On Friday night, Scottsdale'sRadius
nightclub was buzzing with the creative energy and passion that all of the sold-outIgnite Phoenix
presentation nights inspire. If you haven't been to the "After Hours" version of the event, it works much like the regular Ignite -- 20 slides in five minutes -- except thatnothing is off-limits
That means the event's organizers will say "YES" to stripping down to a fuzzy heart-shaped thong or talking about dildos. "YES" to pornographic imagery that's totally NSFRI (Not Suitable for Regular Ignite). And "Hell, yeah!" to speeches on humorous porn and strip clubs, both of which were on tap Friday night. Sounds pretty sweet, right?
Ignite Phoenix After Hours is in its infancy, with only one other previous naughty nighttime slideshow under its belt. And those of us who've attended other Ignite events are pretty damned spoiled.
Beyond the sexy talk were the strange, the serious, and the shit the audience just couldn't figure out.
The highlight of the night was one cubicle worker's frank admission that she crochets dicks in her spare time -- and, no doubt, makes a killing on Etsy. Billed as pet playthings, her yarn creations in the shape of fetuses, bloody tampons, and cocks and balls, had everyone in stitches.
Hell, I don't even have a cat or a dog, and I still wanted to grab her dicks.
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Daniel Messer's presentation on why technology has doomed us all was the definition of "hipster irony," tracing our woes with iPads, cell phones and "too much damned information" back to television, radio, books and eventually some 17th century librarian's assertion that, well, there's just too much damned information.
A talk on how not to treat your massage therapist came off as a bitter rant, and Ignite regular Evo Terra's bashing of creationism seemed out of place until he tossed in the word "fuck."
Sound issues and strange presentations aside, the racy Ignite offshoot has some real potential. Let's face it: There aren't too many places you can view penises and talk about feeling up strippers without fear of getting caught -- or without ending up in a seedy motel room with the creepy neighbor whose keys you picked out of the bowl.