Anyway, what's it matter what 'They' say?

Just arskin'.

Bless the interweb. Or curse the dyern'd thing. Here I am, trying to do something purposeful, worthwhile and satisfying and instead I am adding a rather random, meaningless and purely procrastinatory post to this long-neglected blog.

Such is life.



Went to SFMOMA today, to take in some cult-chure. I may have seen some. Last night Liz and I watched the Classic Albums documentary on Transformer, which had plenty of Andy Warhol in it, as you might imagine, so it was amusing to see yet more AW in the gallery. It's a great little film, I recommend it. Lou is in strangely good form and there are some interesting anecdotes. The usual wankery, too, of course. Dave Stewart shouldn't be allowed to talk about anything, but for some reason people always ask him shit... Is it because he's cheap? What good are Eurythmics anyway?

Not a fan.

Mind you, what would I know?

I like noise.

Stupid, stupid minds!

I was all fired up with enthusiasm for writing a blog post for the first time in, like, forever and stuff, but then the mood left me. I blame the lack of drugs, the distractions and the overwhelming, overawingness of everything. No, seriously.

All kinds of things have spurred me on, not least the recently launched cool-stuff blog of an artist I admire muchly and a woman I am pleased to call my friend, Emily Aoibheann - slightly overawing in itself, that.

Since becoming a San Franciscan I have managed to do a great many things - including get married, wahey!, and meet some interesting people with interesting lives and things to say for themselves. What? Huh? Interesting people? Are you insane?!

no... (He lower cases, because it is unclear whether or not this is strictly speaking true in the sense that the phrase 'nothing is certain' is true. Although he believes it might be at least halfway true. This means the majority of the world is insane, however, so if majority rules then he is outvoted. Suddenly referring to himself in the third person makes him suspect he might, in fact, be insane. Salvador Dalí referred to himself in the third person, though, so good company is kept. Syntax good out is thrown.)

Hey, but look! It appears a post is forming around this nothingness. This void. (I recently came across an album by some jolly group of Scandinavians, the lyrical content of which was described as 'death, Satanism, void' - I like the idea of void.)

But I digress, I do. I was considering elaborating on the whole interesting thing.

Last night I was at a 'salon', a fancy word for chat, with some interesting folks. It was bizarre, since I had actually heard of some of these people. Am I rubbing shoulders with famous types? Am I star-struck? I might be. Anyway, along with Liz (now known as Mrs McSaci to my Mr McSaci) was Greta Christina, whose atheist memes cheer me up, Carol Queen, a woman who is scarily involved in all things sex, Howie the ex-porn star, who is very much like The Dude only less vague, as well as Carnal Nation's Chris Hall and his legal domestic partner, whose name I shall spell Mickey since that is how it sounded, but I'm sure that's wrong... Anyway, while I don't know where to find a weblink for her she is a theatre director and playwright, which means I was the least cool person in the room. Awesome! (Oh, wait...)

I don't really have much to add to conversations about sex, sexuality, pornography and so on, because... Um... Well... Actually, put a couple of beers in me and you'll find that I have a wealth of opinions on all of the above, many of them self-contradictory and/or plagiarised, but in general I am too shy to go into such topics. So, I kept my mouth shut for the most part, save for the odd glib addendum (as is my wont). But it was interesting to hear what these people, whose coolness I hope I have sufficiently outlined, had to say. Basically porn is alright, sex is great and anyone who disagrees is a wanker. Ho ho ho.

That was a joke, see...

Oh, yeah, and recently Liz managed to talk me into doing a photoshoot with her and a rather talented photographer named David Steinberg - he took the new profile pic I will undoubtedly regret using someday, but which I rather like at the moment. No, I will not be sharing any more of the pics, but I recommend checking out his work as it is quite marvellous. WAIT! Don't click on it now - it's totally not safe for work. Unless you work in a naked-people-friendly office, of course. (Some do...)

So, yeah... Meanwhile, I'm still working away on my writing of trashy pulp fiction and will hopefully finish something someday, as well as creating anarchic noise-scapes through my Final Shemp project. I am gratified to note that I am number three in the Google search for the term 'Final Shemp', behind Bruce Campbell, for whom the thing is named. Me and Bruce, like best buds we are. Except we've never met and I'm actually just a creepy stalker type who just wishes we were best buds.

Speaking of buds, anyone know where to find free weed in SF? Sometimes I miss Amsterdam... Actually, a lot of the time I do. Sniff. Weep.

Pull yerself together, man, you're an Americayan now! Did I mention culture shock? I've got that.

I'm still listening to excessive amounts of Nordic black metal, but I wonder why Bergraven pops up on shuffle more than anyone else...

OK, enough.