One of the great things about having multiple forms of artistic expression available to me is that I can procrastinate dreadfully productively.
Before I left the hotel, I did call Darkside. I had to explain the concept of "filk". He lit up with a song that a friend of his had shared, something about Data being anatomically correct and fully functional. Oh, gods, I thought. Voltaire. So I sang that line back to him. And he lit up some more. And mentioned "The USS Make Shit Up." His buddy probably played him the entirety of Banned on Vulcan.
Today was not a good day to go see him either, not unless I wanted to walk into the middle of a civil (uncivil?) war. Darkside vs. Geezius Maximus is no fun for anyone, especially when the topic is "The Old Man thinks that Darkside needs preparation for the job interview process." They are two very rough-edged people going different speeds in a similar but not identical direction. The results are grating.
OMG. Now my head is putting lyrics from "Video Killed the Radio Star" to the tune and tempo of the main bits of the black death song. Fortunately for the validation of my pattern recognition skills, the tune for the snippet "by machine on new technology" does almost match the black death song, provided the tempo of said classic 80s rock song is sped up and crunched to fit the Black Death standard. Unfortunately for my sanity, this may mean that it will never leave.
Perhaps I shall instruct "When I Was a Boy" (the filkers' version) to be turned loose inside my head, to combat. (Oh, good. It seems to have worked. ...except now that song has taken over. You can't win.)
