Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Two Things: Part 2

Reprinting this from Whack! Magazine... it's all true, kids. Quake in fear.




The world’s first functional sex robot, Roxxxy True Companion, was unveiled this weekend with a flourish of tech talk and barely-concealed boners at the Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas, Nevada, much to the delight of horny hand-humpers and socially incompetent solo strokers everywhere, and to the terror of this usually randy reporter. The thing is, folks, we here at WHACK! love sex, and we love porn, and we love most things that go along with both of these, but robots? Well, they kind of freak us out. True, that may be because, like many porn lovers, we have seen far too many sci-fi movies. But it’s also true that sci-fi movies about the world being destroyed by techno gadgets—like humanoid sex robots—spring from a deep well of human uncertainty about just how far we should be willing to go with androids. With Roxxxy True Companion, the whole point is going all the way.

The robot has been in development for years after it started out as a possible form of future elder care (that’s right, folks, someday you’ll be able to cancel all your awkward visits to Grandma and her cats, and instead just buy her a robot to meet all her conversational needs!), then morphed into a more humpable piece of creepy-ass robot technology. Roxxxy is a life-sized, anatomically correct robotic woman, but she’s got more than most sex dolls: a functional pussy, and, somewhat ironically, a brain. Using military grade robotics technology, together with “sandbox” data technology and an AI system that learns both from its environment and its parent database, True Companion calls her “The World’s First Sex Robot: always turned on and ready to talk or play.” Sounds pretty formidable, huh? Pretty Blade Runner-esque?

Well, not entirely. Roxxxy won’t be running around toting weapons any time soon. The wireless computer that comprises Roxxxy’s brain sits inside an almost entirely motionless body, the first finished sample of which sat on the couch at the True Companion booth at AEE, looking for all the world like a very surprised and be-wigged, but not particularly attractive blow up doll propped up on a couch. Roxxxy is posable, but she doesn't really do much except sit there in whatever pose you choose. Roxxxy is not a robot in the moving/talking/Terminator vein at all, nor are there plans to turn her into a more positioning-friendly fuckbot. Because, weirdly enough, although Roxxxy has all the right parts and can even have a physical, muscle-tensing orgasm thanks to an internal engine, it’s not really her physicality that’s the point. And that’s probably a good thing—not to be callous to such a young, impressionable gynoid, but Roxxxy is not exactly the sexiest sexbot you’ll ever see. She’s not very soft (although she does come in two different skin types, one tougher and easier to clean and care for, the other more like flesh; the model at AEE was in her tough exterior), and the permanent look on her face is somewhere between pissing-herself terror, blank incomprehension, and “Oh my god why is he trying to get me up the ass? I don’t have an asshole, I’m a robot!” surprise. She has cankles. She’s not exactly model material. Rather, like many less-than-stunning women in this world, it’s her shining personality that counts. And that’s where things get weird.



Roxxxy True Companion isn’t just a sex doll; she’s a girlfriend replacement for the hopeless horndogs out there looking for conversation and, dear god, even romance (can you imagine sitting down to a romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day and seeing the guy at the next table with his robot companion? It might happen sooner than you think). Every doll sold will be custom built with a pre-loaded database of information and vocabulary on a variety of subjects her owner—er, boyfriend—chooses. She’ll come with five pre-loaded personalities that each have their own pre-programmed sets of knowledge and vocabulary, and responses to physical and mood-appropriate stimuli (Frigid Farrah, Wild Wendy, S&M Susan, Young, and Mature Martha—each is pretty self-explanatory). The robot also comes with the capacity for building and storing new, owner-developed personalities. Each personality will have its own database and will be able to learn through its wireless connection to the True Companion database (constantly updating) in what’s called a trickle-down artificial intelligence model, but will also learn and remember things as she interacts with her Palmer—er, companion, in what’s known as a bottom-up AI system. For instance, as True Companion partner and developer Douglas Hines told WHACK!, if you have an interest in music, you can order a Roxxxy who knows all about music and can discuss, say, the intricacies of U2. But, if she hasn’t heard of your favorite band, you can teach her about them. When switched onto a different personality, however, you can teach her about a different band, or whatever else it is you want to talk to that girlfriend about, until you have a whole harem of women, each of whom you can discuss different topics with.

But, cock jockeys, lest ye be turned off by a “woman” who can talk: Roxxxy learns in other ways, too. Each personality can be programmed to respond differently to the way you like to handle her. That’s right, Frigid Farrah can be taught to orgasm after 45 minutes of hard penetration, but you can get Mature Martha to come in seconds if you want. Unlike those pesky real women with animated limbs and free will, Roxxxy is guaranteed to come every time you make love to her. Score one point for robots over real women!



As of now, the Roxxxy we met at AEE was the only one in existence, but she will be replicated soon and go up for sale at between $7,000 and $9,000, depending on her customizations. All things considered, a relationship with a real woman that lasts more than a few months inevitably costs much more, so again, score for the sexbot!

Really, in the end, we here at WHACK! are still creeped out by robots. I mean, really, how will you know when she’s learned too much and is starting to draw her own conclusions, think her own thoughts, and plot your sad, sex-related demise? If you fall in love with her artificial intelligence and/or vagina, how will you be able to see it coming when she bands together with all the other fembots to destroy humanity? I guess there’s hope in the fact that she can’t walk, and on that note, I guess the measure of cool gadgetry might outweigh the creep factor. After all, she’s not going to get up in the middle of the night and unlock your gun cabinet, so why not spend some time marveling at the sophistication of her AI brain? And furthermore, while we tend to mercilessly mock those of our readers who can’t get laid by a real woman, Mr. Hines of True Companion pointed out that Roxxxy could be a good jumping-off point for handicapped people, or those with social learning disabilities like Tourette Syndrome or autism. By simulating a real woman’s personality, Roxxxy could be a valuable learning—and also, let’s not forget, fucking—tool. And, I guess that’s pretty cool. As is the fact that she’s one of the most sophisticated pieces of AI equipment ever made. But the moment she starts walking around on her own—there are no plans to make her more mobile at the moment—we’ll have to reconsider. — Miss Lagsalot

Two Things: Part 1

Ok guys. I want to write stuff, but... Well... Here's where I am right now, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually:



...so I'm not getting much done. Bowie is pretty overwhelming.

Monday, January 4, 2010

?

I keep falling down in public. Not because I am drunk (although I may have been) but because of these new shoes of mine. Most the time they are the easiest thing in the world but on slight slopes sometimes they just skip out from under me and I'm on the ground.
I hate falling. It is embarrassing and almost demeaning and always a surprise. And I haven't been hurt by it, really, but it leaves me silently enraged and ashamed. And I storm off and refuse assistance, then go quiet as I ponder what a fool I am for having fallen where people could see me and assume things about me, like alcoholism and frailty. And then I regress,
And get on the subway, eyes darting around and brain trembling, and am certain that the girl in the doorway of the car is my old stalker from college, and shiver and weep when I sit down.
I would like, very much, a long vacation in a quiet place where nobody knows or cares for or about me, with just one person to keep me company on long, slow, wine and candles nights, to just be, and quietly so.
And nobody to see me fall, but to enjoy a quieted, unexpected but decadent rush of emotion, and a descent to a soft sleep with her in my arms.

Thursday, December 31, 2009

New Years Eve Wrap-up: or, ramblings from an early morning couch

So I just woke up on New Year's Eve, a vacation day for me, and saw that it has snowed about an inch and a half since I woke up to turn my alarm off at 7:45. The weather people had been predicting rain. This made me so happy that I got up before 10:00 (I know it's 10:00 now, but I had to get situated) with the idea of recounting how great this year has been, and with an earnest wish to the Universe that my 2010 can be as good.

This year:
-I rang in the New Year '09 at the Slipper Room watching pretty ladies do burlesque with some of my best friends in the world, on one of the coldest nights I can remember. We kept it warm with booze and dancing.
-My mother and little sister came to visit shortly thereafter, on the coldest weekend of the winter. But we still had fun by eating tons of sushi and peanut butter. (Not together.) And my mom came to my apartment and loved it, even though she had to acknowledge that the double bed is not only used by me.
-I went to New Orleans for the first time, and while there spent some time with some of the coolest people in the world, AND heard Old Crow Medicine Show and the Felice Brothers play Ziggy Stardust--on my BIRTHDAY. It really doesn't get better.
-I became a citizen in a country led by Barack Obama, in whom I still place a lot of trust. I think we're gonna come out of things ok, people, although I DO wish the public option hadn't been hacked to bits. There goes my hope for an independent future...
-I developed and indulged a very public terror of robots and slime molds.
-I got a story published in an anthology from Pergola Publishers!
-I got several stories and articles published in The Whiskey Dregs literary magazine.
-I celebrated St. Patrick's Day by walking around in the dark somewhere on Long Island only to be welcomed in by a family of super-Irish people who gave me beer and let me pretend to know the words to a bunch of Irish songs with them. In the morning they gave me cheeseburgers. It was magical, like a leprechaun.
-I met Phillipe Petit, the Man on Wire.
-I tried waxing my private bits for the first time, and I loved it! But it's pricey so I stopped.
-I gave into the trend and bought myself some skinny jeans, which I now love because they let me show off my awesome shoes.
-On a sadder note, my favorite cowboy boots bit the dust in the spring and have not been replaced yet. I must find the perfect pair. Along with them, the car that I drove to Chicago in from South Dakota to buy the cowboy boots in, then later drove to Chicago to live there, and in which I spent countless hours driving around playing loud music trying to overcome wicked bouts of depression... Also bit the dust...
-On sad notes, since we're going there, two of my great uncles and two of my cats died this year. Also, Michael Jackson, Ted Kennedy, Patrick Swayze, and David Carradine.
-One of my best friends moved to Kansas, of all the weird-ass things to do.
-On brighter notes, however, I went on two trips to North Carolina this past year. one just to visit my dear friend Gert, who showed me an excellent time, and again later to go on a beach vacation with my best, best friends in the world, Gert, Mich, Lib and her amazing babies, and Connor. Because I have always had to know better, I was one of the few who escaped without a horrendous sunburn.
-I started taking classes in publishing at CCNY, nailed the class I took in Copy Editing, and now may have a future in publishing if the writing thing doesn't work out.
-I went to Centralia, the eternally-on-fire town in Pennsylvania, and had whacky adventures.
-I did some really cool modeling projects, which you can check out if you'd like at http://www.modelmayhem.com/864844
-I stopped taking the anti-inflammatory pills I've been on since elementary school, which had been working on giving me a stomach ulcer, and started on the much-more-painful self-injected Enbril, which has made me feel like a human being again, even though it sucks when I inject it. YAY!
-I started writing a column for McSweeney's Internet Tendency.
-I told my parents about this column, and thus about my involvement in the smut biz. They didn't disown me!
-Before telling them about the smut thing, I organized and brought into being a gigantic 60th birthday party for my parents.
-I started writing for Whack! Magazine.
-I went to my first-ever porn convention, where I met and was fondled by Ron Jeremy and hung out after-hours with Jenna Haze, Lexi Love, Sean Michaels, Mr. Marcus, Joanna Angel, and on and on and on...
-I did a presentation on swingers at Nerd Nite at Galapagos Art Space which was very well received (and attended a bunch of other Nerd Nites, at which I met some really cool people like Shyaporn).
-I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge for the first time, after drinking for free at Nerd Nite for about five hours. I skipped most of the way and sang songs from Newsies with a girl I had never met before.
-I saw many concerts--I'm sure I'll forget some. I have seen the Felice Brothers twice (and will see them again tonight!), The Duke and the King at least four times (and started up a sort-of working correspondence with Simone Felice), Skinny Puppy, Cat Empire, The Dead Weather, and who knows what else. I also saw "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia Live on Stage: The Nightman Cometh" and kinda-sorta met Charlie Day and Rob McElhenny.
-I fell in love again!
-I almost got punched in the face by a random guy on the sidewalk in Brooklyn on Halloween because he was threatening my girlfriend and I was NOT having any of that shit. I was told by friends later that I was screaming obscenities at him, but I say I was just telling him to leave us alone.
-I bought a new computer.
-I got an internet stalker, and heard from my old real-life stalker! Whoopie!
-I learned to make ramen at home, and learned how absolutely mind-blowingly awesome ramen can be, thanks to places like Momofuku and Ippudo.
-I celebrated Christmas with some of the best people in the world--my friends and my family.
-I learned to really call myself a writer and believe it when I did. I failed to get a book deal, and I lot one of my magazine jobs, I still think I'm on the up and up. It sure is a lot of work though.
-I got reading glasses!
-I kicked ass, took names, and hope to continue the trend in 2010. I'll be going to Vegas for more porn performer canoodling next weekend, then to Boston for much-needed girlfriend canoodling the next weekend.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

I May Meet a Sex Robot: or, I may be in prison soon

Aaaaaaah, nooooooo! You guys! Oh my god, whyyyy? True Companion will be unveiling the world's first sex robot at the Adult Entertainment Expo in Vegas on January 9! I am going to be there! I HATE robots! This one is the evilest of evil robots! It has a name, voice recognition, vocabulary... sex organs... Oh my god, dude, I am going to have to keep a wide berth of this horrible thing to avoid hacking it to bits!

But... is avoiding it really the Right Thing to Do? Maybe, for the sake of humanity, I should just do it and go to jail?

But then, I guess it's not a prototype, is it? There are probably hundreds of others out there somewhere, just waiting to talk and walk and "think" and "love" and fuck.

Oh... Oh god....


I can't deal with it. Here's the press release:




“Roxxxy TrueCompanion,” World’s First Sex Robot Scheduled

To Be Unveiled by True Companion at AEE Press Conference



True Companion, LLC (www.TrueCompanion.com) will be unveiling the world’s first sex robot at the AVN Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas. The press conference to cover this momentous event will take place on the main stage at the Expo on Saturday, January 9, 2010 at 11:00 am. The female sex robot, which has taken years to develop, knows its owner’s name, can carry on a discussion, has its own unique personality, knows your likes and dislikes, expresses her love to you, can feel your touch and can even have an orgasm.



“Roxxxy TrueCompanion,” the name of the world’s first sex robot, will also be on stage during the presentation.



Additional details covering the extensive features will be covered during the press conference.



There will be a brief Q & A period following the presentation. The staff at True Companion will then be available to schedule interviews and provide additional information at their booth, # 7031. It is recommended to email your requested date and time for interviews to Info@TrueCompanion.com prior to the Expo.



Douglas Hines, the founder of True Companion, stated “Our sex robots are committed to pleasing their owner. This may involve having a nice discussion or engaging in an intimate encounter. They are fully anatomically correct just like a real person. We have electrical and robotics engineers, artists, fashion models, beauty and makeup professionals all working together to make our customer’s dream a reality.”

Monday, December 28, 2009

Where Do I Work? or, stupidity on the subway (no surprises there)

This morning on the subway I found myself standing close to a woman who may or may not have been on the train with a friend. She was talking to someone, but that someone wasn't really answering her when she spoke, so I'm not sure if they were together of if the first woman was just crazy.
Also, she was saying, "I'm trying to remember where my job is. I wrote it down in my notebook that's at home. Is it 28th or 23rd Street? I know I have to take the 2 to the 1, though, so I'm good on that."
Now, it's very likely that she was going to a temp job or a freelance job and had just gotten the call and so had forgotten. But, isn't it rather important to know one's work destination before leaving the house? And also, we were on the 5 train, not the 2. I kept expecting her to notice every time we came to a stop and the announcement said "This is a Brooklyn-bound 5 train," but she just kept wondering aloud whether she was supposed to get off at 28th or 23rd. I figured since she was willfully ignoring the announcements and her "friend" wasn't informing her that she was on the 5, which goes down the wrong side of Manhattan, it wasn't my responsibility to set her straight, either.
I just moved further down the car to avoid her.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Eulogy for my Euth: or, mindless self indulgence

There is a steady stream, almost a triumphant parade
Of stumbling buffoons like crumbs along the sidewalk,
A constant flow of retards in whom
I have no interest, no common thread.
I would like for them all to learn how to walk
Or, better, to evaporate into a cloud of subpar intelligence,
Then rain back down, purified into sophisticates.

I remember when this happened,
When this lack of romanticism became a real void in my soul.
It was down that long, empty, straight line of two-lane highway outside Pekin,
When I was trying to force myself to cry,
Expecting that those tears would send up some kind of primordial beacon;
Expecting my phone to ring.
But had he called then, as I wept myself away from him,
It would have been just the other side of too late. It wouldn't have really hurt.
I'd have flown back to him, dried those homing beacon tears,
Curled up inside him if he'd let me,
And settled into his chest cavity,
A blight and an emptiness already, but trying to force the sweetness he'd used up,
Wanting and working to recreate a childhood whimsy
With no whim to build on.

It had been a long time coming, this stony gaze of mine.
Chinks in my soft, fleshy armor had appeared long before.
The bitter Midwestern winters had whipped away the baby smoothness,
And the abandonment of a dear friend had formed a few scales.
But the coldness in my blood was just cooling down;
I was tepid, I guess.

But those wild moments in the middle of the blackest plains nights,
The feel of him near me, the memories crashing into foam against the present...
It was enough to make me feel again the the rush of my unfettered self,
To cry and to mean it. To want something so deeply I felt myself cave in around its absence. To explode into pinpoints of starlight with someone. Or even alone. To wonder at those stars, and try to discern them.

I nursed the possibility of keeping myself as raw as he made me.
I thought of it as I walked to work.
I wrote feverishly, painted nightly.
Listened to out-of-control music too loud.
Even as he drew away, and the coldness of my lonely living room floor stared back at me, so beige it made me spill paint all over it to love it again,
I relived those moments on the wide open prairie, wedged a lump in my throat to keep myself wide open, too.

But the baby-soft skin was shed, the scales and reptilian slowness were creeping in,
Along with an indifference I felt in return for him but pushed down beneath the joy.
I needed this feeling, this ululation and terror, I thought. It kept me young.

And then that night, alone and frightened in a foreign room, it snapped.
The grey force of reverse evolution, the fighting force in my genes overtook idealism,
And down came the high hopes, stifling the wind in my hair and plugging up the leaks in my eyes.
I stopped crying for him. I stopped crying for anyone.

Unexpected phone calls and the occasional reverie
Will bring a far-away tension in my guts even now,
A kind of echo of something that once was,
And was something that is far past the word "glorious,"
Up there in the realm of Biblical awe.
There was this feeling in me, for him, for the world through all that I felt.

But these days,
With the idiots bumping into me in the almost-as-bitter New York winter,
The crush of holiday crowds drowning out the sparkles of expectation,
I feel it really only now and then, in goosebumps,
And often, ice-pick-like, in the glittering of her eyes.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

It's snowing and I feel that first blush of excitement
As I do every winter when the white stuff starts to come down,
But it's overshadowed by my hangover and I miss
That perfect silence, the muffled static hiss of flakes hitting the blanket already laid down,
Out in the country,
Where sirens don't scream through the falling ice,
And echoes do not exist.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Oh, yeah...

Also, new column up on McSweeney's!

http://mcsweeneys.net/links/pornwriter/column5.html

It Had to Happen: or, I hate Tourists


Ok, I'm sure this is trite in the way that, say, people in LA bitching about constant sun is trite. ...Do they do that?... Well anyway, the point is: I just HAVE to complain about the tourists. Ok? I just do. I have to vent.

I work in midtown, on 57th between 5th and 6th avenues, on the same block as Bergdorf Goodman, which I usually enjoy because everyone around is super classy and the window displays at Bergdorf's are beautiful, and it's near the park, and FAO Schwarz is just a block away, and generally it's pretty sweet. There are always a fairly high percentage of tourists tooling around 5th Avenue, but generally they stay in small clusters that are navigable, except around Rockefeller Center, which I only have to deal with once a week or so. They're annoying, but they're dealable.

But THIS time of year... I mean, I know the Christmas store displays are fantastic (Bergdorf's are off the hook this year--the men's side of the street has set pieces and models from The Fantastic Mr. Fox, and the women's side has an Alice in Wonderland theme), and I know that FAO is a great place to shop for kids, and I know that lots of people have time off around now so they're just roaming around, looking at things, and I know that the giant Swarovski crystal snowflake is hanging RIGHT over my intersection at 5th, and I KNOW it's so exciting to be in New York... But...

Ever hear that phrase, "When in Rome..."? Well, in New York, the Romans are busy people dressed in black who have places to be at specific times and they are usually late to begin with because the holiday traffic and backups on public transportation are horrendous, so when in this Rome, do as the goddamn Romans do, and MOVE YOUR ASS. Holy crap! How is it difficult to figure out that when the thousands of people around you on the sidewalk are grumbling, swearing, and moving past you at high speeds, that YOU are in fact the problem? When you stop in the middle of a busy thoroughfare to stare up at the sky or try to find the kid you are for some reason allowing to walk unaided through a crowd of pickpockets, swindlers, hobos, and businessmen who don't give a crap if they step on a toddler, and everyone around you has to stop in the middle of their commute to avoid running into you, and they call you names, why would you look surprised? New York does not slow down for Christmas--it allows you to look at all its pretty stuff and enjoy an entirely made up feeling of brotherly love if you want to, but you need to do it quickly, or find a place that's not the middle of the goddamn sidewalk in front of Tiffany's to take your leisurely stroll, or you are going to make a lot of enemies and probably get accosted by every single homeless-people-donation-collection racket in the biz at least five times.

I swear to god, people, I don't like to be so mean to tourists. They ARE easy targets, but then again, there's a good portion of the city what wouldn't run at all if it weren't for them, and there is something to be said for the feeling of superiority one gets when realizing that thousands, millions of people flock to YOUR city just to see the sites every year. But for Christ's sake, you're TOURISTS. You don't live here. You do not own the sidewalk. You are in the way. At least TRY to fit in, or if not that, to not get in the way any more than possible. We who live here have to deal with all kinds of bullshit from our fellow New Yorkers every day, and we are grumpy enough without running full-on into the back of your light blue NorthFace parka when you slow down to take a picture of, like, a pigeon or something, because we glanced down to check how late we were to work after the train spent ten minutes sitting in the tunnels while we were smooshed in between the smelly guy and the gum-chewing woman with the really bad music blaring from her iPod and didn't see your ignobly wide ass coming to an abrupt halt in front of us. When you get called a prick by a little redheaded girl who just face-planted into your stupid, stupid parka, don't you DARE say, "people here are so rude."