My new movement: Unionize the unemployed.


It's basically an organized way to rob from the rich and give to the poor. I figure we've had thirty years at least of the other way around.

Update and roundup: The Exhibitionist, the iPhone app I've launched with much help/timely advice from SG friends, is up and gaining users/visibility/subscribers--although it is not yet, in biz speak, cash-flow positive (hah!). We need to fix that in the next few months, or I will be joining the Ranch Hands group here. Also Divorced. Also Homeless (must have pictures, current journal entry, homeless shelter with wifi).

Good prospects: major NY magazine considering partnership (huge marketing boost, and right now that's the biggest priority). Several big mags may reskin the app as a template for their own entrant into the GPS field—sending licensing fees to The Ex. Big University considering using The Ex template as a campus wayfinder app. That's four chances at solvency, all this month. I'm feeling a little like Alex Rodriguez at 599.

In the meantime, friends, download the thing, or go online to The Exhibitionist and create register as a user.

If you do this for me, I will return to my true calling: extravagantly smitten mini apercus about the glories of individual nakedness.

Last summer, in The Proceedings of the Royal Society, a journal devoted to the biological sciences, a combine of researchers from Liverpool and Prague presented the results of a study in which they showed side-by-side photographs of women (their faces, in this study) in and out of ovulation. The results of this investigation suggested that the women in the pictures were more attractive to both men and women during ovulation. The authors had no firm idea why, although they cited previous research that showed a tendency of soft tissue (in ears, fingers, and breasts) to be more symmetrical during this period. Apparently such slight but perceptible differences in outward attractiveness led to "increasing frequency of male-initiated encounters."

And I bring this up because why? Well, it's always surprising and puzzling to see how one set of pics can get off-the-chart comments and then the next one from the same SG gets a reception that seems very "hein?" It would be easy to attribute this to the famously short attention span of the distractable target audience. But maybe, too, there's a hidden ovulation factor at work. If so, ambitious SGs with a control-freak side might want to go all Catholic and start counting cycle days prior to staging a big shoot. Something to discuss on one of those SG only forums.

Sorry. Quoting from section 5.8 of the SG FAQ:

You cannot delete a blog entry.


Even when you should. This policy discriminates against both writers and people who can't figure out how to upload an Indian pole dancing video with hairy men in dhotis doing amazing part-yoga part body-slam moves I have never seen in a strip club. I belong to both categories.

Friends, readers of blogs, technorati, fond and eloquent and naked alike, I have an invitation: my app, the GPS-based smart phone app for the NYC art world, is off to Apple. Some of you are far too computer literate for your own good and might like to test it, in its beta form, before the bright lights of the big launch day. If you would like to take a casual spin on my current vehicle of dreams, please pm me your email and I'll make sure you have instructions your grandmother could follow to download the gizmo to your iPhone. (Blackberrians and Androids, please hide your impatience, I'm working on a version for yins too)

Moved the development process on The Exhibitionist to NYC. Doh. Twice the price, five times the speed, beta in a week or so, to Apple in Aug, on track for September launch. That's calendrical shorthand for recent and upcoming headaches.

Not getting the chance to comment much--though I check in. Sometime recently I noticed that I'm at least as likely to check friends (or bookmarked) blogs as I am to perv the pleasures of the flesh round here.

Kid quote. Not for everybody

I spend half my work on VOIP with a development team in India: unfailingly polite my virtual co-workers, slow to anger, just plain slow.

Since I am paying them, this is a test to serenity.

Robert Reich, ex of Goldman, ex Sec of Treasury, has suggested that "entrepreneur" is the new "unemployed."

Okay, I read this and thought of my naked friends here. And I don't know if it does or does not apply. Discuss.

From Tina Fey's interview in this month's Esquire:
I gave a commencement speech at a girls' high school once, and I said, "If you find yourself two years from now at spring break, don't lift your shirt up. And if you do, have your own camera. The foolishness is that there's some disgusting middleman. They're your boobs. At least have the sense to film it yourself and get the money from it." That's what baffles me about Girls Gone Wild. We could sell this ourselves! Talk about giving away the store. First of all, don't do it. But if you're going to do it, keep your hands on the money, for God's sake. You don't need a middleman. It's your boobs.

(Discuss. Yes. But do continue with the boobs.)

Ridiculous. I should be working.
And I really should be working because I'm about to be my own bossy boss.

Had to wait till I was down to the felt before I got inspired. But yeah finally.

Real life: I'm launching a smart-phone app, wooing subscribers, having meetings I jerry rigged my entire existence up to now to avoid.

But this way around it's actually fun.

One SG irony: The thing will be called The Exhibitionist--but actually has nothing to do with nakedness. I'll be covering the art world...

that's the headlines naked and invisible friends

To combat a creeping loss of brilliance (hah!) as a result of lifelong alcohol consumption, I have begun (well, starting now) memorizing shit. Here's the first poem. I'll let you know if I keep this up.
(Great thing about blogs, really, nobody checks in on your grandiose promises, so you can lie to yourself! Like living without a conscience!)

As Planned

After the first glass of vodka,
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called
La Pettite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that
is all you know words not their feelings
or what they mean and you write because
you know them not because you understand them
because you don't you are stupid and lazy
and will never be great but you do
what you know because what else is there?

--Frank O'Hara

I love the way it starts out so life affirming and you can feel him getting drunker (like that slur in the middle there where there's no comma between "all you know" and "words"--as a reader you go wtf?) and more self-recriminatory and for all that drunk incompetence still it leads to this bleak and unforgiving epiphany--a familiar trajectory. No?