![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Lawn jockeying for position
Jun. 10th, 2009 12:24 amI'm pretty sure my garden eventually needs a giant aluminum carousel rooster.
He'll match the flamingos!
He'll match the flamingos!
Jun. 10th, 2009
Wait, what? Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer are dating?
The sound you hear now is the brains of teenage girls everywhere exploding. And you thought the Tori Amos lyric was cute!
(Tori's too old now, though; much like Madonna passes the blonde pop princess torch onto Gwen Stefani, thus Tori becomes less and less known by alienated teenaged girls. I'm sorry, lovelies; I like them both, too, but it's true. You'd be hard pressed to find a single fourteen year old with an obsessive devotion to Ani Difranco, either. A kid in one of my high school classes told me that Trent Reznor was "old people music." Sigh.)
... well, anyway, I suppose this validates people who "ship" and fanfic real people. It's only a matter of time before the erotic Gaiman-Palmer stories reign supreme; shippers everywhere can speculate on their sexual proclivities like never before!
Although, a disclaimer, I still find that whole genre decidedly unnerving. The only real reason I've never striven for fame is because I find having unknown admirers to be a very unsettling prospect. Of course, I don't care that deeply about the famous, either... oh, what, yes? They made art. Did you know Van Gogh cut off his ear this one time? And Duchamp dressed as a woman and-- Oh, you did. Right, then.
Fawning over famous people seems like dreaming about a dinner party you'll never attend; what's the point? I'm sure they're lovely people I'd enjoy conversing with in person, but otherwise, eh, I give them my money and gratitude for their art, and that's the end of the emotional transaction. (The consumption of said art is a very private matter between me and the artwork.) I've plenty of artists for friends; I don't need to imagine how that goes down. I know how it goes down! Usually with a fair amount of self-flagellation on the part of the gifted. Don't get me wrong; I'm certain most of the authors and musicians I enjoy would be wonderful dinner guests should I happen to attend such a party, but I doubt they'd be anymore charming than the people I already dine with. Perhaps even less charming, as they've got to be a bit tired from all the press, have been up all day working, and could do with a good solid nap.
HOWEVER, I must say, I was somewhat fascinated by the celebrity relationship and eventual divorce of Marilyn Manson and Dita Von Teese -- that's as close as gothy-type people ever came to true Hollywood glamour.
"I'm leaving you. And I'm taking the dachshunds."
The sound you hear now is the brains of teenage girls everywhere exploding. And you thought the Tori Amos lyric was cute!
(Tori's too old now, though; much like Madonna passes the blonde pop princess torch onto Gwen Stefani, thus Tori becomes less and less known by alienated teenaged girls. I'm sorry, lovelies; I like them both, too, but it's true. You'd be hard pressed to find a single fourteen year old with an obsessive devotion to Ani Difranco, either. A kid in one of my high school classes told me that Trent Reznor was "old people music." Sigh.)
... well, anyway, I suppose this validates people who "ship" and fanfic real people. It's only a matter of time before the erotic Gaiman-Palmer stories reign supreme; shippers everywhere can speculate on their sexual proclivities like never before!
Although, a disclaimer, I still find that whole genre decidedly unnerving. The only real reason I've never striven for fame is because I find having unknown admirers to be a very unsettling prospect. Of course, I don't care that deeply about the famous, either... oh, what, yes? They made art. Did you know Van Gogh cut off his ear this one time? And Duchamp dressed as a woman and-- Oh, you did. Right, then.
Fawning over famous people seems like dreaming about a dinner party you'll never attend; what's the point? I'm sure they're lovely people I'd enjoy conversing with in person, but otherwise, eh, I give them my money and gratitude for their art, and that's the end of the emotional transaction. (The consumption of said art is a very private matter between me and the artwork.) I've plenty of artists for friends; I don't need to imagine how that goes down. I know how it goes down! Usually with a fair amount of self-flagellation on the part of the gifted. Don't get me wrong; I'm certain most of the authors and musicians I enjoy would be wonderful dinner guests should I happen to attend such a party, but I doubt they'd be anymore charming than the people I already dine with. Perhaps even less charming, as they've got to be a bit tired from all the press, have been up all day working, and could do with a good solid nap.
HOWEVER, I must say, I was somewhat fascinated by the celebrity relationship and eventual divorce of Marilyn Manson and Dita Von Teese -- that's as close as gothy-type people ever came to true Hollywood glamour.
"I'm leaving you. And I'm taking the dachshunds."