So, this weekend…

…I was interviewed for the Mostly ITP podcast by Amber Rhea, who talked to me about Onyx, the sexuality map, and how the street finds its own uses for things;

…found out I’ve overrun my cell phone minutes last month by 831 minutes (ouch!);

…got my mage up to level 80 in World of Warcraft (Naxx and that sweet, sweet Tier 7 armor await!);

…discovered a prodomme who is using big sections lifted from my BDSM site on her page without attribution;

…and did a drastic overhaul of the look of the transhumanist section of my Web site (though the content remains the same).

It’s been a sleepy day today. Think I’ll go home and take a nap.

Artifacts of Modern Life

Seen at a grocery store while I was shopping with figmentj:

Yes, you’re seeing that right. It’s caffeinated hot chocolate. As in, hot chocolate with caffeine in it.

Have we as a society really reached the point where we can not face the day without putting drugs into everything we eat and drink?

Objectification: ur doin it wrong!

One of my particular kinks I’ve quite liked for quite some time now is sexual objectification. Put most simply, it’s the creation of a psychological environment in which I’m using my partner for sexual gratification, or she’s using me for sexual gratification, without too much concern for the state of the other person’s sexual arousal or response (within whatever limits my partner and I have set out for the encounter).

I was talking about this with figmentj over the course of the last weekend, and she raised some interesting points that lead me to believe that I’m not really doing it right.

Now, to me, there is very little in the world that’s hotter than grabbing my partner, pushing her against the wall or down on the bed, and whispering in her ear “I’m going to take you now. It’s okay if you don’t want it; you can scream if you like.” Unless perhaps it’s a partner grabbing me by the hair, throwing me on the bed, and saying something similar.

And to me, that’s what I’d consider objectification–the taking of my partner for my own sexual gratification.

And hers–which is where it kind of breaks down. For, as figmentj rightly pointed out, it’s only objectification if the person is reduced to the status of an object–that is, if the person’s feelings, experience, and humanity don’t enter in at all to what’s going on.

For me, the hottest thing about this kind of scenario is savoring the emotional state tat it creates in my partner, and seeing how my partner responds to being treated as a sexual object. If she’s not into it, on some level, it doesn’t work for me, because it’s precisely her responses that most get me hot.

Which is, when you get right down to it, not objectification. Her feelings and experience do enter into it; in fact, they’re precisely the point of the whole endeavor. It’s seeing how she reacts to being objectified that gets me off.

Which means, in the final analysis, I’m not really objectifying her at all.

Which is quite a conundrum, really. figmentj argues (cogently, I might add; I rarely prevail in a discussion like this with her) that what I’m doing may look like objectification, but it isn’t–not really. It’s something else. In order to be objectification, I’d have to have the same attitude toward her that I have toward an object, like a sex toy or something. Obviously, if I use some kind of sex toy, I don’t care at all about the experience from that sex toy’s perspective; it truly is an object. But since the central focus of the objectification I do with a partner is savoring her responses, and thinking about what’s happening from her perspective, then she isn’t an object at all, almost by definition.

So I’m clearly not doing it right. (Okay, that part is tongue firmly in cheek.)

That brings up another argument, one that was indirectly touched on by some of the folks who commented in the post on tattoos, porn, and respect for women, about what it means for porn to “objectify” women.

figmentj also argues, cogently, that much of mainstream porn is in fact objectifying (both to men and to women), but not for reasons that many folks of an anti-porn persuasion might think.

The standard objections to porn–at least the ones I hear most often–don’t really hold up to close examination. “It disempowers women.” Well, surely, if a woman has power, if she has control over her own body, then that control must extend to where, when, with whom, and under what conditions to have sex–including the choice to have sex while a camera is running, yes? “It degrades women.” This is an argument rooted in the notion that certain acts of and by themselves are inherently degrading, when nothing could be further from the truth. Degradation is contextual; it’s in the intent of the folks involved, not the act. Simple PIV intercourse? Not degrading when it’s mutual and consensual; degrading in the context of rape. Coming on a woman’s face? Not degrading when it’s mutual and consensual (yes, there are women who enjoy it, honest Injun); degrading if it isn’t.

And so forth.

The argument that figmentj raised, though, that standard, mainstream porn is objectifying not because sex is objectifying and not because sexual depictions are objectifying, but because the way it is scripted and filmed, with its surrealistically-proportioned actors who are as biologically implausible as a Barbie doll and its over-the-top, phony sound effects that make clear to anyone who’s ever actually had sex that the folks involved are not enjoying it, seems contrived and indeed even psychologically constructed to maximize the emotional distance between the viewer and the people involved.

In other words, much of mainstream porn–if there is such a thing–appears to be calculated to separate the depiction of sex as far as possible from the genuine responses of the people involved, and to be shot with folks who scarcely even look human, increasing that emotional distance still more. It doesn’t draw the viewer in; it doesn’t create an emotional connection between the scene and the viewer; its inauthenticity actually encourages the viewer not to empathize with the actors or even, really, consider them as human beings at all.

The objectification, then, takes place at the point at which the porn is consumed, not the point at which it is made. The real experiences of the actors becomes entirely irrelevant.

Now, this line of reasoning opens up several potential cans of worms–a whole bait factory of worms, in fact, not the least of which are

  • At what point do the feelings of the people involved cease to be relevant, and the experiences of the viewers become most relevant? What if some viewers identify with the folks involved, but other viewers do not?
  • If the people who produce a depiction of sexual activity, and the people who are involved in the sexual activity, are fully engaged in it, but the people who watch it are not, does the viewer’s experience or the experience of the people involved define the caliber of the experience?
  • Is objectification even a bad thing? I would argue that, like everything else, it’s contextual; after all, examples of objectification abound. A professional basketball player is valued by his fans for his skill at the game, not for his humanity; ditto for the Colgate commercial model. Hell, one could even argue that the stars in a conventional Hollywood movie are being objectified; sure, the audience is engaged (if it’s a good movie), and sure they’re identifying with and connecting to the characters on the screen–but the expressions and feelings of the actors aren’t real. The audience is connecting with the actor’s character, not the actor himself…though I fear by this point I’ve distorted the original argument all out of shape.

But those questions are not the real interesting part.

The real interesting part is the implication for porn in general.

Now, I’m not that big a consumer of porn. The mainstream stuff in particular does little for me, for (among other things) exactly the reasons figmentj was talking about–the inauthenticity and the bizarre, weird-looking people in it.

On those occasions when I am interested in porn, my tastes tend to run to things that are a little more…umm, unconventional. I’m quite fond of the sort of stuff that kink.com produces–you know, bondage, S&M, humiliation play, that sort of thing.

Kink.com takes a lot of heat for the movies they produce. Take all the standard arguments against porn and crank them up to eleven; as a society, we’ve always been just fine with violence but a bit less OK with it when it’s combined by sex. A movie of a woman bound on all fours in an iron framework being simultaneously spanked and sodomized is, in short, bound to get folks talking, and not in good ways.

Yet the one thing you can say about this particular species of porn is that the reactions of the people involved are authentic.

Which is why I dig it. It works for me because the responses of the folks involved are authentic; it works for me for exactly the same reason that objectification play works for me.

And that means, at least for me, that this tied-down, cock-up-the-ass objectifying porn…isn’t objectifying at all.

I don’t get Twitter.

And it’s not just because I’m a long-winded bastard, though that’s definitely true. (I can remember my elementary school days, when I’d come back to face another school year after a glorious summer of building rockets, tinkering with electronics, and shunning my peers, and the teacher would ask us to write a 250 word essay about what we did over summer vacation. “Two hundred and fifty words!” I’d wail. “How can I ever write two hundred and fifty words??!“. Nowadays, two hundred and fifty words isn’t even enough to write the introduction to what I did last weekend. But I digress.)

It’s more that I don’t really understand what the value is in sending out regular blips to the world explaining what I’m doing. It seems to me that if I’m doing something interesting, like tying someone to the bed and fisting her, I’m unlikely to stop what I’m doing to Twitter about it (and wouldn’t you really rather read the full version later, anyway?), and if what I’m doing allows me to stop and Twitter about it, it probably isn’t very interesting. “Waiting for potatoes to boil,” for example. (Which is, honestly, what I’m doing right now. figmentj has drafted me to help with the Thanksgiving cooking; those of you who know my cooking skills are probably reeling in stark raving terror right about now. But again, I digress.)

It seems to me that Twitter is really only ideal for those times when you’re doing something interesting but you also can type about it on your cell phone, and I can’t think of very many cases like that. Falling out of a burning airplane, maybe:

Mixed blessing. Survived the explosion, but…

Wow. Sure is cold. The ground is very far away.

Falling faster now. 9.8m/sec2 is a bitch.

hard 2 type. hands stiff. lots of wind.

kthxbai.

So, those of you who use Twitter, what am I missing?

It’s almost Thanksgiving!

Heading out in a little less than five hours to hop on a jet plane to go see figmentj for Thanksgiving.

Actually, I take that back. I’m not hopping on a jet plane, I’m hopping in a jet plane. Screw riding on the plane; it’s too cold for that.

I’m told it’s rather cold in New Jersey at the moment as well, so apparently a good part of the vacation will be spent watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In my entire life, I’ve seen one episode all the way through, and parts of another two or maybe three episodes; this is apparently a horrifying and appalling state of affairs which figmentj intends to set to rights.


In the past, I’ve tended to be a little cynical about Thanksgiving–that national holiday where we celebrate the arrogance and poor planning of the early Pilgrims, who came to this land in search of freedom from religious tyranny so that they could impose their own, even more brutal brand of religious tyranny, and whose spectacular failures to make any sort of reasonable preparation for the winter meant that their sorry asses needed to be saved by the generosity and good will of their local neighbors, whom they would one day repay in kind by exterminating. This early experiment with socialism is mirrored today in a government that’s hanging out $1.5 trillion dollars, or nearly $5,000 for every American man, woman, and child, to financial institutions in order to reward them for a decade of corruption, greed, and recklessness on a scale that would make Ken Lay blush.

So, yeah. Down on Thanksgiving.

But really, the fact is there’s a great deal in my life that I am thankful for, and I don’t always acknowledge those things. So maybe a day of thanksgiving isn’t necessarily such a bad idea, religious persecution and extermination of entire classes of indigenous people aside.

In no particular order, the things I am thankful for include:

– My sweeties, each of whom enriches my life and each of whom I am privileged and honored to be able to share some part of my life with. figmentj, for her constant reality checks that help keep me intellectually and emotionally honest. zaiah, for opening doors that I never even knew existed and for teaching me things about myself even as she has allowed me to explore her. Shelly, one of my own personal heros, simply for being who she is, and for acting as a shining light of courage, dedication, and resolve that helps to show us some of the best of the human condition. joreth, for an unswerving dedication to intellectual rigor in a society awash with anti-intellectualism. Gina, for being an unexpected treasure in my life who’s helped show me whole new interests. dayo, for exploring with me, dancing with me, traveling with me, and just generally being one hell of a sexy woman.

– The small handful of IT abuse people who actually care about their networks and their servers, and who restore my faith in humanity so badly battered by the likes of iPower and ESTdomains.

– The fact that I live in a time, in a society, and in a position where I need not fear going hungry, and have enough leisure time to pursue those things that interest me. This is something that the overwhelming majority of human beings who have ever lived can not say, and even today the bulk of the people on the planet can not say.

– The fact that I have not (yet) been imprisoned for my religious, political, or sexual views, which is something that even today many people can’t say. (Though it would seem that, particularly for sexual views, that’s something that is best not taken for granted; apparently, cartoon drawings of sex can sometimes get one prosecuted in this country.)

– My circle of friends, even though most of you are long-distance now; I have surrounded myself with smart, independent people of the highest integrity and character imaginable, and I’m grateful for it.

-The existence of an instantaneous, always-on global communication network that allows me to disseminate ideas and connect with like-minded people in a way that has for almost all of human history been impossible.

– The existence of the James Randi Educational Foundation and other efforts to free society of flim-flam, superstition, and anti-intellectual gobbledygook in all its many guises.

– Bacon. Mmm, bacon.

– Infrastructure. We spend far too little time acknowledging the efforts of the people who make our toilets flush and our garbage go away, even though, in a direct and literal sense, our lives depend on what they do.

Fracking bloody LiveJournal anyway

I’ve got the setting turned on on LJ to email me when someone posts a comment to one of my posts or posts a reply to one of my comments. It usually works okay; I get about 90% of the notifications, most of the time, and things go pretty well. Occasionally a notification never makes it to my email, when the Intertubes get clogged or something.

Over the last 48 hours, I have received between three and five copies of every notification email for posts going back several weeks.

Now, just to give you an idea of what that means, my post about tattoos, porn, and respect for women has received, at the time of this writing, 119 comments (including mine). I’ve received at least three emailed copies of every one of those comments in the last two days–as well as multiple copies of every post made in the last week or two, including my post from my iPhone this morning.

Is it just me? Have I done something to offend the God of IMAP? Do I need to dance widdershins naked around a router, Ethernet cables braided through my hair, to appease the offended deities? Should I meditate at a temple dedicated to BIND, hoping to learn through introspection of the folly of my ways? Or is this a more general calamity, like a digital plague of locusts, signaling the Tribulation and the End Times?

Well, hell, revisited

Pulling into the parking lot at work today, some guy looking over his shoulder and not paying attention plowed right into the side of my car. Fer Chrissakes, WTF is it with me and cars lately?? Sitting in my car waiting for the cops to show. Grr.

Biochemistry and sex…and hey, multiple orgasms!

A few days ago, someone on my flist posted something that had a casual mention of a drug that is used to cause lactation. I don’t remember who it was, or what the post was actually about, see, but I ended up getting sucked down the Intertubes for hours because if ot, and it was some hours before I re-surfaced in the middle of a lake many miles away.

Lactation in human beings is largely mediated by a hormone called, naturally enough, “prolactin.” But that’s not the interesting bit. The interesting bit is about sex.

This is prolactin. It’s a hormone produced by human beings in the breast during breast feeding (it causes the production of milk) and in the brain during orgasm. As is typical with many hormones, it serves double duty and has a number of different roles; evolutionary biology never starts with a clean slate, so we get hormones in one part of the body repurposed to do something completely different in another part of the body (and we also get fucked-up design night mares like the knee…but I digress).

Its role in the brain is interesting. it’s what keeps you from wanting to fuck all the time.

When (most) people have an orgasm, there’s a drop in sexual arousal immediately afterward. There’s usually a refractory period, during which you can’t get off again, and there’s a generalized, overall decrease in libido. The length of time it lasts varies all over the map; for some folks it’s a few minutes, for other folks it’s the rest of the day, or at least until the rerun of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” is over. Prolactin is the cause.

When it’s released in the brain during and after orgasm, the role of prolactin is to stomp all over your arousal like it was a narc at a biker rally. A while ago, a bunch of scientists far better at getting funded than I am worked out a way to get paid for watching people masturbate; they found some heroic volunters, hooked them up to blood sampling equipment, then monitored the levels of various hormones in their blood while the volunteers masturbated to orgasm. The experiment was repeated with volunteers who could experience multiple orgasms.

What they found, aside from the fact that getting paid to watch women masturbate is really hot, is that the production of prolactin is directly correlated to the post-orgasmic crash; the prolactin remains in the body for hours (or longer); while the level of prolactin is high, arousal is difficult or impossible; and people who have multiple orgasms don’t have this spike in prolactin in their blood after they get off.

All this, I already knew.


Being the transhumanist that I am, which is often just a way of saying being the pragmatist that I am, I’ve long thought that the easiest path to becoming multiply orgasmic would probably be to develop a drug that blocks the action of prolactin. Snap, job done. Take a pill, get off again and again and again and again. And then some more after that.

What I didn’t realize was that such drugs already exist.

So here I am, reading LJ, and I find a passing reference to a drug that induces lactation. Since I hadn’t heard of it before, I do what I always do with novel words or ideas–I consulted the Oracle at Google.

The Oracle at Google is wise and all-knowing, but she can also be a temperamental and difficult oracle, for she often sows her information with the seeds of more things you didn’t know, which in turn lead to more things you didnt know, and still more things you didn’t know, inducing you to submerge yourself in the waters of human knowledge and not come up for air until you’re reading about the history of Hadrian’s Wall when all you’d asked for was perhaps the best ways to trim a cat’s claws.

Anyway, lactation can be induced in women by means of drugs that enhance the action of prolactin, or that stimulate prolactin production. Lactation can also be prevented, naturally enough, by drugs which block the effects of prolactin, of which there are two, cabergoline and bromocriptine.

Now, there are a lot of other reasons why you might want to block prolactin, which have nothing to do with lactation. Excess prolactin is responsible for a number of other conditions; certain forms of pituitary disease cause excess levels of prolactin, which can lead to cancers, arthritis and other autoimmune diseases, and a whole host of other stuff you don’t want. So there’s a medical need for drugs that block prolactin.

As it turns out, there’s a relationship between prolactin and a completely different compound, the neurotransmitter dopamine. Dopamine also serves multiple functions. It’s the neurotransmitter that signals nerves in your voluntary motor centers of your brain; when you think about moving your arm, your motor centers produce dopamine, which turns into the nerve impulses that make your arm actually move.

It’s also a key component of the so-called “reward center” of the brain that mediates feelings of pleasure; when you delight in anything from a beautiful painting to the knowledge that you’re getting paid to watch people masturbate, dopamine is the reason. And dopamine mediates much of the sexual system of the brain, including the functions that cause physical arousal.

Dopamine and prolactin are mutually antagonistic. Dopamine tends to inhibit the function and production of prolactin, and excess prolactin tends to inhibit the function of dopamine. For that reasons, things that are antagonistic to prolactin tend to enhance the function or quantity of dopamine in the brain, and vice-versa.

Okay, so here’s where things get really cool.


There is a devastating disease called Parkinson’s disease which results in gradual, irreversible destruction of the dopamine-producing cells in the motor area of the brain, which leads to gradual, creeping paralysis. Because it’s caused by the loss of dopamine-producing cells, anything which acts to stimulate the production of dopamine in the brain will tend to reverse the paralysis, so dopamine-enhancing drugs are often used to treat Parkinson’s.

Now, as I’ve already mentioned, drugs that block prolactin tend to enhance dopamine, and vice versa. The drug bromocriptine is a prolactin antagonist and a dopamine agonist; for that reason, it’s often used to treat both Parkinson’s disease and certain pituitary disorders that cause excess prolactin production. The down side is that it has a number of fairly nasty side effects in some people, including such unpleasantness as psychosis.

Cabergoline is another drug that works the same way as bromocriptine; like bromocriptine, cabergoline is used to treat Parkinson’s disease and pituitary disease. It, too, blocks prolactin and enhances dopamine, and it has fewer nasty side effects.

One interesting side effect reported in both men and women being treated for things like Parkinson’s is multiple orgasms.

Which is a hell of a side effect, if you ask me.

In fact, cabergoline (and, to a lesser extent, bromocriptine) are sometimes prescribed off-label to counteract the sexual side effects of antidepressants (which modify the action of dopamine), and as treatments for sexual dysfunction.

So it turns out, as is often the case, that not only was I right in thinking that a prolactin-blocking drug might allow folks to have multiple orgasms, but that, as usual, other folks had already beaten me to the punch.

The moral lesson here is to be careful what you write about in your LiveJournal. The simple mention of an unfamiliar word can suck someone down into the bowels of the Internet for hours on end, and not only that, can spread viral-like through LiveJournal psts to other folks, who may get sucked down for hours on end plumbing the depths of biochemistry or stellar nucleosynthesis, as this post in shiva-kun‘s journal so aptly shows. In the interests of getting things done in the office, I hereby ask that all the folks on my friends list refrain from posting anything interesting, and instead confine themselves to discussions of reruns of “Friends” for the next three days, kay?

Coping with the Cold

It’s been obnoxiously, brutally cold1 here the past few days.

David and I shut off the heater when we leave for work, to save money on the gas bill. Liam the kittycat stays home all day and gets into trouble, usually of the “knocking stuff off of shelves and rummaging around on the counter looking for shiny balls of aluminum foil to play with” variety.

I think even he’s been feeling a bit chilly lately, though. When I got home from work yesterday and logged on to WoW, Liam went to sleep next to me under the covers, with his nose buried beneath a pillow:

Poor li’l guy.


1 “Obnoxiously cold” meaning “in the 30s and 40s.” Yeah, I’m a Florida boy. Shut up.