Au revoir, not adieu …

NYE2014

 

The Blue Mermaid started over 5 years ago by an infamous, talented and well-regarded catgirl of Caledon. Her name is Hypatia Callisto. And I was honoured when Hypatia asked to DJ for her new club. It was a place where everyone was welcome, anyone could become a regular, all were treated as honoured guests and friends, whether they visited rarely, occasionally or weekly.

Hypatia’s RL became more involved, and Scripted Haiku took up the banner of ownership. I continued DJing because it was the natural thing to do and I still had more music to play and more genres to explore and more people to welcome.

Well, Scripted’s RL has become more involved, as well. And now Tehanu and Lucien Marenwolf-Brentano have become the proud owners of the Mermaid.

But the Blue Mermaid deserves new talent, fresh blood — not the same old catgirl DJ. So, I am stepping down in semi-retirement. I’m not quitting DJing completely, but it’s better to make space for new people, new ideas, new music.

However, I plan to go out with a little bang. So, you are hereby invited to send me off, as well as send off 2014! This Wednesday, December 31, 2014, from 7:30 pm to 12:30 am New Year’s Day, we’re holding a New Year’s Eve party. The theme is tango – come dressed to shine and dance the night away, if you wish. Or just stop by for a bit dressed in jeans or jammies or whatever (do wear something, the parcel is still M). Click here for a SLURL/taxi to the party.

Thank you for patronizing the Blue Mermaid and giving me your support. Have a wonderful 2015.

DJ Magda Kamenev

(PS – if you’re interested in knowing when an itinerant catgirl DJ is spinning tunes, let me know and I’ll invite you to my group.)

So. Much. DJing.

Somehow … through, well, circumstances, I’ll be DJing 8 hours this week. Or more!

Feel free to join me!

Wednesday, May 7, 2014:

The Blue Mermaid, Caledon on Sea

This week, we switch weeks! With a theme of songs about coffee, tea and sweets! From the 1920s to the 2010s, we cover the gamut of fun tunes about gentle stimulants.


Join us for Bollywood Dreams - a RFLinSL event

RFLinSL dance – Bollywood Dreams – Team Caledon and Aether Chrononauts Tiny Steps

A Journey of Promise: Bollywood Dreams

Join us on Friday, May 9th, from 6:30 – 8:30 pm SLT for a joint RFLinSL event

Bollywood Dreams continues the journey across the Steamlands during the 2014 Relay Season, bringing together community, raising awareness and funds, and having a good time while we pledge our dollars and our support for cancer research, treatment and education.

Theme: Indian music! Traditional and new, acoustic and electronic, standalone and remixed
Dress: Feel free to come as you are, but if you wish to come in theme – saris, churidars, lenghas, dotis, panches and more are welcome!
DJ: Magda Kamenev
Host: Patty Poppy
Location: Poppy’s Place, Caledon Morgaine


 

Saturday, May 10th!

Join me at Drama Libre! It’s a weekly 4-hour party, with a different theme, a different set and rotating set of DJs!

This Saturday, from 7 – 11 pm SLT, join us in Ravenswood.

The theme: Spring Fever!

Feel free to come to one or all, in costume or as you are!

Your Mad DJ, Magda K

Tango Noire at Seattle Center, May 25th, 4:26 p.m.

Dancing couple

Seattle Center, 5/25/13, Tango Noire, Armory

The violins start,
and you pull me
onto the dance floor
before the bass and cellos join.

Correct placement of hands,
and feet, arms out,
back straight, shoulders down …
Which foot do I start on?

Your hand leaves my back
to tilt my chin up.
Smiling, you whisper,
“Look into my eyes.”

The dance starts and
your hand returns to my back:
Nudging me into the steps,
slow and steady.

“Watch me,” you whisper again
and I nod, counting beats.
“Feel me,” you urge, your hand
gently pressing my shoulder blade.

“Trust me,” you say with a grin
and I can’t respond
any other way than
“Yes, always.”

My feet move reluctantly,
hips twisting a beat behind
or more. “It’s like,” I mutter,
“I don’t know my own body.”

He squeezes my right hand.
I know your body.”
And he has that look.
Yes, that look.

The hand at my back slides
further down until it rests
at the top of my right hip.
Our teacher would be appalled.

“Guide me,” I ask.
“Lead me.”
“Support me.”
The rest goes unsaid.

“Yes,” he growls
right in my ear.
Breath tickling my skin,
“Always. Now close your eyes.”

With a slight shiver,
I close my eyes
and let go of feeling foolish,
Letting him sweep me away.

Our feet glide,
mirroring each other
Footfalls, short and intense,
bursts amid a languid dance.

The horns and strings swell
while the piano holds staccato
and the accordion binds
the menagerie of sounds together.

My skirt brushes over
his thighs as we twirl.
When he steps between my feet,
his chest grazes mine for one aching moment.

The song becomes louder and faster,
and our steps evolve, are more dramatic.
“Ready?” he whispers,
and I squeeze his hand.

The music builds towards a crescendo
while our legs sweep out in wide arcs,
I kick, then slide down towards the floor
until he pulls me up into his arms.

Spinning together, holding on
I throw my head back and laugh,
Right at the final, triumphant note.
A flourish of an ending.

As he walks me off the dance floor,
arm around my back,
hand on my hip again, he chastises,
“There’s no laughing in the tango.”

I look at him, eyes dancing, face flushed.
“Oh,” I reply with a frown.
“Well, tell me this …
is there laughing in bed?”

He pulls me close, hips bumping.
His lips at my ear
with that damned sexy growl,
“Yes … always.”

— MK

How my mother made me a steampunk

My mother died late last month. She had an obituary written for her funeral, which was well-attended and struck all the right notes of sorrow, joy and comfort.  She had a proper send-off. And yet, because I’m somewhat odd, and I’m my mother’s daughter, I like to do things my own way. This is the way I mourn and celebrate my mother.

My mother gave me many things – love, support, moral guidance, strength, stability, a home, a sense of discipline.  But only last week, as I prepared to bury her (figuratively – she “didn’t want to be in the ground,” according to her closest sister), it struck me that she gave me the gift of stories. It wasn’t a gift that she could fully control, as I grew older, and I’m certain there were times she had cause to regret it. However, it is definitely a gift I cherish and one I hope to pass on to others.

Some things you should know about my mother. She was born just weeks after the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria. She was the daughter of a sharecropper in the Deep South, and the granddaughter of ex-slaves. Despite excelling academically, she had to quit school after the 8th grade to help her father and stepmother maintain the farm and the house and the still-growing family of 16 children (she was in the middle).

She was deeply pious. And she absorbed her father’s lessons: work hard, keep your head down, don’t look for trouble. And she did, until her wild, reckless husband started getting abusive, and she left him halfway across the continent and forged an independent life on the West Coast.  By the time I came along and was cognizant of things, she had been widowed but owned her own house. She didn’t listen to any music on the radio, but she always attended church and she loved Dodger baseball on the television, as well as the nightly news.

I don’t remember her reading to me, but she must have, when I was very little. She was proud when I could recite the Pledge of Allegiance along with the entire stadium audience at the start of a Dodger game. Prouder still that at age 4, I could read the billboards we saw as we drove by on errands and small trips.

The first stories she gave me were Bible stories, used books of Bible stories distilled for modern children. I also got my own Bible, so difficult to follow in some places, but thrilling in others. Curiously, she also let me have access to her magazines … Redbook, True Stories, Reader’s Digest. I read about true love, bad affairs and unwanted pregnancies long before anyone explained the mechanics of sex to me.

Her hobby was buying (or finding) old furniture and re-upholstering it — a talent she taught herself. And whenever she brought home a new-to-us couch or table, she also brought some used books for me.  One time, there was a little purple paperback of world mythology, with tales from the Greeks and Romans, but also the Egyptians and various Native American tribes, from parts of Africa and Japan.  I fell in love with mythology and ancient cultures. Another time, she brought home “Nightfall and Other Stories” by Isaac Asimov. I was my first science fiction and I read it repeatedly until the book nearly fell apart.

When I was 7, I began to press her to allow me to go to the library.  She was often reluctant, because she didn’t trust our neighborhood. I had to agree to go with other kids, often younger than I, and take only a certain pre-determined route — to be seen coming home down the wrong block was to risk a spanking with either a “switch” (i.e. a small branch from a bush outside) or a belt. But, once I got to the library … I could go anywhere. And often did.  I’d wander into the adult section after checking to see if there were any new Encyclopedia Brown and I’d find things such as the autobiography of an Italian-American gangster, or an analysis of 1960s culture, even a book on how  to use astrology as a guide to true love.

My mother was a very proper and religious Southern woman, but she let me read just about anything I could get my little hands on. It wasn’t until puberty that she started criticizing my reading choices. In high school, when she found the copy of The Hite Report on Female Sexuality that I had checked out from the library, she was absolutely livid.  But the floodgates had opened long ago. (Her first clue should have been when our pastor’s wife came up to me at age 6 and asked what was my favorite book of the Bible. My answer, said with great enthusiasm: “Revelations!” Because, hello, dragons!) Asimov led to the much beloved Ray Bradbury and then to the prickly, world-weary Vonnegut. I was on the cusp of discovering Philip K. Dick, which would then lead me to Harlan Ellison, and on to Octavia Butler and so on.

And now, many years later, I identify as a steampunk despite owning only one corset and not having a strong inclination for dress-up. But I relish the opportunity to immerse myself in new and old worlds; to consider technology, society and the human condition using the filters of the past, present and future; to play and muse and shiver in fear and growl with fury and shudder with pleasure; to have my imagination captured by words and images on a page or screen, or a scene set before my eyes.

It was mostly unintentional on her part, I suspect. When other people inquired about my bookishness, her general response was ‘well, she does so well in school and it keeps her out of trouble’. But I find that I must give her credit for leading me, indirectly, to Shakespeare, Whitman, Twain, Christie, Sayers, Gaiman, Westerfeld, Ballard, Byatt and many others.  To food writing, science fiction, fantasy, erotic poetry, regency romances, art deco mysteries, remixed fairy tales, and a great many other sorts of tales.

After going on for too long … thank you, Mamacita. Thank you for giving me the worlds — many worlds, in fact.  I will miss you.

Return of the Aether Salon!

The Aether Salon in New Babbage is returning under new management!

From the new Manager:

What is ‘Salon’? According to Dictionary.com it is:

salon [suh-lon; Fr. sa-lawn]

1. a drawing room or reception room in a large house.
2. an assembly of guests in such a room, especially an assembly, common during the 17th and 18th centuries, consisting of the leaders in society, art, politics, etc.
3. a hall or place used for the exhibition of works of art.
4. a shop, business, or department of a store offering a specific product or service, especially one catering to a fashionable clientele: a dress salon; a hair salon.
5. ( initial capital letter ) (in France) a. the Salon, an annual exhibition of works of art by living artists, originally held at the Salon d’Apollon: it became, during the 19th century, the focal point of artistic controversy and was identified with academicism and official hostility to progress in art. b. a national exhibition of works of art by living artists: Salon des Refusés; Salon des Indépendants.

We may extract bits and pieces of those definitions to answer an even more burning question: What is ‘the Aether Salon’?

The Aether Salon has, in its illustrious past, attracted speakers from all over the Steamlands to gather on the third Sunday of each month in its iconic building in the City/State of New Babbage. These interesting, talented, or sometimes simply lunatical speakers have enthralled and educated rapt audiences for an amazing 28 month run under the original ownership. The final ‘first edition’ Salon in August, 2011, ended with the unfortunate destruction of the building in a freak explosion, something quite rare in New Babbage.

But the Aether Salon is returning, now under new management, but quite respectful of the reputation and history of the Aether Salon. Soon, you shall again be able to soak up the knowledge and wisdom of a fresh crop of Salon speakers.

Or – shall you be amongst the speakers? Think upon it. What is your passion in life? What knowledge do you have to impart? Might your topic be suitable for the Salon? If you are able to put your passion into words, please contact Baron Klaus Wulfenbach (klauswulfenbach.outlander inworld) and describe your chosen topic.

The first ‘second edition’ Salon shall be Sunday, October 16th at 2 pm SLT as is usual; it will be celebrating the Anniversary of the Salon as a whole. All former speakers are requested and urged to attend (please wear your sashes if possible). The unveiling of the model of the new Salon building will also take place, so the first regular speaker of the new season will present in an eyecatching venue on November 20th.

Please join the Aether Salon group, free of charge, for notices of upcoming sittings:
http://world.secondlife.com/group/257bb953-2165-e1e9-c472-64f71873237d

Yrs.,

Klaus Wulfenbach, Baron
Manager, Æther Salon

Victorian’s Secret @ the Blue Mermaid!

Good heavens, it’s been 18 months since I’ve posted!

I take up the blog “pen” for a combination of self-promotion and promoting a really good cause!

Victorian's Secret event at the Blue Mermaid

As part of this week’s SL Boobiethon celebrations, the Blue Mermaid in Caledon on Sea will be having a special Wednesday night party!

Victorian’s Secret …where musical and other inhibitions will be shed

It’s a night of sexy music — with both mature themes and explicit language — and an even sexier audience. In addition to the usual burlesque and cabaret wear, avs are encouraged to start or end the night in their most lovely (or even their briefest) lingerie/underwear/unmentionables.  And if someone wants to go semi-bare to encourage others to donate to the Boobiethon kiosk … all the better!

Some caveats: Remember, this is a fundraiser for breast cancer research. Be adult, be responsible, be ladies and gentlemen worthy of the moniker “steampunk”.  Most of all, be generous and convival!

When: Wednesday, October 5, 2011, starting at 7 pm SLT
Where: Second Life, Caledon on Sea, The Blue Mermaid

Hope to see you there!

DJ Magda K

 

 

Sapphic steampunk spy saga!

I tend to get alliterative when I’m excited.
This story excites me. It mixes Haiti’s past, New Orleans’ past, dirigibles, revolution, secret societies and kisses (and as alluded to above, yes, between women).

Oh, and I forgot the rum!

The Effluent Engine by N. K. Jemisin. This is part of A Story for Haiti effort — writers write, and if readers like the stories, rather than pay the writers, they give to charities for Haitian relief.

Great cause, wonderful story (IMO). M. Jemisin writes that she hadn’t attempted steampunk fiction prior to this effort. In that case, someone get her a Tor contract, stat!

Thank you, D.M.P., aka Ay-leen the Peacemaker, for the digital breadcrumbs that led me to the story.