11 November 2008

Boy (Go)

Bovine spongiform encephalopathy. It really rolls off the tongue, especially that "encephalopathy." It's fun to say!

You'd think I could make cocktail conversation in a more reasonable fashion. "I bake my own bread! My children only get cookies into which I've slipped white whole wheat flour! I use a clothesline! I took weaving and quilting classes!"

No. I'm the one talking about variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease.

In a tiny basement bar in West Hollywood.

As I suddenly verbally backed up in some horror (1/2 a glass of wine and I'm talking shop?), the lovely woman with whom I was speaking assured me that such things would be table conversation at her house should she be allowed to speak of them. If she meant that, well, she'd be right at home at our table where we discuss those who happen to have the misfortune to come into contact with a pyroclastic flow. At least until it suddenly dawns on the spouse or me that what we're talking about really doesn't go with macaroni and cheese.

Disaster is my life.

Conversational faux pas aside, last evening was great fun. Living behind the Orange Curtain has left me feeling somewhat provincial these days, and there was a bit of adventure to be had traversing Sunset, haunt of my youth. I read few blogs, and amusingly enough 3 out of the 6 blog authors that I regularly read were at this event. I made the effort to speak with each of them, which I have to admit was no easier for me than leaving comments is, but all of them were pleasant people.

(I seem to veer between two extremes: utter silence and a frank inability to shut up.)

Heather and Jon Armstrong were both generous with their time and chat, although the whole thing was a bit odd what with TV cameras and a boom mike hanging over my head. I find Heather really quite brave in what she does because I know darn well I wouldn't be able to do it. In my case, there are fairly compelling reasons not to be transparent, but I'm also more than willing to admit that I'm happier hiding behind a wall of stachybotrys atra (another great one to rip out in conversation!) and falling mountains.

Because disaster is my life.

Go listen to some good music: "Boy (Go)" from the album Visions of Excess by The Golden Palominos. I saw The Golden Palominos not far from where I was last night. The fire department took exception to something about the venue, and kicked everyone out. Syd Straw, one of the vocalists that night, suggested to all of us standing around outside that we should all go to Canter's. So everyone did.

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