My amusement probably makes less sense if you’re not aware of the band (and song) they’re covering, but this amuses me. Oh, how this amuses me; there is a line between cheese and genius. Methinks this dances merily along it:
There is a rumour that Ratt is going to release a new album through Roadrunner Records later this year. Against all odds, this brings me joy. And it will continue to do so until I realise it has the potential to be an ever bigger debacle than Chinese Democracy. Oh hair metal, I miss you so. Just, you know, don’t bring back the hair and tight pants when you slink in through the back door of teenage nostalgia.
Apparently there really isn’t a point in a writing career where you get to stop having this conversation. I find this vaguely depressing.
Okay, to start with, Michael Moorcock talks about the genesis of the Dorian Hawkmoon books over at the Tor site. I mean, seriously, why are you still here? Also, Twelfth Planet Press has released the guidelines for their forthcoming Speakeasy anthology full of urban fantasy stories set in the 1920s. I totally dig the idea of this anthology, but I’ll admit that all of my initial ideas will be bloody hard to pare down to short story lengths (unless, of course, I finally break down and write the 1920’s zombie story set in Tahiti I’ve been threatening to write for four years now, but Alisa at TPP is quite adamant in her hatred of zombies so it’s probably not the best starting point). ♦ Okay, fair warning, the following entry is rambling and scattered while I think through a specific problem related to the project du jour. If you have no real interest in writers thinking out loud, I suggest going
Scientists in Korea transmit data along a human arm at broadband speeds. Electrodes were placed on the arm about ten inches apart and they transmitted data at ten magabits per second. As a child of the eighties this kind of thing blows my mind, especially given the large majority of the formative movies from my childhood dealt with the relationship between man and technology, and I kind of miss it. Especially cyborgs. SF seems to have moved away from the cyborg towards post-humanism as a means of exploring this issue, which makes a kind of sense, but the whole man/meat merging will always be my first love.
Tonight, this song is the only thing between me and apathetic nihilism. Which kinda begs the question of what I used to do in the days before youtube. I suspect I just went straight to the Smiths CDs and drank.
It seemed a good day to revisit these videos: Way more fun than any academic discussion of the Catcher in the Rye I’ve ever had.
I spent the first ten days of 2010 listening to exactly two albums: Regina Spektor’s Far and The best of Bauhaus. And when I say “album” I may mean “the following two songs replayed endlessly, with the rest of the album getting a guernsey when I eventually step away from the stereo to do other things.” Yeah. All in all, it’s been that kind of year thus far.
Once or twice a year I get out to see a live gig that reminds me why I like going and seeing live music. It happens far less often these days than it did in the past, but as a Dresden Doll’s fan it was kind of inevitable that I’d sell internal organs in order to go see the Amanda-Fucking-Palmer solo tour when it passed through Brisbane. Short version: Awesome Long version: totally worth living without a spleen until I can buy mine back from the pawn broker.
Yes, I’ve been very vid-centric lately. I acknowledge this. But, dammit, some things are sufficiently awesome that you just have to share immediately:
Between allergies, dust-clouds, lingering con-crud and deadlines I’m officially giving up on the possibility of saying anything coherant this week. Instead, I’m just going to share the earworm that’s been driving me crazy all week.
Over the years I’ve gradually noticed that the people whose creative output fascinates me the least are often the most interesting to listen to when they discuss their creative process. Today I found myself losing twenty-minutes listening to JJ Abrams talk about the role of mystery in narrative and the process. Of course, by my earlier logic, one of these days we’re going to discover that Ewe Boll is a genius.
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