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Thom Dunn is a Boston-based writer, musician, and utterly terrible dancer. He is the singer/guitarist for the indie rock/power-pop the Roland High Life, as well as a staff writer for the New York Times’ Wirecutter and a regular contributor at BoingBoing.net. Thom enjoys Oxford commas, metaphysics, and romantic clichés (especially when they involve whiskey), and he firmly believes that Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" is the single greatest atrocity committed against mankind. He is a graduate of Clarion Writer's Workshop at UCSD ('13) & Emerson College ('08).

Another Oldie But A Goodie (angsty?)

Not much time to write again today*, after a busy weekend at New York Comic Con that didn't get me back to Boston until midnight, so here's a re-post of an old poem/song I wrote in...I think 2005. Looking back, it's definitely the product of a 19-year-old, but don't think it was necessarily awful, as far as the poetry of 19-year-old Liberal Arts students is concerned. Check back next week for something new!

"Atlantic Avenue" at FiveByFiveHundred.com

*not that I haven't been writing anything at all in the last week, which I have actually quite a lot, but nothing that would be appropriate for 5x500 in either form or content. more articles and/or long form works-in-progress.

May: Great Month, or Greatest Month?

I like May. Everyone's happier in May. We're all still a little fat from the winter, but when the sun finally shines on a beautiful weekend day, everyone appreciates it so much after the long, dark seasons. Everyone wants to look their best as they soak up the rays. By the time August rolls around -- sure, everyone's practically naked, but it's no longer sexy. It's just fucking hot. But in May, it's like magic; the first signs of skin exposed for all the sunny smiles to see. I'm sure there's a cynical metaphor about relationships somewhere in here as well. Anyway, here's my newest little piece on Five By Five Hundred:\

"Girls in Sundresses" on FiveByFiveHundred.com

Athbhliain Faoi Mhaise Daoibh

That's "Happy New Years" in the Irish. Or, more literally, it's kind of "A Prosperous Year Upon All Of You" but it's the same gesture. Anyway, here we are. 2012. You know what that means. I encourage you to live every day like it's volume 3 of The Invisibles.

(...you *have* read The Invisibles, yes?)

Today on FiveByFiveHundred.com, I weave a fantastical tale about a New Years romance gone horribly, horribly awry, a yarn which may or may not be based on someone whom I actually met at a party this weekend and may or may not have wanted to inflict violence upon because of the incredibly douche-tastic things that s/he may or may have said ("Like, you can totally just tell like a lot about someone if they smoke like American Spirits, right?" OH MY GOD SHUT UP).

Okay. That's it. I feel better now. I swear.

"Stranger In a Strange Year, or, All-American Spirits" at FiveByFiveHundred.com

And just in case you haven't read it...

Such a beautiful moment at the end of the world. Gets me every time. *sniff**sniff*

The Silk Spectre of Sex Still Looms

I have a strange relationship with cosplay. I typically find cosplayers to be somewhat annoying, and I don't understand the whole idea behind spending absurd amounts of money on making elaborate geek niche costumes to wear at conventions. That being said, I'm endlessly fascinated at the hordes of people who do feel that urge (and of course, I am entertained by some of the more ridiculous and hilarious costumes that are out there. You know, like BANANA WOLVERINE. Seriously, WTF? Also, hilarious and amazingly entertaining (you'll find my fascination/distaste/totally lack of comprehension for cosplay also sneaks into my full-length play True Believers).

This week's Five By Five Hundred was inspired by a few specific instances at New York Comic-Con this past weekend. First, that I felt weird about inadvertently objectifying women while I was there — some girl walks by dressed as Mystique, covered in blue bodypaint and wearing a tiny bikini top, I'm naturally inclined to look. But then I don't want to be a creep, like I'm just staring at breasts — although certainly my attention is drawn to them because of the nature and design of the costume because females in comic book/anime/pop culture are often scantily-clad and sexualized, and it's this whole crazy internal moral debate I have in my head over the course of 4 seconds (during which I am too busy mentally deliberating to realize that I'm still staring).

But I also saw some cosplayers who would get annoyed when people asked them to pose for a picture, or do any kind of interaction. This was also difficult for me to wrap my head around. Why would you dress up like Power Girl if it wasn't for some kind of desire for attention? And then I realized, that's the same argument used by men who sexually harass women on the street: "she's asking for it." But this particular question was not based in sexuality; hell, there'd be men dressed as Doctor Who that would be equally annoyed at posing for a picture (side note: Doctor Who cosplay appears to be the new Slave Leia at conventions).

Is it about the sex, or is it about the costume? Are these cosplayers objectified — or fictionalized? Well, that's where this week's post comes in. No solid answers, but I thought I'd provide some food for thought.

"She's Asking For It" at FiveByFiveHundred.com

Freshman Weekend; or, Beer Beer Sex Shots Shots Shots Shot Puke WHOOPS

Here's the thing: I'm 25 years old, just over 3 years out of college. I stay out late, I drink (and make) lots of beer, I work in the arts, and show up at my job most days in cut-off jean shorts (or "jorts," if you will) and a t-shirt. I don't feel that old — I'm not that old — and the idea of college doesn't seem like it's so far away. But biking from Harvard Square on Friday night, I discovered that college was indeed back in session, and that I have apparently become a jaded old man. It was the first weekend of college for many freshmen at Boston's countless universities. It was a beautiful night as well, so the frosh were out in droves, playing at adulthood by making lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of obnoxious (but incredibly fun) mistakes from which they will (one day) hopefully learn. "Freshmen Weekend," as I like to call it, is not that day. My bike route brought me past Harvard, MIT, Boston University, Northeastern, and Wentworth University, as well as plenty of off-campus student abodes. You know those 13-year cicadas? It was kind of like that.

So mid-bike ride (I swear, it was totally safe), I recorded this poem, which I then fixed up when I got home. Enjoy!

"Freshmen Weekend" on FiveByFiveHundred.com

Writing, Writing Everywhere, and Not a Drop To Read

I have to apologize for the radio silence here at ThomDunn.net over the last few weeks. Layne Anderson, a close friend and former roommate of mine, passed away unexpectedly on April 7th, and as much as I've kept up with everything (well, almost everything), time has been rather a blur. I've chronicled the situation as impersonally as possible over at FiveByFiveHundred.com in two posts — Shark Grief, about my own grieving process, and iWake, which as entirely fictional account of a some inappropriate gallows humor inspired by the situation of which Layne would have most certainly approved. Meanwhile, this week's entry steps away from the morbidity and explores the quantum mechanics of one night stands as interpreted through Bell's Theorem, using the Shrödinger's Cat experiment as a proof. Hopefully, that sounds ridiculous (and ridiculously intriguing) enough for you to check out Shrödinger's Cat Call, also over at FiveByFiveHundred.com.

Also in the last two weeks, we've officially opened Sons of the Prophet at the Huntington, which is then moving to the Roundabout Theatre Company Off-Broadway in the Fall. Plus, I did some filming for Art & Design of the 20th & 21st Centuries and the Boston Print Fair, did a small reading of my new play, True Believers (which is set at a Comic Book Convention and features a cameo by the Cyborg Head of Stan Lee, among other things), and started rehearsals and arrangements for my (wait for it) all-male hard rock Lady Gaga tribute band, Alejandro & the Fame, which is going to be every bit as ridiculous as it sounds. Come check us out on May 20th at the afterparty for Propeller Theatre Company's all-male production of Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors at the Huntington's B.U. Theatre.

Woo. Okay. I think that's it. Tune in next week for your regularly scheduled programming.

69 Love Songs

Check out my latest piece over at FiveByFivehundred.com, about a Morning After that she may or may not regret. Complete with an overbearing 20-something male playing bad love songs on an acoustic guitar who is in no way, shape, or form intended as analog for myself. Seriously.

"69 Love Songs" on FiveByFiveHundred.com