Jesus Christ, I feel like I've been drowning over here. Too many smaller things to deal with can be just as catastrophic as a couple of HUGE things hitting at the same time.
Trying to cover a bunch of stuff I've missed over the past couple of weeks:
Tabbiewolf was good enough to whip up a sketch -- and even color it! -- after I got curious enough to ask what kind of critter she thought I'd be. (Normally people go straight for 'fox', probably because of the red hair and va-va-voom.) Tabbiewolf is a freelance artist specializing in toonified critter avatars and the like, so if happen to be looking for one, head on over and ask about projects. She drew me as a bobcat, which is one I've never gotten before. Cute, non? I sent her to my online portfolio for reference images, and I am amused to note that I apparently really am that busty. I don't tend to think of myself as top-heavy, especially since one of my best friends has knockers literally the size of her head. (No lie. She tried to argue with me once, and I demonstrated to her that, should it ever become necessary, we could snip one of her bras apart and use it as emergency yarmulkes. These things happen when Laundry Day coincides with Margarita Day.) I've no idea why this doesn't stick; I know full well what my bra size is. Every so often, I catch myself in the mirror from a weird angle, or get a photo back, and go, "Huh. I guess that's why I have trouble finding button-down shirts."
I'll be turning up at the RAW Showcase on March 24. It's at a club called RumoR, which is either just past the theater district from Park/Red or Boylston/Green, or right around the corner from Tufts Medical Center/Orange. I don't have any one particular artist to support this time around, but if you enjoy cocktail parties and watching interesting people show off their artwork, then by all means please buy some tickets. Feel free to say hello if you see me; I'll probably be dressed like a sexy lunatic, and be giving out contact cards.
This article about "autonomous sensory meridian response" is rather interesting. That's the "please take me seriously, science people!" name a bunch of internet commenters have made up for the pleasant goosebumps that they get from certain stimuli -- in the case of this article, videos of people whispering calmly and soothingly to the viewer, although other prompts come up in discussion. You can chalk this one up as another thing I was unaware that other people's brains didn't do. I couldn't care less about the whispering videos, but there are a good handful of songs that reliably trigger it for me, even if I'm the one singing. It's one of the cues I use to judge whether I've hit the right note. A couple of other links here, and here.
Lady Gaga is being sued by a former-friend-and-employee, who is basically claiming that she's owed back wages, and also that Lady Gaga is both demanding and bonkers. I cannot honestly say I'm surprised. I really don't like Lady Gaga -- which actually makes me kind of uncomfortable, since her stated stance on a lot of sociopolitical stuff is one that I back wholeheartedly. I have absolutely nothing against her wacky stage act or the meat dress, and I only cringe at the public pantslessness because it has a whiff of desperation about it; my opinion of her music is pretty much the same as my opinion of Britney Spears, which is that she has like two songs that are genuinely head-invady and fun, and that most of the rest of the album is embarrassingly bad. I've just always had the feeling that she wasn't great with the concept of 'sharing', particularly when it came to attention.
The bit about the tour riders is nothing big, though. Any act with any amount of complicated electrical and electronic equipment has at least one patently insane clause in their contract. It's a reading comprehension check. If you have nine pages of lighting, electrical, and safety requirements, followed by a demand for a punch bowl of M&Ms with all the brown ones picked out, and you show up to find a punch bowl of M&Ms with all the brown candies proudly intact, then the odds are excellent that the venue has also ignored something that's actually important, and you should go over everything with a fine-toothed comb. One of Iggy Pop's contracts got pretty famous when it was leaked to The Smoking Gun, and everyone found out it was also funny as fuck.
Trying to cover a bunch of stuff I've missed over the past couple of weeks:
Tabbiewolf was good enough to whip up a sketch -- and even color it! -- after I got curious enough to ask what kind of critter she thought I'd be. (Normally people go straight for 'fox', probably because of the red hair and va-va-voom.) Tabbiewolf is a freelance artist specializing in toonified critter avatars and the like, so if happen to be looking for one, head on over and ask about projects. She drew me as a bobcat, which is one I've never gotten before. Cute, non? I sent her to my online portfolio for reference images, and I am amused to note that I apparently really am that busty. I don't tend to think of myself as top-heavy, especially since one of my best friends has knockers literally the size of her head. (No lie. She tried to argue with me once, and I demonstrated to her that, should it ever become necessary, we could snip one of her bras apart and use it as emergency yarmulkes. These things happen when Laundry Day coincides with Margarita Day.) I've no idea why this doesn't stick; I know full well what my bra size is. Every so often, I catch myself in the mirror from a weird angle, or get a photo back, and go, "Huh. I guess that's why I have trouble finding button-down shirts."
I'll be turning up at the RAW Showcase on March 24. It's at a club called RumoR, which is either just past the theater district from Park/Red or Boylston/Green, or right around the corner from Tufts Medical Center/Orange. I don't have any one particular artist to support this time around, but if you enjoy cocktail parties and watching interesting people show off their artwork, then by all means please buy some tickets. Feel free to say hello if you see me; I'll probably be dressed like a sexy lunatic, and be giving out contact cards.
This article about "autonomous sensory meridian response" is rather interesting. That's the "please take me seriously, science people!" name a bunch of internet commenters have made up for the pleasant goosebumps that they get from certain stimuli -- in the case of this article, videos of people whispering calmly and soothingly to the viewer, although other prompts come up in discussion. You can chalk this one up as another thing I was unaware that other people's brains didn't do. I couldn't care less about the whispering videos, but there are a good handful of songs that reliably trigger it for me, even if I'm the one singing. It's one of the cues I use to judge whether I've hit the right note. A couple of other links here, and here.
Lady Gaga is being sued by a former-friend-and-employee, who is basically claiming that she's owed back wages, and also that Lady Gaga is both demanding and bonkers. I cannot honestly say I'm surprised. I really don't like Lady Gaga -- which actually makes me kind of uncomfortable, since her stated stance on a lot of sociopolitical stuff is one that I back wholeheartedly. I have absolutely nothing against her wacky stage act or the meat dress, and I only cringe at the public pantslessness because it has a whiff of desperation about it; my opinion of her music is pretty much the same as my opinion of Britney Spears, which is that she has like two songs that are genuinely head-invady and fun, and that most of the rest of the album is embarrassingly bad. I've just always had the feeling that she wasn't great with the concept of 'sharing', particularly when it came to attention.
The bit about the tour riders is nothing big, though. Any act with any amount of complicated electrical and electronic equipment has at least one patently insane clause in their contract. It's a reading comprehension check. If you have nine pages of lighting, electrical, and safety requirements, followed by a demand for a punch bowl of M&Ms with all the brown ones picked out, and you show up to find a punch bowl of M&Ms with all the brown candies proudly intact, then the odds are excellent that the venue has also ignored something that's actually important, and you should go over everything with a fine-toothed comb. One of Iggy Pop's contracts got pretty famous when it was leaked to The Smoking Gun, and everyone found out it was also funny as fuck.
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