The ninth annual Seattle Erotic Art Festival, to be held May 20-22, 2011 at Fremont Studios is now now accepting art submissions. (Click on the banner below for further information.)
The Call for Visual Art is open January 1-31, 2011. The Festival sells more art than any other erotic art festival, has low submission fees, and competitive commission rates. Artists may submit up to five works of erotic art of any medium. Sculptors, multimedia artists and painters are particularly encouraged to apply. The 2011 jury consists of art historian Gene Burt; artist and collector Steve Jensen; sex-positive activist and deputy director of Gay City, Peter Jabin; and the last jurors are in the process of being confirmed.
The Call for Short Film/Video is open January 1 – February 28, 2011. No other major erotic art festival has a film component, and this year film will be a main attraction, presented at Fremont Studios in a modern 50-seat movie theater. Filmmakers are encouraged to submit up to three works, each up to 30 minutes in length. The Erotic Short Film Exhibition is curated by Three Dollar Bill Cinema (producer of the Seattle Gay & Lesbian Film Festival and the Seattle Transgender Film Festival). The jury will consist of a Three Dollar Bill Cinema review panel and the Seattle Erotic Art Festival Director.
The Call for Installation Art is open January 1 – February 15, 2011. Installation art is extremely popular at the Festival, and artists enjoy significant notoriety as a result of media and audience reviews. Additionally, the Festival is continuing to offer its grant for interactive visual artists; selected artists will be granted up to $750 to create works of art that feature a participatory element and encourage the audience to become part of the art. Installations are selected by a Festival Curatorial Team. There is no fee for installation submissions.
The Call for Literary Art is open January 1 – February 15, 2011. This is the third year of the Literary Art Exhibition, featuring work from poets, playwrights and authors from across the country. Selected works are exhibited through live readings and on the printed page. Artists may submit 5 pieces. The jury consists of Lydia Swartz, who generates one of the most extensive spoken word calendars for the Seattle area; Dobbie Reese Norris, who is the originator and host of and contributor to one of the longest running reading series in Seattle: Third Tuesdays Poets and Writers; Eileen Fix, a Tacoma Distinguished Writers selection and founder of the Little Red Studio Poetry Posse; and Victor David Sandiego, prize-winning poet and former editor of the Washington Poets Association.
DON’T MISS THIS OPPORTUNITY TO JOIN ARTISTS FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD FOR THIS WORLD CLASS EVENT!
Lookin’ for a little somethin’ that will perk up that ho-hum sex life of yours? I thought so. Well then, here’s your opportunity to learn a few new tricks. (Along with a slew of other sex-positive adults of every persuasion.)
I’ll be there, so you know it’s gonna be good. Hell, if you’re lucky, and register early, you can even take one of my workshops. YOU CAN REGISTER ONLINE!
April 10-11, 2009
2 Days of Classes,
Music & Food
Be there or be square!
Join us and expand the boundaries of your sex life and meet other interesting like-minded people in the safety and beauty of New Horizons and their stunning, 13-acre adults-only facility. Learn more about sex. Enjoy sex. And, come away with a unique, once-in-a-lifetime experience at the Seattle Fetish & Fantasy Festival.
People who survive cancer treatment — a growing group now topping 5 million — often have trouble with intimacy afterward, both from the actual treatment and physical recovery and from the psychological damage of feeling so vulnerable.
People who survive cancer treatment — a growing group now topping 5 million — often have trouble with intimacy afterward, both from the actual treatment and physical recovery and from the psychological damage of feeling so vulnerable.(Photo: Getty Images/Comstock Images)
In the mirror, Kelly Shanahan looks normal, even to herself.
Kelly Shanahan of South Lake Tahoe, Calif., has been battling breast cancer for eight years. She’s a big believer in doctors and their patients discussing sexual health.
But she does not feel like herself.
The breasts she had reconstructed eight years ago look real, the nipples convincing. But her breasts have no sensation. The only time she feels them at all is during the frigid winters of her South Lake Tahoe, Calif., home, when they get so cold, she has to put on an extra layer of clothing.
“For a lot of women, breast sensation is a huge part of sexual pleasure and foreplay. That is totally gone,” says Shanahan, 55, who has lived with advanced breast cancer for three years. “It can be a big blow to self-image, even though you may look normal.”
Kelly Shanahan of South Lake Tahoe, Calif., has been battling breast cancer for eight years. She’s a big believer in doctors and their patients discussing sexual health. (Photo: Kelly Shanahan)
Shanahan is part of a growing group of patients, advocates and doctors raising concerns about sexual health during and after cancer treatment.
“None of us would be here if it weren’t for sex. I don’t understand why we have such a difficult time talking about it,” she says.
Though virtually all cancer diagnoses and treatments affect how patients feel and what they think about their bodies, sex remains an uncomfortable medical topic.
Shanahan, an obstetrician herself, says that until her current doctor, none of the specialists who treated her cancer discussed her sex life.
“My former oncologist would rather fall through the floor than talk about sex,” she says.
Major cancer centers now include centers addressing sexuality, but most community hospitals still do not. The topic rarely is discussed unless the patient is particularly bold or the doctor has made a special commitment.
There’s no question that cancer can dampen people’s sex lives.
Hormone deprivation, a common therapy for breast and prostate cancer, can destroy libido, interfere with erections, and make sex extremely painful. Weight gain or loss can affect how sexy people feel. Fatigue is unending during treatment. Body image can be transformed by surgeries and the idea that your own cells are trying to kill you. The constant specter of death is a sexual downer, as are the decidedly unsexy aspects of cancer care, like carrying around a colostomy bag. Then, there are the healthy partners, feeling guilty and terrified of causing pain.
And once people start to associate sex with pain, that can add apprehension and muscle tightness, which makes intercourse harder to achieve, says Andrea Milbourne, a gynecologist at the University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston.
There’s almost never a medical reason cancer patients or survivors shouldn’t be having sex, says Karen Syrjala, a clinical psychologist and co-director of the survivorship program at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle. Even if there is reason to avoid intercourse, physical closeness and intimacy are possible, she says, noting that the sooner people address sexual issues the less serious those issues will be.
“Bodies need to be used and touched,” she says said. “Tissues need to be kept active.” Syrjala recommends hugging, romantic dinners, simple touching, “maybe just holding each other naked at night.”
There are ways to improve sexual problems, starting with doctors talking to their patients about sex. Milbourne and others say it’s their responsibility, not the patients’, to bring up the topic.
Hormone deprivation, a common therapy for breast and prostate cancer, can destroy libido, interfere with erections, and make sex extremely painful. Lubricants can help smooth the way.
Communication between partners also is essential. “A lot of times, it’s unclear, at least in the mind of the other partner who doesn’t have a cancer, what has happened. ‘Why does this hurt? Why don’t you want to do anything?’ ” Milbourne says.
For women who have pain during sex, Milbourne says one study found benefit to using lidocaine gel to numb vaginal tissue.
Jeanne Carter, head of the female sexual medicine and women’s health program at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in New York City, recommends women do three minutes of Kegel exercises daily to strengthen their pelvic floor muscles and improve vaginal tone, and to help reconnect to their bodies.
For women sent abruptly into menopause, moisturizing creams can help soften tissue that has become brittle and taut. Carter says she’s conducted research showing that women with breast or endometrial cancers who use moisturizers three to five times a week in the vagina and on the vulva have fewer symptoms and less pain than those who don’t. Lubricants can help smooth the way, too.
“We’ve got to make sure we get the tissue quality and pain under control or that will just undermine the whole process,” Carter says.
Sex toys also take on a different meaning after cancer treatment. Specialized stores often can offer useful advice and the ability to examine a product before buying. Rings and other equipment, in addition to medications such as Viagra, can help men regain erections.
Doctors and well-meaning friends also need to stop telling cancer patients that they should simply be glad to be alive, Shanahan says. Of course she is, but eight years after her initial diagnosis and three years after her disease advanced, Shanahan wants to make good use of the time she has left.
And that, she says, includes having a warm, intimate relationship with her husband of 21 years.
Last Sunday, 07/24, I woke up feeling a bit wonky. Couldn’t quite put my finger on why I was feelin’ out of sorts; I just was. But I had a swell outing planned for the day, so I couldn’t flake. A couple of friends and I were planning on taking the ferry to Bainbridge Island for lunch. The weather was perfect for our little cruise across Puget Sound.
My friends and I met at Pikes Market, a famous landmark here in The Emerald City, and we walked to the ferry from there. I walk about four miles every day so the 15-minute walk should have been a breeze for me. But something was wrong. I felt lethargic and winded.
The 35-minute ferry ride was magical, as always, but upon disembarking and walking to the restaurant I began to really hurt. Not one to spoil the fun I marshaled my resources and made it to lunch.
The walk back to the ferry was excruciating. I was lightheaded, slightly nauseous, and completely winded. My heart was pounding like it wanted out of my chest. My companions became as worried as I was.
Once we docked in Seattle I had to once again disembark then walk to public transportation and to home. I was in a panic. The crush of the crowd around added to my distress. I thought for sure I was gonna faint, or barf, or worse. I was certain that my lungs were gonna give out on me. After many stops to catch my breath and buckets of sweat from the effort I finally made it home.
I’ve been monitoring my blood pressure for several months. (Ya gotta do this when you’re old, like me.) So once at home, I took a reading. My blood pressure was normal, but my pulse was unusually low, a reading of 49 to be precise. A couple of hours later it was 45. This was odd. I had never experienced anything like that before. Mostly my pulse rate hovers in the upper 70s and low 80s.
I felt much better on Monday. But come Tuesday, I was a total wreck. The least bit of exertion left me exhausted and prostrate. I knew it; my lungs were finally giving out. I put in a call to my doctor and got an expedited appointment for the very next day.
Tuesday’s blood pressure readings were slightly elevated, which was great, but my pulse was way down. I took several readings and each was in the mid 30s never over 40. I still didn’t get it. (This is probably why I’m not a brain surgeon.)
Wednesday turned out to be a nightmare. Unbeknownst to me I was about to began a headlong descent into the maw of the medical industry.
My doctor’s appointment was at 10:30am. The doc took one look at me and ordered an electrocardiogram (EKG). “HOLY SHIT!” She exclaimed. (Or something to that effect.) “How is it that you’re still standing?”
Needless to say, this got my attention right quick. “What?” I inquired. “Although you are not having a heart attack you are this close to the pearly gates. Your pulse is about to flat line, you monkey!” My doctor stuttered. (Ok, maybe she didn’t mention the pearly gates, or call me a monkey, but that was her drift for damn sure.)
Maybe it was the stress or shock of it, but I started to laugh. My doctor asked; “What’s so funny?” I said; “Did you ever see the movie, Death Becomes Her? Remember the scene in the emergency room?”
She gave a faint smile and said; “Yeah, I get it, but this is no laughing matter. Get thee to the Emergency Room ASAP!”
Off I went.
I got to Swedish Hospital (First Hill) Emergency Reception just before noon. The guy behind the desk asked what was wrong with me. I said; “Basically, I’m having a heart attack.” Apparently those are the magic words because the team swung into action. I was admitted immediately, blood was drawn, another EKG, x-rays were taken, and I was hooked up to a heart monitor. Diagnosis: Bradycardia with second-degree heart block.
You need a pacemaker IMMEDIATELY!
We’ll get you a room on the cardiac ward at our Cherry Hill campus, which is just a mile away, as soon as one is available.”
“Oh, OK, I guess,” said I as the severity of the situation finally began to dawn on me. As you can see, I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box.
Back in the emergency room I was laying on a gurney with electrodes and wires sprouting from my chest and back. I lay there for hours listening to the cries, screams, and moans of my fellow emergency patients. Codes blue and grey are being called with regularity and I can just imagine the human misery that surrounds me.
At 5:00pm one of the emergency nurses tells me that a room at the cardiac ward will be available at 7:00pm. “But, 7:00pm is the changing of the shift. So the soonest we could get you there is 7:30pm.”
7:30pm comes and goes. “What’s up?” I ask. “We’re trying to locate transport for you.” Was their retort. “But the Cherry Hill campus is just a mile away. I could walk there from here.” I countered. “But you need a special ambulance, one with a nurse on board, one that can monitor your heart in transit.” “You gotta be kidding!” Said I. “Not at all. You could flat line on the way to Cherry Hill and we’d be liable. Don’t worry, Richard, we will surely have the transport by 10:00pm.”
The transport didn’t actually arrive till 12:30am. That was twelve and a half hours on a gurney in the ER! And the fun is just beginning.
I finally get to the Cherry Hill campus at 1:00am. I am ushered into a room where I am then interrogated for 45 minutes. (Are you now, or have you ever been…) They called it an intake, but a rose by any other name. I haven’t eaten since breakfast at 5:00am the previous day with only water to drink. Now, even the water was being withheld. I guess they anticipated I would have my procedure later that (Thursday) morning.
Not so fast there buckaroo!
Thursday dawns, but nothing happens. I’m confined to my bed (the second worse bed in the world. The first being the ER gurney I left yesterday) and am attached to a heart monitor. I am faint from hunger and more than a little dehydrated. By noon they decide they need to feed me lest the hunger and dehydration kill me before the arrhythmia.
I scarfed down my lunch like a dying man…mostly because I was.
Allow me to pause my narration for a moment and comment on the cardiac nursing staff. They are superb! And even that superlative leaves me wanting. These women are freakin’ rock stars in my book. One in particular, Nurse Jen, totally got me. We both had the same gallows humor. She is my hero.
Eric Williams, MD, FHRS
Late Thursday afternoon Dr. Williams, a cardiac electrophysiologist, saunters into my room. He’s gonna be doing the cutting on me. He is a tall handsome black man with the most unassuming manner. He looks me in the eye and talks to me like I’m a human. I’m super impressed with his bedside manner. He tells me my blood work and enzymes are excellent. My x-rays show that my heart isn’t enlarged. (But wait! Every one tells me I have a huge heart.) And there’s no sign that I had a heart attack. We talk about the pacemaker and the procedure. He tells me it’s about the size of a silver dollar. (When I actually see the blasted thing the next day, just before they shove into my chest, I have to wonder where Dr. Williams gets his silver dollars.) The procedure is very routine; he tells me. “Yeah sure, for you maybe.” It’ll last approximately 45 minutes, during which I will be enjoying twilight anesthesia. “Twilight anesthesia, huh? That sounds delightful.” Better living through chemistry, I always say.
I get a sedative Thursday night to help me sleep in my little bed of torture. And nothing by mouth after midnight. (Oh no! Not that again.)
Friday morning my nurses prep me for surgery. First, they have to shave my manly chest, don’t cha know. Nurse Jen takes the lead with a maniacal gleam in her eye. This is more than a little awkward and also maybe a wee bit kinky.
Finally the fateful hour arrives. I get a second IV stent, because apparently one is not enough for these folks. Then I’m wheeled down to the bowels of the building where I disappear into one of the surgery suits.
Does this look like the size of a silver dollar? I don’t think so.
Two hours later I’m back in my room dopey as all get-out, but still kickin’.
I’m home now, i’m happy to report. They liberated me on Saturday, 07/30, afternoon. And I am only slightly worse for the wear. I have a very distinctive slash across my left pectoral. There’s an unsightly bulge just below it. It looks like i’m growing a third breast. And a nasty purple and brown bruise that runs from my shoulder to my sternum and from my collarbone to my nipple. I sound like a real attractive guy, huh?
The Moral Of The Story
My friends, life is short! Ought we not live every day like it’s our last? I think so. I have decided that I will try to be more kind to myself and those around me. Because, ya know what? In a twinkling of an eye, it can and most assuredly be over.