Like the magpie, I'm easily distracted. But not so easily led.
Contact: inkyheels at gmail dot com
I’ve been streaming this BBC series. I watched it a long time ago and missed the last couple seasons thus I’m starting over from Season 1. I’m so fascinated and immersed in the show that when I leave my apt for work or whatever, I keep on the lookout for seemingly innocuous situations that could actually be filled with spy and espionage potential. The British really know how to write, produce, and act in great spy thriller shows. If I wasn’t at work right now, I’d be watching hour upon hour of this until my eyeballs started bleeding.
This is the line up of the photography and video presentations for the SF Punk Reunion in September. Can’t wait!
Random things that penetrated the auto-pilot haze that I’ve been operating within this past week:
I watched a marathon session of Season 2 of Downton Abbey. It was depressing as hell. One downer after another. I felt disenchanted and melancholy after each episode. So, good job?
I have scheduled my first meeting with a real estate agent on this coming Saturday morning. Yikes!
I got creatively inspired at yesterday’s Dore Alley Street Fair. I also go horribly sunburned on my shoulders, arms, and chest (tank-top outline). The creative inspiration is delightful. The sunburn is, as expected, painful. I also got a little bit of color in my face. This is unpleasant because I don’t like the tanned look. I’m not a sun bunny. I’ve been avoiding the sun since about 1979. So I suppose this one poisonous sunburn incident is going to cause the aging process to catch up with me, right?
I’d best not taunt Fate.
There are no politics at IDentity Festival, only endless, nonstop logos and catchphrases. The actual term YOLO (“you only live once”) is only on a handful of T-shirts I spot, but it’s the guiding principle. Everyone seems to be trying to outdo everyone else in the “I don’t give a fuck” sweepstakes. That’s what teenagers do, of course—tell the world what utter bad-asses they are. These kids aren’t necessarily advertising their own wantonness so much as advertisingthat they’re advertisingtheir own wantonness. But the depth and degree of it is enough to make me queasy.
The operative word is RAGE. Two booths are set up to sell items with that phrase; others had it in their arsenal. Hundreds of kids parade the term; one shirt crosses the V out of RAVE and inserts a handwritten G. Is that what people are going to start calling these things now?
Maybe that’s the right word. Better that than the other words I see everywhere: SLUT, BITCH, WHORE. This crowd is mostly 14 to 18; there are some college kids, but not nearly as many as high schoolers (or junior-high schoolers). Seeing girls that age peacocking around with that stuff written on them is disorienting, and not just because my own rave years coincided with riot grrrl, where writing those words on the body was a form of radical rebellion. Here, in a sea of neon Daisy Dukes, it’s more like wearing a logo for the sake of being cool, because your clique at school will give you a hard time if you don’t. I feel sorry for all of them.
This song dominated my thoughts yesterday. I’d never seen the video. I enjoyed the video to a point, then came the vampire stuff and I recoiled in embarrassment. Twilight has ruined everything vampire for me. The mainstreamization of the supernatural is making me sad and uninspired.