cthulhia: (Default)
Just got back from gorging on homemade chocolates, hence wired.

Said chocolates also featured live performance, which is fine. I'm all for supporting local artists. But, you can't get more than halfway through watching someone doing an interpretive dance of her partner's flatly sung ditty about the Coelacanth before thinking ("thank heavens I'm TiVOing the Police Reunion on the Grammys!" and) wow, this totally belongs on YouTube!

Sure, a few songs later they redeemed themselves with great A Capella horn accompaniment on jazz piano, punk variations to piano bar standards (proving yet again that it's worth suggesting "Nine Inch Nails" when a folk performer takes requests), and did a deviant instrumental cover of "Send in the Clowns" (that, of course, made me think of the Gong Show, hence Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, hence $Celebrity_Crush. All roads lead to George Clooney, if you try hard enough. But, really he came up because of a recent interview that got censored in the US, which led to introducing one of my companions to the word Darfur.)

We eventually returned to the (comparatively trivial, and ergo less uncomfortable) topic of YouTube. I'm not sure if this part managed to get out of my head or not, but, perhaps, thanks to the information age, there is increasing value in experiencing, live, perfect YouTube moments that don't get immortalized in the e-stream. We'll start valuing, more and more, the emphemeral. The performances that can't be shared. "You had to be there." (A central theme of, say, Burning Man. This is why watching people trying to recreate too much of it off the playa, or outside the burner community, specifically for commercial uses, can be so frustrating. You don't want to rob those creators of livelihood here in the rest of the world, but... )

Then a regrettable "city country" song led to discussions:

about plastic bags in film (notably American Beauty and, well, I thought it was Blue in the Face, but, William Hurt apparently only appeared in Smoke),

and whether there were cafes like this in the sticks. Myself a sticks native, the place reminded me of Slackers, the erstwhile cafe in Yorkville. Forced to endure a poetry night in a one-room cafe (which may be why I've avoided poetry ever since) with some horrifically wretched, clawing-out-my-ears, whiney hick's masterpiece about the evil internet and how it drains creativity, I responded by calling on my then newfound friends on usenet to send me their best poems to respond to the drivel. (Those of you from the days of H&V might remember how intense some of those poets were.) But, after that, I went back to my usual schtick of doing tarot readings...

"Terror readings? O, wow, that sounds excellent."

Which led to a discussion about how one would design a terror deck (your suggestions welcome!), how some of my best "tarot" readings have been with British Pub Coasters, including one reading which was videotaped, and my concern that a mere blog mention could provoke [livejournal.com profile] hahathor to dig, digitize and upload me to further infamy. It was also suggested that I could do a gingerbread tarot deck, and my 15 minutes on boingboing was relived yet again.

I am still getting out-of-the-blue, blast-from-the-past comments from folks surprised to see the Carcassonne pix depicting someone exactly like the Cthulhia they knew over a decade ago. Perhaps I should consider a radical style change or something. Then again, some kenmore hottie was convinced I was 24, 25 tops, at a 1KBWC gathering last Friday. "Well, I'm totally flattered. It's a damned shame you're GAY!" (By that point in tonight's conversation, the performers had joined our table and I totally fell into stand-up comic mode. Sorry 'bout that.)

Anyway, speaking of Tarot, I am totally procrastinating on The Valentine. (Special thanks to my super-sekrit software savior. MWAH!) It IS nearly done. Maybe. Really have to get this bad boy off to Kinkos before I go to bed tonight, and I actually have work tomorrow. (Yay! A driving commute, and just in time for the year's first Noreaster! I win!)

(If you sent me a holiday card, I probably have your current address. If you didn't, you just might be screwed.)
cthulhia: (blathering)
Just got back from gorging on homemade chocolates, hence wired.

Said chocolates also featured live performance, which is fine. I'm all for supporting local artists. But, you can't get more than halfway through watching someone doing an interpretive dance of her partner's flatly sung ditty about the Coelacanth before thinking ("thank heavens I'm TiVOing the Police Reunion on the Grammys!" and) wow, this totally belongs on YouTube!

Sure, a few songs later they redeemed themselves with great A Capella horn accompaniment on jazz piano, punk variations to piano bar standards (proving yet again that it's worth suggesting "Nine Inch Nails" when a folk performer takes requests), and did a deviant instrumental cover of "Send in the Clowns" (that, of course, made me think of the Gong Show, hence Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, hence $Celebrity_Crush. All roads lead to George Clooney, if you try hard enough. But, really he came up because of a recent interview that got censored in the US, which led to introducing one of my companions to the word Darfur.)

We eventually returned to the (comparatively trivial, and ergo less uncomfortable) topic of YouTube. I'm not sure if this part managed to get out of my head or not, but, perhaps, thanks to the information age, there is increasing value in experiencing, live, perfect YouTube moments that don't get immortalized in the e-stream. We'll start valuing, more and more, the emphemeral. The performances that can't be shared. "You had to be there." (A central theme of, say, Burning Man. This is why watching people trying to recreate too much of it off the playa, or outside the burner community, specifically for commercial uses, can be so frustrating. You don't want to rob those creators of livelihood here in the rest of the world, but... )

Then a regrettable "city country" song led to discussions:

about plastic bags in film (notably American Beauty and, well, I thought it was Blue in the Face, but, William Hurt apparently only appeared in Smoke),

and whether there were cafes like this in the sticks. Myself a sticks native, the place reminded me of Slackers, the erstwhile cafe in Yorkville. Forced to endure a poetry night in a one-room cafe (which may be why I've avoided poetry ever since) with some horrifically wretched, clawing-out-my-ears, whiney hick's masterpiece about the evil internet and how it drains creativity, I responded by calling on my then newfound friends on usenet to send me their best poems to respond to the drivel. (Those of you from the days of H&V might remember how intense some of those poets were.) But, after that, I went back to my usual schtick of doing tarot readings...

"Terror readings? O, wow, that sounds excellent."

Which led to a discussion about how one would design a terror deck (your suggestions welcome!), how some of my best "tarot" readings have been with British Pub Coasters, including one reading which was videotaped, and my concern that a mere blog mention could provoke [livejournal.com profile] hahathor to dig, digitize and upload me to further infamy. It was also suggested that I could do a gingerbread tarot deck, and my 15 minutes on boingboing was relived yet again.

I am still getting out-of-the-blue, blast-from-the-past comments from folks surprised to see the Carcassonne pix depicting someone exactly like the Cthulhia they knew over a decade ago. Perhaps I should consider a radical style change or something. Then again, some kenmore hottie was convinced I was 24, 25 tops, at a 1KBWC gathering last Friday. "Well, I'm totally flattered. It's a damned shame you're GAY!" (By that point in tonight's conversation, the performers had joined our table and I totally fell into stand-up comic mode. Sorry 'bout that.)

Anyway, speaking of Tarot, I am totally procrastinating on The Valentine. (Special thanks to my super-sekrit software savior. MWAH!) It IS nearly done. Maybe. Really have to get this bad boy off to Kinkos before I go to bed tonight, and I actually have work tomorrow. (Yay! A driving commute, and just in time for the year's first Noreaster! I win!)

(If you sent me a holiday card, I probably have your current address. If you didn't, you just might be screwed.)

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