke, the heat like an iron. In my neighborhood, 20 miles from from the nearest burn, there've been swarms of winged insects crowding the windows and doorways. You can drive past smoldering ruins and still-flaming burns down Highway 1. The lightning strikes over last Saturday ignited over 800 fires across the state of California, and most of them aren't reported in any daily newspaper.

Some of the local fires are arson; like the one in Bonny Doon. Another, the Trabing Fire, has been determined to be a car exhaust-pipe accident that closed down the entire interstate. Then we have the epidemic ignitions by lightning strikes, that get called  "acts of God"  because no one can digest an act of ecology. We wouldn't blink at this point if frogs started falling out of the sky.

You might've heard a bit about our "town" fire— but even more frightening, at this moment, is the destruction of  Big Sur, where many of my friends live, who've now been made homeless.

Many of you have visited the coastal oasis of Big Sur, the inspiration of Henry Miller, Jaime de Angulo, Edward Weston, Robinson Jeffers, Richard Brautigan, Esalen, Hunter Thompson— the muse-place of more 1960s inspirations than one can count.

Modern photography, psychotherapy as we know it, the Beat culture and all its literary influence, icons of California architecture-- this is where it was inspired. Big Sur has drawn mavericks and DIYers of every portal, including our beloved Bob Nash, who died just a month ago. I find myself sick with relief that Bob didn't see this; it's unbearable.

I can't tell you how this is going to end. Local residents and Forest Service people are going at it with their bare hands, bulldozing everything in sight to defend their homes. Everyone is primed to evacuate, if they haven't been already; all are displaced. Here's a tip from one veteran of previous fires:

If you know anyone who may be in the line of the fire, get your livestock trailers and trucks there right now.

Do not call them and ask if they need help, because by the time they need help it will be too late.

Even if they don't have pets and livestock, a livestock, horse, or utility trailer can haul just about anything.

If you are in the line of the fire and have not prepared for it, you may be too late— however, if you have cleared all the underbrush out 100 feet from your buildings, start working on the next 200 feet.

Close all windows and doors and seal up all vents into your house.

Fill all bath tubs, buckets, etc. with water.

Take down all window dressings.

If you stay, which I did and saved my house, be prepared to take shelter and let the fire burn over the top of you, then come out and put the fire out if you can.

We had folks we didn't even know stop and take all of our livestock. People can be really nice in times like this.

When the fire passes do not be surprised if it comes back and down the mountain at you again.

The wind will dictate all.

These areas are difficult to talk about in terms of fire defense, because the wilderness demands its own burn ecology to renew from time to time, and this locale has been way overdue— for decades. In the meantime, families have dug in; it's rural living and residents are maniacal about fire safety.

There's an extra edge to the smoke, that goes beyond the inevitable natural crises: Our country has, for some time, been unable to provide the infrastructure to deal with disasters.

I'm not just talking about for the hermit who's off the grid. Everyone in California is mindful of the terrible floods in the Mid-West, and that leads to the all-too-obvious reminders of Katrina. A bridge collapses in Minnesota, and everyone knows that bridge should have been repaired or replaced ages ago. I'm sure all of you could tell me about something in your area that is a public hazard, overdue for repair, a "disaster waiting to happen," and yet nothing happens 'cause there's "no money."

Meanwhile, we see the latest gas prices, and read about the exploding number of multi-millionaires— who still can't fucking pass through the eye of any needle— and you just want to explode.

Of course the government can't arrive at your side, like Superman, to scoop you up when the clouds of locusts arrive. But we know that many of the crises we're having today are because the roads ain't fixed, they laid off the rescue workers, the repairs went unfunded.

We have no tax base in our state to cope with our problems, and it's not because California isn't still golden with profits. The corporate taxes are so low here, it's beyond reckless. We have the worst-funded schools in the nation— dead last. Our parks are closing, the streets are buckling, there's three cops in town to work the night shift, and the firemen haven't had an hour off in a month. They need ten times the numbers they have to  cope with these fires.

People I know who work in public safety whisper to me about how shocked the public would be, if they only knew how undefended we really are. Well, it's pretty obvious, now. Anyone who wants to start a fire or rob a bank, just drop on by; our whole community is walking around with its pants down.

The individual acts of heroism in the past weeks, are, of course, inspiring. My friends in the thick of the smoke are relentless. They'll  be marked by this forever.

I lost everything in 1979 when my home burned down— all my diaries from when I was a girl, my family letters, all the books and photographs. The stench was with me for years— and I found that this weekend's events sent me sobbing back under a blanket, like a child.

I have a quote scrawled on an old Greyhound bus map from my burn year: "Suffering is the Fire that Burns Away Desire."  It reminds me that that the pain and burn are not only a metaphor, but sometimes one and the same. When you lose it all in a fire, you lose a lot of hope. You are afraid to hold onto anything, or want for something, because you never want to hurt like this again.

Photo Credit: View from Nepenthe webcam, Sunday night, and Partington Ridge on a clear day. Toby and Linda,  I LOVE YOU!

Support the Big Sur Volunteer Fire Brigade!

My Fondest Punctuation

I recently got interviewed by Editrix. a blog "for editors, editors at heart, and anyone else who thinks grammar is hot."

Today, the Editrix veered off the path, slightly, to examine the origin of the word "dyke." I love stuff like this!

She also has a standard feature called "Five Questions," which asks authors to reveal their secret grammar-geek practices.

You should check out her whole list of victims, but so far, the interviews include authors like: Robert Olen Butler, Steve Almond, Frank McCourt, Tristan Taormino, Farhad Manjoo, Stacey Richter, Harry Shearer, and Abigail Thomas.

(I find it fascinating that is that I am acquainted with a majority of her interviewees because I've published their work in Best American Erotica. It just goes to show that behind every erotic stylist is a grammar freak).

Here's my entry:

FIVE QUESTIONS FOR SUSIE BRIGHT

Q: What is your preferred environment for writing?

A: My office, when I'm all alone. Or, in bed with my MacBook Pro on a heat-reducing lap desk-pillow.

I've often wondered about working at writing retreats; they sound so luxurious. But I've never been to one.

I can "disappear" with my writing in a crowd. I've worked at news desks (back when press rooms were crowded) and at airports, cafés, libraries.

What I don't like: working on planes. The commerical air systems today rub me the wrong way, every way. I have to take a Valium, read a trashy magazine, and listen to music. I feel about as original as a plank; creativity is impossible. My first priority is to keep from going into a rage.

Q: What punctuation mark are you fondest of?

A: Oh, do I ever love this question. In terms of its versatility—the em dash.

For handwriting, I always liked drawing question marks and ampersands.

In Spanish, I relish that you begin and end exclamations with the same thrilling bang!

Q: What punctuation, spelling, grammar, style, or usage error annoys you the most?

A: I'm not annoyed by anyone's first draft for themselves. My first drafts are obscenities of typographical errors and awkward constructions. When I compose, I'm in the "pouring out" stage.

What I object to, what galls me, is writers who think that THAT unholy mess is what you turn in to your editor.

There is no writing without self-editing. I wish I could drop cases of Elements of Style out of a helicopter over large student populations.

Q: If you weren't in your current line of work, what would you be doing instead?

A: My line of work has lots of costume changes. How many people get to hole up with a singular passion anymore? I'm a mother, publisher, adviser, blogger, editor, author, performer, teacher, organizer, chief bottle-washer.

When I was little, I liked to sing and dance when I wasn't reading and making up stories. My daughter's stage-managing a play right now, and I daydream about how fun it would be to grab one of those scripts. Sign me up for a Broadway musical.

Q: What drove you to become a writer?

A: Politics. I wanted desperately to convince people of something I was in a lather about. Outrage at an injustice. Wanting to share something hilarious. Argument. Poetry. Lyrics. I come from a long line of blabby, bookwormy, wordsmiths and hams.

Photo Credit: Cookie Hunt, RIP.

This photo has an interesting story behind it. I love clothes and fabric with " just words" on them, so this was one of my favorite t-shirts back in the day. "Choose Sex" in Helvetica!

This was shot at the Women in Print conference in the late-80s, a conference on feminist publishing, back when there were dozens of women publishers! I was there to represent my magazine, On Our Backs.

The most prominent lesbian-works publisher took me aside— Barbara Grier from Naiad Press— and said, "I don't have a personal problem with what you're doing; I don't give a shit, but everyone else here has told me they think you should be assassinated."

Carlin Crosses Out

 Georgie, we hardly knew ye.

Yes, you were a prophet, our long-haired bard, our poet with an out-fucking-standing command of the English language. A rare bird.

The Times is calling him "irreverent," today, in their obit headline, which is patronizing. If we're going to call him a "rev" anything, it would be a revolutionary.

Carlin, born in 1937, was prescient. What he said forty years ago about the War Machine, the crucifixion of the First Amendment, the abuses of the Church, industrial pollution, the corporate indifference to... well, everything—  his speeches could have been written yesterday.

His most radical satire, his decision to take off the suit, grow out his beard, and damn the establishment torpedoes, was his enduring contribution to American democracy.

I've been looking at a lot of my "Carlin Archives" this morning, grieving him, and thinking how influential he's been on my thinking since I first heard him, when I was in 7th grade.

I remember playing "Class Clown" for my mother— a woman whose first twenty years were entirely dominated by the Irish Catholic Church— and it was a comic exorcism for her. She peed in her pants! She was cured in one LP!

Carlin had a real gift for telling the story of his life, and in later years, I enjoyed listening to his reminiscences at the Actors' Studio.

Last year, he ripped at a gigantic Narcotics Anonymous meeting, where he described turning seventy-years-old as "69, with one finger up your ass." He eloquently described the virtues of being an "old fuck," and what it's like to go through your address book, "crossing out the dead people."

This November, he was due to accept the Kennedy Center's Mark Twain Prize for Humor, which truly puts him next to his peer— someone who could bullseye hypocrisy when he saw it, and leave us in hysterics at our own death wish.

Carlin would say, "Just because you got the monkey off your back doesn't mean the circus has left town."

And Twain might've replied with his own: "Don't go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first."





Photo Credit: L.A. Times. Carlin was arrested on July 21, 1972, at Milwaukee's Summerfest and charged with violating obscenity laws, after performing "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television."

Susie and Tristan Taormino Crack the Poly Nut

ner Today, on my In Bed podcast, Tristan Taormino and her lover Colten, along with Pal Joey, came to Santa Cruz— lured by my promise of "the best hot fudge sundae you ever had"— to talk to me about TT's new book, Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships.

I was determined to stump Tristan on non-monogamy, but I give up! She has fucking heard it all!

Listen to an excerpt

Listen to the whole show: LINK

Get the show free for a month: LINK

$2 a show, for a year; why not? LINK
 

Tristan and I tear into all the non-polite questions of open relationships! 

Reconsidering the so-called "sexless marriage"

What to do with a lover who monopolizes your vagina at the play party... Cock-blockers!

“I’m not very jealous in real life, but my fantasy life revolves around competition... What gives?”

The visceral experience of jealousy

Your family-of-origin experience— doesn’t make any damn difference!

Porn star poly savvy

Reconsidering the so-called "Sexless Marriage"

So, what do people actually do at Tristan's "Open Relationship" workshops?

Monogamy— yes, monogamy!—  as a radical choice

If I’m poly, do I have to say "yes" to everyone to prove a point?

When your lover’s getting all the action, and you’re sitting there fuming....

How kids feel about their “swinger” moms and dads? Or any mom and dad, for that matter...

How do you deal with the all-consuming crush part of a new, additional love, besides having faith you can ride it out?

My favorite part of TT's book are her interviews with dozens of lovers, who give you a real sense of the variety of human love. This is no single stereotype, like the "hip young triad splitting their espresso tab and licking each other in a daisy chain."

It's people with kids, it's people who did one thing for five years, and then changed it up— and then transitioned yet again. It's kinky, it's vanilla, it's long-distance, it's high school sweethearts, it's grandma, it's genderfuck. There is no one poly person or one poly question!

Tristan is also keeping a blog of her Opening Up book tour and workshops— that's how I'm keeping tab on her! Plus, all those cute doggie pictures...

Don't forget, you can send your confidential questions, feedback about the show, and requests for free show coupon cards to susie@audible.com. (Episode 345, June 20, 2008)

Susie Bright & Betty Dodson Take Over iTunes!

In Bed with Susie Bright Podcast Sampler - Interview with Betty Dodson, The Jill-Off Godmother

Susie and Betty, on iTunes at last!

Click link above to listen to the whole interview...

If Betty Dodson didn't invent female masturbation, she was the first woman to wave the pink flag. This 78-year-old is not afraid to tell it like it is.

Dodson first made headlines back in 1974 with her book Liberating Masturbation, and went on to inspire the whole idea behind The Vagina Monologues.

Susie and Betty discuss the G-Spot, inter-generational sex— and what it was like when Betty's mom first asked her daughter about her clitoris.

This special INWSB show for iTunes is part of a twelve-episode free sampler we've produced for iTunes Podcast fans, in their Health:Sexuality category. Thanks to Lorax and Kidder for all their help!

(If you're already an In Bed listener, this is your chance to turn on your skeptical friends, with a free taste! Then let them be seduced into the depravity...)

If you are intrigued with this sample and want to hear more, you can subscribe to my weekly show at Audible for less than 2 crackers a week...