Prime's Last Blog Post

I have a truly marvelous blog post for this day which blogspot is too narrow to contain...

Salivo ergo sum,
D.I. Prime
August 17, 2008

I Love The RIAA

It's true; I love the RIAA. (1)

Whew. It feels good to get that off my chest, to come out of the closet, to reveal our dalliance, to write this loyal canton of clandestine love and sing it loud even in the dead of night, to halloo its name to the reverberate hills and make the babbling gossip of the air cry out 'R-I-A-A!' (2)

Well, maybe I don't love everything about them... nor even most things about them. In fact, when you come right down to it, I think they're largely despicable. Yet, our concurrence on certain bedrock principles assures our continued comity. Whenever gales of contentious particulars threaten to shear our irenic bliss, we can batten down the hatches and ride out the storm in each other's arms by clinging to our shared ethos.

Our bottom line: stealing music is stealing. (3) All is right with the world when the RIAA caresses me with its slimy tentacles, fondles my engorged genitalia, and whispers in my ear, "Recorded music has value. It's the property of its owners. They deserve payment for its use."

If you don't mind, I'm going to abandon the RIAA/relationship metaphor. That tentacle thing was kind of hot, but the rest of it is starting to give me the creeps.

As I was saying, stealing music is stealing. Engaging in unauthorized duplication, denying the owner of a work their due compensation, is stealing. That's all there is to it. The pro-theft (excuse me, that wasn't PC, the pro-"sharing") faction makes all manner of specious arguments, but they all boil down to justifying larceny. It really is that simple. Everything else is rationalization.

Okay, the truth is that nothing is ever that simple. There are dozens of fronts in the intellectual property wars and dozens of skirmishes in each of copyright-related battles, many of which are inter-related and impact each other. Unfortunately, my erstwhile paramour or is on the "wrong" side in many of them. For example:

• They support overly lengthy protections. The Constitution grants Congress the authority to "promote the progress of science and useful arts, by securing for limited times to authors and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries." In the beginning, if an artist registered her work for copyright, she was granted a copyright of 14 years with an optional extension of 14 years. After that, her work entered the public domain. Thanks to incessant lobbying over the years, copyright protections have been extended to 95 years with the likelihood that the term will be extended once more before anything else has the opportunity to lapse into the public domain. This is clearly not the "limited times" envisioned by the founding fathers.
• They support overly broad protections. In the old days, to claim copyright you had to register your work with the copyright office. Now, you have to transfix your work into a tangible medium. That's it. There's no more registration and no more renewal; everything is presumptively copywritten. The doodles in a daydreaming junior high schooler's notebook are given 95 years of copyright protection. By contrast, a team of research scientists who spend multiple years and multi-billions of dollars developing a cure for cancer are granted 17 years of patent protection -- if the patent office accepts their petition.
• They support disproportional penalties. Illegally downloading a single song from the Internet is a federal felony punishable by up to five years in prison and a $250,000 fine. By contrast, although there are local variations, stealing a CD that contains 12 songs from a store is a misdemeanor, typically punishable by 90 days in jail and a $1000 fine. In no rational world does that disparity make sense; the theft of a physical object should be punished more severely than an additional copy of a digital file whose existence may lead to the loss of the sale.

Those are just three of the issues involved and they were painted with a very broad stroke. I'm sure that adherents of either side can, with some legitimacy, raise cavils about the finer details I've glossed over.

And that's okay. There's plenty of room for reasonable people to disagree on these issues. The eventual solution will be a compromise that balances the rights of creators with the cultural benefits of a vibrant and growing public domain.

That being said, for now, I will take the nigh heretical position and side with the RIAA. While they're rightfully pilloried for their heavy-handed enforcement tactics, they're still fighting the good fight. No one else is looking out for the artists. Okay, to be fair, the RIAA doesn't care about the artists either; their sole aim is to promote the interests of the major record labels who, almost universally, screw over their artists -- but that's a separate issue. In the end, preventing theft benefits artists and that's a position I'm comfortable with.

How will this fadge? O time! thou must untangle this, not I; it is too hard a knot for me to untie! (4)

I intended to write this missive a few months ago, but I was encouraged to read "Free Culture" by Lawrence Lessig first. Having done so, let me add my voice to the chorus of people who hail the tome as an important work in the copyright debate. Lessig argues, persuasively, that our copyright system is in need of a major overhaul. I don't agree with everything he says, and I found his solution to music piracy particularly distasteful, but the book is well worth reading.

Salivo ergo sum,
D.I. Prime
June 30th, 2008

(1) The MPAA's pretty cute too, but I saw the RIAA first and I'm a one oligarchy man.

(2) As I'm in the midst of a blog post that glorifies protecting artists from theft, it would be hypocritical not to mention that the last half of this paragraph was essentially stolen from Shakespeare. "Twelfth Night", act I, scene V, to be exact. However, since the play pre-dates copyright laws, I'm free to stea..., uh, "adapt" it as I desire.

(3) Technically, that's closer to the top line, but it's just as true whether it's at the top, the bottom, the side, upside down, backwards, on a Mobius strip or stretched into some bizarre four-dimensional tesseract.

(4) "Twelfth Night" again. Act II scene II, this time.

Hip Hop and Bukkake

In honor of Hip Hop Appreciation Week - the third week of May - I'm going to revise and extend some remarks I made in the 10/3/2003 edition of The Prime Says:

I saw my first bukkake movie last weekend; it reminded me of hip hop.

And not just because it's degrading to women.

If you're not familiar with bukkake, I'll bring you up to speed. It's a genre of porn that started in Japan in the late 80's and has been enthralling the planet's pervert population ever since. While there are many variations on the theme, all bukkake involves a procession of men ejaculating on someone. In its most typical form, 50-100 guys will stand in front of a woman and masturbate. When one of the men is ready to let loose his lover's lather, he'll step up to the woman and bust a nut on her face. Repeat until all of the guys have blown their loads. No rinsing required. In fact, it's prohibited. The woman's face winds up looking like a glazed donut. But much less appetizing.

While watching the video, "American Bukkake 8", I noted that bukkake was a very egalitarian form of pornography - at least as far as the men were concerned. The guys ranged from emaciated to corpulent, barely legal to senescent, mentulate to microphallic, swarthy to aryan, brobdingnagian to lilliputian and glabrous to hirsute. One of the guys was even in a wheelchair. How often do you see handi-capable people in traditional porn? Bukkake represents the American ideal as envisioned by Dr. Martin Luther King - black and white folks living together, judged not by the color of their skin but by the content of their testicles.

And their artistry. While it may seem, to the untrained eye, that any jerk off could spray his spurts of spunk in one of these films, that's simply not the case. Such slanders completely devalue the talent and skill involved in creating these cinematic masterpieces. Each of the 50 (or so) bukkake artists has to perform in front of a film crew, surrounded by fellow, naked, masturbating thespians. He has to balance effective masturbatory technique with what looks good on camera. He must time his orgasm; there can't be a long pause after the previous man, yet he mustn't interfere with his predecessor. He has to gauge the strength of his impending orgasm, position himself at an appropriate distance and aim, continually compensating for the ever-weakening spurts. Then there's placement: does he stake out a new area or touch-up a previously "painted" portion? What makes for the most compelling and aesthetically pleasing pud pudding portrait? How does he handle the final dribbles? Does he go for the flick or an artistic smear? There's a lot to it and these men aren't given the credit they deserve. They're modern day Jacksoff Pollocks.

I think bukkake is a brilliant concept. After all, the most important part of any pornographic vignette is the come shot. Guys must espy the sperm as it flies. How else will they know that the congress has been completed satisfactorily? In bukkake, the soporific build up has been eliminated. There's no lame plot, no bad dialogue, no useless foreplay and no interminable intercourse - just money shot after money shot. Or, as Damon and Marlon Wayans might have said, "Mo' money shot! Mo' money shot! Mo' money shot!"

And that's why it's like hip hop. Hip hop was started by Kool DJ Herc in the Bronx in the early 70's. He took the best records, isolated the best parts and extended them by playing them over and over again on two turntables. That's bukkake in a nutshell; they've disposed of the excess verbiage and just repeat the best part ad nauseum.

Now I just need to figure out how to rap over it.

Salivo ergo sum,
D.I. Prime
May 18, 2008

National Masturbation Month

I was confused when I first heard that May was National Masturbation Month. I was full of questions, such as, "how does one create a national masturbation month?" It couldn't be done by an act of congress. By definition. "What's the point? Don't most people already celebrate year-round?" "Does Hallmark sell cards wishing people `Season's Beatings'?" "Do the festivities require special attire or can you, uh, come as you are?" The answers required a modicum of research.

As it turns out, this "holiday" was started in 1995 by a gaggle of gals from San Francisco - the owners of Good Vibes, a sex toy store. According to their propaganda, they created the holiday to promote masturbation because "it's safe, it's healthy, it's free, it's pleasurable and it helps people to get to know their bodies and their sexual responses." Well, yeah, true dat (as the kids used to say back when I had any clue what the kids said), but I suspect they were mostly trying to make a buck. Which is ok; it's the American way. I can't fault these mercantile mamas for making the most of their Mammon-ry glands. After all, the best way to make money in the Gold Rush wasn't to be the one looking for gold; it was to be the one selling lube and vibrators to the lonely prospectors hoping to strike veins of ore(gasms).

To deflect attention from their obscene profits (1), or as a sop to the socially-conscious, hometown hedonists, the Good Vibes gals added a veneer of altruism to onanism by putting the fun back into fundraising and sponsoring masturbate-a-thons. A masturbate-a-thon is like a walk-a-thon, but you can do it at home (although not required) and you won't get sore feet (unless you're really flexible). If you click on the link, you can download pledge forms that will help you choke it for charity.

Honestly, I'm not sure what to make of it all, but I plan to spend the rest of the month exploring my feelings.

Before you begin amusing yourself, let me take a whack at it. Wait, that's not what I meant. What I meant to say was, for your Masturbation Month entertainment, here are some relevant limericks from my book, "Anal Sex Haiku, Lascivious Limericks & Other Drivel":

Timid Freddy took pics with his celly
Of a busty young hussy named Kelly.
    He wished he could bone
    The hot chick on his phone
Then wiped his pipe dreams off his belly.

A pud puller paused between passes
And pondered how, "Nothing surpasses
    My manual grind.
    It would suck going blind,
But I'll stop when I only need glasses."

In his sex ed class, Jed read the slate
Of diseases that kids get on dates.
    Said Jed, "What a mess.
    I want to have sex
But jacking off's free and it's safe."

Here's a new limerick that will probably be included in a future book (if I do one):

My sweet, philathropical son
Dispenses free hand jobs for fun
    To laboring misters
    And habited sisters.
He jacks off all trades... and masturbates nuns.

And for those of you who are unaware that I started life as a rapper, check out my paean to pud pulling, pussy probing and pea polishing, "Five on One".

Now that you've been given a heads up about this wonderful occasion, I'll leave the task of figuring out how to get your heads back down in your capable hands. As for me, I'm looking forward to celebrating the cinco de Mayo: thumb, index, middle, ring, and pinky. It'll be great, like a month of Palm Sundays.

Seeya later masturbator,
D.I. Prime
May 1, 2008

(1) "Obscene profits" is a misnomer. If they were really obscene, people would masturbate to them; but that never happens. On the other hand, given US deficits, we may have to resort to enacting sin-come taxes on "big masturbation".

Liar! Liar!

Five months ago, I told the story of my first rejection. Well, at least the first rejection pertaining to my book, "Anal Sex Haiku, Lascivious Limericks & Other Drivel". I had asked S3 -- Safe Sex Store to stock my book and they turned me down. They claimed that their store focused on sexual health and sexual education, not sexual humor. "Fair enough," I thought, "boutique retailers need to know their clientele and focus on their niche with a laser-like intensity." I've read Lynch; I know the dangers of di-worse-ifying. We parted ways amicably. (Meaning, they instantly forgot about me and I was willing come crawling back at some point in the future.)

A few weeks ago, I was walking by and stopped in to see if they had anything new. After all, they rejected me nicely, a local sex toy shop is a local sex toy shop and I'm a sucker for the beauty of reflexivity. And local sex toy shops. Their inventory was largely unchanged from my previous visit, but I did notice one new item. Prominently displayed on one of their bookshelves was "Hustler's Dirtiest Jokes" by Larry Flynt. I tried rubbing the hypocrisy from my eyes and refocusing, but it didn't help. It was still there. S3 turned me down because my book didn't jibe with their "sexual health and education" milieu, yet they were willing to stock a joke book by the world's most infamous peddler of politically incorrect smut. I couldn't help but feel slightly slighted. A touch, I do confess.

To be fair, I didn't read the book. Maybe Mr. Flynt did a bait and switch. Perhaps his "jokes" eschewed humor and used joke-format stories as parables to teach valuable lessons about tenderness, intimacy and safety. Perhaps he completely violated everything the Hustler brand stands for in order to get his book into S3. Perhaps this book represents an entirely new direction for Hustler publishing. Perhaps... but I doubt it. I think they just lied to me.

I didn't mind getting slapped in the face (metaphorically, thankfully) with a rejection, but getting kneed in the nads (also metaphorically and even more thankfully) four months later seems excessive.

It's annoying, but I'll get over it. I won't be spray painting "Liar! Liar!" on their window, but I think be taking my business to Lover's Lane in the future. Oh well, it's an honor to be considered worthy of mendacity.

Salivo ego sum,
D.I. Prime
April 30, 2008

Rejection 2.5

My name is D.I. Prime and I'm a first-time author.

[That was lame. Look, if you want to be in my support group, you can't just sit there reading quietly. This is the point where it's customary to say, "Hi, D.I. Prime!" Go ahead, I'll wait... well, try to do better next time. This support group is about more than free cocoa, you know.]

As I said, I'm a first-time author with a self-published book, "Anal Sex Haiku, Lascivious Limericks & Other Drivel", and this is a story of R+R. Not rock 'n roll. Not rest and relaxation. Not even rejection and reproach. Actually, it is about all those things, but it's mostly a story about Rico and Ronit.

I met Rico at my brother's 12th birthday party back in 1993. We wound up on the same four-on-four basketball squad and we totally housed the other teams. (1) In subsequent years, we (Rico, my brother and I) spent uncounted hours playing rock 'n roll in my parents' basement. Alas, our jam sessions came to an end when "the kids" drifted off to separate colleges. I haven't seen Rico much in the past eight years, but, while he was at his parents' house for some rest and relaxation last December, I sent him a copy of my book. Days later, he sent the following review:

I've read some but not all, and it only confirms what I already suspected, that you may not be too clever for your own good, but you are way too clever for the good of everybody else.

In addition, he mentioned that his girlfriend, Ronit, also enjoyed the book and wanted to know if it would be okay for her to show it to an editor friend of hers at Random House. I quickly replied that she was welcome to show it to anyone she chose, but a Random House editor would be an amazingly awesome choice.

True to her word, she gave my book to her editor friend for evaluation and the editor liked it! However, and you knew there had to be however if you've read the title of this post, the editor passed on publishing it. The exact quote, as it was relayed to me in an elaborate game of "Operator", was, "It's really funny and very clever, but it's way too raunchy for this imprint."

Oh well, a third hand submission begets a third hand rejection and brings my rejection count up to three. And yet, I've dubbed this "Rejection 2.5". It just doesn't feel like a full rejection since it all happened at a remove through the auspices of the dog's letter duo. Perhaps that's why I have no reproach to give. Yeah, rejection sucks, but I'm grateful to R+R for providing the opportunity to be rejected by a major publisher.

So, that's the story of... wait, did I say there was free cocoa? Fuck the stupid book, I'm hitting the beverage table before all the marshmallows are gone.

Salivo ergo sum,
D.I. Prime
Mar 16, 2008

(1) It's a 1993 story. We said "housed" back then. These days, a sufficiently hip youngster might say "pwned". I should also note, in fairness, that our b-ball success was almost exclusively due to the age (read: height) advantage that I brought to our squad, not any intrinsic athletic ability.

Serendipitous Surfing

Look, up in the blog! It's a meme! It's a trope! It's a frog! (1)

No, it's... it's... a passé paradigm parody:

Computer with web browser: $800
Internet connection: $30/month
Finding old, naked pictures
of your muse on the Internet: Priceless

Some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's MasterCard.

Damn, she was hot back in the day. I better tack on $7 for a bottle of Astroglide (2) and $2 for a box of Kleenex. Oops. Make that $1 for a bottle of detergent, $1 for the washer and $1 for the dryer. I suppose I could save some cash and do the load by hand, but that's what got me into this mess. Literally. I'm sorry, was that too much information? I'll try to be more sub-rosa (palms) in the future, but I think I resolved the situation as handily as possible. Moving on:

Youthful indiscretions: Priceless
Naked pictures of my muse: Free
Getting me to give you the link: $19.95

Some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's PayPal.

I feel a modicum of shame for this one. The "Priceless" parody has been done to death. However, doing one is practically de rigueur for the aspiring wits of my generation -- like sampling "Amen, Brother" was for drum-and-bass artists or sampling "Funky Drummer" or "Sing a Simple Song" was for golden age Hip Hop artists.

On the other hand, while one could (justifiably) lament the inherent lack of originality, that's not synonymous with a dearth of creativity. In fact, working within rigid forms can be a spur to creativity. For example, unlike free verse, where one can blather endlessly, the haiku's spare form requires a concision which oft occasions creativity. There's nothing wrong with adding another haiku or limerick (or sonnet or 12 bar blues song or "knock knock" joke...) to the world's oeuvre. After all, there's something be said for the classic forms. But, like any other form, it's only as good as what you fill it in with. (3)

My work is done. Now it's time for Momus to whip his followers into a frenzy of aristarchian animadversion. They will determine if this is a worthy addition to the genre. As for me, I'm off look at those pictures again.

Salivo ergo sum,
D.I. Prime
March 9, 2008

(1) A frog??? [More like a lame reference to "Underdog", if you ask me. And not the 2007 movie, either. I'm referring to the cartoon that was broadcast back in the 70s, the one that my six year old self deemed the most wonderful TV show ever. Which, oddly enough, isn't the same show that's been released on DVD. That show sucks.]

(2) $7 for a bottle of Astroglide? No wonder birth rates for the poor are higher than those of the affluent, only the rich can afford to masturbate at those prices.

(3) For example, if you fill it with something that ends in a preposition, it's crap.