16 September 2007

skonen_blades: (whysure)
weird (wîrd)

adj., weird·er, weird·est.
Of, relating to, or suggestive of the preternatural or supernatural.
Of a strikingly odd or unusual character; strange.
Archaic. Of or relating to fate or the Fates.
n.

One's assigned lot or fortune, especially when evil.
often Weird Greek & Roman Mythology. One of the Fates.
tr. & intr.v., weird·ed, weird·ing, weirds.
Slang. To experience or cause to experience an odd, unusual, and sometimes uneasy sensation. Often used with 'out'.

[Middle English werde, fate, having power to control fate, from Old English wyrd, fate.]

The modern sense of weird developed from M.E. use of weird sisters for the three fates or Norns (in Gmc. mythology), the goddesses who controlled human destiny. They were usually portrayed as odd or frightening in appearance, as in "Macbeth," which led to the adj. meaning "odd-looking, uncanny," first recorded 1815.

I saw Weird Al in concert for the first time on Friday Night at the River Rock Casino. I took my friend Sam as a birthday present. It’s a good, intimate venue. Just under a thousand seats and each one is a decent view. If a favourite artist of yours is coming there, I recommend purchasing a ticket. The lineup of performers is actually pretty varied. Mostly old school but decent.

The show was incredible. Just over two hours, at least a dozen costume changes (including the band) and three completely spontaneous standing ovations from the biggest collection of geeks and misfits I’ve seen in one place since I attended the San Diego Comic Con a few years back. I can really let my metaphorical hair down amongst these unmet brothers and sisters of mine. It’s great.

The band was tight. They were all older men and I’m assuming that they’re the guys that have been with Al from the beginning. Al even donned the full-body prosthetic for the song BAD as a final song.

He’s a smart, funny man and he is loved. It occurred to me while watching him that there is a joie de vivre in his music that’s almost cosmically jester-driven. Songs like Dare to Be Stupid have a very serious message. He is aggressively pointless. The audience leapt to its feet after the end of one long song composed entirely of gibberish. He did a Bob Dylan parody song comprised solely of palindromes.

He is the one the legends spoke of.

There is a theory that art and music came from the boredom that we earned for ourselves once we improved our pack hunting skills and gained some ‘down time’ as a reward. Just sitting around was unfulfilling to minds hardwired for fighting, having sex, running away, or sleeping. When a safe place had been found, food had been eaten, a lot of sex had been had and one had slept enough, there was nothing to do but just hang out.

Retelling stories of the hunt, adding sound effects and props, drawing pictures of the highlights on the wall of the cave, all of these things completely had no point other than to give an outlet to our constant need to do something.

Each and every one of us has rats running inside giant wheels in our minds. There is no peace.

Weird Al Yankovic tells us to celebrate that and to not take it seriously. He is absurd in a completely necessary way.

It was an honour and a privilege to see him perform. He jumped around like a twenty-year-old, doing chorus-line kicks that brought the kneecap of his straight leg up to his nose. He seemed genuinely happy to be performing to a sold-out concert that the MC before the show described as “one of the fastest-selling shows that the River Rock has ever put on”. It didn’t occur to me until today that Al must be getting close to fifty if he isn’t older.

He is unique.

He is ridiculous.

He is Weird.

All hail.



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skonen_blades: (borg)
Vein networks. Tree branches. Tributary rivers. The spatter patterns of supernovae. Lightning reaching down to the earth. That crack in the ceiling. The ivy on the side of city hall.

The perfect parabolic curve of smooth flesh snuggled up against the hardness of his hip-bones.

The colourful reaching of muscle ringed around the twin pinhole cameras staring forward. The dendrites connecting the neurons in the human brain glitter like tinsel on a Christmas tree as electricity arcs from abandoned post to abandoned post. The water is a conductor to a symphony of second thoughts surfing inside the meat.

He stares at the back of her head.

They’re cuddled up cozier than forks in a drawer.

He should be comfortable.

Three decaf soy-milk lattes. Five traded childhood recollections. An honest laugh that neither of them expected. Two burned steaks. Sixteen nervous tics. Nudity. One person asleep, one person awake.

Nine months. 46 chromosomes. Knife-throwing target practice at the terrified volunteer tied to his clenched heart. Worry without limits lying in a crib down the hall in a room coloured with fresh wallpaper. Toys with the price tag still attached lined up against the wall.

Trace a pattern of gold-dust and iron filings on a map. The impurities winding through a slab of marble. Seaweed on a beach.

Tiny shoes.





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