Last week, a couple things happened that I didn't blog about, and then that and some other things made blogging difficult this week, and then while I still can't talk about one of them, tonight I realized, well, I could talk about the other at least, and at this point in the story, I'm sure I've gone on so long that you've lost interest. Anyway, I got an email, oh, a week or so, I suppose, maybe more than that, from Mark Graham, who is a nice man and the managing editor of Defamer. Which is like the blackly opaque cinematic eye of the giant, blogosphere-eating robot that is Gawker Media. So, Mark wanted to know if I was interested in being in the running to become an addition to the Defamer team, or however you want to put it, you know, a Defamer editor. And I was, like, um, yeah. Because that's how I roll. Slutty. After all, I am not nor have I always been, uh, "just" a sex writer. I write about culture. (At least that's what I tell myself sometimes.) And once upon a time, thanks to David Poland, I was a movie critic, and for a while I was, like, a movie critic pundit on a FX TV show hosted by Chris Gore. And I guess you could look at my, er, "interest" in pornography as also being about movies. Whatever. Anyhoo, so I didn't blog about it, because, I don't know, maybe I figured I wasn't supposed to, but then it occurred to me no one told me not to, and then I started writing this. Actually, I started writing this because I saw this, which is some kind of Gawker internal memo in which somebody tells everybody to stop swearing so much on all the Gawker sites, from what I gather. And a part of me was like, Oh, shit. Because I'm already worried that everyone just thinks I'm a big pervert and can't bring anything to the table but a bunch of well-worn bukkakes tales. (I mean, you know, you never know.) As part of the auditioning process, I had to make a demo blog, with three demo posts, and two out of three of them were about sex. I wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do or not, but then I thought about how Santino got all freaked out on "Project Runway" and lost in the finals because he lost himself, and then I was, like, fuck it. I yam what I yam. Now they're deciding if they're going to give me a test run as a guest blogger on the site--or not. So far, the only contender I know of is a soap opera writer. So, hey! You never know. Either way, not writing about things that are happening is never good for me. To be clear, this isn't the other thing that I blogged about obtusely last week, the thing that I said had made me so happy that I cried. I'd really, really like to write for Defamer, but, you know, I'm not gonna cry about it. Not yet, anyway. That other thing is something else. Something that is pretty great. Something that has kind of freaked me out a bit. These last three years were God's great kick in the teeth to me, and it hasn't been easy. But things like these make me want to take back the ball and throw it really hard at the back of somebody's head, like, I told you, motherfucker. If that makes sense, great. If not, I can't explain it.
