Dear Log,
«If I was to be perfectly honest, if you were to hover about fifty yards away from the festivities, squinting with your eyebrow arched, it was like that. Were Andrew to hide in the bushes of Sebastopol, he would have had very little of his convictions shaken. People said "ohhhhh cool!". A lot. There was a Segway and an Aibo. There was one particular "acoustic jam" that had me choking on pie and making a polite exit to the bathroom.Mmmm choking on pie in California.But you know what? I can do the same thing to your parties. It's easy. And with a few hours training and a dictionary of convenient stereotypes, you could hang out in the shadows of a J-Lo-hosted all-nude sex-party and feel superior too.
The great secret of satire is that it can be applied to anyone, good or bad. The British have bad teeth, Americans have giant chins. Rednecks drawl, toffs stutter, New Yorker's shout. Sub-cultural foibles are a universal weapons.
Much can be made of all of this, but without more substantive points, it's just "Hahahahaha! Aren't the Different People funny?". Yes, it was Californian. This is because we are in California...»
Or, to be explicit, in NORTHERN California.
Good stuff about private (vs. secret) communication in public space. Shame that he conflates satire with parody.
-ubu
