Tederick.com: October 2006 Archives
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October 31, 2006

When I was a kid I, like, worshipped Hallowe'en.

Sadly this is going to have to be an "off" year for me Hallowe'en-wise. I think the pirate party sort of blew everyone's gaskets on autumn costuming anyway, so aside from the movie night at 3QF on Saturday there really wasn't a lot going on. Still, dressing as Clark Kent to go to work: damn fun. Especially because I picked a Lois and then got to say things like "Superman? I don't know what you're talking about, Lois."

Plus, I'm getting a hella lot of candy. And a free cookie at Subway!

My parents are on this gigantic anti-Hallowe'en thing lately - they picked it up a couple of years ago and then culted my brother and sister into it - where they have declared that they hate Hallowe'en and have always hated Hallowe'en. So now instead of hanging around the house while kids are trick or treating (in spite of the fact that everybody knows that if you don't have a pumpkin outside, you don't ring the bell), they "escape" to Cuisine of India and wait out the night. I only mind this year because in an ideal world I'd Hallowe'en it up oldschool at 3QF, but have instead earmarked the evening for some solid Terra writing time out of the house. We have a phenomenally loud 5-year-old living downstairs from us now on what may be a temporary basis, and I don't really want to have to deal with it this year. So oh well.

Now: a concession to my readers. I could spend the next twelve months bitching about every single thing they do on the Golden Compass movie. Instead, I am going to not. You can read my review when the film comes out. Until then, without a hint of commentary or critique, here's Lyra.

Flags of our Fathers

Flags of our Fathers follows a tricky structure in and around the planting of that flag on Iwo Jima, and the way that it was immediately identified as the image of American combat (one soldier mutters "That flag will define the Marine Corps for the next five hundred years"), and one that could be leveraged to generate mass capital in the seventh "bond drive" of the second world war.

Click here to read my review.

October 30, 2006

Woot and double woot!

Superman Returns S'more!

Harold and Kumar go to Amsterdam!!

Bust out your underoos and marry a bag of weed, we's goin' back to tha movies!

Catch a Fire

The major deficit here is that both of the principal characters - Chamusso and Vos - are played to such extremes of their moral spectrum that there is absolutely no complexity or depth to the characterizations at all.

Click here to read my review.

October 29, 2006

Two Lost theories

A couple of things are kicking around in my head. The first is not a spoiler per se but because it is the kind of idea that could really ruin the surprise of this week's episode if true, I will once again rely on the interweb's great contribution to human society, the miracle of Invisotext!

I think poor Eko is gonna get killed this week. Something's just not feeling right about triple-A's participation in the third season. And from a character arc standpoint, he's certainly run out of things to do. Still, this sucks. First of all it proves that being a Tailie is almost 90% lethal. And second... it's Eko! What will we do without him pattering about saying "hello" to people?

Theory 2, not a spoiler, not even really a theory, just an idea: what if the flashbacks aren't real? If the flashbacks are being reverse-engineered on the island based on things that are happening on the island, this would explain all the weird interconnectivity between the memories of characters who, to be realistic, live thousands of miles away from each other back in "real" life. More importantly, this explains Kate's horse, which is the only flashback element that really doesn't make any damn sense in context. I don't know how this theory goes to anything, if it does at all, but it gave me THE SHIVERS so I'm reporting it.

I do the job, and then I get paid.

So this is funny: Universal Studios decided to shut down all non-licensed fan-made Serenity-related products on the blinternet, and even went so far as to send a $9,000 invoice to one such entrepreneur for "retroactive license fees."

Rather than argue with Universal's legal right to do something like this, the Browncoats have instead decided that if non-licensed fan activities to promote Serenity are now billable, then Universal - who openly advocated grassroots fan promotion in 2005 and made copyrighted materials available to the fanbase for use in a viral marketing campaign - owe us some money.

I submitted a bill for 40 billables for 2005, which I think is on the light side all things considered, but what the hell, I liked the movie.

moviesTO #51: Hocus Pocus

Behold podcast, for it is legend!

Yeah I've run out of things to say about these things.

Podcast.

Primal fear

Woot! Bonus hour! TAKE AN HOUR LONGER TO DO SOMETHING TODAY!

Last night, sleep-deprived Brandy put together a Hallowe'en viewing marathon at 3QF; we watched Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors, Cabin Fever, Ghostbusters, and I got through half of Night of the Comet before I had to bag it and go to bed (I left right after Chakotay showed up as a young street tough). By that point my brain was a shimmering potion. Not least because it was the first time I watched Nightmare 3 since the first time I watched that movie, and the first time I watched that movie, I was ten and it was the first horror movie I'd ever seen. Bear in mind, I was a kid who was completely fucked up by Toht's face melting in Raiders of the Lost Ark and Zolo getting his hand eaten off in Romancing the Stone. I even got freaked out in E.T. when Elliott cut his finger on the radial saw. So essentially, Nightmare on Elm Street 3 is the primal scene of my entire horror psychology. I was the most unpopular kid in my class, inexplicably invited to somebody's birthday party or Hallowe'en party (I can't even remember which kid it was), and I got inducted into a universe that I simply did not have any language to comprehend except that it both revulsed and enthralled me. And so, so, so much about sex. In a time before I even knew what French kissing was, one of the inmates of the mental hospital in the film dreams that the pornstarish nurse takes him into one of the private rooms, removes all of her clothes (I can still remember the triumphant hooting of the pack of boys I was with, when those Playboy-quality tits became our first experience of onscreen nudity), and sticks her tongue down his throat... before she becomes an incarnation of Freddy, and her tongue becoming an appendage as thick as an arm, and it starts fisting its way down the boy's throat. Again: no language to understand this. No context to put it in. Just the raw terror and arousal of this collision of adult imagery and the lasting damage and laying of bricks that they did to my psyche. And oh, gee, the raven-haired goth girl with a thing for needles and knives who fights it out with Freddy in a dreamscape back alley? Have I been into anything like that lately???

October 28, 2006

The writer's hovel

It's official: I'm a sex columnist now. Tn'O launched on blogTO today, with my co-writer Jenny's first column about cuddle parties (and a little introductory dealie from me). I am ever-so-pleased about the possibilities of this, and also about how it lets me knock item #28 off the list of 100 random pointless things I want to do before I die. My first column's up next week, and it's about the Lost Girls.

From a writing standpoint I'm feeling indestructible right now. I wrote six pages of Toronto Omelette as soon as I got home because I finally figured out the structure of the flick. It's in five stories, although one of those stories is broken into five parts, and the other four are stand-alone, but two of them connect directly (albeit across a 50-year time gap). It's interesting. And also, those six pages I wrote are the filthiest fucking pages of anything I've ever written, ever. Woot for me.

This weekend basically went sideways on me. I was going to lock myself in my room - all tidied up for the occasion to prevent distraction - and work on the DVDs for three days straight. Instead, I have seemingly become possessed lately of an uncommon clarity of thought about what's going on in my life, so I spent yesterday noodling around some foundational ideas about what I do and do not need to be doing with my time. Today I skipped straight to the writing and in so doing turned my bedroom into a kind of recalcitrant trash heap because I literally came running in from my errands this morning with so much stuff to write down that I basically dropped everything I was holding/wearing and just started typing. I'm skipping back and forth between four - yes four - separate writing projects, got two books open on the bed, and the ideas in my head are like a perfect cresting wave that I am just barely managing to surf.

October 27, 2006

The Benedict Chronicles: Meggie's

"...as plate after plate of fluffy poached eggs, cartilaginous peameal, and lakes of sunshiney goo continued to pile up over time, I realized that if I don't start catalogueing these excursions in some formal manner, a great field of human knowledge would be lost. Hence, the Benedict Chronicles..."

Oh glorious day off-ness! I woke up around 8:30 figuring I'd do a Benedict chronicle to get the day started, so I googled "Danforth all-day breakfast" and pulled up a blogTO article about a place called Meggie's. It's not on the Danforth, but what really got my attention was the picture: it clearly displays a gravy boat of hollandaise being served separately from the rest of the benedict. Sold: I rode north.

Meggie's is just a bit too far west to be called comfortable walking distance from Yonge & Eglinton, which is going to hurt it. When I arrived, there was nobody there. I mean nobody - not even a serving staff. Turned out the owner was in the back. The place has a nice tea-shoppy sort of feel, probably due to its being reno'ed from something that was decidedly not a restaurant... or maybe it was just because of the liberal use of paisley. Regardless, I took a seat by the window, cracked open The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, and ordered a coffee, a water, and the eggs benedict.

Even if it were not for the sheer fetishistic glee of the do-it-yourself aspect of pouring hollandaise from the gravy boat all over your perfectly-poached eggs, this would still have been the best benny I've had in several years. I was giggling while I was eating this thing. The poached eggs were pitch-perfect globs of fluff cooked at a medium, neither too runny nor too hard, and they exploded in your mouth if you bit them just right. The peameal was flavourful and chitinous. And there was just a bit more hollandaise in the gravy boat than I actually needed, which is the way to do it.

And those fries. Holy frick. Those are the best breakfast fries I have ever had, bar none. They were light as air (probably given that they were special-ordered for me, being as that I was the only customer), the portion was flawless to compliment the two benny halves contained within, and they were just so fucking good. The fruit, too, was appreciated: I can't think of a better finish on a plate of eggs benedict than, in turn, two pieces of watermelon, one of pineapple, and two of canteloupe. Very refreshing.

The whole thing runs you $10.25, which is high for this sort of thing, but who the fuck cares: the proof is in the pudding on this one.

I hang on to this idea that the best benny I've ever had was the first time I went to Sharkey's a couple of years ago. The second time I went, not so much. I can't recall if there was a third. I've had it in my head that I need to go back there at some point to really test the mettle, especially when confronted with meals like the one I had today, but there's a lot of emotion and memory locked up in that Bloor West Village establishment, and having roused from an evening of nightmares to go write this review, I don't know if my fortitude is there yet. But it'll happen someday. Until then, we have a new champion:

Meggie's eggs benedict gets my very first four eggs out of four!!

Meggie's All-Day Breakfast is located at 174 Eglinton Ave. W., in Toronto. The Benedict Chronicles is an ongoing, non-regular series.

Behold: the Supervagina!

The Supervagina is a superheroine in the genital world. She fights for truth, justice, and the Yoni way. Her only vulnerability is green Kryptonite, which gives the Supervagina a stinging UTI.

However, I think the Supervagina's downfall here is that the Supervagina is bald. Clearly, the real Supervagina would not be bald. The real Supervagina would stand up for the vagina's right to be furry and unjudged by the cosmetic industry. Perhaps this is therefore the Bizarro Supervagina? That would also explain why the Supervagina allowed herself to be photographed for the American porn industry, and in none-too-friendly climes to boot. Surely the Supervagina can rise up to these patriarchal monsters and strike a blow for vaginal positivity that will reverberate until the stars fall from the sky!!

October 26, 2006

Matt is both super and girly.

Remember the Chuck Norris facts? Chuck Norris is now officially rebutting them in his Official Chuck Norris Column. How is he rebutting such undisputed laws of the physical universe as "There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of creatures Chuck Norris has allowed to live", you ask?

By talking about Jesus.

This week has just flown by. Fahlowwwenn. I'm taking tomorrow off though probably accelerated matters. They call it a "balance day." It is so that you can get the rest of your life in balance with your work life. I call this a swell plan. I've also booked some vacation time for December, not at the end of the month when all the pansies do it, no sir. I use the hard stuff: the first week of December, rip yer roots out! If there's snow on the ground I'll go snowboarding. If not, I'll write my memoirs.

Things at work are going swimmingly at the mo'. I am getting a taste of project management and I am liking it, so I am gobbling up more and bigger. Leadership is the watchword. I also got a bunch of feedback from my colleagues today on my job performance to date and it was really sweet. No big surprises in the developmental needs, and lots of swell comments. I seem to be saying swell a lot today. But how else would you describe a comment that described me "Human and fun?" I think "swell" nails it. Little do they know I am in fact a superhuman... and girly.

I did my Lois Lane thing on the phones yesterday to research my first Tn'O column at blogTO, which is going to be about the current embargo on Lost Girls at Canada Customs. And I went Supergirl crazy this week for no seeming reason; it's still a hit-or-miss book but I just love looking at it. Saw Prestige last night after a huge plate of sushi; went home hungry because, of course, rice doesn't exist. That's why people always complain about being hungry again so soon after eating Chinese food; it's the rice, and it extends to any dish with rice in it. Rice is in fact a consensus mass hallucination of the human race. But there's not anything there.

The hunger or the wasabe contributed to poisonous dreams where Emma Watson was playing the pregnant girl in Children of Men. A two-coffee work day today and then I went to a preview of Catch a Fire tonight, and watched Lost. At this point I think they should stop with the "LOST" title card at the head of each show and replace it with a curving-rotating-whirly-card of the same order that says the name of the character that the episode will be about. Like SAWYER comes floating towards the screen all spooky-like. Or DESMOND. Right now Desmond is This Year's Sayid, even more than Mohinder on Heroes or Eko on Lost last year. I want a Desmond belt-buckle that says brother on it.

Mimoco Chewbacca. (God bless you!)

Up and away.

The Prestige

The Prestige is like a rich cake that Georges Méliès would have cooked if he'd lived to see the fin of another siècle. I'm hard-pressed to recall another time where film and illuisonism were so deftly sewn together, because this isn't just a movie about a pair of magicians, but a magic trick itself.

Click here to read my review.

October 25, 2006

THE DEATH OF EXTREME STEVE!!!!

October 23, 2006

Stuff that people done got me

My sister got me: FOUR BOOKS! U2 by U2, the Kavalier & Clay thingie, another glorious Irvine Welsh novel, and The Straight Girl's Guide to Sleeping with Chicks. Awesomeness.

My brother got me: Wonder Showzen Season 2. Boy was that boy right about the Wonder Showzen. It is his most significant cultural contribution to my life for the calendar year 2006. And now there's more!

My dad got me: A bag of Dad's Cookies! Adorable!

My mom got me: Nothing this time but WHO CARES SHE PUSHED ME OUT OF HERSELF!!

The fucknuts at the Thorne Mill Sunrise Senior Living Community got me: A brochure to entice me to buy a fucking retirement condominum! I'M THIRTY FUCKING YEARS OLD!! That is so inappropriate it makes me cry! And also laugh.

Give me a minute and I'll tell you the setup for the worst joke ever

Me, Huntsville, the Goo, and the Smrt car. Possibly the last voyage of the Smrt car, come to think of it; I can't believe we've been banging around in that thing for two whole years already. I can't believe wankers still swarm me when I get out of it and ask the same five questions. People: they have been around for years now. Get on the internet or something.

I got up damned early on Wednesday morning and left Toronto before rush hour, figuring that I'd beat the traffic and then have breakfast north of the city, before making my languid way to Huntsville for noon. I was eating at the Island of the Sirens before nine, way ahead of schedule, and then I just cruised Highway 11 and enjoyed the late-October scenery. I tell ya, going down to NC in the spring is fun and all, but one of these days I want to take a road trip north in my own country. Not that there's necessarily anything to see up there, just that I enjoy the process rather a lot.

The Huntsville occasion was a 3-day offsite for my entire department. You should have seen the damn room they had me in: I have never been in such a place in my entire life. I was supposed to be sharing it with another guy but we couldn't make the door between the suites work, so he had his little one-bedroom and I had what was essentially a palace all to myself. Here's the living room with view of the lake:

And if I'd known there was gonna be a 50 square foot back deck, I woulda brought some chiba. Anyways it was a perfect time of year to be up in the wilds, and a pretty good gang of people to be up there with too if I do say so myself. My favourite part was a mass outdoor team-building simulation on Thursday where half of us were blindfolded, and the other half were unable to walk and had to direct the blind folk to gather survival implements. I was blindfolded. And I was a perfect island of Jedi calm in what can only be described as a roiling sea of mismanagement madness! Well not that bad but I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I had someone I completely trusted guiding me, and when things got hairy, I also had the loudest voice in a large group of loud voices and could make my points spectacularly well. So that was cool.

On Friday I got the hell out of there and beat it on down south to the Goo, a trip that was supposed to take 5 hours but actually took 3, which lead to me hanging out at the Book Shelf and reading and blogging and generally yessing. Then it was yet another queer somethingorother at the Grad Lounge, which somehow manages to happen every single time I'm in the Goo. Also, there was Lost and Indian food, and more Lost, and then some Lost and also Lost. But good company, because watching Lost with Bex and Macelod - particularly when, say, Ana Lucia and Libby get shot - is goddamned fun beyond reckoning. And did anyone else notice that the woman Locke home-inspects in "Lockdown" is Sayid's ex-mama jama? Cuz I didn't (but Bex did, much is my shame). Yeahba. I tell ya, I'm sure going to miss the Box when it is finally cast asunder by Paris-going Mennonites and the lure of co-habitable vegans. But this, too, is life.

Funny that I've only ever hung on to other peoples' college cohabitation experiences, first with Jen in Kingston and now with the Box. Gee, do ya think I maybe shoulda gone away to school instead of wussing out with York? But then, I never woulda met Laurier.

Came home, played a drop-dead freezing game of soccer in pouring rain yesterday, Chris is ill with something other than what I was ill with so Jeff channeled himself some goalie action and proved stunningly effective. ("The Power of Chris Compels Me!" was heard often.) And honestly, by the time I got up to go to work this morning, I'd completely forgotten where I was employed. Mmm five day weekend.

Twenty minutes from now

I'm in love with two fictional characters right now: John Locke and Molly Hayes. Locke because we ended up watching like nine or ten (well maybe seven or eight) episodes of Lost at the Box this weekend and then I came home and watched this week's new episode... and, well, best episode ever. Maybe not overall, but easily the best Locke episode since the first Locke episode, and possibly even better than that one, because the A storyline was, on the whole, stronger. (The B storyline was less so, but damn was that boy pretty. Uh, not Locke, the actual boy that was with Locke. Pretty.) I am so back on board with Lost right now. It's about goddamned time they made Locke cool again, someone to actual enjoy and respect, rather than a poncy zealot obsessed with some stupid hatch. Worked like gangbusters, and how do I know? Because I want me a Locke action figure. And I'm in luck: there's one right here.

And then there's Molly, who is currently the slice on the right side of this very blog, and about whom I basically threw a shit-fit when I realized I wasn't going to be able to pick up the Molly-covered issue #21 of Runaways last Wednesday. Have you spent hours combing the outlying townships of Southern Ontario looking for a comic book store? Cuz I have. I found a couple of places that had sold out of the issue by the time I got there, and at least one that doesn't order Runaways at all because they're stoooopid (see previous comment re: selling out of Runaways). And then, of course, I found it right in my own back yard when I got back to T.O., the last copy lying on the shelves of the comic book store three blocks down the Danforth from my house. Oh irony. Oh Nico and Victor. Oh that shot of the giant purple people eater reaching out his hand to the dissolving image of his long-dead bride as she begs him to be a good person and not a giant purple people eater. I don't know what I'm going to do when BKV goes away. Although if the first Whedon script is as good as BKV says it is, I suspect I am going to excrete waste rapidly.

So Desmond can see the future now? Can he see Future Hiro? Or at least a pair of pants?

Mamo #62: Industrial Light & Mamo

We're back in the Mamo way, this time with a free-ranging discussion hinged upon "magic" and the "movies." And I still haven't seen The Prestige. Damn!

Click here to download the mp3.

October 20, 2006

I'm out of it for a little while and everyone gets delusions of grandeur

Can't blog long; I'm at the Bookshelf in the Goo stealing wi-fi, having now split the difference of my Huntsville/Goo five-day excursion. I will blather about the former later, and also the latter later (because the latter hasn't happened yet). In the meantime, here's a story about a woman who shot lightning out of her anus. Sensational!

Now: to read Supergirl. Happy weekend Toronto.

October 17, 2006

I used to love Bush. Then they named a president after it.

Hair colour is determined by the ratio of eumelanin (black/brown melanin) to phaeomelanin (red melanin) in the outer layer of the hair. So, if you've got more eumelanin, you have darker hair. If you have more phaeomelanin, you have lighter hair. If you have no melanin at all, you're FUCKED! But here's the kicker: melanin ratios VARY in different parts of the human body! Betcha didn't know that! So that's why sometimes when you're doing the usual canvas survey of all the naked boys in the locker room, you will be surprised to see that blondie has a brown bush, or that ol' red ain't so red "down there" where the Lord split him, if you know what I'm saying. GENERALLY SPEAKING, pubic hair will be darker than head hair, though no one's exactly sure why the ratio tilts in the downward direction instead of the other way around. Also sometimes people DYE their head hair which throws the whole thing completely out of whack. That's why I like to use pubes as the ONLY guage of what a person's true hair colour is, because dying pubic hair is like nailing diarreah to the wall: it can be done but it's fucking messy. BEWARE!

October 16, 2006

Incredibly unbroken sentence
Moving from topic to topic
Incredibly unbroken sentence
Moving from topic to topic
Moving from topic to topic
Quite hypnotic

I'm going to Huntsville on Wednesday morning and then the Goo for the weekend, so naturally I get a cold. Balls. It's in the "circling" stage right now so I'm trying this Cold FX thing that my parents rave about, saying that it cures colds. Although I suspect that if there was actually a cure for the common cold I would have heard about it? At least in that I'd notice that people had stopped using "the cure for the common cold" as their example of the end-all be-all human scientific endeavour?

When I had to choose an authoritarian command figure from the Star Trek universe to loom proudly over my desk and remind me real men are explorers and that explorers lean forward, did I choose fisticuffy Kirk or that namby-pamb Riker? Big bad Sisko or so-damn-fashionable Picard? She-is-from-a-world-now-alien-to-me Worf, monkeywrench O'Brien or gay Sulu? Fuck no. I chose Captain Christopher Pike. Yeah that's right. Here's why:

  1. Über nerd cred for going with lesser-known character
  2. 1964 is as far as you can get chronologically from the Berman/Braga dynasty
  3. Jeffrey Hunter's sparkling eyes.

What else happened? Oh yeah: I went back to soccer for the first time in like two months. It was a sort of insanely fun game, on the worst pitch I've ever played on. This field had rolling fucking hills. It was like playing soccer in Super Mario Land or something. And me? Not so much the "in shape." I could feel the massive ribbon of flab around my midsection as I tried like hell to get in gear in the first half of the game. Good news being, I think I found my gear in the second half. At least, I found my accuracy and my willingness to run. I really need to get more exercise. Why? Because I like running.

We went to the Lakeview after the game and they have a Benedict Burger! It was actually pretty crappy. And I didn't have my camera. But someday I'll have it again, take a picture, and post a proper review for the BC. Which, by the way, my dad seems to be in love with. He's got a couple of new places he wants to take me to try the benny. Which is adorable! If there's one thing I always know I can bond with my father over, it's grease.

So at this point, as alluded to over the weekend, the big push on my end is to get a bunch of things off my plate before the new year so that I can hit the ground running in 2007 with some new creative tasks. Some of the things leaving my plate are longstanding commitments that I'm putting behind me, and others are residual creative projects that needed tying off. Oh, and I'm not dating any more. I'm not even attempting to date. I am swearing off that shit until January at the earliest. I am going to focus on my own thing, maybe try to hook some of my friends up with my other friends, and do what I can to promote happiness on the planet Earth. That will be fine with me.

October 15, 2006

Me and my mouth

DVD for The Hunt finally done. Snap above comes from the archival footage. I was a pretty youngster, wasn't I? Man I never realized how vagina dentata ol' Maude was until just this moment. She's like a portable Sarlacc.

moviesTO #50: FIFTY!!

I can't believe I've done fifty of these damn things. This time it's Science of Sleep redux and a couple of personal anecdotes. All recorded in the midst of the rendering of a VOB file. Such sweet compression of time / time for compression.

Click here to listen to the podcast.

October 14, 2006

The impossible weekend

I am actually wearing low-riders. I feel like such a whore.

So a couple of weeks ago I realized that the "recharge" period of my life is drawing to a close and it was time to get back on a few projects. Then I realized that I have projects galore left over from the last time I actually worked on projects, and that I needed to clear the decks a bit - either abandoning things or getting them tied off rapidly so that I could move on to new stuff. And then I realized (oh, realizey me) that the big problem with a lot of these is that they take massive amounts of time and yet I was, to date, only dedicating tiny parcels of time to them (an hour, two hours, blah). So I figured I needed to hit a massive chunk of my time with these dangly projects. And this weekend, I'm doing the first one.

I am finishing the DVDs of my movies.

Not all of them (Stanley's Life and Fate of Dietrich will probably still, alas, have to wait for another massive chunk of time) but all the ones I started long ago and left standing. I'm starting with the quick wins - Bone Daddy 2 was all but finished a year ago except for some technical glitches - and moving on to the harder stuff. I'm doing it all on the PC because that's where all the files are. And then I can delete a whole bunch of stuff and move on to the next massive project left waiting (in this case, Standoff).

It's a little like being in debt, in that I am working my ass off not to get ahead, but to get back to 0, whereupon I can start creating new debt.

Like, for example, scriptwriting. Chad and I have been working on Terra (that's the working title of the comic book, in case I haven't mentioned it prior) and I am loving that. We are developing the principal characters right now and it's flowing like crazy. But it's also twigged a strong desire to get back to some actually screenwriting before the end of the year. I finally came up with a workable structure for Toronto Omelette, which has been on the back burner since about 2001. I'm not quite sure I'm ready to start Box Girls yet although I've started outlining characters on that one. And unrelatedly, I was reading that pirate book that Bex gave me for my birthday and I think I found my pirate movie. It's based on real people, though, so it would require research. But it ends in the Tower of frickin' London! How good is that.

Anyways, the problem with the impossible weekend is that even though I lopped off these entire 48 hours for nothing but the DVDs last week, shit kept getting added to the schedule anyway, like actual paying work that I can't not do. It'll probably work out because much of the weekend will be spent watching the PC render files and burn DVDs, and I can work on the other things on the laptop simultaneously (ho!). But it's goddamned frustrating at the same time that even when I make a conscious effort to really throw a substantial bit of time at something, it gets eaten away by everything else. I am actively working on clearing other priorities from my life so that I can focus on what really matters, but it'll be a quarter-year before the dividends start to pay in my schedule.

Nine minutes to go on the BD2 render, then it's on to The Hunt. I will not be answering the phone.

The Science of Sleep

The Science of Sleep is by no means perfect as either a narrative or as an experiment. The plot is frustrating, the pace is occasionally vile, and the storyline (or what passes for it) hardly seems worth the effort of fighting through quasi-lucid imagery that pervades to the point of generating visual alpha noise for the viewer. Nevertheless, the film remains enthralling. It's odd, and sad, and beautiful in ways that are accessible to the dreamers, and gobbledegook to everyone else. And that makes it wondrous.

Click here to read my review.

October 13, 2006

My other penis is a vagina

Furthermorily to yesterhampton's discusserude, there's Family Guy's playful willingness to talk about vaginas. Or more specificially, those stunningly direct cunt references that get past Standards & Practices because they don't technically do anything wrong:

From "Chitty Chitty Death Bang":

BRIAN: She's a whiny little runt, isn't she?
LOIS: [gasp!]
BRIAN: I said runt.

From "A Hero Sits Next Door":

PETER (watching Wheel of Fortune): I still can't believe we missed the phrase "my hairy aunt."

FG's pathological need to prove itself to be more badass than The Simpsons positively reeks of Freudianism, but there you have it.

October 12, 2006

This is your film festival

This week I got a new rejection letter for the rejection letter file, but I also got an acceptance letter for Sensitivity, which got nominated in the Narrative category at TheOneMinutes, a one-minute film festival in Belgium. That's right: my shit has played Belgium now. Perhaps I will win fabulous Belgian prizes! (Can they be anything other than chocolate?) I play all the cool countries: Pakistan, the UAE, and now Belgium. And Gimli Manitoba. Gimli!

Programming the One Minute Film Festival always smacks of a kind of hubris, or at least, taking too long a peek behind the curtain. It's uncomfortable being on both sides of the divide - sending dozens of DVDs out to festivals all around the world every year, and also receiving hundreds of DVDs from all around the world every year, each bearing the ubiquitous release forms and press kits and every other thing I stuff into every submission I send. Every time something goes sideways on us selecting films at 1MFVF, I can't help but think of all my little DVDs all around the world going sideways for similar reasons. Tonight, for example, we whittled the list down to the 60 finalists for this year's show, and right in the middle of doing so, the power blew on my block. So we worked by candlelight on a single laptop for about a half an hour, kept on blasting through the list, making rapid programming decisions in the dark. And in my head a voice is screaming: this is how every rejection letter in that file got made. In the middle of a blackout, based on hastily-scrawled handwritten notes, fed on takeout Thai food and Timbits, on a laptop DVD player that doesn't work half the time, on the earliest day of snowfall I've ever seen in my city. How can anyone ever take anything personally, ever? It rots the civilized mind.

Grey's Anatomy and the modern American three-way

I stand by what I said: I don't like Grey's Anatomy. It is emblematic of the "sustain sustain sustain" problem that is destroying television drama. It is also the best modern example of this ludicrous over-dependency on building and breaking "will they or won't they" romantic tension as the sole driving force for drama, as has been the case with almost every show in a post-Friends, post-X-Files world. (Boy, it's amazing how in recent years X-Files has become the watershed show by which I seem to evaluate all current programs. Every success and failure can be directly rooted back to the X-Files as a mid-90s prototype for 21st-Century drama. Lost, Heroes, Grey's, House, to say nothing of direct knockoffs like Bones or Supernatural, all owe a nearly insurmountable debt to Chris Carter... who, ironically, could never put another show together post-X.)

As such I didn't watch the Grey's threesome show, but probably should have. I find the very concept of a three-way on American primetime in a post-Boobgate world to be thoroughly fascinating. Aside from Peter and Lois arming up in black PVC to dom-sub themselves into sweet sexual ecstasy on Family Guy, the concept of kink (if a three-way can even be called "kink" any more) does not exist on American television. Besides which, in its way, the threesome is actually the perfect structural antidote to the current romantic malaise of the American television drama. Instead of having endless parades of Jack-Sawyer-Kate triangles dancing before our eyes for seasons on end, just throw the offending parties into bed for a little harmless, consensual group sex, like at the end of Y Tu Mama Tambien where the boys realize they'd rather be sucking each other. You telling me Sawyer's disposition couldn't be significantly improved by working out his ya-ya's on a bit of Doc cock?

Naturally, the overhyped Grey's event turned out to be far less than was advertised, cloaking the kink in the ever-safe blanket of dream sequences and platonic bed-mating, the latter of which has been a plague on our screens since two twentysomethings pretended to be pubescent teens on the verge of a platonic break on Dawson's Creek. In a world where the cartoons are having way better sex than the flesh-and-bloods, this isn't surprising, and in an industry where the Standards & Practices goons will castrate a show long before it can be formally censored, Grey's bears the ick of all current media contradictions about the big bad world of sex: that it's okay for them to sell you on it, but wrong for you to want it.

Day of rain

Joss Whedon and Brian K. Vaughan interviewed - HERE!

At this point my comics rotation goes like this: in the average month, I have two weeks where I buy 2 issues, one week where I buy 4 issues, and one week where I buy 10. This is by no means fixed but these are my best guesstimates. Fortunately yesterday was one of the 2-issue days, and they were both pretty golden: Escapists #4, because Brian K. Vaughan has my balls in his pocket right now, and Powers #20, because Brian Michael Bendis... same reason. Actually I think the Bendis fad is finally on the way out. Ever since the coitus interruptus of the egg incident, the mad-on is fading. The BKV mad-on, howe'er, has only just begun.

My comic nerddom was fully assured, though, when artist-paints-the-future-guy on Heroes this week was flipping through his sketchbook, and I recognized Tim Sale's fine hand in the Jeph Loeb-penned episode. Boy, knowing comics is like the magic decoder ring for all geekness everywhere.

October 11, 2006

Virgin rode a whale

Keisha Castle-Hughes is having a baby, which is news, but far more fascinating is taking a quick tally of which news sites give that information with an image of KCH as she appears today (buxom and maternal), and which ones accompany the story with a snap from Whale Rider (pre-pubescent and scrawny) to create a subtle condemning undercurrent of a "HOLY CRAP A TWELVE YEAR OLD IS PREGNANT!!" angle for their story. Additionally, almost all of the stories point to the fact that she's playing the mother of god in the upcoming Nativity movie, but none of them point out the delicious irony that the whale rider has lapped the Virgin Mother for at least one significant human activity. Ah, sweet American sexual hypocrisy. They can tart up their tweens in "PORNSTAR" tank tops but they can't keep sex ed in the schools to save their lives. Good on ya, KCH: sixteen year olds have sex. A lot.

Meanwhile, to slip into some sublime objectification for a moment, there has been no better shot in the history of television than Sawyer's POV of Kate leaning over in that dress. Hoo-man. Me and Chad had to rewind that one.

But why give us Trixie if you're only gonna take Trixie away?

Heroes: what the fuck is going to happen when Shaft gets out of that motherfucking bed?!

I finished reading Watchmen today for the second time. On the whole it's definitely time for me to get back into some novels for a while... all these comics are rotting my brain. I took a rather enjoyable lap through the Chapters last night after dinner and discovered that they've got a storybook/DVD available of Henry Selick's Moongirl, which is the short I fell off my ass in love with at Sprockets this year. But they didn't have a copy of Kavalier and Clay. What? I bought Ecstasy and The Little Girl Who Was Too Fond of Matches instead, and shall read them first.

But boy, if this wasn't a bad week to be reading Watchmen, what with the impending nuclear war and all. Also, apparently, I now agree with Veidt. I don't think I agreed with Veidt last time, but this time everything he said and did seemed perfectly reasonable. Did the Great Eye do that? Am I the wrong kind of superhero now?

Mamo #61: The Very Nearly Departed

I was watching a bunch of Studio 60 when Matty Price called me up to do this Mamo, unsure of how we could do it given that he was still totally wiped out and shaken from the Sunday car wreck. My reply: "Oh, I've got your cold open." And thus, Mamo rolled on.

Click here to download the sixty-one.

What the hell is going on?!

Soooooooooo....

1) Yesterday morning, I posted the post called "Mornin'."

2) I didn't go back into Tederick.com all day.

3) I got home at 10 and tried to post about having dinner with Sandy and I got this error when I logged in: Unable to lock file 'author.db'. Check permissions. at lib/MT/ObjectDriver/DBM.pm line 115. at lib/MT/App/Upgrader.pm line 64

4) I tried every single thing I could think of to solve this on my own.

5) I gave up, stopped touching it, and contacted MT tech support.

6) The problem resolved itself.

So basically, this thing both made itself happen, and made itself go away, and the only real loss here is my own faith in this seemingly-tenuous web site database o' mine. So, if Tederick.com vanishes inexplicably at any point in the future, at least you'll know why. Assuming this post makes it onto "the internet."

Always with the assumptions.

Ruby Tuesday

TEDERICK.COM IS DOWN FOR THE COUNT!!!

No entries!



No comments!



Nobody home at Movable Type tech support!


I still know how to write HTML code, though!

PLEASE STAND BY

until the resolution of this FRIGHTFUL CALAMITY!

- posted by tederick (BY HAND, MOTHERFUCKERS!)
October 11 2006 @ 10:59 a.m.



October 10, 2006

Mornin'

Most other people have stress dreams where they're in a flat sprint bare-ass naked through the halls of their high school trying to get to an exam that they're late for; I have stress dreams about Survivor and Harry Potter. Last night I had a stress dream about both, at the same time. It was Harry Potvivor. Stealthy. In the dream I was playing Survivor XVI but was highly aware that a) I was going to get voted out before the merge, and b) that I wouldn't be watching this Survivor anyway because of how much it sucks. Probsty got really mad at one point. Then our tribe was trucked out to a nearby mega-mall which also happened to be Hogwarts during Book VII, right at the end in fact, when Harry was gonna go for the big showdown with Voldy. Let me tell you, gentle Potterphiles, it is not going to go well for our man Harry. In the dream I was kind of revolving between being Harry, being Hermione, and being me ("me" in this case being an unpopular Ravenclaw third-year). About five people got killed all at once at the beginning of the last act of the story, including Ron and McGonagall. The dream ended with me going video game shopping with Daniel Radcliffe, who both was, and was not, Harry Potter, whom I also both was and was not. That's dreaming for you.

Mornings like this I can't help but waking up and wondering, are we all gonna die? Most likely we're not but you can't help but shake the children of the Cold War when the first thing they see on the papers are the words "NORTH KOREA" and "NUCLEAR" in the same headline. So, let's talk about TV:

Smith is down! Admittedly the second and third episodes did not live up to the first one but I thought they'd at least let the show get through the next major heist (November) before giving it the axe. Instead they did a complete panic pull from the Tuesday night lineup, not even burning off the episodes they've produced thus far. Foolish. Meanwhile, Heroes gets the season order. I remain cautious, if only because I have a feeling that one season just ain't gonna do it. And how is Studio 60 still "on the bubble"? People: pay attention.

Something in my Movable Type re-install over the weekend clearly backfired like an old man straining to get out of a chair, because the entry editor in my back end (woo!) is completely fucked up. I don't know if it's endemic to MT 3.33 (I've sent a ticket into the support system) or if something just pooched on my upload (more likely). The really annoying thing is that I can't reinstall without starting the whole system from scratch (undesirable), so I have to wait until the next version upgrade before the database will recognize that there are new components to be added. Boy, I bet reading about the guts of Tederick.com is just what the doctor ordered for a Tuesday morning, huh? Lucky you.

October 8, 2006

Things I am thankful for

Taking a page from Matty "Gormenghast" Price's recently-updated book, it's time to sing the praises of the things for which I am thankful. I am not Jewish, so instead of Yom Kipping it, I shall Turkeyday it. (That means I don't talk about the things about me that suck.) Besides, I never Yom. Yomming is for goats.

Before I can even begin this list though, I am obviously most thankful at this particular moment that Matthew, Leah and Max weren't killed or even slightly injured in the car accident today. That's a pretty good way to start any week, with your friends not dying. So let's all have a moment to offer up thanks to whatever forces we believe in, for keeping the Price/Gryfes in the world. The rest of the list is below.

Things I am thankful for:

That so gall-darned many people are of like enough mind to me (or fond enough of me) that they dressed up like pirates for my birthday.

That Superman returned, and brought me with him.

That each month has a smell and I know and appreciate them all.

That blogTO is kicking ass and taking names and that I get to be there while it does.

That I have been gifted with an ability to do some things well, even if they are not necessarily the exact things I would prefer to excel at.

That Penelope and Lake of Fire are as far apart as two movies can possibly be and yet they're both the best film I've seen this year.

Lead grey offset by Van Gogh yellow.

That I have been in love with complicated women.

The score from Batman Begins, which pretty much got me through my week. And, I suppose, I'm thankful for Batman generally. Can't get enough of that guy. Or Daredevil. Or the Runaways. Or... fuck, I love comics.

Box girls.

Dust, tea, green, air, and vaginas. (Not combined. Though wouldn't that be something.)

All my best friends, of which there are many.

That in a time of great evil, there is still the capacity for good.

That everything that I went through last fall did not drive me to suicide. That when I sounded the panic alarm my family really did bail me out just like you would expect a family to do. That I went from a beggar in all areas of my life to an unexpected surfeit of riches in so little an amount of time, when I needed it the most. That I learned. That I saw what I saw, and can see further now.

Be thankful, internet!

moviesTO #49: Bringing out the Departed

Things get back to normal on the podcast today with the usual pot pourri of news, rants, and reviews (The Departed, lovingly paraphrasing the written review below). Thought it would be a short show but it ended up 20 minutes as usual... guess my rants ran long.

Click here to download the podcast.

The Departed

I don't know what the hell got up Martin Scorsese's ass here. The Departed almost feels like someone else made it. Sure, there are the usual concessions to his nominal style - the stunning use of visceral violence, the neo-classic in-camera gags like winking irises and freeze frames, and the use of the Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter" not once, but twice. In spite of this, however, it's amazing how un-Scorsesian this flick feels... and not in a good way.

Click here to read my review.

October 7, 2006

Still green (I hope)...

OK this is just a test because I just installed the latest version of Movable Type, this very blog's beating heart...

...hope this works...

...scared out of my mind right now...

I want to set the record straight: I thought the cop was a prostitute.

Here's a site that pairs random Nietzche quotes with Family Circus cartoons, resulting in surprisingly compelling insights into human foibality. And also occasional gasps at just what a dork that guy was.

And on the other side of the sphere, here's a study that does away with the "it takes women a lot longer to get aroused" theory. At least when it comes to watching pornography, which, let's face it, arouses us all. Sort of amazing that no one twigged to the fact that the results of previous surveys might have been skewed by the measuring probe sitting uncomfortably in the womens' vaginas. Me, I can't get aroused when I have a Q-tip in my ear. It's a problem.

HEY--did I mention that I went without a sex drive for a full week recently? It was fascinating. I was a flatline. Not a single erotic thought or impulse for, like, six full days or so. That hasn't happened in my life before. It happened just after I turned 30. Related? Doubt it actually, more likely just wasn't eating enough bran.

October 6, 2006

Hairless

I'm bald now. Like, Ripley bald. I even did the thing where I slowly approached the fogged-up mirror and then wiped the fog aside with one hand, to shock the audience. And in addition to de-hairing my skull, I also shed the Kenobi beard. I bought a new razor just for the de-bearding. I'm up to five blades now. I don't know what the next number jump is going to be in the field of razorbladeology... being that I am not a doctor of razorbladeology. Actually I suspect they'll start going back down again until we're left with a single monofilament wire that gives you a close shave, yes, but also has the potential to cut large chunks of your face off if you get too jiggy with it. Anyways, the five-blader has batteries like the three-blader so that it hums and cuts real close. And it came in this orange-and-clear-acrylic coccoon thingie that I suppose is meant to be a little keep case for the razor or something... the last time I saw something like it, it was going into a vagina. Sensual. But, no denying that my face hasn't felt this baby-ass-like since it was a baby's ass. (Wait, didn't I tell you about that? The time when my face was a baby's ass?) Yes.

Wait, what is with the woman on the Gilette Fusion web site?! Holy fuck I oughta test links before I post them. But no time to edit now.

Cleopatra Jones is dead.

Respect, brothers. One foxy momma is leavin' the hood tonight.

Merry Catmas!

Link is here.

Cats in sinks are here.

Other things I know about Zam (that I learned after the last post):

  • Zam once left a man laying in a pool of his own blood for mispronouncing the word "tunafish."
  • Zam invented sudoku.
  • It's not that Zam dislikes you, just that she has more important things to think about than your feelings.

October 5, 2006

EXTREME STEVE!!!! episode fifteen

TIGHTPANTS IS LOST!!

Shall we begin calling her Mrs. Kate Tightpants?

I'm glad I got spoiled on this cuz if I didn't, I woulda shit all over the couch.

Vic Park westbound after the rain

Hydra

One thing more that popped out of my brain this morning: I like the fact that after two years of people whining about it, the polar bear question was solved with a single throwaway line. Take that.

October 4, 2006

Stun me bacon

I have spent the last ten minutes not writing this post, because I had a really good title for it earlier and now I can't remember what the fuck it was. This is some new level of infuriating. GAHHH!!

Anyhoo. Lost. I was close, right? Not so much a '50s town but a bucolic suburban la-la-wood nonetheless. So I was off by a couple of decades. So what. Did you see that look Kate gave Sawyer? Hells with that, did you see the look I gave Kate's right boob in that dress? Yes you did.

So let's see... like dear Becca, I am now officially going to be (co-)writing a sex column. It's for blogTO and it is as yet nameless. It will be weekly and it will be myself and two others writing it. We may call it T&O (thanks Sameer!). The original idea was to do advice style stuff but now that's looking like a no, so instead it'll be Toronto-centric sex-related gabbing on a regular basis, with enough personal stuff to make the people who have actually had sexplay with me blush with rage. (Or possibly, no one will ever come near me again for the rest of time.) It's all still very much in the planning stages but I'm taking a moment to stand back and marvel at the fact that I actually achieved this.

Marvel.

I spent over a hundred and fifty dollars on clothes today and bought absolutely nothing that I actually wanted. Does that seem proper? Stupid business casual. The stuff I bought today was just supposed to be the "necessary" stuff that I had to get through before I could get onto buying a few things for my own enjoyment. And I blew the whole damn budget on it. This is why I fucking hate shopping and fucking hate clothes. (Okay. I bought a ludicrously expensive pair of boxers that really were just for me. Me, and someone I want to show them to. But otherwise, fuck garb. Fuck it hard.)

The T-storm woke me up early and I went in to work early and left work early and just now I caught sight of myself in the mirror and actually had cause to remark out loud, "Man, I look like shit." I am just dog tired. Starting to look forward to my trip out of town a couple of weeks hence, though... makes a nice parcel of time for me to cut through. And so far, October's been brilliant.

The Benedict Chronicles: Tulip

"...as plate after plate of fluffy poached eggs, cartilaginous peameal, and lakes of sunshiney goo continued to pile up over time, I realized that if I don't start catalogueing these excursions in some formal manner, a great field of human knowledge would be lost. Hence, the Benedict Chronicles..."

I had a dream on the weekend where all the eggs benedicts I've reviewed over the past few months were being served to me in succession and I was being forced to eat them all. Naturally, I woke up and drove me and Bex to the Tulip to have the greasiest eggs benedict available in the Western hemisphere.

You want grease? This is grease. If grease relieves your hangovers, then the Tulip's benedict is the holy fucking grail. If, on the other hand, grease causes migraines for you, then this dish will actually kill you. It's impossible to get this much grease on a benny without actually soaking it in the fryer for ten or fifteen minutes, which they might very well have done in this case. My benny was so soggy it came apart like fall-off-the-bone ribs. Mmmm grease.

Sometimes, that's exactly what you want. Other times, it reeks of excess. This instance was square in the middle of those two situations. In fact what I ended up enjoying more than the eggs themselves were the greasy greasy has browns. Boy howdy were those all right. Served for $7.95 and armed with a cup of coffee and a glass of water, the Tulip's benedict was a pretty solid start to a Saturday morning in Toronto. Eggs were well cooked and the hollandaise was decent if a bit pale. The goo factor in the english muffin and the peameal was a bit gross, but again, you get what you go in for, and I went in for grease. Three eggs out of four!

The Tulip is located at 1610 Queen St. East, near Coxwell, in Toronto. The Benedict Chronicles is an ongoing, non-regular series.

An army of frogs

I was just dreaming that I was fooling around with a new program on my computer: Spectre, the instant messaging program for communicating with the dead. I don't remember who I was talking to. Actually I don't think it was anyone specific, just some dead person. So the conversation was like:

Me: So, you're dead?
Ghost: Yup.
Me: Neat.

Second morning in a row woken up before seven by a crackin' thunderstorm. Went into work early yesterday so that I could leave early, but that's a rum option for today since I have to be downtown at 7 tonight anyway.

Things I know about my cat Zam:

  • When the apocalypse comes, Zam will command an army of frogs.
  • Zam refuses to wear a hat for political reasons.
  • Zam is not Tederick's horse.
  • When the streets clear out because there's going to be a gunfight, Zam sticks around.
  • Zam supports your right to choose.
  • Zam will eat the chicken but would prefer the fish.
  • Other cats sleep; Zam prepares.

October 3, 2006

This race is for rubber ducks, not meat ducks

This is the dangerous time. This is when in a sane and rational universe I'd just go to bed, but I don't really feel like it, so instead I'm fucking around doing meaningless stuff for no reason at all. I just watched three minutes of The Gilmore Girls for crying out loud. And now I'm in the slow-roll gut crawl through the blogsphere hoping that someone whose blog I just checked two minutes ago might update it two minutes from now and give me something to read. Pfeh.

Things my room currently smells like:

  • steak
  • All Spice
  • vague mustiness
  • pirates

Things my room currently sounds like:

  • outside
  • The Simpsons
  • snoring cat
  • gurgling belly
  • the world.

October third

I have a theory. To confirm it, I have to read Watchmen and From Hell again. Between that and Lost Girls, it's Alan Moore's month.

I am rather enjoying the rain right now. And the peace and quiet.

Wedding #2 on Sunday night, Courtney and Jason's at the Old Mill (where my aunt and uncle got married). The calmest bride I've ever seen, which I suppose I should have expected, but man... we should all be so ourselves on our wedding day. It's a rare gift. It was also heartening to see a wedding with so many children about and involved - the maid of honour and best man were Jason's junior sibs - and so foreign to my experience because, of course, my generation in my family is as yet rather... ahem... delayed in that department. Going to a pair of weddings on the weekend, I couldn't help but spend a good quantity of time speculating on which among my age set will be the first to crack. Mark's the obvious forerunner right now but I have a sneaking suspicion about that Trevor kid. He likes to win.

Mamo #60: The TV Show

It's rainin' sideways!!!

October 1, 2006

I still know how to write a thesis statement, thank you very much.

"Chicken baloney, though not entirely successful in unifying the disparate flavour combinations of both chicken and baloney, is nonetheless a worthwhile addition to the cold cut lineup if only for the opportunities it affords for one to say 'chicken baloney.'"

Cat AIDS. It's definitely the cutest of the AIDS.

[The title above] is something I actually said at 3QF today. We have such hilarious conversations. As much as I feel like I'm about ten years behind the times living in this frat house, it's more than made up for by the funny. And the giant roaches.

Boy I tell ya, there are few things in the world I enjoy doing more than driving the 401 around the Guelph / Kitchener-Waterloo area at this time of year under a slate-grey sky. It's like an entire slice of the planet that was created just for me to stare at while listening to music and thinking about my life. Somehow I've lucked into doing this just coincidentally over the past few years, but I think I ever clock a year where I don't get some westbound 401 autumn drivetime I'm going to go starkers. These moments really affects me in a positive way.

So yeah, wedding yesterday, with me as videographer. There were problems. Like the power line blowing in the first five minutes. (I had batteries.) And a toddler being seated right in front of the camera, and shrieking through the vows, right into the mic. (I may subtitle the vows.) Or the photographer who liked to stand immediately between the video camera and the couple, every single time he was standing still for anything. (I killed him and drank deep of his blood.) But I tell ya: the GL-2 is one hell of a machine. The colour density is stunning. Rich greens and blues, clear whites, razor-sharp shadow detail. What a lens on that thing. A significant improvement on the GL-1. And not even the camera I would buy if I were buying a camera. Significant.

And further to the point below: Studio 60, too, is some really kickass television. Boy, is it safe to like TV drama again? At last?

moviesTO #48: The DVD Show

Had to squeak in another episode of moviesTO this month in spite of the fact that I haven't been back to the theatres since TIFF, so I did a little pet project of mine: a show where I do nothing but talk about DVDs, including my favourite DVDs ever. Which I sort of hastily assembled off my shelves a couple of minutes before the show started. CAN YA TELL?! Well anyways it was fun.

Click here to peep it.

Sensitive men go down

Ray Liotta goes down on his wife - on prime time television, mind you - in the first five minutes of the pilot episode of Smith. I think we have enough instances now to evolve a full-on Theory of Modern Filmmaking. Inasmuch as if you want an audience to like a character you make him good at his job, clearly if you want an audience to think that a husband is a good man in spite of whatever else is going on (former mobster in History of Violence, hired assassin for Mossad in Munich, professional thief in Smith), you have him go down on his wife.

John Wells sure as shit knows how to write a pilot, man. That was some solid television. But really, the ratio between how much TV people think I watch and how much I actually watch is pretty amusing. There just isn't any goddamned time and I'd rather be watching movies anyway. To make room for Smith and Heroes I had to lose Amazing Race and How I Met Your Mother.

Also it seems that I'm the reason new television shows fail. As much as I've bitched endlessly about the current network practice of cancelling a show within two or three episodes, I've taken to scanning the first ten minutes of new programs and making my decision... I'm giving these poor bastards ten minutes!! God help you if you don't have a plane blowing up or a museum job going horribly badly in those ten minutes, or you'll never make it past the gate.