By Fred Topel

I first learned about Dito Montiel when his first film, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints came out. It was notable for a cast including Robert Downey Jr., Shia Labeouf and Channing Tatum before they broke out, and Rosario Dawson who was already a star. Based on Montiel’s own book about growing up in and leaving New York, it introduced Montiel’s voice to Hollywood, particularly in dialogue that’s more like real people who have trouble articulating, rather than polished Hollywood screenplay.

His next movie was the studio action movie Fighting, also starring Tatum as an underground street fighter. Now that I knew who Montiel was, I stopped when I saw a Dito Montiel CD in a bin at the massive used record store Amoeba. The album had sophisticated music, layering different instruments with harmony and telling stories about, again, growing up. Montiel is also a painter. Tatum again stars in Montiel’s third film, The Son of No One. He plays a cop who gets assigned to the precinct of the housing project where he grew up. Tracy Morgan plays a stark, dramatic role as his childhood friend, now in rough shape from a traumatic childhood of abuse. Al Pacino plays police chief with ties to the old case.

Montiel is now a West Coaster like me. This is the third film I’ve had the opportunity to interview him for. Despite the serious subjects of his films and the raw style in which he portrays them, he always seems like lovable friendly guy. He even got a bit shy when I started asking about his music this time.

Read our exclusive interview with Dito Montiel on SuicideGirls.com.

by Steven-Elliot Altman (SG Member: Steven_Altman)

Our Fiction Friday serialized novel, The Killswitch Review, is a futuristic murder mystery with killer sociopolitical commentary (and some of the best sex scenes we’ve ever read!). Written by bestselling sci-fi author Steven-Elliot Altman (with Diane DeKelb-Rittenhouse), it offers a terrifying postmodern vision in the tradition of Blade Runner and Brave New World…

By the year 2156, stem cell therapy has triumphed over aging and disease, extending the human lifespan indefinitely. But only for those who have achieved Conscientious Citizen Status. To combat overpopulation, the U.S. has sealed its borders, instituted compulsory contraception and a strict one child per couple policy for those who are permitted to breed, and made technology-assisted suicide readily available. But in a world where the old can remain vital forever, America’s youth have little hope of prosperity.

Jason Haggerty is an investigator for Black Buttons Inc, the government agency responsible for dispensing personal handheld Kevorkian devices, which afford the only legal form of suicide. An armed “Killswitch” monitors and records a citizen’s final moments — up to the point where they press a button and peacefully die. Post-press review agents — “button collectors” — are dispatched to review and judge these final recordings to rule out foul play.

When three teens stage an illegal public suicide, Haggerty suspects their deaths may have been murders. Now his race is on to uncover proof and prevent a nationwide epidemic of copycat suicides. Trouble is, for the first time in history, an entire generation might just decide they’re better off dead.

(Catch up with the previous installments of Killswitch – see links below – then continue reading after the jump…)

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by Darrah de jour

The unlikely, but delightful newly wed Gaiman-Palmer duo hit the Wilshire Ebell Theatre in Los Angeles on Halloween night kicking off what will be a five-city West Coast mini-tour, which will stop off in San Francisco (11/4), Vancouver (11/6), Portland (11/8) and Seattle (11/9).

On the heels of performing with Moby and Stephen Merritt, along with an admittedly “uncomfortable” Gaiman on keyboards, on The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson earlier that day, the twosome were introduced at the Ebell by rad chick comic Margaret Cho (who likened her life-long affection for rice-paper wrapped white bunny candies to her fondness for uncircumcised penises). Taking the stage in black and white wedding-esque attire Amanda and Neil began a rowdy costume contest. Audience members, hand-selected by Cho, took to the stage and accepted varying levels of applause, which determined the ultimate winner: a gay male couple dressed as twin-rabbits. Creepy masks. The prize? Signed merch and a rather random bottle of balsamic purloined from a Craig Ferguson hospitality basket.

The British scary story writer and Dresden Dolls founder and lead-singer met while collaborating on Palmer’s macabre art/photo book Who Killed Amanda Palmer– a collection of photographs of a dead-Palmer – taken by Palmer, over a period of 14 years. Gaiman explains how this undertaking brought them together. Read, also, his latest plight: to help artists create wills for their literary estates.

A charmingly disorganized night filled with on-stage, off-mic banter, impromptu song and reading plans, and even a cue-card Q&A of previously scribbled audience questions proved utterly lavish in this overly-synchronized Lady Gaga lights/Chris Brown firework world of perfectly framed modernity. Not to mention, the love between these two is palpable. (They pecked between songs, and when Gaiman forgot his lyric sheet, Palmer hurriedly scribbled lines on a ripped piece of paper with Sharpie, handed it to him and ran back to her piano. A gesture which prompted Gaiman to proclaim aloud: “I love her.”)

NYC-native Palmer sang a cover of “Science Fiction/Double Feature” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show along with originals “Runs in the Family,” “Judy Blume,” and latest Twitter-fan-aided ode to 4-stringed, anti-Fascist Machine-killing machine, her I.O.C., “Ukulele Anthem.” The 35-year old outspoken bisexual even sang “Satellite of Love” for the nearing birthday-boy (Neil turns 50 on November 10th), and the couple did a tongue-in-cheek duet of the standard “Makin’ Whoopee.” Neil read a few poems and a Halloween story he wrote for The New York Times, as well as a silly torch song he’d penned lyrics for (“I Google You“) about heartbreak and computers replacing the ‘cigarettes and bar-fly’ mentality that pervaded society for so long. Charming Australian duo The Jane Austen Argument opened.

The tour is being recorded thanks to fan funding from a Kickstarter campaign, which surpassed its $20,000 goal by $113,000+. In fact, much of the connection Palmer has with her fans stems from her DIY, grass-roots use of technology: blogging, free music sites, Twitter. There, she communicates and even beckons help from them (like during her “ReBellyon” – a record company dispute with Roadrunner Records which was sparked when they edited a belly shot out of a music video because they felt she looked “fat”).

A standing ovation for the two geek and goth faves, was followed by a chaotic merch signing session. Trying to organize the ridiculously large throng that was packed into the relatively small foyer, Palmer stood on a table, barefoot, as she attempted to figure out how the hell she and her husband were going to sign stuff for the mass of fans before the theatre’s 11.30 PM curfew.

Post-feminist sex and sensuality expert Darrah de jour is a freelance journalist who lives in LA with her dog Oscar Wilde. Her writing has appeared in Marie Claire, Esquire and W. In her Red, White and Femme: Strapped With A Brain – And A Vagina columns for SuicideGirls, Darrah will be taking a fresh look at females in America. Visit her blog at Darrahdejour.com/srblog and find her on Facebook.

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by Daniel Robert Epstein

Lewis Black is best known for his politically charged rants called Back in Black that are featured on The Daily Show. But he’s been a working standup comedian for 20 years. He’s just released his new comedy album, The Carnegie Hall Performance.

Read our exclusive interview with Lewis Black on SuicideGirls.com.

by Steven-Elliot Altman (SG Member: Steven_Altman)

Our Fiction Friday serialized novel, The Killswitch Review, is a futuristic murder mystery with killer sociopolitical commentary (and some of the best sex scenes we’ve ever read!). Written by bestselling sci-fi author Steven-Elliot Altman (with Diane DeKelb-Rittenhouse), it offers a terrifying postmodern vision in the tradition of Blade Runner and Brave New World…

By the year 2156, stem cell therapy has triumphed over aging and disease, extending the human lifespan indefinitely. But only for those who have achieved Conscientious Citizen Status. To combat overpopulation, the U.S. has sealed its borders, instituted compulsory contraception and a strict one child per couple policy for those who are permitted to breed, and made technology-assisted suicide readily available. But in a world where the old can remain vital forever, America’s youth have little hope of prosperity.

Jason Haggerty is an investigator for Black Buttons Inc, the government agency responsible for dispensing personal handheld Kevorkian devices, which afford the only legal form of suicide. An armed “Killswitch” monitors and records a citizen’s final moments — up to the point where they press a button and peacefully die. Post-press review agents — “button collectors” — are dispatched to review and judge these final recordings to rule out foul play.

When three teens stage an illegal public suicide, Haggerty suspects their deaths may have been murders. Now his race is on to uncover proof and prevent a nationwide epidemic of copycat suicides. Trouble is, for the first time in history, an entire generation might just decide they’re better off dead.

(Catch up with the previous installments of Killswitch – see links below – then continue reading after the jump…)

[..]

by Darrah de jour

Just last week, New Jersey state senate candidate Phil Mitsch got in hot water for relegating his Tweet Deck to a Rules-esque motherboard. Forking up some much-needed dating advice to us ladies, he tweeted: “Women, you increase your odds of keeping your men by being faithful, a lady in the living room and a whore in the bedroom.”

Now, people take to their social networks for a plethora of non-job-related things, including break-up announcements, play-by-plays of their nightly bar-hopping, or the new celeb fave –– the topless back shot. (Because I was having trouble sleeping before I knew that Demi Moore’s spine was, in fact, perfectly aligned.) So, in this post-Weiner world of penis-shaped chirps and pep talks like ex-IBM manager Joe Acuri’s alleged “get your boobies out and get sales” good-natured goad, is it surprising that a Republican runner uses his God-given patriarchal right to tweet to remind women that, at the end of the day, we are glorified school girls, maids, and hookers?

Unfortunately, the good girl/bad girl scenario, along with all of its glorious limitations, is still a pervasive tool used to denigrate the fairer sex and control women’s sexual prowess, and essentially, put us on mute.

In his defense, he did give men a similar maxim, offering them advice on how to keep their women by “being faithful, a gentleman in the living room and a stud in the bedroom.” Here’s the issue many women have raised: there really are no male equivalents to the word whore. And here’s why: men’s sexuality is celebrated. Women’s is not.

We are constantly convinced –– by media images, by social banter, by office politics, by government politics, by social politics, by gender politics –– that we are pleasurable tools for the male orgasm. We are pushed around, pleaded with, spread thin, paraded, scrutinized, insulted, disrespected, hushed, ignored, manipulated, blamed and won over because we simply don’t understand what it’s like to be “so horny” all of the time.

Here’s my question: if men have this ridiculous, unquenchable, non-stop, life-assaulting, all-consuming, never-ending sensual drive, need and extra energy –– why isn’t it being spent trying to make our lives easier? Why isn’t it used to arouse us to the level of desire they are living with? Why isn’t it lavished on us so that we can reach daily orgasm? Instead, women are society’s geishas.

For example, if I had an insane day of never-ending phone calls, job assignments, housework, personal preening, fires to put out, etc. and then came home to find that my partner had had a breezier day, wouldn’t it make more sense for him to coddle me versus the other way around? The same can be said of this seemingly invisible sex drive that women are supposedly inflicted with.

Only, we actually have a similar drive for sex. We just happen to be more discerning in wielding it. Plus, we are so sick of religion, patriarchy and men’s judgments that sometimes it’s hard to get it up. (Not to mention, some of us are actually still brain-washed by these factors.) We are so up in our heads about it that sex has become this suppressed, twisty, confusing, numbing, crazy manipulation that we sometimes use against y’all. Or each other. Women –– I’m not counting us out. I’ve never been so judged by anyone than I have been by other women; because really, by society’s standards –– I’m a nymphomaniac. (And proud of it.)

I love sex and sensuality and porn and by-products of estrogen, testosterone, aphrodisiacs and sex-related endorphins so much that, really, some days, it’s all I friggin’ think about. I masturbate three times a day some days. I use dating sites like Facebook. I have at least five guys I can call on any given night to hitch a ride on my shooting star, and leave promptly after. Plus, I’m in my early-30s, and supposedly at my sexual peak. This is my excuse for a high-sex drive. Because, here’s the thing – apparently, I need one.

I need an excuse because I have a vagina.

A few tid-bits about me: I began masturbating at age 9. I realized I was bisexual at 12. I began having fantasies about older men, leather-clad women and bondage and dominance before I took my SAT’s. I have more lingerie and sex toys than a Manhattan hooker.

But, I’m also picky as fuck. I have had half the sex partners of any New York Magazine Sex Diarist. My imagination is my greatest weapon against pregnancy and a loose vag.

And my girl friends? They are amazing. Open-minded, lovely, sexual, fun and cool as long as I don’t talk too loud or too much about being a single, sexy, smart L.A. gal. It’s OK as long as it’s in the front room closet.

Shit I Don’t Understand

While I love the altruism in Mitsch’s age-old adage (who, according to his website, is a “mortgage expert” not Dr. Ruth), the problem herein lies with the complexity of the human condition. Men’s sexuality to be more exact.

While it’s a fact that both women and men cheat, for the sake of this argument, let’s keep the focus on the chaste woman and the free man. Men cheat and oft times it has less to do with how warm his meal is when he gets home. I’m gonna go out on a limb here (and reel me in if I’m bein’ overly-ambitious), but somehow, in our outdated, presumptuous, old-world existence where monogamy is king and keeping women on a string is the norm, I don’t think that men who cheat are doing so in direct response to their wife offering or not offering up an additional hole or a Hot Toddy when he’s sick –– as Mitsch’s idiom suggests.

Is it possible, that he’s doing so because he fucking wants to? Because our puritanical view of sex is something that even he is sick and tired of? That he felt pressured into marriage and a single partner by the same dictating forces that we succumb to daily? That he’s a victim of his own Frankenstein?

Read more next week, when I delve into the other side of the coin –– women proselytizing to other women about whom they should be in the bedroom. And what we sluts can do about it.

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by Daniel Robert Epstein

Jonathan Katz is the brilliantly funny deadpan comedian that the animated show Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist was built around. Dr. Katz was Comedy Central’’s first big hit and was on for five years. It’’s taken another six years for the first season to come out on DVD. But it’s here and it has commentaries by Katz, collaborator H. Jon Benjamin and many of the comedians who sat on the couch.

Read our exclusive interview with Jonathan Katz on SuicideGirls.com.