Watching über-mumsy Susan Boyle leave judges and audience alike completely gobsmacked on Britain’s Got Talent, I remembered my idea for a summer replacement for Dancing With the Stars. It would be called Dancing With the Nobodies (copyright © 2009 Dena Tarlin), and in my version the professional dancers would be the stars and their partners would be regular folks like you and me. There would of course be a broad spectrum of contestants, one of the broadest of which I am proposing should be yours truly. Not only do I have a story to tell, but I can shake it like a polar0id picture. The most daunting challenges would be trying to coordinate myself with a partner and trying to boogie in high heels, but at my height I’m but a short plunge to the floor.
Moreover, I want dibs on the first season of my show because it is mine and belongs to me. I call Maksim for my partner, too, because I am the big cheese and what I say goes.
Make no mistake about it girls and boys, this manly hunk of manhood is all mine.
Speaking of things that are all mine like the idea for this show, let’s return to Susan Boyle for a moment. In fact, let’s watch the clip (embedding is disabled, but just click the linkie). People love an underdog, which is why I would be the perfect contestant for Dancing With the Nobodies ©. I was a hometown reject who went on to make something of herself in the big city, and not only do I wear hearing aids in both ears, but I’m also a breast cancer survivor. There is also a recession angle, as I went back to school and got a Masters in Library and Information Science after I finished my cancer treatment but I now can’t find a job and am struggling to make ends meet. I take care of my daughter, sell books on eBay, do a bit of freelance proofreading on the side, and come up with absurd concepts that just may be fricking brilliant.
And as long as we are talking about things that are fricking brilliant, let’s not forget Amy Krouse Rosenthal’s Beckoning of Lovely project. As a Supremely Excellent Judge (Chicago-based Panel), I would present yet another angle to be exploited for publicity. This project will presumably be ongoing for some time and will eventually result in a feature film. The possibilities for cross-promotion between the two projects could only enhance both efforts, don’t you think?
All of the above is well and good, but they do not in themselves justify my participation. The main reason why I think I would kick ass on Dancing With the Nobodies © is that I am a bit of a savant when it comes to dancing. I have never taken lessons because I’m a bit afraid of it, but I’ve found the best way to handle these fears and apprehensions is to roll up one’s sleeves and plunge right in. As a drummer’s daughter, I have always had a natural sense of rhythm and can move to any music. My pins also look nice in high heels, although I could stand to lose a few pounds. Come to think of it, the show might help me with that as well.
I don’t know if Dancing With the Nobodies © will be picked up, but I think folks would watch this show for the same reason they are scrambling to post and watch Susan Boyle on YouTube as fast as the copyright holders can pull the clip. As much as the celebrities brave enough to appear on Dancing With the Stars are challenged to learn a new skill and exhibit grace under pressure, they mostly have to do that sort of thing every day. To see “nobodies” like yours truly undergo the same challenges and triumphs would make truly riveting TV. So much so that I would probably still watch the show if I wasn’t on it, preferably whilst counting the money I would make for my idea that is mine, sitting in a house where water is not dripping on my head from a leaky ceiling.
As for Susan Boyle, I hope she wins the whole shebang and leaves all those who laughed at her dreams in the dust, because she’s awesome. Anyone who can make Simon Cowell smile like that has my official seal of approval, and so it is.
Filed under: Beckoning of Lovely, Chicago, Jon Ginoli, Music, Pansy Division, Pop Culture, Uncategorized | Tags: Amy Krouse Rosenthal, Beckoning of Lovely, creativity, Fangoria Spooksmodel, funny videos, inspiration, Jon Ginoli, Marianne S., Nora O'Sullivan, Pansy Division, queercore
Back in the days before Mickey Rourke’s face got really scary he made a great movie called Barfly, directed by Barbet Schroeder. My favorite scene is the one where Henry Chinaski (standing in for Charles Bukowski) buys round after round of drinks for his friends:
I would like to do the same, but my friends are all spread out and it’s hard to get them in one place. I have fantasies of throwing a big party and flying them in from all over the world for a gathering like the one in the movie, in which case I can only hope I have two men fighting over me like Henry did the ladies. I am feeling even more celebratory than usual this year, because my friends have been up to all kinds of creative mischief. Everywhere I look, they are blogging, publishing books and spooksmodeling, recording, touring, making videos, and just generally doing all kinds of cool stuff. Needless to say, I am impressed, inspired and delighted to be hooked up with such a bunch of groovy go-getters. Since for now we cannot all raise a glass together, this post will have to do and will at least not leave us indisposed and toothless in the morning. Feel free to get smashed and wake up in a stranger’s bed tomorrow morning if it puts you in the spirit, but don’t tell your wife or dentist it was my idea.
First and arguably foremost simply because there are votes involved, Nora O’Sullivan is one of thirteen contestants vying to be Fangoria’s 2010 Spooksmodel. She will be flying to Los Angeles for their big Weekend of Horrors from April 17-19, so if you helped vote her there on my behest, I thank you. But we aren’t quite done, because now she’s in it for the win. I need you to CLICKY HERE and cast your vote, which in this case requires you to register with your email address. After that, they will send you an email, you confirm, and you’re all done. If you want to be extra-kind, you can send the link on to a few friends and ask them to do the same. Voting ends at midnight Friday April 17, so don’t wait forever.
You can see from the pic that Nora is lovely and vivacious, but what you cannot see is that she is a talented makeup artist, smart and friendly and industrious as all get out. Once upon a time I was afraid of teenagers, but thanks to Nora and a few others of her ilk, I am cured. I would like to see her win this contest, because so many teenagers are out there huffing, tipping cows and getting pregnant while this fine, upstanding citizen who is active in her local zombie community goes unrewarded. End this madness with your vote and win my eternal gratitude. Thanks!!
Nora isn’t the only O’Sullivan who’s been busy, though, as her dad Joe was recently published in the Spring 2009 issue of Farmhouse Magazine. His story, My Day With Antonia, not only appears on the Farmhouse Web site, but also appears in the actual print publication. I’ve known Joe for about 25 years, but not until he started blogging at the Sprawling Ramshackle Compound did I discover what a damn fine writer he is. Joe also had a (very) short story published on Six Sentences. Called Every Rose’s Thorn, it actually garnered more comments and ratings than Neil LaBute’s submission! It is good to have friends, no doubt about it, and Joe gathers them more effortlessly than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m intrigued to see what else he’ll come up with, as he keeps surprising me.
Another friend of mine currently experiencing a creative renaissance is the lovely and talented Marianne S., who not only posts something on her blog Diarrhea Island EVERY SINGLE FLIPPING DAY and has been doing so for over a year, but also has recorded two musical numbers (one original and one Led Zep cover) and made YouTube videos for them. All of this while parenting not one but THREE kids ranging from six to seventeen. Her secret weapons are naps, caffeine, ruthless efficiency, and an almost fanatical devotion to the pope. No, not that last one.
Marianne’s first recording and video was If I Were Zooey Deschanel, a tuneful and gigglesome lo-fi macbook recording. It impressed me quite a bit that my friend had written a song, recorded it, and made a video. iMovie may be relatively intuitive to use, but GarageBand is a bitch and I miserably failed when I tried to use it for a class assignment. Hats off to Marianne, because she not only managed to accomplish all these things, but she did them well enough that I looked forward to seeing what frothy creative efforts she might whip up next. I done embedded it already, but if you missed it, by all means do click on the link above.
A little-known fact is that if you do a YouTube search for “marianne fish,” your top result will be this obscure gem:
Marianne’s rousing, Kinks-driven take on “Gimme That Fish” followed close on the heels of “Zooey Deschanel,” so close that I was shocked–shocked, I tell you–when soon after she released an mp3 cover of Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks.” This techno version featured layered vocals that sounded like they took a lot of work to create. I was impressed enough at this point, but then M followed right up with a video that knocked my socks off. Now my little tootsies are cold, and it is all her fault, but I will forgive her because this is officially funny stuff:
Moving down the Pacific coastline a few miles, we find my old friend Jon Ginoli has been busy as well. He has been talking about his book for years and it is finally out! Called Deflowered: My Life in Pansy Division, it is currently available from Amazon at a discounted price of $11.53 and is worth every penny.
Jon has referred to Deflowered as being probably the only book he will ever write. He may or may not be correct about that, but for sure he is the only one who could tell this story. I will have more to say about this book later, but I have enjoyed not only learning more about the bits I missed (including more than a few naughty ones), but also being able to line up Jon’s experiences with what I was doing at a given time. Since in my case this involved school, work, and baby, the split-screen would show vastly different experiences on either side. Vive la difference, I say, because Jon has some very entertaining stories to tell.
The quality I have always admired most about Jon is the DIY-drive and tenacity that not only gestated and built Pansy Division to a point where they had both the chops and reputation to tour with Green Day, but also has kept the band alive through many changes and upheavals. Continuing in this vein, he has quit his job of ten years and embarked on a massive book tour, which continues through May and beyond. Please go see him and buy a few books, and if you mention you heard about about his presentation here at Linkadelica, he might feel obligated to buy me lunch! Yee-haw!!
If by some chance you are in the Chicago area, Jon will be here this week and has three separate appearances scheduled. The first will be tomorrow, Tuesday April 7, at Homolatte. Homolatte is a Big Chicks/Tweet, at 5024 N. Sheridan, and admission is free! They do pass the hat for the performers, so I suggest you do throw in a few bucks. This self-described bi-monthly all-ages queer music and spoken-word series recently was given accolades as one of Chicago’s Best by the Chicago Reader, so I’m guessing they’ll be packed for Jon. If you want to see him play an acoustic set as well as reading from the book, this is probably the appearance you should attend. Wednesday April 8 he’ll be at Quimby’s, a venue I am proud to say I suggested and at which I’ll be in attendance. I defy anyone to walk out of that place without spending money. For those who will be in or around Lincoln Park that day, Jon also reads at Borders at 2817 N. Clark Street on Thursday April 9.
That’s not all for Jon, who also has a new Pansy Division album out called That’s So Gay. It’s their first in six years and I would have heard it by now if it was on eMusic. I have high hopes, as thus far the band has just kept getting better as they’ve matured. Pansy Division are also rumored to be touring later this year, although dates have yet to be announced.
I could not in all fairness refer to Amy Krouse Rosenthal as my friend, but I would be amiss if I didn’t say a few words here about her book tour and The Beckoning of Lovely. Most of what you need to know can be found on this site, which will be relaunched soon with a thematic look and feel. The short version of a long story is that Amy wants to make a feature film about all things lovely and toward that end has solicited several hundred submissions and enlisted a few hundred strangers to collaborate on the final product. See, I told you it was hard to explain. Amy has been traveling around the country making appearances on her book tour and also doing official Beckoning of Lovely gatherings, some of which may appear in the film. She is also looking for opening acts, although I don’t know which dates have already been filled. The Chicago Beckoning of Lovely event is scheduled for Saturday May 15 from 5:00 to 6:00 PM, although the location has yet to be announced.
I am honored to be working on the Beckoning of Lovely project, as I was one of eleven people chosen to serve on the Chicago-Based Panel of Supremely Excellent Judges. Although my actual judging duties are over, I will be helping to document the above event and at least one other Chicago-area appearance. I am also looking forward to more loveliness later this year, about which I shall remain mum for the time being. I also participated in Simultaneous Mass Existence and would like to do more things of this nature, so we’ll see what comes of that.
I don’t know what else you should expect from me this year, but I do have a few surprises up my sleeve. One of the best things about having busy friends is that it challenges and inspires me to get off my duff and do things, although I don’t think I’ll be recording any music soon. I feel energized that all these good things are happening to my friends in the year 2009, a year in which I shall turn 50 on 09-09-1959 and on which my only offspring turns 09. You can expect me to launch a small but amusing project of my own on my birthday, but in the meantime I’ll keep beckoning the lovely, blogging here and posting at my tumblelog, Herr Machine, and hawking the usual fab assortment of books and t-shirts in my eBay store.
One of the benefits of getting older is that I can now appreciate exactly how lucky I am to have such a creative and productive group of friends. Many of us have been late bloomers or are currently experiencing a creative renaissance of some sort, which is the most life-affirming way I know to respond to the inevitability of that final taxi for which there can only be one destination. They should hurry up and find a way to reverse the aging process so we can all just keep getting better until we are so awesome it is sick, because, well, because it would be far preferable to the alternative. I never cease to be amazed at the things my friends and I are capable of accomplishing, thank goodness. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I cannot wait to find out what comes next. I hereby raise my glass to all my friends, with an extra shot for Marianne S. on her birthday.
Filed under: blogging
If you visit this joint on any kind of regular basis, you may have noticed I’ve done a bit of remodeling. I’m a creature of habit myself and I knew these things can be traumatic, so I hope I didn’t upset anybody’s apple cart. The other night as I was posting, I realized how tired I was of looking at my text all cramped up in those teensy little columns, so I thought I would try out a few new themes just to see how they looked on me. When I tried on Benevolence, I instantly knew I could never go back. I actually feel as if I’ve been holding my breath to fit into the old space, but now I can breathe freely.
Things are somewhat in flux now, as I really need to update my Pages and remodel that left sidebar to get this new space in order. Pardon my dust in the meantime, and, as always, thanks for stopping by.
Funny thing, I talked myself out of including any Cramps in my contributions to the latest installment of the Green Monkey Music Project (well it was the latest installment, but I guess I’m so woefully behind in posting this there’s now a newer one, so I am lame). It’s called The Lenten Mix, aka You Know This Shit’s Not Good For You, and it was the proud brainchild of the inimitable Bubs at the Sprawling Ramshackle Compound. The Green Monkey Music Project is a Splotchy enterprise, and that is good. Anyway, I told myself I didn’t need to make myself personally responsible because someone else would surely include a Cramps song. Turns out they didn’t, but if anything the Cramps are the patron saints of this endeavor. Although not my favorite band, they played the devil’s music and they blowed it up real good. This one’s for you, Mr. Interior.
I’ve had So What by the Anti-Nowhere League on my iTunes forever, but I had to google the lyrics to confirm it was every bit as offensive as I thought and then some. A representative verse follows, but don’t say I didn’t warn you:
Well I’ve fucked a sheep
And I’ve fucked a goat
I’ve had my cock right down its throat
So what, so what
So what, so what you boring little cunt
Well who cares, who cares what you do
Who cares, who cares about you
You, you, you, you
It would just be stupid and offensive to me if somebody came up to me on the street and said these words and by no means do I endorse bestiality, but to sing these words along with Animal is somehow strangely liberating:
Listening to Fear always made me feel a little dirty, but in a good way. Lee Ving always seemed to have his shirt off, and he looked like he would smell of sweat and other manly fluids. That and his blues voice made him seem like a real man to me, a slightly threatening real man who obviously must have a sense of humor.
Beef Bologna could easily be misconstrued as sexist, but there’s nothing particularly sexist about the notion of a woman who voraciously devours cock. If anything this song is reductionist, but therein lies the appeal:
She don’t like salami, she don’t want pastrami
She don’t want a chicken, she don’t want a roast
She just wants her double dose of my
Beef, beef, beef, beef bologna
It reminds me of the old days when I used to scarf up raw hot dogs straight from the refrigerator. Faintly repulsive, yet compulsively appealing
I am honored to be friends with someone whose accomplishments are worthy of inclusion on this list, namely Jon Ginoli of Pansy Division. Like The Ramones, Pansy Division have recorded any number of songs that would fit on this list. Unlike the Ramones, Pansy Division are the one band whose songs I am most likely to lurch up and skip on my iTunes when my daughter is about (I figure she is okay with the ones that go right over my head, like Alpine Skiing). As the world’s #1 gay pop-punk band, Pansy Division’s most common subject matter is buttfucking, with cocksucking a close second. There’s just no other way to say it, nor should there be. The danger of a song like He Whipped My Ass in Tennis (and many other Pansy Division songs) is that it is just so gosh-darn catchy:
To wit, as I was still in the process of compiling this list I walked to my eight-year-old daughter’s school to pick her up and it suddenly dawned on me I was bopping through the schoolyard, singing these words in my head:
So we whipped and fucked
And fucked and whipped
And whipped and fucked
And fucked and whipped
He whipped my ass in tennis
Then I fucked his ass in bed
Then we licked and sucked
And sucked and licked
And licked and sucked…alot of dick
He whipped my ass in tennis
Then I fucked his ass in bed
Context is everything, I guess. As I’m bopping through the schoolyard, the incogruity strikes me and I suddenly feel naughty. Other parents around me have no clue what kind of utter filth is in my mind, but I am grateful I remembered where I was and didn’t sing out loud.
As long as we are talking about Pansy Division, I should mention Jon Ginoli has a new book out called Deflowered: My Life in Pansy Division. He’s out and about pimping it on a huge book tour, so stop in and see him and buy the book, because I’m in it. Pansy Division also have a new album out, called That’s So Gay, their first in several years. My mother remembers Jon and wants me to have him sign a copy of his book for her, but I’m reading it now and I can guarantee that there are passages in there that would give her a heart attack. Anything less would have been an emasculated version of the truth, so I’m glad Jon has stayed true to his prurient self.
I knew I would post a Ramones song here, but I had a terribly hard time choosing because there are so many that would qualify. Like all of the bands here but Pansy Division in particular, the insidious thing about the Ramones is that their songs are so catchy. If I had it to do again I might have chosen Beat on the Brat simply because violence is right up there with bestiality on the list of things I think are genuinely bad. Add to that the implication that the “brat” who is the target of the singer’s violent intentions could be a child, and you have on your hands a song that in theory should be unspeakable. In theory.
I finally settled on I Wanna Be Well because it manages to glorify both nihilism and substance abuse in the same verse. It’s one thing to sing about ingesting bug spray and hallucinogenics in the face of human devastation, quite another to be outright gleeful about it:
I want my lsd, golly gee, ddt, wowee!
Daddys broke holy smoke my futures bleak aint it neat?
Like So What, I like I Wanna Be Well because it makes me feel like I need a disclaimer. This makes a perfect segue into Cherry Bomb by the Runaways, a song written from the perspective of a naughty underage girl and performed by actual underage girls. I don’t know if the Runaways were actually doing the kinds of things they sang about or if those lyrics merely were a product of Kim Fowley’s mercenary tendencies, but let’s just say I hear them differently now as a mother than I did when I was seventeen:
Hey street boy what’s your style
Your dead end dreams dont make you smile
Ill give ya something to live for
Have ya, grab ya til you’re sore
Hello daddy, hello mom
I’m your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb
Hello world I’m your wild girl
Im your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb
Just in case you thought you might have misunderstood what this was all about, Runaways singer Cherie Currie awkwardly pranced around the stage in a pink corset, looking more like Ziggy Stardust in fishnets than the teen temptress she was most inappropriately hyped as:
Of course you know and I know teenagers have sex, but what makes this song so wrong and yet so right is that it’s a veritable anthem for the practice and a BRILLIANT POP SINGLE. Who cares what they are singing about, as long as it sounds good? Actually that’s not even true, because a great part of the allure of the devil’s music has always been that it is bad for us. A co-worker of mine once said of Danish black metal band Mercyful Fate “They’re so bad, they want to go to hell.” I might go to hell for listening to these songs, but at least I won’t have died of boredom.
Nor did Lux Interior, who also didn’t die in vain. In the name of all things good-bad but not evil, I leave you with a Naked Girl Falling Down the Stairs:
Foam at mouth. Rinse. Repeat. Mom would not approve, but isn’t that the point?
I can remember little Nora O’Sullivan when she was just a wee sprite learning how to handle a firearm, and now she’s all grown up and in the running for the 2010 Fangoria Spooksmodel Contest and going to Throbbing Gristle shows with her dad. I go even farther back with Fangoria, as I haven’t read it lately but was an avid fan in the early days of the zine. Not just anyone can live up to the title of Spooksmodel, but I can say with great confidence that Nora is the nicest and most personable Queen of Darkness you’ll ever meet. Even better, she has been passionately invested in the genre for almost as long as I’ve known her. As a mother, I can only hope my own daughter grows up to be just as fine a zombie nurse as Nora.
Out of 36 contestants, 13 finalists will be invited to the Finals, at Fangoria’s Weeekend of Horrors in Los Angeles from April 17-19. The 2010 Spooksmodel will be announced there and will receive all sorts of perks and rewards, including plenty of exposure for her dastardly doings. Right now Nora is doing quite well in the competition, but I would consider it a personal favor if you would click here and vote for her.
In other news, I contributed 5 songs to the fabulous Splotchy’s Green Monkey Music Project via Bubs at the Sprawling Ramshackle Compound. I’m woefully late in blogging about my choices because I’ve been bedeviled by the sleep demons lately, but I’m glad to have participated and I promise you’ll hear more from me about this real soon-like.
Filed under: Chicago, Internet Communities, Music, Uncategorized | Tags: Chicago, Leonard Cohen, Ticketmaster
I still have a large stack of Beckoning of Lovely submissions to review today and don’t have as much time as I’d like to make this pretty, but I did want to share that four new Leonard Cohen dates were added yesterday including a second one for Chicago on May 6. For the current list of dates and on-sale information, here’s the updated tour page. This is just the public information, so if you want to know about fan presales and such, you’ll have to figure it out the same way I did.
I had quite an interesting day yesterday, with reverberations continuing into today. I actually considered taking down yesterday’s post because I did not want to be misperceived as being angry or disrespectful towards LC, a man I respect and admire deeply. Some folks on the LC fan forum perceived me as hostile because I dared to use the word “bullshit,” but I reiterated numerous times that I think le eau d’merde is emanating mostly from the Ticketmaster kiosk. Folks accept and even endorse their practices because they are the status quo, but when I step in bullshit, I don’t whistle, look at the sky, and pretend I’m smelling roses. I thought it sucked that there seemed to be no tickets left by the public sale date and I spoke up and said so just because I cared about it. If I didn’t care about it, I sure wouldn’t have risked exposing myself to abuse and personal attacks from people who don’t know me.
I don’t feel entitled and I’m sure I won’t have a front-row seat for this show, because I can’t afford it. But at least I now feel like I have a reasonable chance of going. We have a good pair of binoculars, so I’m prepared. I would like to thank everyone on the LC fan forum who has given me hints as to how to get my tickets, particularly the person who was kind enough to send me a private message when the new dates were announced. I’ve got my monkey, but someone else will have to bring the plywood violin.
I’ve been waiting since last year for Leonard Cohen to announce dates for his U.S. tour, checking his site periodically. As will sometimes happen, I got very busy and missed the fan presale. It was actually quite frustrating because I initially found misleading information and thought I HADN’T missed it, but I’ll spare you that rant. Chew on this: as of Friday February 27, there were no less than six presales for this show listed on Ticketmaster. In addition to the fan sale, there were two separate presales for American Express cardholders, one of which was for premium seating. There was also a venue presale, the need for which escapes me. I had the passwords for the fan and venue presales, but since both of them had apparently ended, there were no tickets to be had for yours truly.
Just out of curiosity, I then checked the online brokers. Lots of tickets there, going for hundreds and even thousands of dollars. Check. Tickets had not yet gone on sale to the public, but the brokers were already cashing in. Mind you, at that time TicketsNow were not selling tickets for this show. Tickets Now is a subsidiary of Ticketmaster that sells seats at inflated prices (in other words an online broker), and they had already been called out for that sort of thing earlier this year. At this point I was skeptical as to what would be left for the public and disgusted with the whole moneygrubbing process, but I had some hopes left for today.
Turns out my skepticism was justified, as there was not a single ticket to be had when I checked at 10:05 this morning. Not only that, but TicketsNow (i.e. Ticketmaster) was now selling scads of them. Not for one moment do I blame this on LC, who was robbed. If anything, I felt it was an honor to contribute what I could to help him restabilize his finances, what with all he has given me. I am pointing fingers here at Ticketmaster, American Express, and the Chicago Theatre, all of whom appear to be implicit in a scam to rip off fans and make as much money as they can possibly stuff into their pockets.
Just to be clear, I think fan presales are a wonderful thing. It’s the other fifty bazillion presales I object to, rightfully so.
And just in case you are wondering, TicketsNow currently has 259 tickets available, ranging from $140 to $1177.
There have been vague rumors of a second show, but at this point I am so disgusted with the whole mess that I no longer seem to care. This whole enterprise has been so crass that I am tempted to just hang on to my precious memory of the 1992 show at the Park West, but I might change my mind. All I know is that I waited, I looked forward, I searched, and I’m now empty-handed. Here I sit, broken-hearted. You must know the rest of that rhyme, because you read it on the bathroom wall.
Filed under: Music, Pop Culture, Rufus Wainwright, traveling | Tags: Amtrak, Amtrak Cardinal Line, Martha Wainwright, Rufus Wainwright
Fan ticket presales don’t always work the way they are supposed to, but when they do, they get me into all kinds of trouble. Way back in October of 2008, I visited his fan site to see what was new and discovered Rufus Wainwright was performing at Verizon Hall in Philadelphia on Valentine’s Day with sister Martha opening. Philly seemed vaguely do-able and the fan presale had just started, so I punched in a request for a single seat to see what would come up. Expecting something in Row L that would be decent but not remotely worth traveling to the East Coast, I saw instead Row C and what looked like piano-side.
I did some quick Web research just to ascertain this was as good a seat as it seemed, and found that indeed it was not–it was true second row, even better. True second row at what looked to be a stunning venue, unlike the Hammond, Indiana casino at which I had recently seen Rufus exhibit his usual professionalism in a room with all the warmth of Rave Motion Pictures, with an audience 3/4 of whom appeared either drunk or comped. Just like last year’s Valentine’s Day show at Radio City Music Hall with Sean Lennon opening but with a much better seat, I felt driven to go in a way that is admittedly not rational on the surface but makes perfect sense to me. Certainly the impulse is impractical and may even seem selfish, but I know from my own experience that I do these things because one can’t assume there will be another chance.
It was important that I make this trip as inexpensive as possible, so when I saw I could save at least $60.00 by taking Amtrak instead of flying, I told myself how much reading I could get done on a 27-hour train ride. I had taken one long train trip before–that time to Denver–so I knew I could survive it. I just figured I would bring a lot of reading, my computer, a notebook, and some headphones, sleep when I could, and cross my fingers no one sat with me, especially at night. Had I realized that trains don’t always have their bathrooms on a lower level I would probably have thrown all fiscal responsibility to the winds and flown, but we’ll just have to consider this a learning experience.
The ride from Chicago to Philadelphia was tolerable, mainly because the car was not crowded and I had two full seats to myself. The day had been so frantic– getting packed and then trucking my daughter downtown, dropping her off with my spouse, and hotfooting it to Union Station with two overpacked bags in the midst of evening rush hour–that I never had that hoped-for chance to pick up a sammich for the train. By the time I finally made my way back to the 7-11 on wheels they call the “Cafe Car,” I was so famished that my microwaved hot dog was actually quite delicious. I consumed it back at my seat, accompanied by a cheap mini-bottle of white wine and a titch of Simon Doonan’s Wacky Chicks.
I owe debts of gratitude to the always-entertaining Mr. Doonan and the visually stunning state of West Virginia, which took most of the next day to get through. At one point after a somewhat restless but at least solitary night, I fell asleep reading and woke up to see what I believe was the Kanawha River, just to my right. We rode alongside the Kanawha for a good, long time, a welcome and refreshing distraction from the encroaching odors emanating from the lavatories. After that it was mountains and more mountains, and then cities and a slightly late arrival in Philadelphia.
I felt stinky and disheveled from the long train ride and knew I had a long day ahead of me, so my goal was basically just to myself to the Courtyard Marriott, eat something slightly better than a microwaved wiener, and hit the hay. I did all that and washed off le eau d’Amtrak, got my monkey situated, and then settled into a surprisingly easy slumber.
I had planned to spend the first part of Valentine’s Day with an old friend having lunch and visiting the Mutter Museum. The Mutter is the one thing you have to do in Philadelphia, forget the Liberty Bell. I can only suggest you go on a weekday rather than a Saturday, because the place was packed beyond my comfort level. There is something reassuringly human about the spectacle of hundreds of people lining up to peer at pickled parts of other people, but I would have enjoyed it a bit more without having to rub up so closely against my fellow rubberneckers. We lunched at a charming local dive bar where they put coleslaw and Russian dressing on my roast beef sammich and had John Coltrane and The Who on the jukebox, and then all too soon it was time to go back to my hotel and rest up for The Rufus.
I’m not one for writing detailed concert reviews because I feel it somehow takes away from the magic, but if you are looking for setlists and such, you can find them here, along with many photos of the night. All I have to offer is a few impressions and observations from Cloud 9, a place I can now return to in my head on those days on those days to escape when domestic chaos threatens to overwhelm my delicate sensibilities. In case you are wondering, Cloud 9 looked a lot like this:
Being true second row, this was the best seat I’ve ever had at a Rufus show with the possible exception of third row at The Joint at the Hard Rock in Las Vegas. Having walked to the show and appreciated the flow of human and vehicular traffic streaming to the venue, I squeezed down the long row of seats to my spot just slightly left of center. Pausing to hug an e-chum from the U.K. that I didn’t know was going to be there, I plopped into my seat and explored this wondrous venue with my eyes.
Verizon Hall is part of a larger complex called the Kimmel Center and was the first major concert venue to open in the 21st century, and photos of the place do not begin to do it justice. Wood is everywhere, there is a pipe organ, and it is grand and immense on a spiritually inspiring scale. Rufus said “I feel like I’m in court . . . but I’m winnin’ the case!”
Oddly enough, the only time I teared up was when Martha strode out with her guitar (in killer heels and a bustier top, no less), and launched into “This Life.” This was the third time I’ve seen Martha open for Rufus, the first since 2004, and it was a revelation. No longer the little sister clamoring for attention, she has grown into her ancestral boots and can now fully command prestigious venues the likes of Verizon Hall. Mixing songs from her first and second albums, she was by far the strongest I’ve ever seen her and left us wanting more. Fortunately this was not the last we were to see of Martha this evening.
Rufus was in fine voice and looked adorable, with his longer (almost Poses-era) hair and thematic attire. He performed a lot of older songs and left out some that I expected, which was fine by me. By this point in his career, Rufus has assembled such a stellar catalogue of material that he can hardly go wrong in my book, but then I may just be a wee bit biased. The greatest surprise was hearing “In a Graveyard” from Poses, which he may have done the first time I saw him perform in 2002 but that I surely haven’t seen him perform since then. I’m just sorry I couldn’t have been in Red Bank, New Jersey two nights before to see him do “Imaginary Love,” because that would have been like winning the lottery.
Rufus was ebullient in Philadelphia, frequently referring to his boyfriend Jorn, his sister, and his fans. At one point he thanked the Ru-bus, a contingent that has followed him around the world and given him so many scarves he said he felt like Stevie Nicks. Just to prove it, he came out and twirled around the stage in them for the encore before sitting down and draping them around his shoulders at the piano. It was almost as much fun as seeing Jorn pick Rufus up and carry him on his shoulders at the Pabst in Milwaukee in 2007, although minus that frisson of danger inspired by the knowledge that one’s object of adoration might fall and crack his pretty skull on the stage at any moment.
For me and for many others, the highlight and revelation of this show was the duets. Rufus and Martha did five songs altogether, three during the set and two for the encore, and the general concensus is that the time has come for them to record a duet album. Each strong and distinct in their own right, their voices blend so beautifully together to create a whole new entity that deserves to be captured in this moment. My favorite of their performances was on Martha’s “Don’t Forget,” but the best video I’ve found of that night was for “April Fools.” Although incomplete at both ends, this clip is a welcome reminder of a stunning moment in time and a performance that ranks in the top handful of us freaks who will follow this man to the far ends of the earth, just because he’s Rufus.
It’s a good thing this was a damn fine show, because my trip home was a flipping ordeal of misery. I would like to apologize right now to anyone who was forced to deal with me on that trip, because I was inexcusably surly. Part of the blame for this must go to Amtrak, who did not do right by me. While Computer Guy across the aisle had to sit with someone only briefly, I had seatmates for almost the whole trip including overnight, which might have been marginally tolerable if not for the freezing cold and fecal stench that burned its way into my nostrils and carved its name in them so deeply I could still smell it a day later. Wuss that I am, I had booked the trip based solely on my previous long train trip to Denver, but in that case the bathrooms on the train had been downstairs. Oh well, at least this time I didn’t vomit.
Every time I take these trips I find myself wondering at some moment why I subject myself to such indignities, and then I come home and recover to bask in the memories. I can theorize that Cloud 9 wouldn’t mean so much if I didn’t have to descend to at least the seventh circle of hell to get there, and thus far I’ve always found my way back. Rufus Wainwright never really seems to stop performing, so I do suggest that you see him if an opportunity presents himself. You can take a plane or a fast train, you can even drive for all I care, but I cannot recommend you take the Amtrak Cardinal line without a gas mask and a supply of sedatives.
Filed under: Internet Communities, online selling | Tags: Bonanzle, online selling
I got so busy there for awhile with the holidays followed by the Beckoning of Lovely frenzy, I lost touch with what was happening on Bonanzle. I was drawn back to the site when my sales there began to pick up and rival those on eBay, and I found not only were there a lot more users, but there was a fun new feature known as Hand Picked Lists. This feature enables any Bonanzle user to assemble his or her own collections of items based on any theme, such as a color, subject, or type of material. The only limitations here are those imposed by the limits of your imagination and the offerings available on the site, still a bit thin but growing daily.
Better yet, these Hand Picked Lists are now being employed to brilliant effect on the Bonanzle home page. Having previously been rather annoyed at the lack of variety on the home page, I have thus far been quite impressed by the diversity and visual punch of the collections I have seen displayed there. The whole process enhances the participatory nature of the site, as it encourages all users (not just sellers) to exhibit their tastes, share what they know, and interact with other users.
Making a Hand Picked List could not be easier, as you basically just go right to that feature from the left sidebar of your My Bonanzle page and just start adding items from the listing pages. To change the item order on your Hand Picked List, just choose the Edit option, click, and drag. The lists are both searchable and browseable and folks seem to love creating them. It’s a very Web 2.0 idea and something you won’t find on eBay, so do check it out.
Just a reminder for those who might not be aware of this, but unlike certain other Web marketplaces, Bonanzle collects no fees until you sell something. I have sold nine items and accrued a grand total of $2.50 in fees, a sum so small Bonanzle can’t even be bothered to collect it yet. The site is incredibly easy to use and does not demand an initial investment (reminds me of the good old days of half.com in that respect), so if you are new to online selling this might be the route to go.
I’ve done a couple of lists and have several more in progress, but my favorite thus far is called Paint It Black. I’m quite pleased with it for a first effort and its due to expire soon, so by all means take a peek while it’s still up. More on Bonanzle later, I’m sure, as the site continues to grow and seems to be heading in a promising direction. So much so that I’m seriously thinking about pulling the plug on eBay, but that’s another matter for another post.
I’m working on a post about my trip to Philadelphia to see Rufus, so watch this space and put on your glitter shoes, baby.
Filed under: Beckoning of Lovely, Internet, Internet Communities, Pop Culture, Uncategorized | Tags: 25 Random Things, Dena Tarlin, Facebook, The Dena
I’m one of the many people who signed up on MySpace and then never spent much time there, partly because the interface was such a cluttered jumble it reminded me of my living room. Since the unutterable horrors of my living room are precisely what I am trying to block out of my mind when I go online, the whole enterprise was doomed from the get-go. By comparison, the premises of Facebook were so clean and well-swept as to serve as a reproach, so much so that spending time there felt like a visit to corporate headquarters stepping over mops wielded by overeager custodians.
I registered with Facebook as a Dominican student because I knew that’s what I was supposed to do, but I stayed away for several months, until I read this Farhad Manjoo article in Slate, called You Have No Friends. I do too have friends, I thought, but Manjoo had me at the subheading, Everyone else is on Facebook. Why aren’t you? I do highly recommend you read the article, but if you really can’t be bothered, the subheading sums it up.
Manjoo might as well have been speaking directly to me when he drew a parallel between Facebook (FB) and cell phones, because I prided myself on being one of the last holdouts on the latter. I despise phones to begin with because I can’t hear and I can’t read the lips of disembodied voices, plus the last thing I wanted was to be more reachable. As someone for whom silence is both a balm and a creative stimulus, I am able to absorb more than enough gab from my eight-year-old to meet and sometimes exceed my daily requirement of human vocal utterances. I finally gave in when I realized how much easier it would be to simply pull out my cell and call home when I was traveling. I’ll never love it because it’s a phone, but it sure beats paying through the nose to call home from hotel rooms or struggling to hear over the announcements on an airport pay phone.
There’s no question I had what Manjoo refers to as an “attitude” toward cell phones, but I could no longer justify that attitude in the face of the profound cultural shift that made cell phones ubiquitous. References to FB had begun to pop up more frequently in my readings and social interactions before I read “You Have No Friends,” so when Manjoo drew that parallel between FB and cell phones, I said Oh, I See and moseyed on over to see what was happening.
As an old fart of 49, I belong to the fastest-growing demographic segment of Facebook users. In some ways this is not surprising, as the site was originally aimed at college students. FB grew because people found it useful, creating a loop of improvements in which the site continued to become more diverse and interesting as the privacy controls were tweaked and users found ways to opt in to the social stream without feeling they had signed up to be objects in a digital panopticon.
A socialist friend of mine referred to Facebook as this absurd social network that makes it easier for the police to find people and I could not argue with that perception. It’s just that I don’t care. The police could already find me if they cared to do so, because we own a home and I am engaged in various public endeavors, including online selling. Among my wares are honesty, transparency, and consistency, not coincidentally the same values I embrace as a writer. See how that works for me?
For better or worse, the denalynn (denalynn2001 on Bonanzle) who sells on eBay is the same denalynn2001 who’s on last.fm, who is the same as the Dena Tarlin who writes and is a Supremely Excellent Judge on the Beckoning of Lovely project. My stock in trade is my authenticity and reliability, so the more tightly I can weave these endeavors together, the more strongly and efficiently I can build The Dena as a brand and the greater chance I have to someday earn a living doing those things I do best. It ain’t rocket science, but I totally understand that it might not be for you. The good news is that this constitutes TOTAL NON-ISSUE, so if you are fretting about it, just please stop right now and start worrying about something that merits your attention.
Because we Westerners are so endlessly and pointlessly dualistic, there has existed since the early days of social networking a debate as to whether these entities are inherently good or evil, dangerous or life-altering in a positive way. In true Zen or existentialist fashion, the only possible answer is yes. The same response applies to Facebook, and if you absolutely despise the place, then by all means do stay away. We have absolutely no desire to make you harm yourself, silly.
If you are feeling social pressure and can’t handle saying no to either your friends or your “friends,” I would encourage you to explore how this lack of backbone might be manifesting itself in other arenas of your life. Follow your gut instinct and don’t be a puppet, but do take a moment to make sure you aren’t being obstinate just for the sake of obstinacy, thereby making things more difficult for yourself than they need to be.
Beyond those who simply don’t care to be on Facebook (not that there’s anything wrong with that), there exists a more baffling subcategory of holdouts who refuse to register because they fear it will somehow suck up their lives and their time. This fear strikes me as being approximately as rational as the old superstition that cats are prone to suffocating people by sucking their breath as they sleep, a problem solved in most cases by simply shutting the bedroom door. If you register an account on Facebook, you are obliged to spend only as much time on the site as you wish. I have Facebook friends who haven’t updated their status since I registered and others who tend to do so several times a day, and although I do generally enjoy the updates, I have no preference as to how other people use their accounts. If I did it wouldn’t matter, because you are totally responsible for driving your own bus here.
If you do opt to register an account on Facebook, there is no need to fret about your levels of disclosure or participation. Again, we have that lovely phrase, Opt in. Beginning with your profile, I could personally not care less if you post a picture. It might be in your interest to do so if your name is something very common like Tom Jones, unless you want to get a lot of friend requests from ladies who throw underwear, but it’s no skin off my nose either way. Alternatively, you may wish to post a pic of your pet labrador or Nick Nolte’s mug shot. It’s all good, as far as I’m concerned. Just do what pleases you, okay?
The same principle applies to your name and your profile, meaning you should disclose as much as you want and no more. If you don’t want everyone to find you, be creative with your name. You can call yourself Captain Howdy for all I care, building your network by friending a few people you know and then adding people as you find them. If compartmentalization is your bag, you can customize who can see what parts of your profile by tweaking your privacy settings. If you are like me and can’t be bothered to remember who has access to what version of you, then just let it all hang out and let the consequences fall where they may.
The best guideline to determine what to put up on the Web aside from quasi-private exchanges like emailing and instant messaging is to ask yourself Would I mind if my mother saw this? Just assume she will, as will your boss, your neighbor, and your child. Mothers can be especially dangerous, as they are endowed with special spy powers instilled by their sense of entitlement to know anything and everything they can discover about their children. My mother is so technophobic she still thinks she can’t jack into the Web without America Online, but she googled my most common Web ID and found this blog. I hadn’t mentioned it because I rarely discuss anything here that would vaguely interest her, but when she stumbled on it I just laughed. Having asked myself that all-important question and ascertained that I didn’t give a rat’s ass, there was no problem.
Having settled that you shouldn’t register on FB if you hate the place, you only need to share as much information as you want, and you are free to spend as much or as little time as you like there, why am I writing this? Very simply, I have found that I both like Facebook much more than I thought I would and find it makes it easier to reach the people in my network. I like seeing all my contacts in one place, where I can update my status for the whole crowd, message a friend and chat with a Beckoning of Lovely collaborator, share a link or a video, or post my 25 Random Things (see below). This is yet another of those Facebook non-issues, so by all means don’t create one if you don’t want to and don’t read other people’s if they disturb you that deeply. I could personally care less if you just want to read mine but prefer not to create one yourself, and if something I or someone else has revealed is too intimate or boring or abysmally spelled, stop complaining and go build yourself a shed or write a novel.
Facebook is not and will never be a substitute for face-to-face encounters, but it’s a neat way to follow what your friends are doing, thinking, seeing, writing, and creating when you cannot see them. We are all so busy, rushing hither, thither, yadda, yadda, yadda, which tends to create a huge backlog of information that we once had to select from and process when we met. Thanks to FB, I already know Deb has been overloaded, Gretchen visited the Dells, and Robin has an adorable little girl Although it has been accused of doing quite the opposite by serving personal information up in byte-sized nuggets, I find FB creates depth in my understanding of a person to the extent that I choose to follow their updates and read their content, and, well, if I don’t want that much depth, I just don’t go there. As they say in 12-step programs, it’s simple, but it’s not easy.
Freedom and responsibility frighten people and may bring heavy consequences when they are abused. People have lost jobs, spouses, money, and their good reputations by not thinking carefully enough about what they posted on Facebook, and if you think for one moment this could not happen to you, there is a concept in psychology called illusion of invulnerability that might just have your name on it. On the other hand, if you are game and want to explore the possibilities of social networking intelligently and conscientiously whilst perhaps even having a bit of fun, then FB is for you. Just don’t even try to poke me, because I really hate that stuff.
Now, for FB abstainers and those who want to see for themselves what the heck the kids are up to on Facebook these days:
1. This is the first note I’ve ever posted on Facebook.
2. I was born in Peoria, Illinois on 9-9-59.
3. Turn those nines upside down and what do you get?
4. My father died last year, but his name was Trevelyn and my mother’s name is Evelyn.
5. I am rather severely hearing impaired, and until I learned to read they had me in the “slow” class. SURPRISE!!
6. I attended both grade school and high school with Jon Ginoli, who went on to found Pansy Division, the pioneering gay rock band. We published a fanzine out of Peoria called “Hoopla,” but Jon did all the work.
7. My uncle by marriage, Frank Fahrenkopf was the Chairman of the Republican National Committee under Ronald Reagan.
8. When I go-go danced, I looked like this:
10. I’ve got a monkey and I know how to use it:
11. Thus far I’ve earned a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology and a Master’s Degree in Library and Information Science. I like to think I won’t subject myself to further schooling, but one never knows.
12. It is my dream to one day own an Air Hockey table.
13. In the context of a discussion about tabloid talk shows that took place in a hotel bar in Louisville, Kentucky, Dave Davies of The Kinks once told me, “You must be good in bed.”
14. I scored in the 99th percentile on the MAT (See #2)
15. One of my peak experiences was dancing onstage at Foxy’s to “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll by Joan Jett with a male friend of mine whose club monicker was “The Naked Guy” for exactly the reason you would think. I met him in philosophy class at UIC.
16. I went through a phase of reading quite a few books about murder, trying to get inside the head of someone who would kill another person. I still have all those books, although I read much more about other things these days.
17. I’m a mac person.
18. My mother was born in Nevada and I grew up visiting Las Vegas almost every summer. I still have a strange affection for the place.
19. I once tried on a vintage all-weather coat that had I’d purchased in a thrift shop several years ago and felt something in the sleeve. It turned out to be a dirty terrycloth pouch with 10 $100 bills in it. I used the money to go to Las Vegas and see Rufus Wainwright.
20. My best friend and I once won first prize in a Halloween costume contest at Club 950. We were zombie housewives from Downer’s Grove, years ahead of our time. We looked like this:
22. I’m extremely good at finding things.
23. Spiders. Don’t like them one bit.
24. I believe the greatest philosopher of all time was Dr. Seuss, but Camus was no slouch.
25. I have been appointed to the cabinet of the Chicago-based judging panel for her Beckoning of Lovely project as a Supremely Excellent Judge. I am more excited about this than anything I’ve done in awhile and I think the end result will be, well, lovely. Here’s the project url: http://thebeckoningoflovely.wordpress.com/
