"Turns out local party rocker dj godzilla (godzillionaire) paints like a screwed up 5 year old. Aimee's Coffehouse is giving him the opportunity to show off some of his masterpieces (lol). All of the artwork is mixed media (watercolors and Sharpies), colorful and surreal. There will be chicken wings, beer and the artist playing records for this event! Come out and enjoy the spectacle!" (L.com).
Chip: "I love the lack of pretension here, in which the art itself takes a backseat to chicken wings and party tunes, as it should. This is one of the few times I'm actually looking forward to a Final Fridays event."
We found ourselves immediately intrigued by this typically confusing L.com description of tonight's Meester Magpie show at the Replay:
"Meester Magpie is a one-man band [who] spends as much time deconstructing music as he does actually playing it."
What we imagine is a guy who stands quietly on stage thinking about music but not actually playing it (sort of like that Monty Python sketch where the philosophers attempt to play soccer).
So we began to research further, and discovered this concert review, which assured us that this show is absolutely essential:
"Mister Magpie [is the] noise project of Chicagoan Joseph Blanki. The staging of his performance was crucial as Blanki, dressed in a shimmering Bowie-esque tunic and gorilla mask, cut the lights and turned on two powerful strobes while periodically gassing the show space with thick volumes of fog. The music was dark, and like Blanki's adopted gorilla persona, primal. Blending audio-clips of monkeys barking and 50’s B horror reels with tribal drumming, E.T. sound-effects, loads of feedback and zonked reverb, Blanki creates a soundscape somewhere between Apocalypse Now and an alien abduction." (www.imposemagazine.com).
Duckie, if you're reading, PLEASE go to this show and report back.
At the LC, we're fans of well-timed expletives (and ill-timed boners). So we were pleased to read Jenny Diski's rallying cry in the NY-Times called "‘An Unspeakable Word Is the Word That Has to Be Spoken’." Although she can't actually 'speak' the word in the prudish Times, the word in question is "cunt":
"It is a word that belongs colloquially to my anatomy if I choose it, but that has been so appropriated by misogyny and prudery that I am supposed to be horrified and distressed when it is used, as misogyny and prudery would require me to be."
We're particularly fond of Diski's point about "obscenities" in this excerpt from the Times piece:
"...the word is rather less unspeakable here in the U.K. than in the U.S. It can be used privately in a chummy way between men, between (some) women, between (some) men and women, as well as being aggressively used and deliberately vile. This is true of the best obscenities: they straddle affection, familiarity and offense."
We've decided to embrace Diski's argument, so when you see us on the streets we'll often be referring to Chip, affectionately and familiarly, as a cunt. Feel free to do the same.
And perhaps the word IS making a comeback. It's prominent, after all, in Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues, where it serves as a feminist rallying cry, with the cast encouraging audience members to shout along in solidarity.
Chip: "I once saw a production of The Vagina Monologues, which I incorrectly believed to be a funny play about talking pussies."
And the word is even in your local multiplex right now. If you've seen Bridesmaids recently (and if you haven't, why not?), you'll certainly recall Kristen Wiig's memorable and perfectly delivered "c-bomb" (directed at a bratty teenager).
Our feminist readers: "To be honest, we're not sure how we feel about all this. But we're pretty sure we don't want Chip using the word."
Go here for the full NY-Times piece.