His attitude shifted and I noticed a mocking tone creeping in.

W


ell, Maggy the Anomaly is no more. The last little crust of scab peeled away, leaving a pink swath of fresh young skin over my tail bone. The lymph nodes have gone way down. I'm whole again. Since Maggy has cleared up and moved on to the great Scab Beyond, I think I should take this opportunity to clear up something else as well.

M


aggy Donea, who maintains a personal site called Water, is of course the person after whom the anomaly was named. I named it in my typically chuckle-filled manic fashion after reading Spaceman's various takes on her site. Spaceman, you see, has a tendency to become obsessed with people he regards as riding too high.
Some months ago, he seemed to be one of my bigger fans, but then as he sensed that my musings were becoming just a little too popular, his attitude shifted and I noticed a mocking tone creeping in. This was a good thing; it reminded me of why I started this whole thing and refreshed my desire to remain on the "outside" (whatever the hell that is).

I've already come a lot further in the Web world than I ever expected to.

Which brings us back to Maggy. As a winner of "cool site of the year" (the Web equivalent of the Pulitzer Prize), she definitely fits the bill as riding too high. So Spaceman made his goofy, hilarious little "Maggy Donea Web Diva Institute" page.

It's fair to say there's a part of me, perhaps formed back in 6th grade, that is envious of Maggy. There's something in me that views the ultimate prize as some sort of goal. On some level I want to be told (at least by some people) that the way I do things is the best way. And I wish I knew how to make HTML frames act like components in a Swiss watch. Of course, what I really want is to keep doing things the way I always have and see the world suddenly change and realize that, after all, I was the one who had been doing it right all along. I'm going way too far with this, given that I've already come a lot further in the Web world than I ever expected to, but you get the idea.

It's not nice to playfully tease people you don't know.

Maggy wrote me today in reference to my naming an anomaly after her. She didn't make a big deal about it, but viewing her reference to it on her site, I can see she took it as an insult, one she obviously couldn't just shrug off as another one of my juvenile excesses. I didn't even know she read my musings for Christ's sake. Back when I named the anomaly "Maggy," it made so much sense. I'd already light heartedly named lesser pimples on my ass after various members of the select online journal collection known as Archipelago. To name the biggest anomaly of all after the "coolest personal site of the year" seemed intuitive. The moral of this story: it's not nice to playfully tease people you don't know. Not that I'll ever change or anything.

The web is a struggle of different paradigms, but we all know that the one that will eventually win will be the washed out cheese-yellow of the MacDonalds paradigm.

T


hose "cool site of the [insert time frame here]" people are an amazingly cohesive bunch. I never really thought about them with any kind of focus before. But they all link to and write about one another as though they constitute a tight little clique, as though they all share the same core philosophy, lifestyle, and what not. They're a paradigm, and, according to the judges of such things, they are the dominant paradigm. There are, of course, other paradigms on the web with very different values. There's the Ladies of the Heart paradigm, where awards, canned HTML, MIDI, bloated graphics of smarmy angels and uncontroversial acts of goodness are the unifying force. Then there's the underground Little Bastard paradigm (which I just joined), striving to banish emoticons and advance the causes of irony and satire. The web is a struggle of different paradigms, but we all know that the one that will eventually win will be the washed out cheese-yellow of the McDonalds paradigm.

I


n the late afternoon and evening, I was trying to arrange with the Charlottesville police for some kind of blitz into the heart of the tough guy contingent, right where they hang out on a Friday night, behind the central fountain on the Downtown Mall. But it was raining and the police-type people on the phone were giving me a not-entirely-friendly bureaucratic run around, so it sort of fizzled out.

A little past 8pm, Deya and I went off to get a case of beer. We sat around drinking it and talking until past 11.

One of the advantages of going to see a gay punk rock band is that such events necessarily exclude people whose company I don't enjoy.

W


e had plans to go to the Tokyo Rose to see Pansy Division, some sort of gay punk rock band. Deya was also interested in the opening band, Union of a Man and a Woman, from the cultural wasteland of my very own Staunton. So at something past 11pm, we gathered up some beers and drove down there in Deya's car.

One of the advantages of going to see a gay punk rock band is that such events necessarily exclude people whose company I don't enjoy (the list includes tough guys, skin heads, nazis, rednecks and other macho types who feel the need to demonstrate their hetersexual manliness). This was a point I made to Gothic Amy (an online-journal-keeping old flame of Monster Boy) when I saw her, and she agreed with me.

They do all these really complicated meter changes, limping menacingly along in the most arbitrary time signatures.

Union of a Man and a Woman were playing when I arrived. I instantly recognized them as one of the emo bands that had played at the "prom" some weeks ago. They're headed up by a cute shy little singer boy with dyed black hair on his big sad head. What can I say, the band is amazing. They do all these really complicated meter changes, limping menacingly along in the most arbitrary time signatures, only to turn on a dime and do something completely unexpected, like (for example) sprout a second drum kit and carry on as if it was all in nature's plan. It's full of powerful angst, controlled chaos and even romance (the asexual 19th Century kind). It's nice to see that my backwater home town, a city most famous for being the home of the Statler Brothers, can spawn people so well acquainted with the latest stages of post-punk.

I was having a great time, shouting out all kinds of encouragement as if I was their biggest, queerest fan.

Then came Pansy Division. By contrast to the opening act, they sounded like musical dinosaurs. They reminded me of the Ramones, but with a stronger Beach Boys influence. This isn't to take anything away from them; they're good at what they do, and they're great fun. They sing exclusively about relationships with other boys, with such songs as "Manada" (about the great queer nation to the north, get it?) and "Hockey Hair" (about a guy who would be cute if only he'd shave off that confounded mullet). I was having a great time, shouting out all kinds of encouragement as if I was their biggest, queerest fan. Their bass player is this big tall guy with bleached blond punk rock hair and an extremely expressive face. His charisma had a lot to do with the fun I was having.

Elizabeth's long-time boyfriend back in California was the brother of Pansy Division's current drummer. She told me that she used to think that this drummer was really cute, and that it was a shame he was gay, and "if only he had a brother." Well, he did have a brother...

This femme fatale started out as the girlfriend of the guitarist/singer and then something happened between her and the drummer.

I blew what was (for me) a rather large amount of money. I spent $7 just to get in the door and then $6 on Bass Ale. The bartender is this odd girl who was wearing a ridiculous wig Jessika stylee. Some years ago she invited me to buy her dinner, whatever that means.

As the show wound down, I found myself upstairs talking to an unusually jovial Plan 9 Steve (one of the Haunted House guys, remember?) and a few of the "Curious Digit girls," as well as Gothic Amy, who seems to be good friends with the most currently controversial of the Curious Digit girls: a femme fatale, a band wrecker. This femme fatale started out as the girlfriend of the Curious Digit's guitarist/singer and then something happened between her and the drummer (in other words, she pulled a Leah). Now the band exists no more. She told me that Gothic Amy has introduced her to my musings, so I'm avoiding naming names, which wouldn't add much to this story anyway.

I was feeling antisocial and antisexual, and when Deya said she was leaving, I went with her.

E


lizabeth and the other denizens of Blond House were throwing a little party after the show, so Deya and I went down there. I'd become extremely sleepy and rather drunk by this point, so I didn't have a very good time. I avoided the offered gin and tonics as I sat on the couch talking with Cory the Former Coffee Cart Girl. I was feeling antisocial and antisexual, and when Deya said she was leaving, I went with her. But then, inexplicably, I was suddenly digging Deya like I haven't in a while, so I made an improper proposal, which she thankfully declined.

one year ago

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