Two Sundays I got married to game developer, best friend, and total cutie Scott Siegel, who’s been my partner in crime since high school. Despite the months of stress I waded through leading up to the actual day, it actually turned out to be an amazing day — full of sunshine, wonderful people, and squishy emotional meaning. I’m seriously considering recanting on my instructions to any and all people thinking of getting married to elope. Now.

Things haven’t slowed down since. After the last of the friendlies shipped back to the East Coast — both Scott and I are from Philly/NYC, which means we had five out of town guests staying in our living room — I packed up the apartment and we moved six blocks down the street, to a place of our own, sans roommate, complete with hardwood floors, high ceilings, and a closet I intend to turn into a fort. (See, I’m an adult.) My last few days have been spent unpacking, rebuilding Ikea furniture, and figuring out how to actually use the kitchen appliances given to us as wedding presents. Where’s the “make food instantly” button?

Yesterday was my birthday, making me 24. Needless to say, I’m freaked out that I’ve moved from early twenties to mid twenties. Granted, I’ll be 30 by the time I finish grad school, so really twenty-anything should be comforting. I know already I’m going to be one of those middle-aged women who freaks out over every wrinkle. And I’m not even old enough to rent a car. Scott and I spent the day down in Monterey, where I sketched fishies at the aquarium and was allowed to purchase a stuffed humpback whale. Apparently I turned five, not 24.

This Sunday it’s off to Tahiti for a honeymoon cruise. Fancy pants, right? According to the above photo, they have huts on stilts on water… or something. Normally I’m all about researching the places I visit, planning out every detail ahead of time, and generally LEARNING. This time I’m working hard to go with the flow and just enjoy myself, while attempting to get something resembling a tan. Those who attended the wedding, you lucky people you, know what I have at the moment is a wedding dress burn. Sex-y.

So apologies for the continued absence. Someday soon I’ll be back online, no longer soaking up rays on some beautiful blue stretch of water whilst sipping mixed drinks… but hopefully not too soon.

Needless to say, preparation for the wedding has had me running around like a crazy person for the last… well, the last nine months. And life isn’t bound to get calmer anytime soon. Starting Tuesday friends and family from across the country will be descending on San Francisco, putting my mind into overdrive with the thought that so many people I haven’t seen in so long will soon appear in one room. Then of course there’s the fact that I’m destined to forget some immensely important wedding detail that will surely turn my “big day” into a slapstick comedy routine. Have I mentioned how much I hate the phrase “big day?” Oh, and I hate being the center of attention. I was clearly not cut out to be a bride.

Those of you who follow me on Twitter have been watching me freak out over the fact that Scott and I oh-so-brilliantly decided to move apartments… seven days after the wedding. Thanks to my frantic scouting of 25 potential new homes in three days, we now have a place to live (Lower Haight, land of tasty falafel), but the day people leave after the wedding we start packing. Then a week later we go on our honeymoon. Then two weeks later we fly to Philadelphia for a post wedding party. Then I disappear to Europe for two weeks. Then I start my PhD program, which will take the next seven years of my life.

Wooblie wooblie woo! That’s the sound I make to indicate I’m going crazy. I suppose what I’m trying to say is: here’s a heads up about what’s going on in my real life right now. If you don’t see me around as much over the next few weeks, have pity, think happy thoughts, etc. And if you’re planning on getting married — like, ever — please do me this favor: elope. You think I’m joking, but I’m not. Elope elope elope. Now I’m off to see a man about a cupcake cake.

Well apparently us technophiles aren’t alone in needing some real-world contact. According to The New York Times a new epidemic has hit high schools: rampant hugging. Instead of greeting each other verbally, friends of both genders are wrapping their arms around their buddies and squeezing. “No hi, no smile, no wave, no high-five — just the hug.” The horror! Needless to say, administrators are worried about sexual harassment, clogged hallways, and peer pressure. After all, all the cool kids are doing it. Seriously.

Like one mother quoted in the article, I can’t help but see a link between hugging and social network use. “Maybe it’s because all these kids do is text and go on Facebook so they don’t even have human contact anymore,” she chides. What a luddite (i.e. old person) thing to say. Still, if we take physicality out of one type of socializing, doesn’t it make sense it would crop up in another? As the article points out, Facebook even perpetuates the hug-idemic, with its “applications allowing friends to send hugs have tens of thousands of fans.” What that implies to me: social media is bringing us all closer together, making us more willing to breech personal boundaries.

Sounds so warm and fuzzy, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s something depressing to uncover about the human condition in there somewhere. In the meantime, find a breathing body and HUG HUG HUG!

This is, in more ways than one, kind of brilliant. First, it passes the Apple Comstock test — calling itself “PG-13″ and explaining “SuicideGirls is a community that celebrates alternative beauty and alternative culture from all over the world. Now you can interact with them right in your pocket.” Of course, you can do a lot more “interacting” over at the R-rated, and definitely not free, SuicideGirls.com. Second it combines sexiness proper with the sexy appeal of the iPhone itself. These ladies look good, but specifically they look good as brightly colored icons against white backgrounds viewed on a shiny, shiny screen.

What does it mean to carry around Suicide Girls in your pocket? What does it mean to, with a twist of the wrist, make them strip on your command? I love the interactive control of this app, simple and straightforward as it may be. Clothes on, clothes off, clothes on, clothes off. In trying to adapt the naughty pen model for the tech age (flip the pen and her bikini slides down, remember?), the app developer has added tension to the act of smut consumption by incorporating what’s quite nearly a game mechanic. Ladies and gentlemen, we have successfully salacious interactivity!

Now if only we could channel this tiny, tasty success into a full-blown successful sex game, I might have a Macworld review on my hands… not that it would ever pass by the puritan eye of Papa Apple. Those guys hate pleasure, I hear. Maybe that explains why all the kinksters I meet from the valley work at Google.

“Gone are the days of hamster dance and Star Wars kid, of Leeroy Jenkins and Peanut Butter Jelly Time. In their place a new generation of Internet memes is emerging. They’re just as much fun as ever, but they’re also smarter, more respected, and positioned to make a heck of a lot more money than their predecessors.

That’s right: From its murky origins in anonymously authored minor distractions, the Internet phenomenon we know as the meme has become a mighty engine of commerce. LOLcats have invaded bookstores. Cute Overload bunnies adorn day-by-day calendars that sell for $13 a pop. Remember the blogger who mocked us at StuffWhitePeopleLike.com? He reportedly was offered not only a book deal, but also a $350,000 advance.

Is it too late for you to strike gold with a money-making meme? Not at all. But you’ll find your way to affluence more quickly with the aid of some practical tips. Here is your guide to cashing in on Web fads…”

Ah, self-quoting. Interviewed in the article are such kings of meme-land as Mat Honan from Barach Obama Is Your New Bicycle, Tim Hwang of ROFLcon, and Ben Huh of I Can Haz Cheezburger, who talks about the secrets and longevity of LOLcat success. I also chatted with fellow Wired reporter Brian Raftery, and internet culture expert Alex Halavais, who has been making me swoon with comparisons between the spread of memes and plague. Of course, the question of whether the meme gold rush will continue is actually quite up in the air — but before you decide call it a fad or for keeps you should read for yourself!

Even months later, now that the book has really sunk in, I can’t say I enjoyed reading Watchmen. That’s blasphemy, I know, but I’m not doubting the groundbreaking things it did for graphic novels, or the impressive intricacies of its plot and character backgrounds. For me what was lacking was meaningful and unusual interpersonal connections. Granted, I’m biased. I don’t care about action. I’m not a super hero fan, so I don’t get off on the meta commentary. What interests me in all genres is the way people interact, and these people don’t interact very interestingly.

I can think of two notable exceptions. They’re also the elements of Watchmen that have stayed with me the longest. First, there’s Dr. Manhattan’s simultaneous relationships with Laurie and Janey — more an expression of polyamory than serial monogamy, given the way everyone’s favorite big blue hunk experiences time. Second there’s Sally’s striking affection for the Comedian, the man who tried to rape her. It’s that inexplicable yet bizarrely understandable response (how could she love him? what choice did she have?) that makes both characters real.

Of course, my mixed feelings for Watchmen aren’t making me any less anxious for my re-released copy of Alan Moore’s Lost Girls to hurry up and get its ass here from Amazon. Erotic graphic novel based on children’s stories, quit being a tease!

I can’t, however, say I enjoyed The Porning of America: The Rise of Porn Culture, What It Means, and Where We Go From Here, a curmudgeon of a text bent on wagging its finger at the sexualization of everything from Bratz dolls to Sean Connery movies to the Olsen Twins. Despite its flesh- and strawberry-toned dust jacket (oh no, it too is sexy!), this book read more like a middle-aged rant against “kids these days” and their shirt skirts than a well-constructed analysis of pop culture. Authors, professors, and fathers Carmine Sarracino and Kevin M. Scott start out with the claim that everyday life is getting more and more like porn. It’s an interesting idea, and maybe it’s true, but backing it up with anecdotal evidence for 200+ pages… it’s enough to drive a girl to watching actual smut.

Call me a phallus hater (man hater just sounds so harsh — and normal), but I can’t help but think The Porning of America could have benefited from collaboration with a female author. After all, it has potential — somebody really should be doing an in-depth look at the public childhood and sexualization of Mary Kate and Ashley — but ends in a cycle of “You know what else is too sexy these days?” ramblings. Sorry, grandpas, Bratz are going to wear itsy bitsy skirts whether you like it or not.

After three weeks of availability we’ve sold considerably more copies of the game than any previous game in PopCap’s history, including Bejeweled and Peggle! The theme has fortuitously ended up appealing to consumers of all ages and all stripes. We’re hearing from grandmothers who love the game, hardcore gamers who appreciate the depth of play and the tongue-in-cheek humor and inside jokes, as well as from parents of kids as young as 6 or 7 who are enjoying the game as family fun.

Does anyone else love the idea of grandmothers playing a zombie game? I’m enjoying Plants vs. Zombies myself, though I’m nowhere near as addicted as I was to Peggle or Bookwork Adventures. Even if I’m not a total plant lover yet, you can’t write “eating my brains” not in frantic capital letter, can you? In particular I’m liking how the game adapts tower defense, making it not only adorable but also approachable. Plus it’s the first time a Popcap title has been available for Mac at release. What can I say? Not only do I like ironic zombies, I’m also impatient.

The timing — and popularity — of Plants vs. Zombies is perfect for me, as I’m working on a longer project about the connection between technology and the undead in pop culture. Why zombies? Why now? Here’s how game creator George Fan explained added brain-eaters to his otherwise floral title:

A ton of gardening games started coming out in the casual games space, and man, I just couldn’t take it! I didn’t want the game to just blend in amongst all the other gardening games. And that’s how the zombies came about. I thought “No way is anyone else gonna make a game that features both plants *and* zombies!” And I was right!

Thus Plants vs. Zombies was born, and has been leaving trails of mind-munched players in its wake since coming out in early May. My personal soft spot for the game might also have something to do with the latest round of Popcap swag: plants! It’s easy to be peeved at giant gems, but how can you feel cynical around lima beans growing on your windowsill? That reminds me, have I watered those today? I’m off to attend to my own anti-zombie army.

P.S. If you haven’t already, check out the Plants vs. Zombies music video. Like an eerie infection it lodges itself in your brain. Insert highly relevant “viral” marketing pun here.

I’m still coming to terms with my own self-conscious tight rope walk, though I recently found company up on the high wire. Having watched Secret Diary of a Call Girl, the British TV drama chided for its glossy look at the life of a high-end London escort (turns out it’s somewhat realistic), I decided to read Belle de Jour: Diary of an Unlikely Call Girl. The book, on which the series was based, was originally a blog — both published by an anonymous young author-ess. I hadn’t expected to get much out of the book, which turns out to be quite different from the show, aside from some juicy tidbits. However, I was pleasantly surprised to find not so much a narrative as that same ongoing tight rope walk. Some days Belle loves her job. Some days she wants out. Every day it’s complicated.

Truth be told, I finished the book nearly a month ago now (my reading vs. blogging schedule is, to say the least, a little behind), and what has really stuck with me are the moments of casual tenderness and equally casual awkwardness between Belle and her clients. Sure, she stole her name from one of my all-time favorite movies, but I can’t help but enjoy her literary company when she breaks out a file to fix a client’s hang nail, or when she waits on her hands and knees for a come shot that never, well, comes. This, it seems from my admittedly second-hand perspective, is closer to the real experience of sex work: neither good nor bad, just real — well, as real as any major book deal can get.

I’d gotten so many emails since starting (and eventually finishing) my online sex column Click Me from would-be cyberers who couldn’t find a decent internet haven. It was lovely to be able to direct them to my site, newly formed — i.e. rough around the edges– as it was. Then, at the end of December, host site Ning.com purged all networks with adult content, sending Beautiful Stranger back into the internet oblivion. Well shit.

I write to you now, fellow naughty internet explorers, to implore you to rebuild where I left off. Sadly, as a full-time writer, a soon-to-be PhD candidate, and an even sooner-to-be bride, I don’t have the time to start a new, better (faster, stronger) Beautiful Stranger. But someone should do it. Not only is there money in it — a dating site for people with dirty minds who don’t want to meet in real life? Those people exist, to quote Frank N. Furter, in abundance — there’s need. NEED I tell you. How much longer can good people roam bad AOL forums weeding through teens and the spelling undead?

So if you’re at all interested in building a cybersex social networking site and you’d like to confer with me on the details (half a year running such a beast did teach me a few things), please feel free to get in touch. Alternatively, the next time you’re wasting precious hours of life scouring the internet for a cybersex haven, redirect that horny energy into working on this project. Yes, this one here. Because we proud pervs need to stick together. And how are we supposed to do that if there’s nothing to stick to? Insert raunchy joke about sticky seminal fluids here.