(NOTE: Post edited March 29, 2010, so "last summer" would be the summer of 2009.)
For rather a long time, my avatar on a number of sites was a photo I snapped of Amanda Palmer (1/2 of the Dresden Dolls and a successful solo performer), holding the first 2 Trent Reznor Rock Star Dolls I knitted in the spring/summer of 2005. (You thought I was kidding about the artsy-craftsy fangirl bit, right?) I had gotten back into knitting after many years away earlier that year, and when I came across Debbie Stoller's Stitch 'n Bitch Nation and saw the pattern for Rock Star Dolls, I knew immediately what I needed to do (right after I damn near pissed myself laughing, that is)...
Let me state for the record right now that Nine Inch Nails fans are some of the cleverest, most creative, and funniest fuckers on the planet, bar none--it's too long and convoluted a story to tell in its entirety here, but suffice to say that 15 years of NIN fandom have been most entertaining, and not just because of the music. I don't know if the hardcore fans of any other performers out there get quite as wacky as NINnies do--does Bono have to put up with fans Photoshopping his face onto, say, Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music or Steve Carrell in The 40-Year-Old Virgin (to name only two of literally thousands of 'shops)? T-shirt designs? Check. (Been there, done that, sold the shirt, will write about it later) Paintings? Check. Short stories? Check. Song parodies (known as BFPTs on alt.music.nin back in the day, which is also another story...)? Check. Tattoos? Check. My friend Julia/Cthulhia was one of the first to dive headlong into artsy fandom with her Infinite Halo series of postcards, which started out as "ways to depict the NIN logo" (mardi gras beads, Barbie doll legs, 9" acrylic fingernails--which were apparently a real bitch to deal with, plus you can't wipe your ass while you have them--fishnet-clad legs, Little Gator's Deep Shit cookies in a litterbox--that was my idea, I'm afraid; I shot it with my late lamented cat Mojo posing in the background, looking fairly pleased with himself--ramen noodles powdered up to look like cocaine, Prozac...you get the idea), and has since blossomed into more elaborate Photoshops for a tarot card deck she's designing. So, when I saw the knitted doll pattern, I bought the book and several hanks of yarn (Tahki Cotton Classic), and got down to business.
The first doll (the one in the brown tank top) was modeled after Trent's appearance onstage at the Orpheum in May '05, and Julia got that one (he still goes to shows with her when I can't come along, and IIRC had his photo taken with none other than Adrienne Curry at one of the very last NIN shows in LA last summer); the second one I did for myself, and was supposed to be Trent in his "working in the studio/screwing around playing video games" mode, but he didn't turn out quite as well that time around. I ended up making two more dolls; one in classic "Closer" video style, complete with ratty sweater knit out of twine, for my friend Izzy, and Coachella '05 Trent, complete with hand-sewn button-down white shirt, which I intended to give to the man himself as a friendly tongue-in-cheek joke during the fall '05 tour. (Of course, the one show where I didn't bring him was the one where we got a meet & greet--would you believe Madison Square Garden?--and I ended up entrusting the little guy to the care of Brandi the Spiral rep in Montreal, who took wonderful care of all of us sillyassed fan club members throughout the With Teeth tours. Alas, I have no idea if Trent ever actually did get his Mini-Me, or if it met some kind of horrible fate at the hands of the crew.) I've had a number of people beg for their own Trent, but although I've considered getting back into the doll business as an art project of sorts, and doing other performers as well (at the top of the list: the Dresden Dolls, of course), I only made the ones I did for myself and a couple of friends. They're way too labor-intensive to make and sell, plus I wouldn't be able to charge what my time would be worth; also...how do I put this? I only did them for people I knew wouldn't *ahem* have a little too much fun with them, ifyouknowwhatImeanandIthinkyoudo....I just couldn't let that happen to the poor man, even if it was in cotton yarn and not in the flesh.
Anyway, back to the picture of Amanda...it was taken at the late lamented Grand Opening adult toy store in early July of '05, when the Dresden Dolls were doing an in-store appearance to promote both themselves and the Audi-Oh, a wonderful little device that would pick up on any ambient sounds and turn them into vibrations--you could plug your iPod into it, or just crank the sound system and let 'er rip, so to speak. (Yes, I tried it out--over my clothes, I'll have you know--and yes, it's quite effective, if I do say so myself. For a split second I contemplated buying one to wear to a concert some time, until I realized that (a) security would probably think it was a recording device and confiscate it; and (b) if I actually managed to keep AND wear it throughout an entire show, it would probably be the death of me, with it taking the mortician a good 48 hours to get the big, shit-eating grin off my face.) Since the Dolls had opened up for NIN only a couple of months earlier, I figured they'd get a kick out of the little guys, and I was right. (Note to self, however: never hand anyone a doll to check out when there's an entire shelf just full of dildos within easy arm's reach. Virtue was preserved, but only just barely...)
I keep thinking I should get back into doll-knitting, but I'm not sure who I'd want to do...suggestions, anyone?
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Well, well, well...
I knew it had been a long-assed time since I'd posted here, but I didn't realize it had been nearly two years to the day...and such an interesting couple of years, too. Let's see...my cat Delenn, who had become diabetic but was never successfully stabilized, went downhill very fast and had to be put to sleep Easter weekend of '08; I had to have an emergency appendectomy the same weekend in August that my then-roommate was moving out (both her move and my surgery went just fine, BTW); and since New Year's I've been providing moral and emotional support to one of my oldest and dearest friends, whose marriage of 20+ years is going straight down the crapper due to her husband's unregenerate buttheadedness/Midlife Crisis From Hell...when your midlife crisis involves trying to knock up your first cousin in Arkansas, I think that qualifies as one From Hell, eh? (I wish I was making that part up, but it's all true...) And that's just some of what's gone on.
Perhaps most pertinent to this blog in particular, though, is my social life's 180-degree about-face: after spending 2006-07 being little Miss Boston Music Scene Booster and taking approximately 6,000 photos (no lie; it damn near killed that poor little digital camera), I have turned my back on all of that, and have once again become involved with the SCA and medieval/renaissance re-enactment, something I hadn't done in nearly 20 years.
Why the change? Well, to try to put some of it gracefully...in late 2007, let's just say that I was treated rather badly by a couple of people in the Boston scene whom I had previously regarded as friends, and it was brought home to me rather harshly that, no matter what I did, I was never going to be sufficiently "cool" to be considered anything more than a mere hanger-on, albeit one who provided them with many, many photos and periodic baked goods. (I really do enjoy being Mama Hen to various starving and not-so-starving artists--after all, there's only so much fussing and clucking that my cat and my friends will put up with--but when you get the distinct impression that you're being taken severely for granted in both your culinary and photographic capacities, it can definitely help sour you on particular people. Too, on a more practical note, I'm not getting any younger, which makes staying out late and going to work the next day more and more difficult, to the point of being damn near impossible...not to mention that my employers have the completely unreasonable expectation that I should be awake and functional while on their time. ;-) Since being employed allows me to indulge myself in certain luxuries such as eating and living indoors, I would prefer to continue being employed, and if not hanging out with assholes is the price I have to pay, well...I fail to see what the problem is here. /snark )
(I'd also like to state for the record, as people either don't know or don't bother to remember, that I'm both quite nearsighted and have some pretty significant inner ear nerve damage, the combination of which tends to leave me peering around clubs in a manner not unlike a mole dragged out of its burrow, missing a good percentage of what's being said because (a) I can't hear what people are saying--oh, I know they're saying something, but I can't actually hear what it is, and (b) it's dark enough that I can't rely on my fallback of filling in the blanks by reading lips because I can't see them, plus (c) between the darkness and the myopia, finding people in a dark club can be an absolute bitch, which means (d) that I'm doing my damnedest to figure out just what the fuck is going on, thankyouverymuch. And no, I didn't blow my ears out at shows; I was thrown to the floor of my grandmother's car in a fender bender when I was was two years old with sufficient force that it caused the nerve damage--in fact, my mother was told years later, when they finally realized I actually had a hearing problem, that if I hadn't already been talking so well and so clearly at that age--thanks, Mom!--that I very likely would have ended up with a significant speech impediment. Oh, yeah, and getting older isn't helping this, either. Onwards...)
Not too terribly long thereafter, while I was still licking my wounds and debating whether or not I wanted to venture back out into the scene, I went to Arisia '08 and ended up having a wonderful time that weekend; in particular, thanks to the attentions paid me by a particular gentleman and long-time acquaintance, but also due to the many people in fannish circles who helped me feel as if I just might possibly kinda sorta belong somewhere, instead of being perpetually pressing my nose against the window and looking wistfully in...did me a world of good, I must say. ;-) The gentleman in particular is a long-time SCAdian, which reminded me that I'd always enjoyed getting medieval in the past (I was, after all, a medieval studies minor in college), and that one of the main reasons I slipped away from the scene in the mid-80s was because I was finally in a large enough metropolitan area and could take advantage of the various cultural options (shorter version: I moved to Boston and was finally able to be the band-follower in my 20s that most people are in their teens). So I got in touch with the good people of the Barony of Carolingia, and have been greatly enjoying my return to the fold. It's always nice to spend time with a group of people who share your interests and who don't appear to be as obsessed with "cool" as certain other social circles, hm? I could get used to this... :-)
What really sealed the deal, interestingly enough, was one of those rare occasions where I actually did stay out late for a show--in this case, Billy Bragg at the Somerville Theatre. I've been a fan of his for nearly 20 years, and have been toting along baked goods to his shows for about that long as well, and he's definitely worth losing sleep, spending money, and flinging flour 'round the kitchen over. IMNSHO, he's really and truly one of the sweetest, kindest people on the planet--if they ever manage to work the bugs out of human cloning, they really need to put Billy on the shortlist to be cloned, as (again IMNSHO) the world could sure as hell use more people like that. (No, he isn't paying me to say that, and no, this isn't an attempt at world-class-suck-uppery, either. He just really IS that good of an egg, and nearly 20 years of friendly acquaintance have only made that clearer. But enough butt-kissing...back to the actual story, now...) I stopped by the theatre around soundcheck with the usual contingent of freshly baked cookies, and was welcomed in by the (for want of a better term) entourage, who are also all lovely people fully deserving of praise and baked goods. I was waiting down in the green room when soundcheck finished and Billy came downstairs, and I must say, it really does a girl's heart good to have someone spot you, come running right over, give you a big hug, tell you that you look great, ask what you've been up to, and--gasp!--seem quite genuinely interested in the answer AND include you in the conversation as well. My, my, who'da thunk it? (The show, of course, was a blast, and if you haven't actually gotten out to see him perform yet, for God's sake, go! Gogogogogo! What are you waiting for?!?)
It wasn't until the next day, though, as I was e-mailing a dear friend about the previous evening, that it really hit me: Here's a man who's been internationally famous for well over 20 years, who can sell out decent-sized venues, hobnob with political leaders, and who, God knows, has seen me make an ass out of my self on plenty of occasions since 1989--and he always treats me like an intelligent human being worthy of respect and friendly behavior; whereas someone who's known me for less than two years, is barely known outside of eastern Massachusetts, and is still playing rathole clubs, basically thinks it's OK to treat me like crap even though this person had previously been perfectly friendly, and who doesn't even have the balls to say something to my face, but deputizes someone else to do his dirty work?
FUCK YOU, BUDDY.
(Mind you, playing rathole clubs is by no means a character flaw or an indication of lack of talent; I'm simply using that fact as a way to Compare and Contrast, so no offense whatsoever meant towards struggling performers, OK? Good.)
**************************************
In the meantime, I'm afraid I haven't updated the robinthemadphotographer.com website in about as long as I had this blog, partially due to a series of computers failing (at one point I suggested people just start calling me the AppleKiller), but even after that due to just not wanting to stir up old ghosts in the process of revamping the site. Please understand--I still like most of the people I met on the scene, and I feel bad that I haven't been going out to support them (there's only a couple of people on my shit list), but on some level it's felt necessary to remove myself from those circles and take stock of my life and dreams, and decide where I'm going from here. I guess you could say I'm having my own midlife crisis of sorts, but hey--unlike my friend's husband, at least mine doesn't involve banging a close relative, eh?
Don't be fooled, though--I haven't given up on being a fangirl completely, not by a long shot! If I can ever get myself to the point of regularly updating this blog, I'll try to tell more of my fangirl anecdotes from over the years, and maybe even post a few recipes here and there! I'm still trying to decide the exact path I'd like my writings to take, but in the meantime, I thought I should pop in and let anyone who's actually reading this know where I've been. See you all soon (I hope)...
Perhaps most pertinent to this blog in particular, though, is my social life's 180-degree about-face: after spending 2006-07 being little Miss Boston Music Scene Booster and taking approximately 6,000 photos (no lie; it damn near killed that poor little digital camera), I have turned my back on all of that, and have once again become involved with the SCA and medieval/renaissance re-enactment, something I hadn't done in nearly 20 years.
Why the change? Well, to try to put some of it gracefully...in late 2007, let's just say that I was treated rather badly by a couple of people in the Boston scene whom I had previously regarded as friends, and it was brought home to me rather harshly that, no matter what I did, I was never going to be sufficiently "cool" to be considered anything more than a mere hanger-on, albeit one who provided them with many, many photos and periodic baked goods. (I really do enjoy being Mama Hen to various starving and not-so-starving artists--after all, there's only so much fussing and clucking that my cat and my friends will put up with--but when you get the distinct impression that you're being taken severely for granted in both your culinary and photographic capacities, it can definitely help sour you on particular people. Too, on a more practical note, I'm not getting any younger, which makes staying out late and going to work the next day more and more difficult, to the point of being damn near impossible...not to mention that my employers have the completely unreasonable expectation that I should be awake and functional while on their time. ;-) Since being employed allows me to indulge myself in certain luxuries such as eating and living indoors, I would prefer to continue being employed, and if not hanging out with assholes is the price I have to pay, well...I fail to see what the problem is here. /snark )
(I'd also like to state for the record, as people either don't know or don't bother to remember, that I'm both quite nearsighted and have some pretty significant inner ear nerve damage, the combination of which tends to leave me peering around clubs in a manner not unlike a mole dragged out of its burrow, missing a good percentage of what's being said because (a) I can't hear what people are saying--oh, I know they're saying something, but I can't actually hear what it is, and (b) it's dark enough that I can't rely on my fallback of filling in the blanks by reading lips because I can't see them, plus (c) between the darkness and the myopia, finding people in a dark club can be an absolute bitch, which means (d) that I'm doing my damnedest to figure out just what the fuck is going on, thankyouverymuch. And no, I didn't blow my ears out at shows; I was thrown to the floor of my grandmother's car in a fender bender when I was was two years old with sufficient force that it caused the nerve damage--in fact, my mother was told years later, when they finally realized I actually had a hearing problem, that if I hadn't already been talking so well and so clearly at that age--thanks, Mom!--that I very likely would have ended up with a significant speech impediment. Oh, yeah, and getting older isn't helping this, either. Onwards...)
Not too terribly long thereafter, while I was still licking my wounds and debating whether or not I wanted to venture back out into the scene, I went to Arisia '08 and ended up having a wonderful time that weekend; in particular, thanks to the attentions paid me by a particular gentleman and long-time acquaintance, but also due to the many people in fannish circles who helped me feel as if I just might possibly kinda sorta belong somewhere, instead of being perpetually pressing my nose against the window and looking wistfully in...did me a world of good, I must say. ;-) The gentleman in particular is a long-time SCAdian, which reminded me that I'd always enjoyed getting medieval in the past (I was, after all, a medieval studies minor in college), and that one of the main reasons I slipped away from the scene in the mid-80s was because I was finally in a large enough metropolitan area and could take advantage of the various cultural options (shorter version: I moved to Boston and was finally able to be the band-follower in my 20s that most people are in their teens). So I got in touch with the good people of the Barony of Carolingia, and have been greatly enjoying my return to the fold. It's always nice to spend time with a group of people who share your interests and who don't appear to be as obsessed with "cool" as certain other social circles, hm? I could get used to this... :-)
What really sealed the deal, interestingly enough, was one of those rare occasions where I actually did stay out late for a show--in this case, Billy Bragg at the Somerville Theatre. I've been a fan of his for nearly 20 years, and have been toting along baked goods to his shows for about that long as well, and he's definitely worth losing sleep, spending money, and flinging flour 'round the kitchen over. IMNSHO, he's really and truly one of the sweetest, kindest people on the planet--if they ever manage to work the bugs out of human cloning, they really need to put Billy on the shortlist to be cloned, as (again IMNSHO) the world could sure as hell use more people like that. (No, he isn't paying me to say that, and no, this isn't an attempt at world-class-suck-uppery, either. He just really IS that good of an egg, and nearly 20 years of friendly acquaintance have only made that clearer. But enough butt-kissing...back to the actual story, now...) I stopped by the theatre around soundcheck with the usual contingent of freshly baked cookies, and was welcomed in by the (for want of a better term) entourage, who are also all lovely people fully deserving of praise and baked goods. I was waiting down in the green room when soundcheck finished and Billy came downstairs, and I must say, it really does a girl's heart good to have someone spot you, come running right over, give you a big hug, tell you that you look great, ask what you've been up to, and--gasp!--seem quite genuinely interested in the answer AND include you in the conversation as well. My, my, who'da thunk it? (The show, of course, was a blast, and if you haven't actually gotten out to see him perform yet, for God's sake, go! Gogogogogo! What are you waiting for?!?)
It wasn't until the next day, though, as I was e-mailing a dear friend about the previous evening, that it really hit me: Here's a man who's been internationally famous for well over 20 years, who can sell out decent-sized venues, hobnob with political leaders, and who, God knows, has seen me make an ass out of my self on plenty of occasions since 1989--and he always treats me like an intelligent human being worthy of respect and friendly behavior; whereas someone who's known me for less than two years, is barely known outside of eastern Massachusetts, and is still playing rathole clubs, basically thinks it's OK to treat me like crap even though this person had previously been perfectly friendly, and who doesn't even have the balls to say something to my face, but deputizes someone else to do his dirty work?
FUCK YOU, BUDDY.
(Mind you, playing rathole clubs is by no means a character flaw or an indication of lack of talent; I'm simply using that fact as a way to Compare and Contrast, so no offense whatsoever meant towards struggling performers, OK? Good.)
**************************************
In the meantime, I'm afraid I haven't updated the robinthemadphotographer.com website in about as long as I had this blog, partially due to a series of computers failing (at one point I suggested people just start calling me the AppleKiller), but even after that due to just not wanting to stir up old ghosts in the process of revamping the site. Please understand--I still like most of the people I met on the scene, and I feel bad that I haven't been going out to support them (there's only a couple of people on my shit list), but on some level it's felt necessary to remove myself from those circles and take stock of my life and dreams, and decide where I'm going from here. I guess you could say I'm having my own midlife crisis of sorts, but hey--unlike my friend's husband, at least mine doesn't involve banging a close relative, eh?
Don't be fooled, though--I haven't given up on being a fangirl completely, not by a long shot! If I can ever get myself to the point of regularly updating this blog, I'll try to tell more of my fangirl anecdotes from over the years, and maybe even post a few recipes here and there! I'm still trying to decide the exact path I'd like my writings to take, but in the meantime, I thought I should pop in and let anyone who's actually reading this know where I've been. See you all soon (I hope)...
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