Sandal Accident, and Response.

The other week I was walking up to the local quarry park up the main road on the sidewalk, and the sole of my right sandal was already coming off a little bit at the tip, and somehow that caught on the pavement on an upstep, and my entire shoe dragged back, and I saw a(n elderly) (Chinese) man walking toward me and laughing at me because he had noticed what had happened to me.

It took me a couple more steps to realize that the actual strap part of the sandal got tore off along the left side; it's a Teva-like sandal, and everything still kept on my feet, though the left side of the sole started to dip as I walked, since the left half of the strap wasn't really attached to it anymore, at least along the front.

A story of my one (straight) friend who's into BDSM.

So, one of my other convention-going colleagues told me his school and area, and as soon as he said that, I was like, "Oh, that's funny, a friend of mine applied for that job, I think!".

"Who's your friend?', he's like, and as soon as I said the name of my one (straight) friend who's into BDSM (though of course I didn't say he was into BDSM), it turns out that he knows him, since they both went to the same regional conference when they were both getting their Ph.Ds.

"My phone is dying," he was like, "But we have to get a picture together at some point and send it to him."

Then, he was also like, "And I'll have to tell you the story of the first time I met him, though he hates that."

Much later, then, after a bunch of us went out for drinks, he finally was like, "So, I should tell you that story about how I met [my one (straight) friend who's into BDSM's first name]," and he laughed.

"Man, he really gets embarrassed by this," he was like, chuckling to himself, and then he began telling the story.

So, I guess a bunch of them met at a conference, and they got hammered with a(n Argentine) friend and went to drink at a bar with bad service, and since they couldn't get the bartender's attention and were sitting by the tap, the (Argentine) guy started putting their glasses under the tap and flicking it and pulling them all free beers, until they finally got caught and thrown out of the bar.

After that, they get back to the hotel, and one of them is like, "Let's go for the Jacuzzi!", and they get into an argument with the (Indian) manager, who tells them that the Jacuzzi is closed, but somehow they end up getting into the room with the Jacuzzi and into their bathing suits and all hanging around in the Jacuzzi together.

So, there's like four of them, this guy, my friend, the Argentine, and this other colleague of theirs who is gay, and as the (gay) guy and my one (straight) friend who's into BDSM start talking, they both discover they're into BDSM.

"[My one (straight) friend who's into BDSM's first name] is into S and M," he broke out of the story to tell all of us, lowering his voice confidentially and matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I know," I was like, and at that one of the other people asked what S and M is.

"Sadomasochism," he was like.

"Oh," they were like.

Then, he continued on.

So, after the gay guy and my one friend discovered they're both into BDSM, they pretty soon get out of the Jacuzzi and disappear into the nearby changing room, and all of a sudden the 2 guys left in the Jacuzzi start hearing THUMP (scream and moan of the gay guy) - THUMP (scream and moan of the gay guy) - THUMP (scream and moan of the gay guy).

After a bit of that, they both come out, and the gay guy's arm is all bruised, and his hand is cut up and bleeding.

"His hand was bleeding?", I was like.  "Fucked up."

"Yeah," he was like, "But I think it was from leaning against the radiator."

Then, he began talking about something else.

"So that's the story?", I was like.

"Yeah," he was like.

"Interesting," I was like.  "I was waiting for the Indian manager to catch everyone."

"No," he was like.  "We got done in the Jacuzzi and left."

A Convention-going Colleague's Stories (2 of 2): Radical parenting.

That same colleague also was saying that his parents were both hippies and his mother a radical at Berkeley, and that every once in a while he gets bummed at the state of things and starts telling them how their generation "elected Reagan, twice."

"Fuck you, buster!", his mom is usually like, "I was at People's Park!"

Occasionally, too, she'll mix it up and be like, "Fuck you, buster, I was gassed by Reagan!" (i.e., when Reagan was governor of California).

Isn't that just the best parental response ever?

"Fuck you, buster, I was at People's Park!".

That "fuck you, buster!" is such a great stock line.  The 'buster' really mellows out the 'fuck you' and makes it come off as cute. 

It makes me like his mom a lot.

A Convention-going Colleague's Stories (1 of 2): Catholic college.

Before the cabride home, one of my convention-going colleagues was talking about teaching at a Catholic college, and since he was raised in a small community where everyone was raised liberal Catholic, he didn't even know there were other ways of being Catholic until he got to be a prof at a small West Coast school and came across some conservative Catholic students.

"It can be odd," he was like.  "Somehow the state of the school came up, and they said the problem was that the President didn't have enough authority!"

Then, he paused and gulped and then continued on.

"I mean, that's some kinky proto-fascist bullshit, right there!"

Dang my cryptic blogging notes...

...from my Detroit trip -

"pics of pics of Obama" -

which was where I saw (African-American) people taking pictures of pictures of Obama, and I thought to myself, how much that president is loved.

I forget all other contextualizing details, however, which is too bad.

I remember that the situation was interesting.

Two Detroit sights:

1) Late at night, me and some other convention goers go to get a cab back to the hotel from being out drinking on the main stretch in town, and the (older) (white bearded) (Pakistani) cab driver says that his meter isn't working, and it's only $15 back to the hotel.

We look at each other, decide to get out, and hail a cab, and that cab driver says no problem, he'll put his meter on.

It's only a bit over $6 back, and we later find out that some people who came home in another cab got charged a flat $12 by their driver.

"You never see cabbies claiming that their meter doesn't work, at least in the U.S.," one of my convention-going colleagues was like.

2) While walking down this busy restaurant strip, this (late middle-aged) (black) (homeless?) guy careens along, holding out to people going by little American flag toothpicks, hoping for money in return.

News from my one trans* hairstylist.

So, the other week my one trans* hairstylist was telling me about this bank robbery at the bank branch at the other end of the mini-mall parking lot across the street from the salon.

"It was the other afternoon when I was working, and all of a sudden all these police cars were out there!", she was like.

"That's crazy," I was like.

"Actually, it happens a lot," she was like.  "At least a couple times in the past few months."

. . .

I found that odd, the neighborhood is pretty nice overall, it's not something that you think would happen.