Halloween cat costume for the internet age

When it comes to Halloween costumes, there are two extremes: The people that phone it in and run to the drugstore at the eleventh hour to buy whatever crap is left on the shelves, and the people who really, Really, REALLY get into dressing up for Halloween.

Most revelers fall somewhere in the middle, giving their costumes a little bit of thought and putting in a little bit of effort. Store-bought in full or jerry-rigged at home, these are the costumes of people who want to have fun dressing out of character but know that part of having a good time is not caring too much. The party-goers in over-the-top costumes tend to flail awkwardly on dance floors, sacrificing the night’s fun for being the object of many straight-to-Facebook cell phone photos and maybe a hundred dollar prize, while the here’s-my-costume-it’s-a-wig Halloween slackers just look like assholes.

And we all know that the true spirit of Halloween is sluttiness, and the whole point of the holiday is that women get to wear as little as possible in public and men get to enjoy this. Women should have fun stretching the limits of both their creativity and their modesty; there is really almost no end to what could serve as a costume if your costume is just the barest veil between your body and society.

I love the idea of racey Halloween costumes fashioned from mundane objects, and today when I was tidying the home office I started playing dress-up instead of playing maid.  When you live with a techie you live with an abundance of CAT 5 cable; hence my idea for a new spin on the sexy cat costume:

Kitty Cat V

Kitty Cat V

That a holiday so often associated with masks should also be so closely associated with near-nudity is perhaps a thesis for some destitute grad student in the humanities to tackle; I’ll just say that I find it wonderful and amusing, and I think we should continue to embrace sexualizing just about everything and everyone until maybe someday we can just embrace sex.

Through a (Google) Glass, Darkly

There are many advantages to having a boyfriend who works in high tech. One is that I’ve never seen the inside of a computer repair store or had to call the Geek Squad. When a thing breaks, he fixes it. Or he cobbles together a new thing out of the pile of spare parts for things in his office. The techie’s office is like a grease monkey’s garage – full of sacred junk that only he knows how to bring to life.

This flip side of this advantage, however, is that I never get to experience the Cool New Gadget. Until now:

Behold, the Glass.

Not mine. It’s the Russian lover’s, and it’s become his indispensible bionic appendage. And not because he’s taking stealth videos of the unsuspecting, but because he finds it genuinely useful for staying connected to his 24/7 work obligations; anyone who’s ever had a special bond with their Blackberry can probably relate. Except for the part where they’re attached by the thumbs.

What I’ve determined to be one of the best features of the Glass by far is the scrolling of email subject lines and text messages through the field of vision as they arrive. If you’re wearing the Glass, your companion sees only a faint red momentary glow in the prism by your right eye, and notices your glance drift for a second. If the message is unimportant or not urgent, you can simply carry on no more interrupted than if you briefly caught something interesting out of the corner of your eye. Compared to the constant checking a phone requires, the Glass is unobtrusive as a device; and lookswise, it’s no more offensive than the heavy frames favored by so many nearsighted hipsters these days.

The first night I went out with the Russian lover and the Glass, I was thrilled that he spent almost the entire evening looking up at me instead of pulling out his smartphone every ten minutes to scroll through email. For the partners of perpetually on-call professionals, the Glass is an intimacy restorer, giving your face time more face-to-face time.

For all my enthusasim about the Russian lover wearing the Glass during our time together, however, I was slightly less excited after I finally got to try them on for myself. The first time I put them on my expectations were stratospheric; in my mind, the Glass was the culmination of all the SciFi I had ever known. Wearing them was going to be like teleportation and warp speed and the holodeck all at once. I was prepared to orgasm.

And thus, as with the loss of my virginity, there was disppointment in realizing my imagination had created an experience far superior to the reality and a definite lack of orgasm.

But after a few turns wearing them I’ve gotten a feel for the technology and totally understand the appeal. Those of us who don’t work on the cutting-edge of science and technology, and instead wallow in the fantastical promises of science fiction to feel connected to the innovative forefront of our culture, are bound to be a little bit let down the first time we try new technology. The technologists who muddle around in the guts of code and silicon approach new devices with an appreciation for the current limitations.

In short, most of us buy the latest gadget and find ourselves vaguely annoyed that it doesn’t function like the perfect prop out of our futuristic SciFi-fueled fantasies; when techies buy the latest gadget, they are delighted and amazed to find that the damn thing works at all.

Why a shitty mattress is good for your sex life

For our New England vacation last week, the Russian lover and I rented a beautiful house with a cozy bedroom and a big, comfortable bed. It seemed to possess magical properties; the moment we lay down on the thing we both passed out cold. It didn’t matter what kind of moments had led up to it – the result was always instant and sustained unconsciousness.   We’d never slept so well.

But for the entire week we slept on this perfect cloud, we did nothing in the perfect cloud-bed except sleep. And this is where I realized that we partially owed the constancy of our sex life to the series of shitty mattresses we’ve owned.

The thing about a shitty mattress is, you don’t fall asleep right away.   And when you don’t fall asleep right away, you lie awake bored and restless. And when you like awake bored and restless, you start to look for something to do. And when you look for something to do, you see the person lying there right next to you and you get an idea.

The other thing about a shitty mattress is, you often don’t stay asleep after you fall asleep.  You wake up in the middle of the night, and again you find yourself looking for something that will  occupy or exhaust you until you fall back to sleep.  Reading is a  commitment to waking, but rubbing is soothing; a lulling invitation to the person beside you who is almost certainly just as awake.  Or soon will be.

And then it’s morning, although the alarm hasn’t gone off yet, but you’re awake because a shitty mattress wants to expel you from your slumber like a sea beaching a whale on shore, leaving you stranded in consciousness and totally incapable of returning to the depths of REM even if you wanted to.   But since there is still time to be in bed, and not enough time to doze off again, you reach for your lover one more time.

So while I enjoyed a week of heavenly rest, I was happy to return to sleeping on the kind of mattress that may not let me start the day fresh as a daisy, but does ensure I go out the door freshly fucked.