From type slugs to steamy tubs: An unexpected journey

Photo of a desktop on which we see a portable Sangean HD Radio, a copy of DX News, a leather memo book cover for Field Notes notebooks, and a curvy-top Hermes 3000 typewriter. In the typewriter is a sheet of paper on which I typed the accompanying column. Here is what's on the paper: Ah, the joys of typewriter maintenance. Picture me, just your average Joe, undertaking the noble task of maintaining my precious Hermes 3000 in pristine glory.

Armed with cotton swabs and a spray bottle of 99.9 percent isopropyl alcohol, I was all set to dive into the fiddly, smudgy, inky world of typeslug cleanliness.

What I wasn't ready for was the time travel that occurred after the first spray.

The moment that acerbic scent of isopropyl alcohol hit my nostrils, my brain went on an impromptu trip down memory lane.

Picture this: One moment, I was elbow-deep in the guts of a vintage typewriter, and the next, I was back in the sultry, steamy setting of Denver's Empire Baths.

I'd somehow managed to astrally project myself into the midst of a memory of my first visit to the former gay bathhouse.

Why, you might ask, did my brain make this leap from cleaning typeslugs to steamy encounters?

Here's the explanation.

Poppers are recreational inhalants of isobutyl nitrite or related compounds made by reacting isobutyl alcohol with sodium nitrite in dilute sulfuric acid.

These aren't exactly household chemicals, but their distinctive scent is oddly reminiscent of alcohol.

At the Empire Baths — or any other gay bathhouse — the aroma of poppers infused the humid air, subtly overlaying the scent of damp towels and sweat. Quite the unique olfactory cocktail.

It's not a far stretch to say that my nostrils picked up the thread of familiarity between the isopropyl alcohol and those ethereal nitrite wafts from the past.

And voila!

My brain leaped from typeslugs to steam rooms faster than a pussy pouncing on a laser pointer.

But I must cut this blog post short before we digress further into memory and nostalgia.

There’s an irresistible siren call from my living room I cannot ignore: a new Chris Pratt movie on Amazon Prime.

Ah, the joys of typewriter maintenance. Picture me, just your average Joe, undertaking the noble task of maintaining my precious Hermes 3000 in pristine glory.

Armed with cotton swabs and a spray bottle of 99 percent isopropyl alcohol, I was all set to dive into the fiddly, smudgy, inky world of typeslug cleanliness.

What I wasn’t ready for was the time travel that occurred after the first spray.

The moment that acerbic scent of isopropyl alcohol hit my nostrils, my brain went on an impromptu trip down memory lane.

Picture this: One moment, I was elbow-deep in the guts of a vintage typewriter, and the next, I was back in the sultry, steamy setting of Denver’s Empire Baths.

I’d somehow managed to astrally project myself into the midst of a memory of my first visit to the former gay bathhouse.

Why, you might ask, did my brain make this leap from cleaning typeslugs to steamy encounters?

Here’s the explanation.

Poppers are recreational inhalants of isobutyl nitrite or related compounds made by reacting isobutyl alcohol with sodium nitrite in dilute sulfuric acid.

These aren’t exactly household chemicals, but their distinctive scent is oddly reminiscent of alcohol.

At the Empire Baths — or any other gay bathhouse — the aroma of poppers infused the humid air, subtly overlaying the scent of damp towels and sweat. Quite the unique olfactory cocktail.

It’s not a far stretch to say that my nostrils picked up the thread of familiarity between the isopropyl alcohol and those ethereal nitrite wafts from the past.

And voila!

My brain leaped from typeslugs to steam rooms faster than a pussy pouncing on a laser pointer.

But I must cut this blog post short before we digress further into memory and nostalgia.

There’s an irresistible siren call from my living room I cannot ignore: a new Chris Pratt movie on Amazon Prime.

In defense of ‘prostitute’: A journalist’s perspective

Photo of a 3-by-5 index card with the word PROSTITUTE crossed out and 21 synonyms written beneath.
Here are just a few of the synonyms for “prostitute” suggested by Roget’s 21st Century Thesaurus.

I’ve been noticing something strange in the news lately. Many news stories about the Long Island Serial Killer no longer refer to some victims as prostitutes.

The media’s preferred term is becoming “escort” or “sex worker.”

But why is that? And why should journalists still write “prostitute”?

Forget about being politically correct. Yes, we should usually respect how people want to be identified and avoid using hurtful words.

But let’s be honest: Most prostitutes do it because they are desperate or forced. Saying “escort” or “sex worker” makes it sound like a regular job, which it sure as hell wasn’t for them.

Using the word “prostitute” reminds us of the harsh truth about sex work. It’s a trade in which people are taken advantage of, often in terrible ways. It tells us we must help those caught in this situation.

If we use nicer-sounding words, we forget how serious and urgent this problem is.

So, who wins when we change the words we use?

People who want us to see sex work as just another job like these new words. If we think of sex work as normal and not something terrible, it might help their cause. But that view forgets about all the people forced into prostitution because they’re poor, addicted to drugs, or because someone made them do it.

Also, as a society, we don’t like to face harsh truths. Using nicer words helps us feel better and keep a safe distance from real problems.

But here’s the thing: A journalist’s job is to tell the truth, not make people feel good.

Remember that we shouldn’t use the word “prostitute” in a mean way. The Long Island Serial Killer’s victims were real people with families and friends. Their lives mattered, and they died horribly.

Journalists must recognize the hard truths to tell their stories right and not hide behind more sociable words.

Journalists should keep writing and saying “prostitute” because it shows how bad things are for some people and reminds us we need to help.