Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

I went down to Tacoma Girl's last night. I brought the mead, she brought the all-important cheese popcorn, and she told me tales of New York City. We agree that MOMA is the stuff, but she and a pal saw all the shows and tore up Hell's Kitchen, while I hit queer bars in the Village and did... things I don't write about in public entries.

I also turned Tacoma Girl on to the glory that is Angine de Poitrine. Quebecois microtonal dada math rock.

I had a fabulous time, and managed to arrive at U District station at exactly the wrong time: forty (f40) minutes until the next bus home. When I am Imperatrix Mundi, I'm running light rail over the Aurora Bridge.

(It has been pointed out to me that the Aurora Bridge might not be strong enough to support light rail trains. I wonder if that's remediable by doing more of what the state DoT did in 2019, namely lowering a giant I-beam with a cross section taller than I am and welding it into place.)

I went to a modular synthesizer meetup in Georgetown last night. It was even nerdier than you think, by a lot.

The meetup was in an auto repair shop not far from Marginal Way. It took me a while to find the open entrance because hey, it was after hours. There were a couple of dudes nail gunning something together; not my favorite sound up close.

But arguably more pleasant and certainly more interesting were the sounds coming from three or four racks full of modules, all plugged into one 16-track mixer board and one big speaker. Each rack had a few dozen modules, some bought "pre-built" and some "DIY", assembled by their owners. Some had even apparently been designed by people present.

Some modules had LEDs that lit up in a rainbow of colors; some were just a few jacks, switches, and knobs. Also rainbow were the dozens if not hundreds of patch cords that make all the racks work. I didn't mess with any of those, but I did turn some knobs, which is what playing a modular synthesizer is all about. As one of the people present said when I professed my ignorance, "More knob is better."

Speaking of people there, I was of course the only woman in a room with about ten dudes. Nerdy-lookin' dudes. Yeah, surprising as the sunrise.

I did get a couple of them to explain to me what some of the modules were and how signals flowed through. There were sequencers, controllers, oscillators, filters, voltage-controlled amplifiers, effects modules, mixers (modules in addition to the exterior board), and even one module called a Trepanator.

I had to ask what kinds of signals are going through all those patch cords. They're just audio signals at TTL-ish* voltages. No MIDI, nothing fancy.

There was a dude patiently soldering together a module among the cacophony, to underscore the point that the meetup was at least nominally for people who wanted to make modular synthesizers.

I didn't stay too late because it was... a lot of stimulation in a small room with a concrete floor and nowhere for anyone but Soldering Dude to sit. I also had to travel much of the considerable length of Seattle to get home. I gave recovery from surgery as my excuse.

Am I hooked? I don't think so, but I can understand how some people might be. The circumflatulation possibilities are limitless. And you can get bleepy goodness out of all these electronics.



*0V-5V, -2.5V-2.5V, and in some cases 0V-10V. Some modules can accommodate different voltage ranges, but sometimes you have to do "offsets", and that involves arithmetic.

Weeks ago, the Tickler, got excited for Darkwave Mixtape's and Lovecats'* gig at Nectar, which happens to be in my neighborhood. And why? Because Lovecats were going to do an entire set of covers of the Cure, natch, and the Tickler is a huge fan of the Cure. (They're also a huge fan of Depeche Mode and can identify even the deepest cut of DM in about one bar.)

So down the hill we went, nomming at Made In House** and going to Nectar. I felt a bit underdressed with the kids all gothed up to the max, and some of the elders all dolled up normie style. But not to worry: the only table we found was in a drafty corner, so I put on the Coat and was fine.

Fidelity to the original? Uncanny. If the guy at the mixer board hadn't made some mistakes, I might have though they were faking it. I guess they knew their audience.

Spotted: C, Diminutive, aaminahlefae, and that whole gang. I believe they know people in at least one of the bands.

Do I appreciate the Cure more? Grudgingly, yes. The Tickler wrote down the playlist and gave it to me.

Dancer is here. Must dash!

*If that sounds familiar, it's because I've written here about Prom Date Mixtape, with whom Darkwave shares personnel. It's another 80's cover band.
**They do dinner these days. Aw, yeah.

But first: leatherdyke munch last night. Small turnout, but not a bad time at all. The organizers never appeared, mysteriously enough.

So, do you remember that I recently bought a synthesizer? Well, I have indeed been messing with it. Fairly often, when I turn it on and switch to one of the "scenes", i.e. instrument-definition-to-MIDI-channel mappings, some of those instrument definitions ("tones") are labeled "not available" and are indeed not playable. If I power cycle the synth, though, it resolves the problem.

I've learned, however, that if I power cycle or even disconnect the synth while my digital audio workstation, Apple LogicPro, is running, the DAW will send a very loud sound out the external speakers. This sound is loud enough and at the perfect frequency to make one of my speakers vibrate its way off the kitchen counter and crash to the floor, thereby disconnecting itself and, as I just discovered, marking and denting a wall.

The good news is that the speaker still works fine. The bad news is that I now have to spackle and paint the wall.

Moral: make sure the synth is okey dokey artichokey before firing up the DAW.

How's the actual music making going? Slowly. I suck at piano and as you read above, I have a lot to figure out. I'm making progress, though.

I spent a long and lovely night in with Tacoma Girl last night. She regaled me with tales of her trip to Amsterdam with her mom. I regaled her with plans for New York. I was astounded that she'd never heard "Take the A Train", so I found the Duke Ellington version on Youtube. She was dismayed that I'd never heard the Who's LP Quadrophenia, and partially remedied that.

Happiness.

I had a chat with rigel_p. True to form, she's taken a scientific approach to dating because she's "Tired of The Bullshit [capitalization hers]". The buzzword? Attachment theory. The book? Attached, by Levine & Heller. Have I ordered it yet? Just before I started writing this entry, from Powell's. I'm probably more amused than I should be that a professional scientist is applying science to her love life, but she seems to believe that it's working. I have very little to lose by taking her advice.

C of summer goth barbecue fame had a birthday party at Murphy's, the "Irish" bar just a few bus stops from my place that I weirdly hadn't been in since the '90s. That's right: People in Black took over an Irish joint. C says it happens more often than you'd think. The band? Cover band Prom Date Mixtape sounded excellent, actually, with all the Cure and Psychedelic Furs you could want. The staff moved the furniture so we could dance, and we did.

Bonus: lots of hot women my own age all dolled up. Their likely heterosexuality is hardly their fault, now, is it? I laid eyes on goths I hadn't seen out & about in years.

Tacoma Girl came to the Devil Girl House late yesterday afternoon. She basically hung out for five hours while we chatted, ate my very first (?!) homemade guacamole, and checked out my four new homemade devil girls high up on my living room walls. All my mead and non-dark beer are now just... gone. And then Tacoma Girl proposed going to the Wildrose.

You know I said yes to that. Tacoma Girl hadn't been to the 'Rose on a Saturday night, and she was vexed by the cheeziness of the music and the number of apparent het dudes walking around. As for the former, I've just accepted that the assertion that lesbians have no taste is all too often true. Terrific queer women DJs exist around here and I've met them*, but they never seem to end up at big, regular club nights.

As for the presence of dudes, I'm really reluctant to gatekeep those guys because I've been the target of that kind of thing myself. Trans women avoided the 'Rose entirely before its current ownership bought the place in 2000. The number of men in the joint didn't wreck the vibe for me, but obviously TG has a different take on things.

After the Wildrose I turned Tacoma Girl onto the joy that is Betsutenjin, the tiny ramen joint a block away. Good thing, too, because that was basically dinner and much needed electrolytes.

It's a minor miracle that I'm neither hung over nor low on sleep. I think I hydrated just enough.



*Trinitron comes to mind immediately. Miss Shelrawka is another. I liked Coral Slater, but I think she's moved out of the area.

Saturday: skipped Modular at Gas Works, which gave me FOMO, but the weather wasn't cooperating. Hit the Merc. J made me shake my booty, which was good for me. It got going late because of Mechanismus, from which A had record recommendations that I really should look into.

While waiting for the bus home at about 0045, Much Younger Woman and her boyfriend stopped by to chat. Happiness.

Sunday: chores, sleep, and making social engagements.

Resolved: Modular on Saturday when it's indoors at Substation. I'm all about inexpensive bleepy goodness from local folks.

Thursday night: latex dinner. The highlight was getting utterly charmed by a stunning woman in a little pink dress and complicated black harness — who's twenty-two years younger than I am, sexual orientation unknown. No, I couldn't find her on FetLife. The lowlight of the evening was waiting forever for dinner because a) there were simply too many of us for Sugar Hill's kitchen and b) the organizers didn't point out that we needed to order at the bar. So yeah, the aforementioned gorgeous woman watched me absolutely inhale some pretty decent Thai food.

By the way, Sugar Hill has two impressive bars that serve nice drinks. Their music and decor are hip hop. They had hundreds of vinyl records on shelves, and I had to restrain myself from checking them out. A+ will go back and order food at the bar upon arrival. And discreetly check out the records.

Friday night: Rabbit in the Moon at Q. Yeah, Q's vibe weirds me out, but their sound is for my money the sweetest in the whole city. Also powerful: I was a good girl and used my ear plugs. And RitM delivered the groove: a little drum & bass, a lot of acid. Bunny, the front man, yelled at us, waded into the crowed, sprayed the folks up front with what looked like some kind of cryogenic gas, and was basically a hype beast most of the time. He seemed to be enjoying himself. I danced my booty off for the whole set, and even though I didn't drink and left at midnight (when The Crystal Method came on) my feet haven't recovered. Yeah, I was hoping to sleep past 0630, but I seem incapable of doing that anymore.

Friday night: I made it to the monthly north end munch, i.e. gathering of kinky folk in civvies for dinner. That kind of thing is usually pleasant even though an awful lot of the regulars are coupled-up boomers. And it was, except for one thing: a boomer who's in the know about goings on at the Center for Sex Positive Culture* says that the board blew what's probably its last chance to get a new space by dithering. You just can't do that in a real estate market that's (still) as bananas as Seattle's. My source ascribed it to the inexperience of the board and a misplaced desire to obtain a consensus of many members, the latter of which is so Seattle it hurts. He speculates that without its own space, the CSPC could be gone in a few years. The community's elder, richer angels are one by one losing patience with them.

Saturday morning: brunch at Lost Lake with trystbat! I consumed an awful lot of mimosa and caffeine, and had the best time I've had during the daytime in for-damn-ever. As I told her, it kills me a little that I don't live in the Bay Area, because then I could see her more often. I played tour guide around the Pike/Pine corridor and then leaned heavily on my transit luck, which was nothing short of miraculous yesterday.

Saturday afternoon: I got sugared. Sadly, the season of showing off bare legs has just ended.

Later on Saturday afternoon: Uwajimaya with Tacoma Girl. I think I have enough beer for my Halloween party, plus Asian munchies for those who unfathomably don't want sushi. Oh, and I learned something from Tacoma Girl: breaded & fried enoki mushrooms are a pretty good substitute for chicken. That's the kind of thing I would try.

One more thing: I am now among the legions of Chappell Roan's fans. Even if you're (ahem) more than double her age, her songs are highly relatable if you're any flavor of dyke. Imagine a young, queer, country-fried Kate Bush with a thing for New Wave.



*For those of you outside the Seattle area, that's Seattle's oldest and largest non-profit kink organization. They had a space of their own from 1999 to 2015, and they used it well: many educational events, and of course a whole lot of ahem. Most of those who regularly used that space miss it terribly.