March 24, 2003

Discovered yesterday, to my mingled horror and delight, that I have some esteemed company in the use of the name "Jenny Haniver" as a character moniker. Caitlin R. Kiernan's story "Tears Seven Times Salt" (collected in the anthology Darkside, along with Thomas Ligotti's "The Nightmare Network" and many other fine tales) has a protagonist thusly named, and, with the sort of Deep-One-cum-Nosferatu imagery going on in there, probably pays more homage to the source material than my own creation does. Though I must say, I have just enough solipsism that I was waiting, the whole time I was reading it, for Kiernan's ichthyophile waif to light up a stogie and say something wiseass. Sigh.

Hard to complain too hard when you find you've been dipping out of the same big black cultural stewpot as Cait Kiernan. And it's actually sort of nice to know that it's not a joke with such a narrow audience that no one will ever get it. Though between this, and the fact that the spooky quasi-heroine of Silk is named Spyder, I'm beginning to suspect that my life is vibrating in harmony with some very strange frequencies indeed.

In other news: Friday night was a great time, and I must say that ilyaimy was the highlight of the evening - the asskickingest of three truly kickass bands. Trying to describe them, I find myself at the same loss as all who have tried and failed before me, and falling back on the same sort of Ani-diFranco-meets-Tool comparison that still falls far too short of giving you any real idea of what these guys do. It's not quite folk, or grunge, or punk, or prog, or anything else specifically, but it certainly pays homage to all of those things and more; "alternative" in the best and truest sense of the word. And whatever it is, it's furious and spooky and sharp-toothed and Dionysian, and you can goth-dance to it, which is just about all I ask of a band. Go thou now to their site, and download their stuff, and then go see them live if you can make it at all. And be glad that no one has as yet told rob that his guitar isn't a bodhran.

Also this weekend, I got a letter from Andy, and learned he also has a blog these days at, which all should go and visit and revel in the eloquence of; you're sure at least to never look at basset hounds the same way again. And this also helped to inspire Stacy to start a fledgling blog of her own, with a title that tips a sequinned hat to the great Eddie Izzard. Poke poke poke.

Soon we'll all be exhibitionists, and it will be a better world.

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