Stupid Toys

When I first uploaded this to YouTube they said they had no related videos. That means a lot to me.

Anitra: Dances With Redness

Subtitle this one Adventures in Flash.

A couple more scenes from the Union Hotel's Valentine's Day Dance Party. Becky from the Downtown Emergency Service Center was there taking promotional pictures. Since she got my picture, I figured I could retaliate. Then Anitra dances for the camera while a rectangular redness hovers around her, covering up a guy who strayed into the shot by accident.

Union Hotel Dance Party

Here are The Hound Dog (our DJ) and other residents Jeanne and Anitra dancing at my building's Valentine's Day party. I don't do this kind of dancing. When I dance there must be much more space between myself and the rest of the party, for the safety of All, and for the safety of All's toes.

Anitra's Valentine

You've read about her in my column; you've read her reviews; now, see her Valentine video! I know, it's lame, but I only discovered iMovie a couple of hours ago, and I don't know what all the squarish thingies do.

My Muse

I've always been a creative problem solver. This is a picture of me, at an age of roughly between 2 & 1/2 to 3, creatively solving the "How do I secure my next block?" problem.

I like creativity. I like seduction. I like the strange. I like the strange seduction of creativity, and the seductive creativity strangeness can induce. Speaking of seductive strangeness, my Muse Cindy Holly (not her eternal name) is the Muse of Other and the Muse of Few Words. When I first started my Real Change Column under the title Adventures in Poetry I was only allowed 350 words each. It was feared that my strange thoughts and modes of expression, if multiplied beyond that limit, might run amok and negatively impact unsuspecting innocent readers. Lawsuits could ensue.

Now, as Adventures in Irony, I manage to get away with 666 words per column. Still not much. So I am grateful to have Cindy peering over my shoulder all the time, suggesting words to cut. "Don't write words," she says. So I say, "What should I do then?" So she says, "Write." So I say, "Oh."

Sidney Cuteness Vicious

Here's beloved Real Change owner Sidney Vicious lying on newspapers in the back office and feebly predating on the moving pieces.

WARNING: In the future I intend to display other instances of Massive Sidney Cuteness in this space.

Let's See If This Works!

OK. So there's a dog. And then above it, toward my elbow, there's mountains. The mountains are on the dog's back. He doesn't like that. Below the dog is a snake's head. Above the mountains is one of the worms. Another worm is in the palm. There may be worm droppings, ha. The dog and snake will meet on the side opposite from where they are now, 'cause the dog and snake don't like high places.

So, Wes, What Is The Fey?

I thought I'd never ask. It is an interesting question which only I can answer, since only I know what I mean by The Fey.

First, The Fey is a class label. In that, it is like The Working Class, or The American Sports Hero, or The Rock & Roll Album. Whether something is an instance of a class label is often subject of argument. Often, the whole reason to introduce a class label is to incite argument. Argument excuses speech and long-windedness and detailed storied justifications. All of which are good things, some of us think.

What defining characteristics do instances of The Fey have?

There are several.

First, an instance of the Fey must be an event that either has happened, or maybe hasn't.

Every instance of The Fey, whether or not it has actually happened, must elicit surprise. It shouldn't elicit so much surprise as would cause heart failure or an unwillingness to stay for the end of the movie. The best sort of surprise is the sort that prompts remarks like but not limited to, "That was odd," or, "Huh," or, "Who would have thought that would happen."

There must, nevertheless, be a sense of inevitability to each instance of The Fey when it is closely examined. If the event in question hasn't happened, it must, upon reflection, be recognized as sorely wanting to happen, or asking for a happening in a most insistent or annoying way. If it has happened, it must be possible to realize that it was a Thing Waiting to Happen.

I can illustrate. Years ago, David Letterman put on a velcro suit, jogged toward a small trampoline, and jumped on it and bounced onto a velcro wall, where he stuck. My first reaction, when I saw this was to think, "That was odd." My second reaction, after reflecting upon it, was "How could it not have happened? I mean, there's velcro. There's trampolines. There's Letterman. So it had to be."

I hope that adequately explains what The Fey is to me, Dr. Wes Browning. Some other time I may explain why I am obsessed with it.