Thursday, October 27, 2005
Running wild and looking pretty, revisited
Firstly, does anyone know this woman? We lost track of her by the time people were trickling out of the post-High Heel Race festivities. She was our guardian lesbian and proud of the task, parting the crowd for us with her brawn, buying us beer, and laughing plenty. Lady can pound some drinks, let me tell you, but we owe her a proper high-five for a fun evening (and she drives a Porsche!).
Will, guardian lesbian and Michael, in the mood for a 0.007 km drag race
The race was pure entertainment in spite of the bitter, wet cold. Huddling in the beer tent at JR's most of the night, neither of those things bothered me. Everyone was in a great mood, people were being chatty and daring on the streets on account of the extreme scenario. I love events where the only people who come out to play are freaks and progressives (with significant overlap)--it takes the edge off of one's need to act wholesomely civil and generally guarantees that everyone gets to have fun. In the drag idiom, then, everybody wins. Cases in point:
The hurricanes didn't decide to stay home because they thought they'd hurt someone's feelings by having a sense of humor about total destruction. Hell no, they said, "I'm going to blow through that race like a fucking hurricane, in pearls."
The same goes for the Fanta girls. Copyright infringement could have these ladies tied up in court for years, but, no, they risked it all for our refreshment. Wanta Fanta?
Sweety darling, just chill out for a night, enjoy the midweek and have a little Stoli.
And, besides, it isn't like coming out and playing around requires some big elaborate costume. You can go with the basic model if need be, rock out within your personal standard of living.
But, hell, if you've got it, flaunt it.
Condi concurs.
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Will, guardian lesbian and Michael, in the mood for a 0.007 km drag race
The race was pure entertainment in spite of the bitter, wet cold. Huddling in the beer tent at JR's most of the night, neither of those things bothered me. Everyone was in a great mood, people were being chatty and daring on the streets on account of the extreme scenario. I love events where the only people who come out to play are freaks and progressives (with significant overlap)--it takes the edge off of one's need to act wholesomely civil and generally guarantees that everyone gets to have fun. In the drag idiom, then, everybody wins. Cases in point:
The hurricanes didn't decide to stay home because they thought they'd hurt someone's feelings by having a sense of humor about total destruction. Hell no, they said, "I'm going to blow through that race like a fucking hurricane, in pearls."
The same goes for the Fanta girls. Copyright infringement could have these ladies tied up in court for years, but, no, they risked it all for our refreshment. Wanta Fanta?
Sweety darling, just chill out for a night, enjoy the midweek and have a little Stoli.
And, besides, it isn't like coming out and playing around requires some big elaborate costume. You can go with the basic model if need be, rock out within your personal standard of living.
But, hell, if you've got it, flaunt it.
Condi concurs.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
A full couple of days
Watching Stephen Colbert's new show, I was introduced to the concept of t.v. news intro reading show-downs in a gravitas-laden combat between Colbert and Stone Phillips. As a result, I desperately want to figure out how to get this into daily use: "We invited Mother Theresa to respond to these charges;"
As a result of explaining this at Wonderland, was also a participant in an old-fashioned round of top that which included one that had me suffocating from my own laughter, "Jeff fucked his grandma so hard she died;"
It became an honest miracle of hilarity when we found that the phrase is awesomely, dreadfully, exceptionally Googlable.
At Blowoff, I heard a song remixed in such a way that I consider it as bizarrely unnatural as the shit above and therefore almost almightily funny. Death From Above 1979, Black History Month whipped into a fuzzy atmospheric house track, vocals hushed and soothing, beat basic but constant--until I started registering lyrics, I thought something like, "Jesus, they're going to play something like this here*?" Later, when I had that weird-o moment of realization that something sinister had been mutated into something made of glitter, I thought something like,"I want to make death-metal bubble-gum pop music for the rest of my life." I must find this mix.
As a result of explaining this (again at Wonderland), a similar discussion spin-off had me deciding that, yes, I would like to have Diana Ross' "Love Hangover" played in a loop at my funeral. Come on, when the beat changes a couple of minutes in, damn it, my funeral will be the sexiest dancehall in town.
And speaking of songs, Madonna's new single didn't really hit me the first time I heard it. Cooking at a friend's house we put it on at high volume in the living room to hear it in the kitchen, but the program was preset to repeat. He didn't protest when the first cycle began. By the fourth, I'd turned it up and was singing along. He had to ask to put something else on, but revenge is mine because today he's singing it.
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As a result of explaining this at Wonderland, was also a participant in an old-fashioned round of top that which included one that had me suffocating from my own laughter, "Jeff fucked his grandma so hard she died;"
It became an honest miracle of hilarity when we found that the phrase is awesomely, dreadfully, exceptionally Googlable.
At Blowoff, I heard a song remixed in such a way that I consider it as bizarrely unnatural as the shit above and therefore almost almightily funny. Death From Above 1979, Black History Month whipped into a fuzzy atmospheric house track, vocals hushed and soothing, beat basic but constant--until I started registering lyrics, I thought something like, "Jesus, they're going to play something like this here*?" Later, when I had that weird-o moment of realization that something sinister had been mutated into something made of glitter, I thought something like,"I want to make death-metal bubble-gum pop music for the rest of my life." I must find this mix.
As a result of explaining this (again at Wonderland), a similar discussion spin-off had me deciding that, yes, I would like to have Diana Ross' "Love Hangover" played in a loop at my funeral. Come on, when the beat changes a couple of minutes in, damn it, my funeral will be the sexiest dancehall in town.
And speaking of songs, Madonna's new single didn't really hit me the first time I heard it. Cooking at a friend's house we put it on at high volume in the living room to hear it in the kitchen, but the program was preset to repeat. He didn't protest when the first cycle began. By the fourth, I'd turned it up and was singing along. He had to ask to put something else on, but revenge is mine because today he's singing it.
