...luring disco dollies to a life of vice since 1999.

2004-12-12

Fuck Wooly Willy!

So, yah, last Monday I took myself out (all by my lonesomes, like a big girl) to see Mark Hosler (of Negativland, quite possibly my favorite group evah, oui?). It was a terrific lecture on intellectual property issues-slash-history of the group-slash-series of pretty fucking awesome short films. I was in awe.

I was shooting the shit with Cathy Cathodic -- she was letting me know about a show she was doing -- and I pulled my datebook out of my bag. Now, said datebook looks like this:

It's cute, you know? It's got this....little....magnet pen so you can sit there and put a mohawk on Mr. Willy while you're waiting for Mark Hosler to go on, or -- conversely -- to demonstrate said mohawk-making techniques while Mark Hosler is standing right over you, making you feel like an idiot for even possessing such an item. It's Repro Retro�!

After politely listening to me stammer for a second, he started talking to me about how things like this, "things we grew up with," are being sold in places like Target and how this is creepy, you know, "because I feel like they've got my number." And I'm just sitting there gawking. Mark Hosler. Ohmigod.

Really. I think I spent a large part of the lecture trying to think of some clever way of excusing myself for wanting -- nay, owning -- a datebook with Wooly Willy on it.

Okay, so that's a fib, kind of. I bummed around about it for a minute or several, but then just listened and watched. I do believe that existing copyright laws hurt culture, and that appropriating from the media is NOT theft. I also believe that convenience makes me lazy, that in my gut I know it's better to frequent independent businesses, and that maybe it is stupid to have this Wooly Willy datebook, you know, that maybe I'm just reinforcing some kind of marketing ploy to get my money, all in the name of "nostalgia." On the other hand, seeing it in my bag -- all bright yellow and dumb -- makes me laugh, plus the magnet pen thingy frequently sets off alarms in major retail stores.

After it was over, Mark was in the upper lobby, talking to folks, signing stuff, and so I approached him again, clutching my copy of "Fair Use," looking for all the world, I imagine, like a deer in headlights. The harsh, cru-el headlights of media criticism, fixed upon me and my terrible datebook, to say nothing of my subscription to US Weekly. He greeted me warmly: "Hey! It's the Wooly Willy lady!"

Great. The "Wooly Willy Lady." Fuck. Kill me.

Now, would I redeem myself? Say something clever?

"Um, thanks. I, um, I'm a BIG Negativland fan, and....stuff."

"You look kinda SMALL to me!"

Fnarr fnarr. Kill me.