I think I got to this video via someone on my dash; I can’t find their post now, but I just had to have Alan Cumming hamming it up to “Mein Herr” on my blog. As one does. Etc.
Logan and I were joking yesterday about a one-man production of Cabaret starring Alan Cumming as Liza Minnelli. I thought it was a just a joke but now it’s an actual thing that I want.
a guy walked into the board room and said
"hi sweetheart if you could fix me up a coffee real quick im meeting with the regional reports manager in like five minutes, thanks darling"
and i just stared at him and coldly said
"i am the regional reports manager"
we are now twenty minutes into this board meeting and i dont think i’ve ever seen a man look so embarrassed and afraid in my whole life
A silent protest in Love Park, downtown Philadelphia orchestrated by performance artists protesting the murder of Michael Brown in Ferguson. The onslaught of passerby’s wanting to take photos with the statue exemplifies the disconnect in American society. Simply frame out the dead body, and it doesn’t exist.
Here are some observations by one of the artists involved in the event:
I don’t know who any of these folks are.
They were tourists I presume.
But I heard most of what everything they said. A few lines in particular stood out. There’s one guy not featured in the photos. His friends were trying to get him to join the picture but he couldn’t take his eyes off the body.
"Something about this doesn’t feel right. I’m going to sit this one out, guys." "Com’on man… he’s already dead."
There were a billion little quips I heard today. Some broke my heart. Some restored my faith in humanity. There was an older white couple who wanted to take a picture under the statue.
The older gentleman: “Why do they have to always have to shove their politics down our throats.” Older woman: “They’re black kids, honey. They don’t have anything better to do.”
One woman even stepped over the body to get her picture. But as luck would have it the wind blew the caution tape and it got tangle around her foot. She had to stop and take the tape off. She still took her photo.
There was a guy who yelled at us… “We need more dead like them. Yay for the white man!”
"One young guy just cried and then gave me a hug and said ‘thank you. It’s nice to know SOMEBODY sees me.’
This is where I live, and it makes me want to scream.
Beautifully done protest.
I’m walking in New York City, listening to Julian Cope’s ODIN on earbuds. It’s his seventy-minute vocal drone meditation on Silbury Hill, an artificial mound of ritual purpose in Britain. Regardless of its scattering of electronic tricks, I always consider ODIN the sound of ancient Britain. Proto-language, even. The radiophonic wobbles and glitches, for me, act to reinforce that. Early…