Writings about my thoughts or experiences in and about the adult industry. Although I stripped and worked as an independent escort, my interest in the adult industry extends to all parts of it. Just FYI, my usage of the term “adult industry” means all facets of adult entertainment, not just limited to strippers, prostitutes and porn stars.
Due to the falling US dollar and the rising Canadian dollar, strip clubs on the border are seeing some migration. US strippers are working up north and Canadian customers are heading south for fun.
So strip clubs make the WSJ again. (And this isn’t the first time in major media for Robert Katzman. I need to make him my publicist.)
Caution: I actually use a little naughty language in here.
When I went to Vegas for the first time in 2000, by myself, it took me all of 24 hours to figure out the city is made for money and women. If you have one or are the other, Vegas is your playground. To me, the secret of the city is that it’s a living monument to avarice and lust. I’ll go even further and say that pussy built Vegas and is its raison d’être. Aristotle Onassis understood that without women, money means nothing.
I spent two weeks there dancing. I never felt degraded in Vegas. I was constantly harassed by panhandlers, but that was it (I think I was a target because I looked harmless and was a single woman). I planned to go back the next fall, 2001, but those plans were curtailed. I’ve been back several times for vacations and I still feel the same vibe, although Vegas got whupped a little bit after 9/11 and lost some exuberance. I’m fully against it being a “family place.” That’s not why it lives and breathes.
Today was the official first day of the Desiree Alliance conference.
I woke up at my usual time and got online, hoping not to disturb Jill. She woke up anyway and we started chatting, which means my e-mail got short shrift. I convinced her to go to breakfast with me (if I’d known how sick she was feeling, I probably would’ve forced her to stay in bed). I made sure to gather everything I’d need for my presentation today and plenty of books. I was just resigned to pain on the walk to the conference building.
We arrived a little later than I wanted, but everyone was running a few minutes behind. Lots of people were there and plenty of mingling. I realized the folly of not having anyone to sit behind the table where my book was displayed in order to sell it. I had to try and track people down. No one recognized me from my author photo (different hair – I guess it’s a Clark Kent thing). Lesson learned.
Jessica kept asking me if I was nervous about my presentation that afternoon. No, strangely, I wasn’t. It didn’t hit me until the moment I stood up in front of the room with my speech notes in my hand.
I woke up at my usual time and answered e-mails, which of course included stuff that would be best handled from my home office. This sort of emergency stuff never happens when I’m actually at home. Only the very few times a year I’m away from my desk.
The night before I’d practiced one of my speeches, so this morning I practiced the other short one. My long one was going to have wait. I felt I knew my material pretty well at this point, but perhaps I wasn’t really paying attention to what was coming out of my mouth.
Today was St. James Infirmary Fantasy Sex Me Academy. I still don’t get the title, but okay. It was the Whore College re-named. It was a day-long seminar of presentations to sex workers. I was hoping to learn new things, meet new people (sell books!) and do some market research on the sly. Armed with directions from Yahoo! Maps, I began my morning walk.
For the first time in my life, I attended a professional conference – meaning one that dealt with my work. Last week was the West Coast Convergence which was the meeting of a lot of sex work –related happenings. There was Sex Worker Fest, SWOP national meeting (I’m a board member of SWOP-East), St. James Infirmary’s Fantasy Sex Me Academy and the Desiree Alliance 2007 Conference.
Although I have a few quibbles, what I came away with was a profound feeling of love and acceptance. I’m still high from it (and I didn’t partake of anything stronger than champagne on my last night). My small-publisher meetings chronicled on here do not compare and must’ve happened on another plane of existence entirely.
So, my first day. I arrive in SF Tuesday (7/17) about noon, just in time to miss SWOP’s big rally. I had hoped to attend since I’ve never done this sort of thing before, but it was not to be. I walk to the SWOP meeting place, which of course means I got lost and walk an extra mile or so – carrying a heavy bag (I didn’t bring my backpack because I somehow thought it would look dorkier than my crooked back and slumped shoulder as I carry a 20lb bag my right hand).