Well, I’ve been at work for an hour-and-a-half and so far all I have to show for it is the news of an impending write-up and a bagel (a guest call that ends with zero dollars in the bellman’s pocket), from a Middle-Eastern douchebag.
Go, Team Hook.
Well, I’ve been at work for an hour-and-a-half and so far all I have to show for it is the news of an impending write-up and a bagel (a guest call that ends with zero dollars in the bellman’s pocket), from a Middle-Eastern douchebag.
Go, Team Hook.
Here are a few fun facts:
All that having been said, I find myself revisiting a little piece of wisdom from my past that I wish to share with you now, my friends – whether you like it or not.
My grandfather, a Polish immigrant the size of an actual European mountain, once told me, “It doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you take pride in the man you see in the mirror at the end of the day.”
Of course, he also told me whiskey would put hair on my chest, which for some reason I felt was an important feature for a six-year-old to add to his bodily repertoire… so I downed an entire glass in front of a full bar of grandpa’s contemporaries.
I then yakked all over the actual bar.
And a prostitute named Midnight Mary.
(Her real name was Gladys, which explains why she felt compelled to adopt a “stage-name” as it were. No one screams, “Yeah, that feels so good, Gladys! You’re a real sexy bitch!”)
He may not have had the greatest instincts when it came to child-rearing, but my grandfather’s point about work was valid, however. You have to find a special place inside your soul where you’re a champion, a hero, a warrior-born, and you need to visit that place when times get tough, which they tend to do. Now, whenever the weight of my existence as a working-class dog begins to wear me down I do this in my head…
… and then I don’t feel so bad.
Have a joyous and unproductive weekend, my friends, and remember this post when Monday rolls around, okay?
See you in the lobby, kids…
I’m going to let today’s guest handle things, if that’s all right with you folks….
I’m like a fly on the wall today at Hook’s place. Woohoo!
If you don’t know Susie Lindau, if you haven’t been touched by her grace, her humanity, her beautiful insanity, then I feel for you, I really do. She’s a wild ride, folks, truly.
I’m referring to her blog, of course. Perverts.
Speaking of which, Susie’s “About” page holds the best answer I can find to the question, “Who the hell is this Susie Lindau chick anyway?”
I will always be a kid at heart. Sometimes I jump in with both feet before considering the risk. That’s okay. I am an adrenaline junkie.
After being raised in the land of happy people and cheese, otherwise known as Wisconsin, I transplanted to Boulder, Colorado which is home to the most active people in the country. My passions include family, skiing, tennis, writing, art, photography and anything that takes me outdoors to enjoy our 300 sunny days. Yep. There are 300 of them, every year.
I love writing about all kinds of adventures both real and imagined usually with a little twist and a sense of humor. Oh, and did I mention that I love to dance?
I host Use Me and Abuse Me Day virtual parties so bloggers can meet each other. Readers are welcome to post a link to their blog in my comment section and then “mingle” with the guests. It is a great place to meet up and “pick up” a few hot new subscribers! The next party will be held on Monday, April 21st, so be ready to dance! See, I told you…
I finished my first novel. It’s a paranormal thriller with a little romance thrown in for fun. It takes place in the South of France, after all. The apparitions and premonitions in my story are based onsome of my own experiences. Creepy. I know!
After being diagnosed with breast cancer, I started writingThe Boob Report. I can’t change the fact that I will always have breast cancer associated with my name, but I can try to change the way people think about the dreaded disease. I will occasionally add updates recounting my boobectomy and recovery. Boobs can be pretty funny. Nothing could keep this Wild Rider down for long.
Be sure to friend request me on Facebook –Susie Lindau, follow me on Twitter –@susielindau, or email me at firstname.lastname@example.org, especially if you need a columnist for your newspaper. A girl can dream, right?
And yes, I’m letting Susie do all the work, but that’s only because she’s so talented. And insightful, decent and gorgeous. And I’m a lazy prick.
In short, folks, nothing can keep this chick down. Not breast cancer. Not the challenges of parenthood and marriage. Not even the failure of her series of inspirational videos entitled, “So what if you’re a loser? Get Over It, Ya Prick!”
And now, kids, five questions and answers with Susie Lindau.
1) You’ve been through the wringer recently; how do you maintain that special upbeat quality, that “Susieness,” that defines you?
Susieness? I love it! It’s gotta be my silly sense of humor. I was born sunny-side up and am a goofball with very little shame. Somewhere along the long road of life, I learned to laugh at myself. I have a habit of over-sharing the ridiculousness. The most embarrassing things happen to me, so I have endless material. I should really do standup.
No shame and a bad hair day on the Wild Ride.
2) Favorite food in the known universe? (To be clear, we’re talking last meal quality grub.)
I have a tendency to order healthy food, but at a last supper it would have to start with a pain du chocolat and end with a chocolate ganache, fruit and cake trifle. I’ll let your imagination roam through the main course.
Yep. Death by chocolate.
“A fly at Hooks”
3) Favorite guilty pleasure: music?
Muse. I saw them in concert and their show was insane! Their set was constructed with flat screen TV’s which shifted to create different structures. They had a crazy laser light show. Considering we were in a humongous arena, the sound system rocked!
“Fly-Girl Susie rocks on with Muse.”
Many of their lyrics are about fighting against oppression and winning. While driving down from the mountains, I heard Uprising for the first time. I opened up the windows and joined in belting out the chorus. I bet you could hear me all the way to Niagara Falls! I looked over at a car driving next to me and the family just gawked. I kept right on singing.
“They will not force us, they will stop degrading us, they will not control us, We will be victorious!”
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer last year, many of their lyrics became my fight songs! If Muse isn’t guilty enough, then it would have to be Oingo Boingo’s Only a Lad album.
The lyrics are hysterical. I memorized all of them. Lead singer, Danny Elfman, became a prolific movie soundtrack composer. I love listening to his humble beginnings as a firey redhead singing while bouncing across the stage.
4) Favorite guilty pleasure: TV?
I am busted! The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. I know! You asked. It’s like playing the lottery with a 1 in 25 chance of winning or in this case, falling in love. There’s always a drama queen in the bunch whether its guys or gals. I am a total romantic.
My husband Danny and I only dated for a weekend before meeting with a priest and picking a date to get married. That’s why I believe it’s possible to fall in love in a short time. Come on. They have 8 whole weeks! We didn’t spend 8 weeks together until after we were married and we’ve been happily married for 26 years!
5) Is there a particular memory that makes you smile that you care to share?
There are so many. The first to come to mind was my wedding day and then the birth of my two kids. Both of them graduated from college in the last six months, so that really makes me flash my pearly whites.
What also gets me beaming is the day of my double boobectomies. What? My blogging friend, Brickhousechick, organized more than 45 bloggers, including you Hook, to write #SusieStrong posts. Each blogger asked their readers to pray and send out positive vibes that day. They passed along my hope that my lymph nodes were clear. They had been swollen and sore. I was pretty worried.
(Believe it or not, this is the face of courage personified, kids.)
The day of the surgery, I felt elated as if I was driving to the spa! I laughed and goofed around with the doctors and nurses all morning. I blabbed on and on about my Boob Reports.
After the surgery, I learned my lymph nodes were clear! Woohoo!
Then I found out my friends had blogged #SusieStrong posts. I would have dropped to the floor if I hadn’t been in a hospital bed. I was so shocked and grateful!
My onkotype, which is the sum total of factors determining the chance of cancer recurrence, dropped from 26% after the initial biopsy to 13% after surgery. It was cut in half! I didn’t need chemo or radiation. I am living proof that miracles do happen.
There is nothing quite like the community here at WordPress. I’ve made a lot of real friends, like you Hook!
I’d be a fool to try to follow Susie Lindau, wouldn’t I? My thanks to my guest for being an inspiration and a true friend.
See you in the lobby, folks…
It was a dark and stormy night… in Latveria.
(Sorry, but since my body is still under viral attack and my brain has been heavily taxed by my weekend geeky shenanigans, I really didn’t know where to begin this post-Comic Con wrap-up post, so I just went with an old nerdy standby.)
Like the heroes I worship, I’m just going to take that leap and dive right into the mouth of the beast, as it were.
My lovely wife, whom I spared the horror of attending this year’s nerdgasm event, was more than happy to navigate the convention traffic jam and drop me off Sunday morning. It was obvious from the get-go that my dream of attending a comic book convention in my not-so-secret-identity of Robert Hookey was just that, a dream that would never pierce reality.
“Was that your mom dropping you off, buddy? What are you, twenty-five-years-old?”
That lovely greeting came from a teenage Eleventh Doctor knock-off who was accompanied by two… I don’t know what the hell they were supposed to be and I didn’t care. At that moment, as I was surrounded by the moving crowd making its way to the doors Scotiabank Convention Centre, it was clear I needed to return fire – and fast.
“Actually, I’m forty-three and that was my wife. The one I had sex with last night while you guys were no doubt wearing blindfolds and jerking each other off.”
The crowd, which included two families, a pair of newlyweds in matching original generation Star Trek uniforms and three pretty girls clad in Disney princess dresses, broke up as my would-be hecklers suppressed the urge to pee themselves from embarrassment. From there, the fun kept on coming.
Forward-thinking and experience meant I already had my ticket and so within minutes I was in the building – where an amped-up security officer literally pushed me through the line as my fellow attendees were having their online tickets scanned. I made an honest effort to explain that no one had torn off the necessary portion of my ticket, but my manhandler was too busy examining the weapons of some Lord of the Rings refugees to notice me. My experience with the
stormtroopers security were soon forgotten, however, once I crossed that threshold and my feet were firmly planted on the convention floor.
My eyes were dazzled by the ocean of vendor signage, the stark black curtains separating various convention districts, the intermingling, gaudily-clad bodies of wannabe heroes, villains and creatures of all sort, the 1980s red-and-white goodness of the Ghostbusters’ Ecto-1, and the various other color configurations one would only find on a convention floor. My ears were blasted with announcements for various Q and A sessions with celebrities, video game music and the symphony of human interaction that included declarations such as:
My olfactory senses were overcome by the smell of overpriced food, body odor, perfume, magic markers, faded glory and desperation. All in all, it was a typical Comic Con entrance. I took a deep breath, readied my legs for the marathon laps to come, and began circling the convention floor. I scored some choice graphic novel collections of Marvel Comics’ The Defenders, originally priced at 60$ each, for the bargain basement price of 5$.
I won’t lie to you, folks, my inner geek was sporting wood at this deal.
Yes, I really am that nerdy at times.
The convention was a great place to score the comics I enjoyed as a wee lad, the ones I parted with through one circumstance or another.
After an hour of scouring the back-issue bins of my local faves, Big B Comics and of course, Pulp Comics, I switched tracks and began indulging one of my favorite pastimes… the observation of the human animal in his natural environment.
The sub-group I focused my attention on was one that I’ve always found particularly fascinating. In their most natural state they derive great pleasure from drawing attention to themselves. Many mammals prefer solitude over the glare of the spotlight but this breed thrives on observation. Indeed, without it, they find themselves lost and vulnerable. There were three distinct groupings of this particular breed of human and each was fascinating in its own way.
The Super Nova-Class of celebrities present at the convention included:
Interesting story about Chandler Riggs: One of my daughter’s BFFs, Katie, paid 40$ for his autograph, “and a hug!”, and afterwards she hovered around to soak in his teenage greatness. During this time, several fans of the little guy handed over another $40 to pose with their hero but a few of them, for reasons that escape me, decided to grab his little behind, prompting his mother to refund their money and cancel all further photo ops. Even the press was informed, “No pictures. He’s underage.”
As for photos of Capt. Kirk (120$ a pop), well that’s another story entirely. Shatner was blocked from view by a hulking security guard – a local beast who is actually an ex-colleague and whose local rep is notorious for reasons I won’t go into here; suffice to say, the man has a bad attitude that I soon discovered through conversations with other volunteers made itself known over the weekend. So foul is this man’s attitude that one volunteer, after being shoved in public by his fellow worker, ripped off his Comic Con shirt on the floor and “resigned” with a hearty “Fuck this!”
Every time anyone even attempted to get a long-distance shot of Bill with their own camera they were blocked and scolded by security. I watched this carefully for several minutes until I was inspired into action after a young mom and her daughter were pushed back by the Man Mountain security agent.
I went into full Hook mode and began heckling Shatner’s security duo.
“Seriously, Bill? These mere mortals aren’t worthy of gazing upon The Mighty Shat? They’re forbidden from capturing your godlike visage with their puny devices? You really need the money bad enough to go to this length? I bet Spock would allow a shot or two!”
The crowd went wild. Security moved towards me until they realized they’d be exposing Bill to the crowd. My point made, I moved on. One more thing about Bill: his “people” made reservations for him at a local pizzeria with very specific stipulations: High-end, premium cuts of steak were ordered and a certain type of salmon was fetched for the captain.
He then cancelled. That’s our Billy.
Next up, the celebrities that walk that very thin line between hot and cold:
Finally, there was the Ghost Town inhabited by those folks you remember but whose star has faded. I circled this are all day and didn’t see a fan in line once.
One of Eleniak’s female handlers walked by me at one point and remarked, “She’s pretty disappointed with her turnout today.”, prompting me to pose the following suggestion:
“Why doesn’t she make out with Barbie Blank? That should get them plenty of attention.”
That suggestion did not go over well.
My observations concluded, I moved on. I stopped by Archie Comics’ artist Dan Parent’s booth and scored a signed sketchbook for my daughter. Sarah is a huge fan of Parent’s work but in retrospect, I really should have flipped through the sketchbook before handing over my money.
Sarah has become quite the little feminist and so she was quite perturbed by some of parent’s pieces.
“Hey, Skippy! have you seen some of this guy’s sketches? You can tell a lot about him from some of these!”
(Yes, she calls me “Skippy”. I’m so proud. Come to think of it, I should have scored a copy of that sketchbook for myself.)
Needless to say, I’m still hearing about this and that’s not going to change anytime soon.
After a few more conversations with my fellow nerds, vendors, volunteers and a few minor celebrities, I called it quits and headed home to scan my wares. Of course, I did that after sitting through a well-intentioned lecture on feminism as it relates to the work of Dan Parent. At least my kid believes in something, right?
By the way, click Here for my buddy John Law’s post-con report. He lays out the current state of the con pretty well, if I do say so myself. Comic Con’s Facebook page tells an interesting tale as well. Look for the comments from the former Green Ranger; he’s pretty pissed at the organizers and so he gave them a few virtual Mighty Morphin power kicks to the head.
See you in the lobby, kids… and maybe the convention floor next year?
I’m still operating at 40% power, but writing this post is an alternative to staring at throngs of travelers as they drag their overloaded backpacks, duffel bags, cardboard boxes, laundry baskets, strollers and various other makeshift suitcases through the lobby.
And besides, I’m only operating at 60% power on a good day anyway, so what the hell?
The Niagara region’s version of Nerdvana, otherwise known as Niagara Falls Comic Con, begins tomorrow, and so I figured this would be a good time to share some of my favorite things about my hometown gathering of
the-no-longer-considered-the-lunatic-fringe comic fans and cons in general.
10) The epic scale: There’s something very liberating about becoming lost in a crowd of like-minded individuals. Overall, I’m a pretty well-adjusted guy but even The Hook needs to stop being The Hook for a while. (Shut up, Ned Hickson, I can practically hear you rolling your eyes at my use of the term “well-adjusted”.)
I love the idea of just wandering the convention floor and letting my senses drink in the sights, sounds, smells and the general vibe of fandom at its purest.
9) The pretty girls: I’m happily married, but I’m also a man and the man in me doesn’t mind seeing a pretty girl or two, especially if they’ve gone out of their way to squeeze themselves into some spandex and layered on several ounces of make-up for my benefit.
8) The effect pretty girls have on some of my fellow nerds: If you haven’t seen a grown man in an ill-fitting Batman costume pee himself when surrounded by a bevy of ridiculously attractive cosplayers dressed as slutty versions of their favorite superheroes, I highly recommend it.
It was the best fifty bucks I ever spent.
7) These guys:
You can’t buy this kind of entertainment, kids. Humans are at their best when they believe themselves to be invincible. At a con, anything goes, and that’s the way the world should work every day.
6) If I’m at a con, I’m not working: Don’t get me wrong, I love my role as the World’s Most Honest/Blunt Bellman, but a day off doesn’t suck, friends. When I’m Robert Hookey, a not-so-mild-mannered citizen, I can relax and turn off my super powers of observation and snark. I still encounter the wackiest beings the universe has ever produced, but I can approach each encounter differently.
No one can fire me when I’m a civilian.
5) SHATNER!! If you don’t know the name, you’re not worth my time. Even his critics – of which there are literally billions – respect at least one hundred of his thousands of accomplishments/credits. Somewhere along the line we’ve all forgotten that the Shat -Man is a classically-trained stage actor.
He’s been to space. He’s been Denny Crane. He’s killed music. He’s written several books that I’ve read and they all rock. He is no longer a man but rather, an institution unto himself. And Sunday, for a few brief hours, he belongs to the nerds of Niagara Falls.
“YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE SHAT, HOOK!”
4) Bacon: There will be bacon at the convention and bacon makes everything better. If William Shatner smelled like bacon he’d be the most popular actor in the history of the profession. (Told you I wasn’t operating on all thrusters.)
3) The faces behind the pages: Neal Adams. Kevin Eastman. Leonard Kirk. Dan Parent. These names may not mean much to you – but I’ll let it pass.. this time. All of these men are legendary artists/writers and they’ll be joined by several of their brethren throughout the weekend.. Collectively, these creators have influenced my life on a scale I cannot articulate.
2) Comics: With all the hype and attention we pay to the celebrities, the free swag, the video games, the horror movies and everything else going on at a con, we tend to forget about the comic book component of a comic book convention.
1) I get to be a kid again: You know that sense of wonder that most people sacrifice when they cross the threshold to “adulthood”? They infuse it back into you when you set foot on a convention floor – whether you like it or not. Fortunately, I’ve never been an adult, although I do play one in the so-called real world. Still, attending a con allows me to truly geek out with best of them.
That having been said, there are no geeks at a con, only fans. There are no freaks, only devoted acolytes. If Jonah Hill called anyone a faggot at a con, he’d be dead in fifteen seconds flat, most likely from a proliferation of phasers to the rectum.
A con is a safe zone for the world’s outcasts. A con is a place where dreamers gather to marvel at the beauty, complexity and diversity of dreams. Period.
And that’s all I have to say about that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need some aspirin and and some rest before I embark on The Hook’s Great Adventure.
See you in the lobby – and the convention floor, kids.
So here’s the deal, kids: I’ve been crazy busy living in the so-called “real world”, as well as being the happy-go-lucky, snarky bellman many a hotel guest has come to know and love/loathe, and so something has had to be put on the back burner.
And to top it all off, my mortal form has been under attack by an offshoot of a viral army that is currently laying waste to my wife’s lovely body, something that has made my spouse feel less desperate about her own situation. Misery really does love company, folks. Personally, I could do without my current role as the world’s only zombie bellman, but I don’t time to sit around and lament my fate while there are guests to serve, comic cons to attend, a family to steer towards domestic oblivion and a million other crises to attend to.
(Niagara Falls Comic Con is this weekend folks. Be there or… go outside and live your life. Your choice.)
And so that’s why I’ve been slightly absent on my own blog. And now that summer has finally arrived the situation isn’t going to improve, my friends. In my industry, in my town, summer is GO TIME, BABY!!!
That having been said, here’s a little something to chew on until a larger course is ready.
I recently served two young ladies who appeared to be hatched from the same American Southwestern sorority pod. Girl #1, we’ll call her Mandy (although, as you’ll soon see, “Randy” would have been more appropriate), was definitely in the driver’s seat, in more ways than one.
Mandy wasn’t content with her doggie traveling companion, though, so she brought along a human roommate. Meet Sandy, as in Sandy Olsson, Olivia Newton-John’s character in my generation’s classic musical, Grease.
Here’s the breakdown on Sandy:
And that’s where it got interesting, kiddies.
As a self-trained observer of human behavior, I was able to discern a few facts from Mandy and Sandy’s body language.
Once we were shielded from prying and judgmental eyes Sandy loosened up, and so Mandy turned up the heat. It’s an interesting thing, being a bellman; people are aware of your presence but they don’t take notice of you. They simply carry on with their lives, completely oblivious to your presence. It may be that they assume a bellman is sworn to secrecy when it comes to all he observes.
Not so, my friends. I try to treat every guest with the respect they deserve – unless they deserve to be treated otherwise, of course – but when it comes to their privacy there are a few ground rules.
But let’s return to the girls and their softcore late-night cable antics in the elevator, shall we?
I stood off to the extreme right, flanked by a full luggage cart; this allowed the ladies to snuggle against the wall of the left corner. Being a tall man, I was able to (discreetly) peer over the cart and take stock of the scene as it played out – minus the cheesy music, of course.
Fortunately, it was at that moment that the elevator-turned-adult-film-set had reached its destination so the girls had a literal out to spare them further embarrassment. Almost.
Bucking protocol, I rolled my cart out first in order to allow the ladies an opportunity to adjust themselves. Mandy exited first and with no shame, simply flashed me a smile that asked the question, “Did you enjoy the show?” Sandy, however, remained motionless in the elevator clutching a section of broken silver handrail in one hand while the other adjusted her skirt over and over. Mandy turned to me for assistance and so I reassured Sandy that Maintenance could reattach the rail as they had many times before.
It did not help.
She was a red-faced deer caught in headlights and so Mandy took control once more.
“Drop it, sweetie. NOW!”
And so she did. The rail landed with a sharp metallic thud and Sandy narrowly avoided being smucked by the closing elevator doors. As for yours truly, I wasn’t about to let such a golden opportunity go to waste.
“Well, I certainly hope the bed in the room fares better than the elevator.”
For the record, my track record remains intact; the girls appreciated my patented brand of humor. I got paid. The ladies got laid. Everyone won.
Here is a suitable, “clean” image to accompany this post…
And a not-so-clean one for those who have come to expect a certain standard from me…
And now, a list inspired by the preceding events.
For my female readers, I present to you now, ten signs that you too may be considering the many benefits (girls smell nice, they tend to take their time and they’re more familiar with the equipment you use), of embarking upon a same-sex affair with another female.
Before we begin, however, I want to issue the following disclaimer: I’m not picking on lesbians. In fact, I love lesbians – and not just those of the lipstick variety, either. Directing my unique brand of humor towards those who are connoisseurs of the sapphic arts is a sign of affection. A twisted sign, but sign nonetheless. And let’s face it, any segment of society that finds itself excluded from “being got” never gets the opportunity to develop a thick skin. And trust me, folks, you need a thick skin to survive in this world.
If we can’t laugh at ourselves we have no business laughing at others. This notion has been swirling around in my head for some time now. As writers/bloggers we’re constantly offering our opinions on the world around us, but we often temper those opinions out of fear of public reaction. I have a few good blogging friends who are gay and while I would hate to see those friendships suffer, my fear of holding back is greater.
And so I refuse to hold back. Ever. Make no mistake, my friends, I’m out to get everyone.
And so should you.
As a bellman, I deal with every segment of society imaginable. The following individuals passed by my desk this week alone:
Since I’m in a position to observe everyone, I feel it is my duty to get everyone. And now, on with the show.
(Or If You Prefer, The Worst Title For A Top Ten List – Ever.)
1) During sex, you scream “Surrender. Dorothy!”
2) You insist on the following conditions before you allow your man to attempt to pleasure you:
3) Your personal all-time favorite television shows are The L Word, Lost Girl, Orange is the New Black, and Lip Service.
4) For some strange reason, you find Bruce Jenner attractive.
5) You have a shrine to Jennifer Lawrence – in every room in your house.
6) Suddenly, every Tegan and Sara song makes sense to you.
7) You find yourself preferring the smell of CHANEL No.5 on your thighs rather than Old Spice.
8) You schedule a week of threesomes with various girlfriends, and then you “forget” to notify your boyfriend – every time.
9) You begin to desire more from your romantic encounters than an evening of beer and pizza, flowery declarations like, “I love ya, babe… Let’s do it!”, and fifteen minutes of your partner watching the game – over your shoulder before screaming, “Wow, that was a big one! I must be down a quart! Which I guess would mean you’re up a quart, right?”
10) You recently became engaged to Jodie Foster.
Before we part ways yet again, my devoted readers, I have an announcement: This little piece of literary greatness was my 500th post!
See you in the lobby, kids…
Forgive the outdated reference, but my guest today is the Dr. Ruth of WordPress. If Dr. Ruth was a hundred years younger, infinitely hipper and hotter than a firecracker dipped in jet fuel, that is.
Who doesn’t love a gal in glasses? Or a loose-fitting dress shirt? I ‘d say more, but my wife slings a mean frying pan…
Cutting to the chase: Today’s victim is intelligent beyond measure, bold, fearless, well-read and endlessly entertaining. She is August McLaughlin, and if you’re unfamiliar with this young lady, her website’s header says it all…
There simply aren’t enough adjectives in the English language to describe this young lady’s many fine qualities or the depth of her talent.
She wrote a book…
One woman locked in a basement, nearing death and longing for escape. Another baffled by the inexplicable symptoms wreaking havoc on her life. Both are lost and alone, yet somehow connected. And time is running out…
Near the tenth anniversary of her parents’ unexpected death, Claire Fiksen, a lovely young Harvard-grad and gifted psychologist in Minnesota, develops bizarre symptoms of an eating disorder that threaten her fledgling career, her relationship with a handsome young medical student, her grasp on reality and, soon, her life.
When her beloved grandfather reveals that there may be more to her parents’ death than she’s realized, Claire’s pursuit of healing becomes a desperate search for answers as she delves into her family’s sordid past. Meanwhile, someone is watching her every move, plotting to draw her into his own twisted web of misery. Claire has something he needs, and he’ll stop at nothing to obtain it.
Every step Claire takes brings her closer to the truth and danger. And her life, she discovers, isn’t the only one at stake.
… which you can purchase (and help support August’s mild Orange Crush addiction), by clicking HERE.
She loves her mom…
… of course, who wouldn’t? She’s cute as the dickens!
Her blog is the place to be if you want to expand your understanding of the age-old activity we all spend so much time attempting (or maybe that’s just me), to engage in, namely, sex. It is also the origin of the term “Girl Boner”. I know what you’re thinking, and here is a handy explanation to make things go easier for all of us. (See what I did there?) From August’s blog:
What IS Girl Boner? Girl Boner is a term I decided to trademark after years of contemplating it and all it stands for: the recognition and embracement of female sexual pleasure. More than a name for female sexual arousal, for which a universal term has not before existed, Girl Boner is the title of this blog series, my activism, my radio show and an overall movement-in-the-making!
And to top it all off, you can let her sweet ‘n sultry voice fill your mind with knowledge and entertainment by clicking on her radio podcasts which are available for your listening pleasure on iTunes.
Besides being an upscale, forward-thinker in the field of human sexual activity, August is an animal lover and a sweet gal who recently went through every pet owner’s worst nightmare. Click on the link below, friends, and have a tissue handy…
And now, kids, it’s August’s time to shine.
1) If you could make any improvements to the adult film industry, what would they be?
It would show a broader range of physicality, ages and sexuality and cater to a far broader audience. Currently, most adult entertainment is geared toward men and perpetuates some risky stereotypes and ideals.
I have nothing against explicit sex scenes (in fact, YUM!), but I do take issue with the risks particularly mainstream, hardcore porn raises when it’s overused.
If we were less inhibited and more communicative about sexuality as a culture, many of these issues would diminish.
If our society’s views of sexuality changed for the better, so would porn.
2) Hypothetical situation: You’re a wrestler, what’s your stage name and persona, you savage beast?
Ha! I’m not exactly athletically inclined, though I did box for Perfect 10 for a while. They nicknamed me “Bounce,” and not because of any, er, body parts. I just couldn’t seem to stop bouncing around like Tigger. Hmm… Not fierce enough. How about Vivacious Nova?
(Okay, I cheated and used this generator: http://www.wrestlingname.com/diva/.) If that doesn’t work, I’ll choose a symbol, like Prince.
3) What makes August happy? (A specific dish. Puppies? Bom chick wow wow in public? What is it that floats your boat reagrdless of weather conditions, pretty lady?)
Living an authentic life and pursuing my passions make me happy. When I’m blah, though, I can pretty much always find joy in animals, live music, gabbing, kissing, jumping around in the rain, anything Oprah, Christmas, Indian food, wearing funky costumes and, OMG, microphones. I have a total fetish.
4) If you could rewrite one of your least favorite films (one of those flicks you love to hate), which celluloid “masterpiece’ would you pick and why?
I usually can’t stand finishing a flick I don’t dig, but I would love to rewrite “Final Break,” the movie derivative of the TV series, “Prison Break.” I loved the show so much, it ruined me for other shows, but the movie was like “Prison Break” Meets “Gilligan’s Island” with a soap opera-tragic ending. *quivers*
(I loved Prison Break, August! Great, sexy minds really do think alike, don’t they?)
5) The story of your life – specifically your love life – would be called…
That’s easy! Girl Boner!
(I guess I walked right into that one, didn’t I? Wait, that means I walked right into a boner…)
And on that disturbing note, kids, I’m going to wrap this motha up. My thanks to the incomparable August for donating her time and wisdom for the cause.
See you in the lobby, kids…