The Man Who Couldn't Blog: August 2008

Monday, August 25, 2008

Uncanny

I flew to LA last weekend. This is how I did it:

***

There's this thing called the Uncanny Valley. It's not really a valley, though. It's not really a place. It's a reaction. Or a feeling. Or something.

It's this: when we make simulated people, we get close, and then we get closer, and then we get closer, but we never quite make a completely accurate simulation of a person. And it freaks us the fuck out.

That's the technical slash academic way of referring to how we react. "Freaks us the fuck out."

Like, robots. And computer-animated people. They start to look like us. They get close to looking like us. And the moment they start to look close-but-no-cigar close to us, we start to stop being sympathetic to them. In our positive feelings to things that appear like us, there is a sudden dip. A valley.

The sense we have is called "the uncanny."

While I was in LA, I went up to Santa Monica, to the beach, where I walked in the surf, and went up to the pier. During my walk in the surf, I had a strange emotional reaction. I couldn't quite figure out what was going on.

It wasn't a sense of the uncanny. It was kind of the opposite. I felt like I was in a familiar place, but that this familiar place was "correct," whereas the place that put this place in my head as a familiar place was "incorrect." Close-but-no-cigar incorrect.

I stood with my camera, and took a spin, and filmed the beach. And a police vehicle drove by. And I felt like stealing it.

And I figured it out.

Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas has a beach location that is, holy hell, an uncanny version of the actual Santa Monica beach. The simulated beach prepared me for the real one, but prepared me in such a way that I had this odd, sympathetic reaction to the real place that included a retroactively "uncanny" experience; all the hours I've spent playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas were suddenly loaded with a new sensation.

Is this a "canny" hill?

***

There is a new Happy Cobra Book. It is called Young Revolutionaries. It features Chelsea Martin, Catherine Lacey, and Ellen Kennedy.

(Chelsea and Ellen: yours are on their way. I am finishing up the printing, and sewing them together in my off hours.)

If you want copies, you should get them from the authors. I will be sending almost all of the 50 copies to them.

***

Also, I'm pleased to have discovered this iMeem embedding function. And so, the Mother.Fucking Gaslamp Killer:

***

UPDATE:

Go here to watch Shane Jones read my piece from NO COLONY.

And then BUY NO COLONY, a bad ass journal of new, odd writing.

And then buy Shane's book I Will Unfold You With My Hairy Hands.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Sunburn & Bloggers

UPDATE for New Yorkers:

***

For the first time EVER there are two titles for a post here on this blog. This is an important day. In honor of this important day, click here to learn the wop.

***

SUNBURN

I have sunburn.

I was in LA, at a short film festival, watching a movie made out of one of my old stories (a long story that I will tell some other time), and while I was there, I went to the beach and got sunburn.

I enjoy sunburn.

I don't enjoy serious, painful, horrible, peeling, can't sleep, can't sit down in a chair, I think I really hate myself and want to die sunburn. I enjoy a nice, moderate sunburn.

I like it when I put my lips on my arm at the line of my shirt, on my arm at the place where the sunburn has been halted by the fabric of my t-shirt, on my arm where I can run my lips down from light pink skin to deeper red skin, and feel heat. I like that I can pull my lips away, just a little bit away, from the hot, red skin, and feel a little more heat than usual radiating off it.

I like that if I move my arms, and my shirt rubs against the sunburned skin, I can feel a tender spot. A very tiny, prickly ache. I like that it's sort of like my arm saying hello to me. I like that it's like my arm is reminding me that it's there.

Thank you, sunburn. Thank you for connecting me to me.

While I was in LA, I met Ken Baumann. Ken Baumann doesn't have sunburn. It is entirely possible, though, that being in the presence of Ken Baumann gave me sunburn.

If this is the case, then I would like to say "Thank you," to Ken Baumann.

Thank you, Ken Baumann. Thank you for giving me sunburn. Thank you for connecting me to me.

Fire in My Bag has written a song about sunburn. It is called Burned. To listen to it, go to the band's Myspace page.

***

BLOGGERS

Lots of bloggers have written about other bloggers. There are links in the text below. I made all the text, even the links, black so you can read them. They are there, though. Click links:

Blake Butler writes about Mike Bushnell
Brandon Gorrell writes about Colin Bassett
Chris Killen writes about Ken Baumann
Colin Bassett writes about Chris Killen
Connor O'Brien writes about Tao Lin
Gena Mohwish writes about Sam Pink
Gene Morgan writes about Noah Cicero
Jereme Dean writes about Blake Butler
Jillian Clark writes about Kathryn Regina
Justin Rands writes about Matthew Savoca
Kathryn Regina writes about Kendra Malone
Ken Baumann writes about Jereme Dean
Matthew Savoca writes about Gena Mohwish
Mike Bushnell writes about Zachary German
Noah Cicero writes about Shane Jones
Sam Pink writes about Justin Rands
Shane Jones writes about Jillian Clark
Stephen Daniel Lewis writes about Two Tears Boy
Tao Lin writes about Gene Morgan
Two Tears Boy writes about Connor O'Brien
Zachary German writes about Stephen Daniel Lewis

Brandon organized this. Nice job, Brandon.

***

UPDATE:

There is information about a new chapbook from Happy Cobra Books on the Happy Cobra Books blog.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Umlaut

Ryan and I went to Crüefest. Ryan wrote a story about Mötley Crüe, and someone heard him read it, and that someone knew Mötley Crüe's tour manager, and that someone called that tour manager, and that tour manager decided to give Ryan tickets and backstage passes, and Ryan decided to call me and ask if I wanted to go, and I decided I wanted to go.

While at Crüefest, I:

paid $.50 an ounce for beer

watched kids who were on a small stage playing the game Rock Star, while yards away a bunch of real rock stars were on a much larger stage also sort of playing rock star

took photos of Buckcherry's gong—because there's a band? called Buckcherry? and they have a drummer? with a gong?

walked away from my seat before having to listen to Buckcherry

did not take a picture of the girl in the t-shirt that said simply "rock" who was walking around having her picture taken with fans

wondered if she was a representative of all of rock music, the apotheosis of rock come down to slum it among the rock fans; a famous northwest DJ of some sort who worked at a radio station that was not only the home of the rock, but also the favorite rock station of all the rock fans who wanted their picture taken with her; or just someone with breasts that were large enough to fill out the "rock" t-shirt, and large enough that people who went to Crüefest wanted to have their picture taken with those breasts

got a pretty significant contact high, and noticed that the audience used 1) the beginning of Mötley Crüe's set and 2) the opening chords of the song "Dr. Feelgood" as cues to smoke pot...there was steady use throughout the show, but those two moments were accompanied by the largest mass drug use

went backstage and took a photo of Nikki Sixx's Caesar salad and toothbrush

briefly met the stripper who brought Vince Neil his acoustic guitar before they played "Girl Don't Go Away Mad, Girl Just Go Away"

learned that the term "runner" means that members of the band leave the stage and run out the back to their cars to return to their hotels immediately

learned that Mötley Crüe does not often have a full-band "runner" after a gig, but for some reason, did so after playing at the White River Ampitheatre

pardon me, briefly met the "dancer" who brought Vince Neil his etc, etc.

got a packet of "souvenir" spearmint flavored Stride gum

wondered how I could ever go about blogging about all this, and decided that maybe I just shouldn't so maybe I won't

Monday, August 04, 2008

Antz