Monday, October 13, 2008

"What in sam hell is a 'puma'?"

For the next few days I will be hijacking guestblogging MAKING A TOTAL ASS OUT OF MYSELF over on blog de VanderMeer. Which, on thinking it over, is nothing that you guys haven't seen before.

I'll be running another CYOA, which will involve two separate streams that will effect each other, because clearly I need that sort of mad organisational brainfart in my day. If any of you are interested in giving it a whirl, please head on over and I'll be forever in your debt if you show the uninitiated how we roll. It's significantly less crap than the last one, as I had a better idea of what I was doing this time around. I'll post the flow charts for both after this one has ended.

If you've just come from Jeff's blog, hi! Welcome! And how! Feel free to poke around, make disparaging remarks, and what not. This is a personal blog, so while I do talk about books and writing, I also talk about chocolate cake and ponies and the state of my toenails. Be warned. I'm about to do some personal blogging right now, after this line break. Ready?

Liz Gorinsky's eye for an interesting show saw us sitting on the floor of the Ding Dong watching gothic/industrial tribal tap dancers moonwalk. Most excellent. It got me thinking, and I've decided that there is nothing about tap dancing that isn't awesome. Not merely the deep rhythm and astonishing dexterity involved, but that they turn the earth into a percussion instrument, and who honestly doesn't enjoy stomping around making lots of noise? Tap dancing is muchly awesome.

Yet, not cool. Still. Liz said it came with that 1940s vibe, and I have to agree. Despite all contemporary developments and acquisitions, it still carries a huge suitcase of lame ass dork. I tried to put myself in the situation of coming out as a tap dancer in high school, and it didn't work.

Go you awesome tap dancers. Stomp that suitcase to the curb.

Confession: I have an intense artist crush on this guy.

Not only is his art so beautifully whimsical and simple and sad and delightful, but his taste in music resonates with my bones. I devour his art, then I devour the music, and then I pine away the time between now and the next time he updates his journal. Every musician he uses I note down and hunt out. His first name is Tobias, I have no idea what any of his posts say, and I kind of like it that way. Art transcends language, and feeling transcends art. More and more and more such pictures at


The whole bag is full of crazy mutation peanuts. They're like, conjoined peanut twin pod babies. Must be a tough life, being a conjoined peanut twin pod baby. I eat you, put you out of your misery. Nom nom nom.


  1. If I had known you were seeing Liz, I would have done something evil. Except that Liz doesn't know Evil Gillian and she gave me books. Maybe it's just as well I didn't even know you knew her. Maybe. Your lif is still not chaos enough, and it's wrong of me to have missed an opportunity to make it so.

  2. Heee, missed opportunity indeed.

    She did a good job playing messenger pigeon though, bring down a hello from Trevor and taking my hellos back to New York.

  3. "You mean like the shoe company?"

    ; )

  4. :D

    Don't start me. I've been watching season 1-5, soon I'll be able to recite the lot.

  5.'s ages since I've caught up with it, but it's still damn funny. I should add the DVDs to my wish list. : )