whoa! we’re gonna have a party

Some things you never forget. For me, these things include the entire ninety word title of Fiona Apple’s second album. And where I was when I first encountered the Vengaboys. It was in a fancy hotel in Helsinki, if you were curious. It was also, not coincidentally, I feel, where I first encountered a bidet (I was mystified).

Also, I need to remember that, in order to function, I have to hear “We’re Going to Ibiza” at least once in every 90 day period.

shit!

I forgot that I had the “show what I’m listening to” feature turned on in Windows Messenger. Meaning that my contacts, few in number though they are, all now know that I’ve been listening to that Mandy Moore song on repeat for over a half hour.

And now so do you. Shit. At least neither you, dear reader, nor they can see the impassioned lip-syncing and fist pumping that’s been accompanying. You’re just going to have to use your imagination on that one.

I say, drop the pilot indeed

So I’ve been productive today. As a result, I’m pretty wiped. Which is either impressive or pathetic, since I didn’t really leave the desk chair all day. Still, I was in full-on panicky-adrenaline mode for about six hours, trying to navigate my way through telephone customer support for a client, again for myself, and once more when I called the Detroit consulate. That shit’ll wear you out something quick.

I guess I’m pretty low on accomplishments, for all of it, but I did get two phone calls I was really dreading out of the way. Neither ended up being particularly conclusive, but they’re done now. The consulate did very little to clarify my situation, I’m afraid. A lot of what they had to say amounted to “we can’t answer any of your questions now, the border official will decide when you get here.” [!!!] I don’t see how this approach makes any of our lives easier, but so be it.

I did manage to get my website back online with a new (and infinitely better) hosting company. so my portfolio is now up at stevencochrane.org (in the last two weeks someone snapped up stevencochrane.com! I was put off, let’s just say). New design, a little bit of new content. wreckingball.org is, for the time being, just my design portfolio.

The fun thing is, now that I’m at dreamhost, I have oodles and oodles of new space and a handful of nice new features to work wit–plenty of room to start developing fun things. Problem is, I don’t know what fun new projects I should work on. I’m sure I’ll think of something; in the mean time, I’m open to suggestions.

Unrelatedly, I had my iTunes on shuffle, and some killer keyboard intro comes in, and I’m like, “what is this? it’s fantastic!” and, as it happens, it’s Mandy Moore singing a Joan Armatrading song. And why the hell not? I know you want the mp3. Don’t front.

Jesus fuck

Christ. I was mistaken. There is, in fact, at least one musician that I loathe more than Rufus Wainwright and Devendra Banhart combined.

Returning the gays

New York Times piece on the preponderance of “gay art” being made and exhibited, presently. In reference to gay publications like Butt and other “edgy,” “creative” type gay-oriented media outlets:

[...] they, like much of the gay art now being made — and so much art and music and culture of all types — seem to hybridize a generalized fetish for youth culture, for self-exposure, for the small and the intimate and apolitical. They are as solipsistic as a Rufus Wainwright lyric. They are as whimsical as one of the neo-hippie Devendra Banhart’s tunes. They have a proudly do-it-yourself aura, but what, these days, does not?

It is not of little consequence that they would describe this kind of work in terms of the very two musicians whom I most loathe. Earlier they cite Larry Clark, to whom I would likewise be more than happy to deliver a swift punch in the junk.

But I’ll cut this crop of artists a deal: I’ll reconsider my deep-seated and problematic contempt for the majority of other gay men when they have something more than vapid, escapist smut to bring to the table.

Unrelatedly, the new Björk album is really not good. I mean, there are moments, but not many. That makes me so sad.