altenra calls herself my “two-day-a-year friend.” I met her last year, when I was in San Francisco for MacWorld, my own personal hajj, my yearly pilgrimage to Mecca.

altenra knows San Francisco the way Niccolo Machiavelli knows the secret heart of man. When I met her last year, standing beneath an enormous neon sign reading “Virgin,” she offered to take me on a walking tour of San Francisco which, some eighteen miles later, left me limping around the West Coast’s most famous landmarks, and later made every step at MacWorld a constant source of agony.

Shelly and I had by this time already established our reputations among the staff of the Mosser Hotel as “the perverts of room 407.” This was partly accidental, owing to the unfortunate discovery of Shelly’s collection of sex toys by an unsuspecting maid, and partly the result of the conjunction of thin walls, strong sexual appetite, and Shelly’s amazing vocal talent.

It should be noted as an aside that when Shelly and I first became lovers, she warned me that she has a very low libido. This may have been true at one time, but as we were to discover, it was more a matter of her circumstance than it was of her fundamental nature. Her fundamental nature, once revealed, is the stuff of which legends are made.

Nevertheless, it eventually transpired that we wanted to play the role of the tourist. Shelly also saw a need to procure some of the miscellaneous items that one inevidably neglects to pack and discovers that one needs in any cross-country trip, such as over-the-counter painkillers, a better pair of walking shoes, and a strap-on dildo. So it was a blessing to have available the services of a talented and knowledgeable tour guide such as altenra.

Visiting San Francisco in the company of altenra is a treat. She knows the best places to eat, the most magnificant views of the city, the hidden attractions that might be missed by a casual tourist. She knows the city’s public transportation system better than the people who designed it. She knows the best sex toy shops.

But she was faced with a dilemma.

On my trip last year, she had already shown me the obvious places to see, and San Francisco is, after all, a finite place. What to do on a second visit?

What more was there to do? At that point, nothing but the hidden place that had the most magnificient view of the city ever imaginable to God or man, and a visit to an S&M sex club where Shelly and I can share an experience that will help her discover aspects of herself as a person that she had before only barely been able to conceptualize.

Though it might not seem possible, I did actually attend the MacWorld Expo, the reason for my trip to San Francisco in the first place.

The Mac rumor mills had been speculating about what Steve Jobs might have to offer at the keynote address. Some said it would be the most boring keynote ever; others suggested Steve might announce a new iPod, or perhaps something new on the MacOS X front. All agreed that the one thing everyone could be sure of was that Apple would not be introducing any new computers this year.

Everyone was wrong.

On the software front, Apple debuted new versions of the iApps, the consumer “digital lifestyle” applications that work with digital cameras, create digital movies and DVDs, and do it all more easily, gracefully, and elegantly than anything on Windows.

On the hardware front, Steve introduced a very slick piece of skiing and snowboarding gear–a specially constructed jacket, thermally insulated, with a secret pocket for an iPod and controls built into the sleeve to select, skip, and rewind songs.

And two new computers.

Two new sexy computers.

Two new objects of lust to make the most carnal thoughts of Larry Flynt seem like the passing daydreams of an innocent young lad.

Specifically, two new notebook computers that are not really computational tools so much as the embodiment on physical form of every technolust fetish in the innermost mind and heart of the geek. One has a marvelous 17″ screen, beautiful aluminum keys with a fiber-optic network beneath them that makes them glow from within in low light, and a lightness and thinness that inspires lust at a touch; the other, a miniature marvel so sexy you just want to lick it.

He even declared war on Microsoft and Netscape, debuting a brand-new browser that gets right what all the other Web browsers get wrong.

On the vendor front, it was almost a wash. Quark was conspicuous, as is an OS X native version of QuarkXPress, only by its absence. The professional pre-press and graphic art front is playing the game of “this year, same as the last.” The new companies that normally appear at MacWorld, selling software and gadgets on the cutting edge of cool, were nowhere to be seen.

Even the classes, for the most part, were a wash. The “expert” leading the seminar on scanning for print was so woefully ignorant of the basics of print production and halftoning that it was embarrassing and painful to watch. Bob LeVitus, who introduced the new “Dockie” awards for shareware and freeware apps, enjoys talking about himself more than anything else. And I didn’t score any interesting swag.

But there was the T-shirt.

Connectix, a company famous for stocking its trade-show booths with nubile women, was selling T-shirts with the word “Switch” emblazoned on the front, in apparent ignorance of the fact that the word carries a very specific meaning in the S&M community. Imagine, if you will, a computer software company featuring shirts bearing the word “Gay” or “Straight” or “Kinky” on the front, in utter benighted ignorance of the fact that those words carry meaning beyond “happy” or “not crooked” or “wavy,” and you’ll have the idea.

Shelly and I simply had to have one. We both now can wear the word “Switch” proudly; indeed, I wore mine to the Power Exchange. Thank you, Connectix, makers of Virtual PC, which is apparently what the T-shirt is supposed to promote.

I also had the opportunity to catch up with my old college roommate chipotle, who moved to the San Francisco area recently in search of a tech job. We spent some time ont he exhibit floor together, he and I and Shelly, basking in all that is geek. I was also able to spend time with feorlen and Steve, as we discussed the possible applications for BlueTooth-enabled sex toys.

Computers and sex. They just seem so right together.

Normally, I do not make New Year’s resolutions. In fact, I have never made a New year’s resolution before.

However, in the interests of bettering myself as a person, this year I thought, “Why not?” After all, we all have areas we can improve, right? So why not?

For 2003, this is my New Year’s resolution:

This year, I resolve to use my powers for evil.

That is all.

K: This ice cream is really good, but it’s giving me a headache.

Me: Isn’t it interesting how sometimes the things that bring us pleasure give us pain as well?

K: Yeah, but it’s okay, I have some aspirin.

*sigh*

The Good:

Back in Florida, finally. No more 20-degree weather!

On the plane ride back, i sat next to a man who works in the field of injection molding. We talked about doing a production run of Symphony cases by injection molding, which could end up saving rather a lot of money. And to think I don’t believe in fate…

Spending a quiet and intimate New Year’s with kellyv, Shelly, smoocherie, and a handful of other close friends.

Thursday, I get to see an old friend from Seattle I haven’t seen in almost seven years.

Saturday, leaving with Shelly for San Francisco!

The Bad:

Stuffy head, headache…please, God, let it be allergies, not an oncoming cold.

The Kinky:

A certain girlfriend who shall remain nameless for the moment has been very, very bad in my absence. Not only has she failed to complete the assignment I left for her while I was away, but she has also had an unauthorized orgasm as well.

So now she needs to be disciplined. It’s unfortunate, but this sort of disobedience can’t be allowed to slide. Clearly, she needs to be punished severely or she will continue this behavior. I may post more on this matter later.

This morning, I was yelled at most thoroughly by Lucy, one of my inlaws’ cats.

I don’t know what I did to provoke her, but she was certainly unhappy about something, and let me know about it in no uncertain terms–sitting at my feet and yowling up at me before turning her back on me and walking away. I could swear that cat did it contemptuously, too.

Most animals love me. These cats are the rare exception.

At least the cat is more honest than I am–and than my inlaws are.

We’ve been spending the week being civil to one another, and trying very hard to pretend that we don’t have complete and utter disdain for one another’s philosophies, habits, attitudes, beliefs, and likely future destination. It’s driving me crazy. I’ve been hiding in the computer room, working on my web site and staying the hell out of everyone’s way.

New Years will be spent with my intentional family–kellyv, Shelly, and her sweeties smoocherie and Fritz. It should be a much more relaxed and comfortable time–and one I’m really looking forward to.

I’m leaving for San Francisco on the morning of January 4, where I’ll be for a week. Still haven’t booked my hotel reservations yet, because I’m a bad person. Back in time for PolyTampa, then down to Miami for a graphics show. The merry-go-round, she still be spinnin’…

First, though, surviving the next few days with the inlaws and their cats.

According to lordfuckbeast, I’m jaded. To be fair, he claims he’s jaded as well; but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s right. I am jaded.

Jaded enough, at least, that a trip to the sex-toy store isn’t really anything particularly special. It’s just like shopping for anything else…”Let’s see, I need a set of nipple clamps, better pick up a dildo while I’m here…hmm, now I have to go put gas in my car and drop off the movies at Blockbuster…”

But not so jaded that nothing cranks my motor.

Last week, I bought a very nice leather crop as a Christmas gift for Shelly, the new and utterly unexpected person in my life. Rather than buy it at a toy store, where it would no doubt be higher in cost and lower in quality, I went shopping for her at a tack store.

I’ve never been in a tack store before. And once I walked in the door, it was a positively pornographic.

My God. The leather, the crops, the whips…I’d barely made it three steps in the door before tmy heart was racing and my hands were sweating and my…never mind. I felt like a kid who’s never been to a candy store–nay, never even imagined a candy store…before.

So now I’m on their mailing list. 🙂 And the world is a slightly more dangerous place…

Friday, I was charged with bringing a client’s Apple G4 desktop system to the local Apple service center for repair; the cache RAM had failed and the computer was still under warranty.

The Apple store is in a local mall. The mall was, as you might expect, quite busy.

I have a lousy sense of direction. This means I parked on the wrong side of the mall, and had to lug the computer–all 42 pounds(!) of it–all the way through the mall.

It was an interesting lesson in lust and covetousness.

I got stares, covert and overt, of pure distilled lust; whistles; and all manner of attention. Interesting side note: It’s not just men who covet fast computers; women do too, in about equal numbers.

Sadly, it was for the computer, not for me. And yet, strangely, I didn’t really care. I rather liked the attention anyway. Even from people who would no doubt have been quite pleased to useme for my computer. And even though it wasn’t even my computer to begin with.

Hmm. What does that say about me?

Photocopying your bum at the office Christmas party is hazardous to your health.

Same is true, apparently, for staple-gun fights. Who knew?

Everybody just…stay safe out there, ‘kay?

From an unknown source, possibly George Carlin:

Four for Fore

We’ll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes;
but the plural of ox became oxen not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
If the plural of man is always called men,
why shouldn’t the plural of pan be called pen?

If I spoke of my foot and show you my feet,
and give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
why shouldn’t the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and three would be those,
yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
and the plural of cat is cats, and not cose.

We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
but we say mother, we never say methren
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
but imagine the feminine, she, shis and shim.

So here are some reasons to be grateful if you learned to speak English by immersion:

>The bandage was wound around the wound.
>The farm was used to produce produce.
>The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
> He could lead if her would get the lead out.
> The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
> Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
> At the Army base, a bass was painted on the head of a bass drum.
> When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
> I did not object to the object.
> The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
> There was a row among the row of oarsmen about how to row.
> The buck does funny things when the does are present.
> After a number of Novocain injections, my jaw got number.

Let’s face it – English is tough.

There is no egg in eggplant not ham in hamburger; neither apple or pine in pineapple. English muffins weren’t invented in England or French Fries in France. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren’t so sweet, are meat.

We find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. And why is it that writers write but fingers don’t fing, grocers don’t groce and hammers don’t ham?

Doesn’t it seem strange that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one, what do you call it? If teachers taught, why didn’t preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?

In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell? How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which an alarm goes off by going on, and when the stars are out, they are visible, but when a light is out, it’s invisible.