Tederick.com: February 2007 Archives
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February 28, 2007

Three's company

Not only are our temporary downstairs housemates - also known as Thumpy and the Breeze - moving out right now in spite of the fact that we thought (with the "for rent" sign having at last vanished a few weeks ago) that they were with us for life,

Not only are we getting entirely new housemates as yet unclaimed by irritation-induced nicknames,

but the aforementioned new housemates are reportedly three young women.

Who would like to write the theme music for Chris and I's new sitcom?

"Oh my god, the crazy bitch lit the house on fire." - Adam Brown

Well, I'm gonna vote against walking away

Oh my christ. Molly and the Fastball Special. Oh my holy moly Molly McGoo.

So this would be the part of the story where I write the grade-school essay on What Runaways Has Meant To Me. This would be done just in case Joss Whedon really sucks or something, or more likely, that whoever takes over from him when he bails at the end of the year will really suck. This is because with the end-of-term of Brian K. Vaughan on the book that made him Brian K. Vaughan and not just weenie Brian from down the street, it's possible that things just won't be the same any more.

Look, for whatever reason, Runaways has been the little fuzzy happy spot that has seen me through one of the darker times of my life. I don't think in the grand scheme it is the most significant fuzzy happy spot from either an artistic nor personal perspective; it's just that it happened to be there when I needed it like Tederick, and was approximately as huggable and warm. It was also my first ongoing series as a comic fan that I didn't really owe to anything else, beyond that little tip of the hat that Whedon gave it in some interview a couple years back when asked what he thinks comic fans should be reading. I can just hope that someday I'll do something that is as unabashedly pleasurable for its audience as Runaways was for me.

There's yer euology. Another ending.

Last night Chris and I met about his latest draft of Portrait of a Young Artist in My Bed. I am now officially excited about this. I think the script is pretty much there. I asked him to take a few things out and rewrite one of the scenes (a scene which amounts, I think, to three quarters of a page). After that I think we're pretty much good to go on this thing. I'm not going to be able to throw as much money at it as I'd originally hoped to but I think I can still get something tidy down for a couple grand or thereabouts. I'm looking forward to designing the look of the thing next. Chris asked me what my plan was, visually, while we were talking last night, and I realized I didn't have anything more concrete than a few stray ideas. Then, unrelatedly, I popped Serenity in the player intending to watch about ten minutes and ended up seeing the thing all the way through, and I sort of realized that... uh... that's the visual style. Just in terms of the movement style of the camera, the density (or lack of same) of the stagings, and particularly the use of colour in the interiors. It's not exactly a dead match given that Portrait is a two-hander in a bedroom and Serenity is nine people on a space ship. But it's an idea. Someone know Jack Green?

It was my mother's birthday on the weekend and my father flew my Aunt Linda in from Alabama as a surprise. Because my father is a cool guy. I haven't seen my aunt in a few years and it was nice to catch up, and we all went out for a bigass dinner and so on and so forth. Then when I got home that night Daniel and Demetre came over to my house (Chris had invited them) and the four of us ended up just sort of surfing through some of our past work. Aside from the fact that those three scoundrels had the audacity to call Bone Daddy 1 superior to Bone Daddy 2, a thought so repulsive it almost prompted a full-out blog rant with annotated footnotes, it was a damned entertaining time. Particularly, I watched the original Portrait of a Young Artist in My Bed, setting my mind at ease about how and where my remake fits into the Grander Scheme. Plus, schoolgirl line: golden.

It's 7:11 at night and I just had my third coffee of the day and I have to work tomorrow. What the fuck am I thinking about? Gonna go find some grub and go home and watch Lost. It occurs to me that this entire blog post was done in lieu of my Terra homework. Fuck! I'm a bad daddy.

Elephant from behind

EXTREME STEVE!!!! episode thirty-four

February 27, 2007

A searing portrait of human desperation

I am starting a new initiative: promoting the use of "lesbian" instead of "gay" in derogatory expressions regarding something's stupidity. So instead of "that's so gay," now you'd say "that's so lesbian." I feel it is important that we heterosexual white males oppress all sexual minorities equally. I'd like to achieve a 50/50 split on the uses of "gay" and "lesbian" in the popular lingo of retarded 14-year-olds expressing their displeasure, before 2012.

And don't get me started on what I want to do to "retarded."

Hey that almost rhymes, it could be a new rap song.

Don't get me started
on what I wanna do to "retarded"
hey I think I farted
that's how this got started BREAK IT!!

Yes. This is what we call "procrastination." I am currently in the calm between two storms, obligations-wise. Today I am just spending the day writing project plans. It is pretty nice, and it reminds me of my old life. But soon, soon my daytimes will be consumed again by the Wrath. And then who knows where the winds will take me? I'm also trying to move some ground on Portrait and Captain Napalm and the secrets movie so that I don't get caught pants-down come June.

As part of my mini non-vacation I went home last night and watched two movies. Unrelatedly they both turned out to be black and white. I watched Mouchette and then Good Night and Good Luck. The former was almost overwhelmingly upsetting for me and one of the best films of any era I've seen in quite a while. The latter, on the other hand, seems to eclipse on the small screen any reservations I might have once had with it. That flick is fucking scotch. I think I should watch it every two years for the rest of my life.

And I rather think I should make a black and white movie this year. Black and white looks nice. Yesterday I came up with what I think would be a decent little 2- or 3-minute documentary on comparative cultural mythology that I could shoot if Matty Price end up going to Philadelphia for ID4. I don't think it's necessarily a black and white movie but it's a movie. I am coming up with movie ideas a lot more frequently these days than I have been of late. I wonder if that's a sign of progress or one of desperation?

February 26, 2007

Whore for the cinema

oh my god ALAN BALL VAMPIRE SERIES HBO ANNA PAQUIN JAPANESE SYNTHETIC BLOOD OH MY GOD!!!!

(That is as close as the internet can come to representing my thought process when I read that news.) Sign me up, Wendy, I'm there.

The Oscars were an uncomfortably disappointing experience for me. Not disappointing because I got pantsed on my picks (boy, oh boy, did I get pantsed) but because I just felt like even more so than that the Oscars usually deny what I would consider to be the "most deserving" in any given category, last night there was a higher-than-usual level of denial of even the ones who I would think would sail through the process on those unspoken rules of how one actually wins an Oscar. I was pissed about O'Toole, pissed about Guillermo, pissed about Babel and pissed about Little Miss Sunshine because oh my god did you see her in that dress? ADORABLE!

Yeah, it was wonderful - actually wonderful - to see Scorsese finally get his prize, even if it was for The Departfuck, and having George, Steven and Francis come out to give it to him was the Academy equivalent of executing the PricewaterhouseCoopers guys, live onstage, before the envelopes could be handed out.

And I have to say, it was really nice that Scorsese thanked me in his acceptance speech. I mean, it was nice that he remembered.

And I got a damn heavy quantity of pleasure out of watching Beyoncé rise up out of the stage in her musical number as if to say to Jennifer Hudson, "you wanna hear what a real singer sounds like, kitten?" before roundly blasting Hudson clean out of the auditorium with her performance.

But otherwise, I give the whole thing the infamous "big fat meh."

Mini-Mamos are a-go-go at the site, if you're so inclined. I am fucking tired. A blizzard came out of nowhere last night making getting to and coming back from Matty Price's place an exercise in endurance, and I don't think I got more than three hours of sleep last night due to vexatious thoughts. And now, the meatball.

February 25, 2007

Dress like your South Park character day

Was on Friday. Although it was also invented on Friday so my delay is somewhat excusable. Also because I actually left my headphones at the office over the weekend, and did so with the actual thought "What could I possibly need them for this weekend? The only person who wears them outside the office is my South Park character." So I had to borrow Adam's.

Problems with the picture:

  1. The beard. Yeah there's no way around it, that beard fucks everything up. Yet when I made up the character it never even occured to me to include a beard. So I guess mentally, I don't have a beard.
  2. Aforementioned Hogwarts scarf.
  3. I do not own cool black cut-off gloves. I only aspire to own cool black cut-off gloves.

February 24, 2007

Assassination vacation

For those who hadn't heard, Bay Station is being repaired over the next few weekends, meaning that Saturday and Sunday subway traffic is being detoured differently through the Museum/Bay/St-George snare, by way of Lower Bay Station, the disused former incarnation of Bay Station which sits (as I understand it) directly below its modern-day antecedent. [Damn, that was hard to describe.] You don't actually get to get out at Lower Bay (that part comes in May) but you cruise through its spectral interior en route to Museum station to get around the work being done on the tracks upstairs. What I realized as soon as I passed through there today was that I'd been there before, at least in film form; a flick I walked out of after five minutes at TIFF last year must have been shot down there, in what I mistook for really, really shitty production design. The unfortunate truth being that Lower Bay just isn't very interesting; it's like a grunged-down copy of regular Bay, but not even grungy enough to be spooky/vampiric. Then my train pushed through to Museum Station and all hell broke loose, as hundreds and hundreds of passengers were awkwardly rerouted to wherever they were supposed to go. I got to watch a TTC guy shriek in near-incoherent rage at three old women who had the temerity to have not heard what he had said ten seconds before, and then mercifully the doors closed and I was on my way downtown.

I'm reading Sarah Vowell's book right now, hence this post's title. She starts with a deft passage describing why she's doing what she's doing - that we all have holy locuses (fine, it's actually "loci") for the things we consider important, and that given that she is obsessed with death in general and assassinations specifically, visiting historical landmarks related to the deaths of Lincoln, Garfield and McKinley is roughly equivalent to other folks going to Jerusalem to lay hands on the wall.

That being the case, my friend Jeff sent me a photo a few weeks back that he took while in California:

Yep, that's Mos Eisley. I gushed back to Jeff about how lucky he was and how I'd only ever been to the Redwoods (Endor in Return of the Jedi) as my sole concession to Star Wars pilgrimmage. Well, as it turns out, Google Maps is not a place to visit if you want to hang on to your illusions. Yeah, I've been to a Redwood forest... but the distance between that one and the actual one where they shot the climactic battle between the Galactic Empire and the forces of the Rebellion was, oh, about two hundred and seventy-some miles.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: if you don't want to know, don't Google.

So it's looking like my Star Wars visitation portfolio is rather threadbare. And this being the 30th anniversary year and all, it occured to me that it was time to finally put pen to paper on something that's been flicking at the back of my skull for a couple of years now: to actually start going to some of these places, if and when opportunities arise. I mean, fuck, my parents have been to Lake Como, but not me. I know a guy who sat on the dunes in Yuma, Arizona, and imagined sail barges. The closest I've ever been to my own pilgrimmage is standing in a forest that looked like another forest and thinking I was in the same one.

Seems to me these are the ones I oughta hit in this decade of my life:

  • Chott el Jerid, Tunisia (the Lars family homestead exteriors in Star Wars and Attack of the Clones)
  • Sidi Driss Hotel, in Matmata, Tunisia (Lars homestead interiors in Star Wars and Attack of the Clones)
  • Sidi Bouhel, Tunisia (Beggar's Canyon in Star Wars and the island where the Ark ceremony took place in Raiders of the Lost Ark)
  • Death Valley, California (supplemental Tatooine exteriors, including Jeff's shot above)
  • Finske, Norway (Hoth in The Empire Strikes Back)
  • Lake Como, Italy (Naboo's lake country in Attack of the Clones)
  • Yuma, Arizona (Tatooine exteriors in Return of the Jedi, including the barge battle, and a personal wanna-do of mine ever since I was a kid)
  • Eureka, California (aforementioned Endor exteriors in Return of the Jedi, and I'm bringing Tederick to this one, being as that it is the Honourary Forest of his Birth)

Yeah. That's achievable.

February 23, 2007

No more. I'm finished with that shite!

I've come to a rather significant decision. I've decided that I have to get off the skag, and by skag, I mean the Silver Snail. I mean, where is this relationship going? For fuck's sake, it's Friday night and all I can think about is whether I can make it down there before the 8:00 close. Sooner or later it'll just fuckin' well kill me, I'll be crossing the street or something to buy a Dawn action figure and a streetcar will come out of nowhere and it'll be me in the back of a hearse with no Dawn action figure and precious little valuable life to look back on. I am tired of being an addict, tired of getting skeezy shakes of an evening if I don't have at least one Snail visit planned over the weekend and another on Wednesday to pick up the comics. No, no, no. Man was not meant to live like this. I'm off to buy paracetamol and pornography.

Various linkages:

Potterbottom!

Dog vs. dog for control of bear!

Frat party gets out of control!

In related news, sword vs. pornography!

Dave and April's cat Woody passed away this week. He was a wonderful cat who had a number of amazing adventures. One of which included a six-week disappearance that ended with him being located halfway across town under the pseudonym "Princess." I wanted Dave to turn that story into the prequel for The Gift. I will miss Woody. He was bony and enjoyable.

Vagina Dentata: The Movie.

Bring this movie to Toronto, TIFFGroup. Do it now. Now now now now now now. God damn it all to hell it's a movie about a girl who actually has fangs on her pussy, about male insecurity and vaginal fear. I want this like sugar candy.

Next up: Sarlaac, the Musical!

February 22, 2007

Me in South Park, v3

The South Partwork for this week's Extreme Steve was created on the South Park Studio, which has come a long way since the last two times I used it (version 1, verison 2, both circa 2002). And this entire process this week was kicked off by Onearmalyn's rendering of herself last week, which, as I said in her comments, is a character that looks so good, if she was actually on South Park, I would watch South Park.

Well, no sense in my not revising myself while I was at it:

LOVE IT!!! The real gain on the character generator this time around is in customization. I get to have a Tederick and a Superman shirt and my new headphones. Technically it should be a Hogwarts scarf but whatever. On the whole I'd say internet technology is leaping forward, as it should.

The Benedict Chronicles: Bloor Street Diner

"...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..."

The Benedict Chronicles returns for the first time in 2007 with a review of the Bloor Street Diner. I was craving benedict last week for the first time since the incident so when the sibs and I found ourselves at the Manulife Centre with a powerful need to eat, Adam suggested the Bloor Diner, saying that it was on the pricey side but very tasty. And to my delight, there was an all-day benedict on the menu. Brilliant.

Pricey is right - the damn thing costs $12. And the coffee came with milk instead of cream - most disgusting. And I specifically asked for home fries and got salad - what the fuck. Yet in spite of all these factors, this was a powerfully satisfying benedict. The eggs were a bit on the smallish side but the hollandaise favoured the butter, resulting in a creamy concoction that was light, fluffy, and goddamned tasty as hell. The peameal was right in my zone even if the eggs were slightly underdone. (I can't complain about th eggs, though, because the degree to which the medium-easy yolks exploded into collusion with the hollandaise was a large part of the meal's success.) Even the salad I didn't order turned out to be a really decent accompaniment to a luncthime eggs benedict, and I'm not much of a salad fan generally so that's really saying something.

On the whole I have little choice but to award the Bloor Diner's benny three and a half eggs out of four.

The Bloor Street Diner is located at 55 Bloor Street West, on the first level of the Manulife Centre. The Benedict Chronicles is an ongoing, non-regular series.

February 21, 2007

You may have been to Phuket, Doc, but I've been to Tallahassee.

I find Jack a very frustrating character, all in all. I identify with him far more than I suppose I should, especially given what a twerp he is most of the time. I don't know why, in spite of the mounting number of times he's a complete numbskull, I still think of him as my representative voice on the island, the guy who I most would like to a) bone Kate, b) get tattoos about leadership, and c) lead the Losties bearing torches to the rim of a volcano to do battle with a dragon. Or whatever. All the girls are swooning over Sawyer and the Sawyerly things he does and all I would cut off my left second-from-the-outside toe (let's be realistic about this, it's just a TV show) for ten minutes of his upper arms, or to somehow harness the ability to keep my stubble at the exact length he keeps it. Like any great icon I want to be him as much as I want to fuck him; I'm just amazed at the degree to which common sense gets utterly bypassed in my idolatry. Did one damn thing Jack did tonight make a single lick of sense? It all seemed to come together in the tail end with some sort of great groundswell of meaning, but it was meaning utterly divorced from any of the decisions and moments in the preceding 57 minutes. Or was it? Has Lost finally slipped around me and constructed a narrative that moves in two directions at once, hiding the trick by flashing the gimmick, giving its own porny m.o. a moment's uncertainty on the shores of sandy Phuket? "That's what it says, not what it means"? God fucking help me I need better role models, or clearer writers.

The end of the war

I launched 24 e-learning objects today, people. It was a new personal record. The e is officially learning now, on my BS&T. So that's something.

Got out of the office as quickly as I could and went downtown on one of those perfect springtime evenings - yes, I'm calling it springtime, even if the 6-degree weather will last a mere day and a half - to play my tiny little part in the end of Civil War, which largely involved oh-so-pleasing Snail banter and a really, really fucking good burrito in a golden alley in the quiet. The close of the 7-issue megavent was emotionally impressive, if narratively weak. On the whole I'd say CW (not to be confused with the CW, mind you) lasted about 6 weeks past its emotional mileage point; I wasn't so much excited for the conclusion as I was glad that the entire enterprise was over with at last. But still. So very damn much got accomplished here, reset-buttonish ending notwithstanding. It's hard not to be anything but glad I was here to see it. Which, I realized at around 6:30, is sort of how I feel about everything these days.

On the whole, in its music and its lighting and its smells in the air and the comic books in coffee shops and coats and rhymes and smiles and hoodies and girlie-pants, today up and reminded me of 2004. 2004, the year I left Bearshark and fell in love and went off on my own little adventure, when everything was possibilities and oatmeal. Can't quite believe it's taken me three years to catch a whiff of something that even reminded me of that time, but it feels like something similar's coming round again, and I believe it for the first time in what feels like forever. Man oh man. Boy oh boy.

And this.

And this.

And this.

I await the Hutt.

My war is over. Extreme Steve's war is just beginning.

"I guess there's worse things... than being a ghost." - Spike

EXTREME STEVE!!!! episode thirty-three

February 20, 2007

Why do you act so stupid? You know that I'm always right.

I put that shit in the ground, my friends. That big, overwhelming, epoch-making project that I've been throwing 12-hour days at since the middle of January is now, officially, an ex-parrot. SENSE OF ACCOMPLISHMENT!!

To celebrate, here's Sulu, largely because Sulu is awesome.

I feel freaking terrific. Yoga was better today, food tasted better today, all the pieces lined up and knocked down like perfect little action figures. I broke open the emergency rum and danced out the door at 5:30, finished off a book on the train as night fell, and sank deep, deep into the music. And my father must be some kind of god in human form, because I came home damn hungry and in a celebratory mood, and what was in the care package he sent me off with on Sunday night? Half a turkey, some stuffing, some gravy, and a peach pie. I made up some mashed potatoes with disgustingly thick mushroom gravy, and just went to town on the whole mess in the pirate bowl Rebecca gave me, and for a little while knew perfect happiness. This is how I gather together all the pieces of a long, disgustingly complicated thing-I-done: I put little bits of the happies in a big, decadent token, and consoom.

Hey guess what? After about four months of off-and-on efforts in this regard, I have finally put some of my movies on my video iPod. It took this long because Macs convert video for iPods that either a) are virtually unviewable because they're so digitally distorted, or b) have no sound. The no sound issue was particularly funny because if you Google "convert selection for iPod" and "no sound" you get message boards where half the Mac users are complaining about this very problem with converting mpegs to iPod video, and the other half are insisting that the problem does not exist. Which pretty much sums up Mac. "Nothing is wrong. Everything is working normally. Do not complain." Ho!

And now to the top-off: I came home and found a package waiting for me, and in that package was American Cinema on DVD. Which may seem utterly meaningless to you but to me is, quite literally, the arrival of the Holy Grail of the past seven years of buying DVDs for me, and is in fact a Grail of my entire filmmaking education and experience. This series, produced back in the mid-90s and aired on PBS, was essentially my film school primer. It is the exact thing that took the me who grew up watching The Making of the Empire Strikes Back and gave him an almost overwhelmingly intoxicating understanding of the wider context of narrative cinema as a whole. It is a Very Happy Thing. And now that I have it, all the little pieces have coalesced into one warm, satisfied whole. I exist in an attitude of gratitude.

"If I really cared so much about facts, I should have written a different kind of book. But my work was done. There would be no further drafts." - Atonement

Mamo #73: The Bullshit

MP and I dragged ourselves out of hiding to comment on the pure insanity that is the Ghost Rider opening - once again wondering whether we are, in fact, presiding over the death of an art form.

Click here to download.

February 18, 2007

Your kisses make me blue

Honestly, is meeting a girl who can have an intelligent conversation about Harry Potter so much to ask? Or this: there is a guy out there in the city of Toronto somewhere who is dating the spitting image of Natalie Portman. I mean the spitting image. I mean if it weren't for the detached earlobes I would have thought it was NP in a baseball cap. This is happening all around us, right now. Stupid wintery city and its evil discontents. I am mad on the fish pills right now.

Standoff is up and running on the Lot web site. It is number fourteen thousand eight hundred and fifty-nine. You can go watch it, and far more importantly, you can (yes I know this is a pain in the ass) create an account, sign in, and rate it.

Now, I know my friends and my readers and I know that half of you think that this missive doesn't apply to you and the other half of you are waiting for a tree limb to fall on me. But I would really appreciate your support in this matter. Being as that this is a competition and not a film forum, your taking the time to boost the star rating would mean a lot to me; lowering the star rating would be a spectacular misunderstanding of the point of the hyperlink. Don't give me none of your theoretical morality dammit. Just help me win! It's called being e-supportive.

Among the work-to-date on the weekend thus far:

  • Daniel had a book launch yesterday at Art Metropole. I bought the book so I guess the launch worked. Actually I think I am going to buy any book that a friend of mine has written, because it seems that I view publishing a book as a greater human achievement than just about anything else someone can do up to and including having a child. This is because I am still Ian Waldron's little English snob.
  • Watched King Kong '76 en masse, a film which I succinctly described as "a spectacular miscalculation."
  • Wrote, and then re-wrote, my latest pages on Terra. Much harder this time than last. Most fun to be had in writing character descriptions for the Brothers Black, our heavies for the next issue or two... Marcus, Merry, and Adwaller (the latter described as "looks remarkably like Wembley Fraggle and says very little"). I tell ya, if I could get paid to write for a living I'd never do anything else. (Besides the much-needed Writing Procrastination.)
  • I await the Hutt.

Yesterday my brother and sister and I went for lunch together. At one point we were walking side by side down the main corridor of the Manulife centre with matching Starbucks coffee cups in our hands - Short for Caitlin, Tall for Adam, and Grande for me. We were like the three bears!

February 16, 2007

I don't believe in panic, I don't believe in fear

Occasionally I wear a Bea Arthur t-shirt. It's a fairly obsessive green so I can't get away with it often. But sometimes.

Last night I had a dream that involved every single thing ever. Lost and my first girlfriend and Pirates of the Caribbean 3. Portable classrooms and HIlda Rasula and Darwinism. Game shows and Berlin and Dylan McKay. It was a trip, man. And I had a headache throughout, had it from when I went to bed to when I woke up, so that every time I woke up in the night my first thought was "still headache."

So annnnyyyywayyyyssss, yesterday was a good damn day. I kicked ass yesterday in the forward motion department. You know what I was like? I was like Data when he's typing so fast you can't see his fingers. Or Barclay that one time when he got all juiced up with Mega Intelligence. Or some other Star Trek: The Next Generation thing. But yeah, it was one of those nicer days when stress and pressure translated into a good level of adrenaline that actually made me better at executing my tasks, rather than turning into a giant enveloping ball of stress that shut me down. So I'm very pleased about that. I'm feeling very positive about the opportunities presenting themselves at work, and the way they reinforce my strategies for keeping calm under pressure, both personally and in groups. There are meditative advantages to be had. So... bully for the white boy.

Good news for Sideshow Boromir: production figure is appreciably close to the prototype, even though that coat looks a bit like a rain slicker now. Still, he did better than Aragorn. I shall not cancel my order.

Bad news for The Boys becomes good news for The Boys! If you're not reading this comic you really should be. It's quite the thing. And Wildstorm's inability to support a comic like this means that Chad and I will have to take our potty-mouthed Butch elsewhere, dammits! DYN-O-MITE!! Sadly, however, I picked up only my second issue of Nextwave to discover that this is apparently the end of the run. That's what I get for being born under a bad sign.

Aaron Eckhart is Harvey Two-Face. Insert Jack Nicholson "Eckhart" joke here.

I want to live in this Toronto. So, so much.

"If you will not be turned... you will be destroyed." - The Emperor

Best Vagina Friday ever.

Let's face it, Vagina Fridays has gone to hell in a labial handbasket since the new year. I guess I sort of lost the rhythm on the thing. But earlier this week my brother e-mailed me what, simply, must be the greatest VF post topic of all time:

Star Wars menstrual art.

While I suppose I always presumed that painting with menstrual flow was at least possible, I never in a million years thought that I'd find a whole web site devoted to it and one artist in particular whose personal artistic ken(obi) takes her in the direction of rendering Yoda, Chewie and Jabba in golden-rusty blood. I mean... fuck, I don't even know what to do with this, it makes me so happy. What a world we live in where such wonders are possible!

February 15, 2007

Get the fuck outta here

Batman sighting in Phoenix!!!

Only fools are enslaved by time and space

That line is apparently what you get if you run the Clockwork Orange scene from last week's Lost backwards, and I tend to agree. The universe does not have a giant self-correcting mechanism that puts any sod who successfully avoids getting hit by a bus onto a collision course with another bus. There is no Final Destination mechanism in the clockworks. And my disagreement with this admittedly science-fiction-not-supposed-to-be-real conceit was what kept last night's Lost from being my Favourite Episode Ever, an episode that made me feel repeatedly like this.

Talk about Clockwork Orange! That kid is getting psyched out. And so was I, for a whole lot of that very strange and rather surprisingly well-distinguished episode; I admire the breaks with form, and I admire the different direction for the science fiction underpining, and I admire Desmond David Hume Henry Ian Cusick a whole lot. But I am somewhat irritated that a single week after proclaiming that I no longer care about the mysteries of Lost, I am given over to a new enigma. 'Tisn't fair.

Now, I'm not sure if Batman #663 - featuring the much-needed return of Morrison after a 2-ish absence - is the best issue of all time or the worst. The CGI artwork is noxious at best, and the prose is so flat-out arrogant that I wanted to reach through the pages and punch Morrison in his stupid stupid face... but fuckin' hell, that thing evokes. It begins as a love letter to the Joker and ends as cybersex with insanity itself. Sweet, arbitrary insanity and its shimmering, poisonous hues. Vaguely magnificent.

New for the Tederick.com movie glossary: The Quantity vs. Killity Rule. This addresses the fact that a creature's killability varies inversely to the number of creatures present; one alien takes an entire film to kill, but twelve can be killed at a rate of approximately one every five minutes, while a hundred can be killed in a single two-minute firefight. Also applies to cave trolls, Uruk Hai, and, of course, zombies.

February 14, 2007

In my experience...

I don't believe in luck. I don't believe in much of anything any more, really, though I've had some new thoughts in that direction that I may share at some point. But "luck," certainly not. That said, there's no denying that the coincidental nature of the universe occasionally lines up in a pleasing way. This morning, for example, I got into work a bit late due to the snowstorm and was expecting to have to put about an hour into launching an online quiz... because the upload tool is a bit flaky and sometimes you have to voodoo everything into place through upload attempt after upload attempt to get the system to agree with you on principle. Well today, the damn thing worked on the first try. Yes! Then this afternoon I was at Starbucks buying a coffee and I emptied out my change purse thinking I had nowhere near enough to cover the $2.00, and it turned out I had one loonie, one quarter, three nickels, five dimes, and ten pennies. Exactly. (Technically, I also had the Black Dime, but this is irrelevant; I shall never spend the Black Dime.) Or when I got to Burrito Boyz, there was no one there but me and Steph and two guys on the grill. It was a private Burrito Boyz experience, the only one I've ever had. I sat in the back and read my comic and you know what, those burritos really are better when they're made special just for you. These things aren't luck, but they are enjoyable.

Now Astonishing X-Men, that was also enjoyable. So very, very enjoyable. And sort of felt like it was playing on a whole new level in some weird way, upping the colossal (no pun intended) image scope of the series, with bits like Colossus and Kitty falling from the sky onto the world he'll purportedly destroy, and Logan mentoring Armor (yeah that's right!) while sitting in a Buddhist squat, otherwise unrecognizeable as his body heals his face back on. There just seemed to be a bit more going on 'round the edges this time than the normal X-stuff. It is a damn shame this will be done soon, and a damnder shame that the next issue's been pushed to May - though I'll have a Joss Buffy and a Joss Runaways under my belt by then, so no worries.

Right. So working at home until ten, then Lost. It's a plan.

EXTREME STEVE!!!! episode thirty-two HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

February 13, 2007

The girl who could not feel pain

Stayed late at work and ended up beating the storm out the door by about five minutes. Came home, made myself a gigantically satisfying bacon and egg sandwich and watched a thoroughly enjoyable episode of House. I mean, I loved that shit. Everything was just so, even the predictable House clichés that everyone else finds annoying. For me, it was Houseified ambrosia. I had just been rather unusually fucked up by this week's episode of Studio 60 - something a bit too on the nose about the reality/dream confusion, and the drug use, and the end-of-relationship/beginning-of-relationship interplay - so balmy ambrosia was in order. If they'd cast Mika Boorem as Claire on Heroes instead of Puffy McBuffsalot I might still be watching that show. (Well, if they'd also cast other people as everyone else on the show, and also if Tim Kring was nothing more than a figment of Jeph Loeb's imagination.) The ep also clarified for me the fact that I will enjoy any medical mystery where the solution is "worm." I think I've seen that gag maybe three or four times over the years and every single time, I seem to respond saying "yep, the worm is clearly the answer, I am thoroughly satisfied by the relevance of this worm as the answer to this mystery." Next time something goes wrong with me, I'm going to ask the doctor if it could be some kind of worm. How many worms could be causing mysterious medical ailments in me, right now? It's something to think on.

Look! Bored bears!

This'll keep you warm till I can get the shelter built

Buckle up T.O., cuz supposably, the first real winter storm of the year is coming tonight. And how pathetic is that, that it's Valentine's Day and we haven't had a serious dumping? Stupid planet stupid carbon dioxide stupid George Bush stupid everything.

Things I can still do in yoga:

  1. Shavasana

Things I can no longer do in yoga:

  1. Everything else.

OWWWWWW!!! I went to yoga at work today! IT WAS FUCKING HORRIFIC MAN! I've completely lost the muscle strength in my legs. It is gone. I am supremely disappointed in myself. Flexibility: gone. Lung capacity: gone. Ability to focus on the task at hand: surprisingly strong given that the pain makes it impossible to do anything else! Damn. Oh well, maybe what my yoga practice needed was a swift kick in the impossibility factor to make things interesting again.

In other disappointing news, it's possible that my work crush may shortly become unavailable to me. Honestly. What good is a work crush if the issue becomes even remotely complicated???

I have the strongest urge to go home and bury myself in about six hours of My So-Called Life. I need Graham.

February 12, 2007

Guv'munt came and took my baaaby

Let me see if I've got this right: on The Simpsons, Lisa pretended to be an Indian and Bart married a pregnant chick, and then on Family Guy, Peter did crack while Stewie begged Lois to step on his cubes. Oh and the pregnant chick was played by Natalie Portman and yes, the fact that the animated character's hair was blonde made it fundamentally impossible for me to guess whose voice it was. ("Britney Murphy...? ...Drew Barrymore?")

Well anyways. Here's the rundown:

  • Debt: under a grand.
  • Terra: under a grand.
  • Steven Spielberg: under a grand.

I am determined to run this laptop clean off the road. The indicator is telling me I have 7 minutes of power left. I will watch this pansy bitch go dark, my friends. I will be here when it happens. Incidentally this pisses me off - not the Linux joke but the ad campaign generally. It took me a few passes to figure out whether the ads were supposed to be pro-Mac or anti-Mac because the Mac guy is so clearly an example of what you get when you hire a marketing company to come up with the exact white male who represents Macdom, i.e., a shithead.

Here's Miniature Fuckin' Hermione by the way, for those keeping score.

Well whatever. Today was a good day. I updated the Tederick Films section of the site for the first time in forever, and my bio, too, which seemed to predate my I'm-over-Bearshark period in some ways. I finished sending Standoff to both On the Lot and the Worldwide Short Film Festival. My project at work sailed through its brand review, Chad and I got the second issue laid out, and my work for '07 is crystallizing both at actual work and at home (work). So... yes. Aside from the fact that I am hungry and tired and have had little besides cheese to eat today, things are on the up and up.

"I don't know what to do! It's like Hamlet only inconsequential!!" - Matt Brown

Rebel yell

I've just sent Rogers a letter asking them to either stop simulcasting CTV and Global over my four American hi-def channels, or to downscale my rate plan to reflect the fact that I now effectively only receive 2 hi-def channels instead of 6. This, to me, is the funniest joke ever. I go into paroxysms of glee every time I imagine the schlubb - most likely, my opposite number - over at Rogers who gets to open that letter and has to either actually deal with it, or just laugh himself sick.

I also got to use the golden zip code when mailing my On the Lot submission - Beverly Hills 90210, baby! It was pretty hard for me not to get swept away in the romanticism of this submission, I have to say. Now that it's out the door I can return to some more tangible goals. Besides, the submission form addled me. What do you do with "describe your filmmaking style" and "who is your favourite filmmaker and why" and "describe your family?" I was sorely tempted to use the same answer for all three and have that answer be "Steven Spielberg." But I chickened out.

"Sometimes more than one people are the same person." - Daniel Cockburn

February 11, 2007

Twilight of the weed children

Giant Valentine's Day card from the Ladies of the Box! Ours is a forbidden love.

Today Demetre, Hilda and I consulted with Daniel on his feature film script. It was a smaller group than we were expecting but man howdy, it worked like a damn charm. A really, really productive session (I thought) - phenomenally engaging. We talked for almost five hours, drawing connections, puzzling over conceptual challenges, and doing a lot of laughing and cheering on. I think it was what I needed from this weekend: something to drag my head firmly out of where it's been at work all week, and into where it generally feels better being.

After we were done talking about the script, I showed D&D Standoff. I love the toes offa that bitch. When I burned it to DVD this afternoon I ended up watching it four times straight through - I never do that. Usually I can barely bring myself to test a DVD once because I find watching my own movies so frustrating and awkward. But this thing, I think I could pretty much watch all day. We watched it another three times at Daniel's place, and the feedback was all good, and now I've got to package it out for On the Lot and Worldwide tonight. And I've got to get the TF page up to shit, and I have to work out some kind of screening/festival strategy for the flick overall (because I have none), and I still owe a bunch of work on the next flick and the flick after. Man, if only I had more time these days. Three hundred lives of men I’ve walked this earth and now I have no time.

moviesTO finally has its new host, whose debut last week I somehow altogether missed in spite of obsessively checking blogTO every ten seconds. I must admit I haven't been able to bring myself to listen to it yet, even though the first episode is at least in part about one of my very favourite things (Kristin Kreuk). It just feels a bit strange.

"Daddy, you're like Godzilla. You never leave." - Max Price

Grammar lessons for bloggers (and the World At Large)

"Should of"

You mean "should have." (Also applies to: "could have," "would have.") You have probably been writing this wrong since grade school. It's not your fault your parents/teachers/fellow students were dumbasses, but please stop.

"To"

Does not mean "as well." You mean "too" (note the additional "o" at the end).

"Needs fixed"

You are missing the copulative verb. This should read "Needs to be fixed." Why are you skipping the copulation? Copulation's the best part.

"To boldly go"

You have split your infinitive. You should look to that.

"There"

Is a place, not a possessive.

"It's"

If you don't know how to use this word properly STOP FUCKING USING IT

And now, we dance!

Playing with Captain Solo

One of the toys I bought the other day in Splurgeapalooza was the Sideshow Han Solo in the Bespin jacket, which I once lampooned on this very site as being an excellent example of how Harrison Ford cannot be sculpted for toys. Well, he can't. I bought him because the weird candy fun of doing so overwhelmed my inner critic. And in some really hard-to-achieve angles he can almost trick the eye into imagining that there's a vague resemblance to someone who once looked like Harrison Ford for ten minutes at a Hallowe'en party one time.

Toy Fair has begun in New York and with it the slew of Star Wars toys for the year... which I have to admit are pretty extraordinary in the broad sense... the "I can't believe they made that" factor is through the roof (Biggs in Academy uniform, dead Obi-Wan Kenobi, Concept Art Chewbacca), the "thank goodness they finally made that factor" is pretty strong too (the tons-of-awesome V-wing starfighter, CZ-3 the cross-eyed protocol droid, Ghoel, that weird rolling half-sphere droid), and there's also a "Hey, I made that!" factor on Ak-Rev the Weequay Drummer, who was, after all, the very first custom action figure I ever made, way back in 1997. And then there's this guy. I don't even know who he is.

For the Losties, here's Mistah Eko. Surprisingly excellent, even though the Lost series remains the quintessence of "not an action figure." (Sawyer is disappointing, and why is Sun the second female character they've made in a bikini? If it's bikinis for the girls why is Kate wearing pants? Can we at least get her bent over in that sun dress from 3x02?)

Here's the start of Trek figures in the movie uniforms, and promise of DS9 toys to come and yet more revision on the Next Gen line, hopefully in the proper scale this time. (But where's the fucking Janeway already, Diamond? Where?)

Storm Shadow's back.

Oh and by the way: here's your new fuckin' Optimus Prime. Just you try and not buy it.

And finally, in what mus truly be the highest achievement in the history of the toymaking art, Office Space action figures. OFFICE SPACE ACTION FIGURES. Roll that around on your tongue for a minute. Then look at Lumbergh.

Man that's a lot of hotlinking for one day.

February 10, 2007

Miscellany upon a Saturday

One barrier to my enjoyment of Babel last night was the presence of Dakota Fanning's kid sister, who has just enough trace of the Beast in her that I became somewhat discomfited every time she was on screen. Dakota Fanning, man; there is just something viscerally unsettling about that creature. I remember when I was at the Box a while ago flipping through a Vanity Fair and I flipped into a full-page photograph of her and immediately screamed. It was instinct - I hadn't even processed what I was looking at - and the reaction was panic. Someday I'll be at the head of the mob of torch-bearing villagers that marches up to the gates of her castle, chanting as we go.

Picked up Fell #7 this week for no reason other than that the cover was pretty, and loved the first 85% of it. Maybe I'm a Warren Ellis guy after all; still waiting for the next issue of Nextwave. On the whole I'm trying to cut the number of titles I read down into more distinct and enjoyable groups. (Yes, the Process Whore in me actually listed them all out in my notebook a whiles back.) Unfortunately, like soaps, it's hard to drop a comic once you're reading it regularly. I was ready to drop Supergirl altogether and then I had a surprisingly emotional reaction to the double-panel reveal at the tail end of this month's issue; I find these spells hard to break.

I am going to the Erotic Arts & Crafts Fair today! You should too.

"I'm thirty years old, I make a good living. I'm not hiding from a girl." - Matt Brown

Time and music slowly dissolving

On the subway on the way home tonight a girl dressed to the nines in thigh-highs, a hooded ankle coat, vivid green hair and detailed cat's-eye makeup, got up, grabbed a guy sitting half the car away, kissed him hard on the mouth and slipped him a very dirty note, then got off at Broadview and strolled whistling away, while he, and I, and everyone else sat staring in amused shock. This is something that actually happens. (To people that aren't me.)

Also: gender bias alert: do not try that in reverse gender position.

Right! So I finished development on my project at around 1:30 this afternoon. Next week for finals and last-minutes, but man howdy that was a serious achievement for me. As soon as it was done I went as limp as a rag doll. I fucked around for another couple of hours enjoying some cobalt company but I really had no clear idea of what to do with myself so I went home, and then immediately realized I wanted to be out, so I went to Yonge & Bloor to read D-Coc's screenplay and see Babel.

On page 13 of D-Coc's screenplay we are introduced to HAL, who is described thus: "Let us imagine that he is Matt Brown, if Matt Brown were a decade older and three decades unhappier." I don't know if it was due to a weakened mental state after the week I've just had, but this terrified me. A few pages later another character showed up and we were asked to imagine that he was Adam Brown. And... and... oh I just don't know. I sort of have to put it out of my mind for the now being. And so I did, even in spite of the fact that I was reading it in a bathroom at the time and repeatedly clutching my head for various reasons.

Babel turned out to be one of those movies I find compelling by inverse; the "I would never, could never come out with something like this" feeling that comes up occasionally for me. But not in a bad way; the opposition of my creative druthers earns a kind of humble respect from me where I get all small in my head and am like, "Yeah, what's with all the centipedes and vampires and VCRs and shit? Why can't I just make a movie like this?" Plus I have a particular fondness for films about communication, and even more so for "interweave" films that don't just say that they're about communication but in fact actually are. (Ahem Crash ahem.) I liked the Japanese story the best because it was pretty much tailor-made for me (and yes, Naked Japanese Girl is very pretty when she's naked and the rest of the time also), and I liked the other stories well enough and found some of the content monumentally excruciating (the word used by way of measuring their effectiveness, not awfulness), and there were about five minutes in the middle that I think were quantifiably perfect, even if the rest of the movie wasn't quite. So: call it a hat trick for the Mexican boys in 2006. They really did make three of the best movies.

You know, for an hour or two earlier tonight I was a bit low, but there's little restraining the sense of movement and potential that's been cautiously developing under my skin in the past few weeks. I caught sight of myself on the way out of the theatre (and slightly before the subway girl incident) and actually liked what I saw, which is gift enough. Something is happening. There's a twinkling ten or fifteen seconds at the tail end of the second-last track on the Fountain soundtrack that says it better than I can here.

"[Spike] means so much to Buffy, [and] so did Angel, that you want to save them for the big hits [in the comics]. It’s like Galactus. If he showed up every week, you’d be like, 'I don’t think you’re gong to eat the world. I think the Silver Surfer is going to betray you or Reed is going to come up with a device. So why don’t you take your big pointy hat and get the fuck out of here?'" - Joss Whedon

February 9, 2007

A man called Wanaki

Someone want to tell me why there's so much blonde in my beard this time? I mean I understand that hair colour varies by location (woot!), but does it also change over time? Because at most in the past I might have had a bit of reddish in my beard, and now half my moustache is full-on blonde. Scientists? Anyone?

Also, you don't have to be intelligent to be an asshole (like Dr. House!), but I imagine it wouldn't hurt.

Wuh-oh. My eye's started doing that thing again. And my internal monologue has a distinct Christopher Walken tang to it. Scientists? Anyone?

February 8, 2007

I am not lost.

I'll put it to you this way: last night I went to the Silver Snail at about 6:30 and I bought a hundred dollars worth of Star Wars toys in a single serving. I did this to prevent myself from doing something significantly worse to manage my daytime stress, and manage my stress I did. I am handling it. I am managing a lot of things quite well this week, thank you very much. But it is a stunning quantity of work to get through before tomorrow night at 5 p.m. I had a few personal wins today from a project management standpoint, and got a solid amount of work done, and there was at least one girl with good pants. I feel like I'm high school again, in the full measure of its means. Left the office at 8:00 when they turned the proverbial lights off and my iPod had run out of batteries. I am managing it - this surprises me - and no crash in sight. This thing is being held together through willpower and concentration; the power of the force. When the sun sets tomorrow, I release the lines.

In my need I consumed Spider-Man: Reign #3 last night like tossing a pork chop whole and unchewed down my gullet, and it served me, right then and there - with its images of MJ's corpse being ripped out of her coffin by a skeletonified Doc Ock, and the poison oil of Venom, and slashed throats and broken old men and the horrible nightmare city ringed in a pink web. It’s dark, and I was dark, and so it fit horribly well with the grim satisfaction of winning the day. And New Avengers, too, got me all juiced up this morning on the way in to work - Luke Cage running the Avengers now that the war's over, and Spidey and Iron Fist, and the look on Elektra's face after Luke delivers a vicious kick to her box, on Matt Murdock's specific instruction. But the herd, on the whole, is thinning. The war's ending, and I'm back to a couple comics a week. At least until Buffy.

And having studiously avoided any and all spoilers about Buffy Season 8, I must confess to a moment of pure delirium when confronted with Giant Dawn.

Why giant, Dawn?

I am past caring about Lost. I no longer need the keys to the conspiracy; I only need to sink once weekly into the porny splendour of its varying colour schemes, where every hue is a digital grader's fever dream and the tracks of sweat down Evangeline Lilly's flank are some sort of weird, wet art. It, and these others, are enough.

February 7, 2007

Ride me!

I am a toboggan!
Find your own pose!

Most irrelevant questions ever. But fun. (I think I'm supposed to be the woman in the image above, by the way, otherwise I would be a toboggan rider, right?)

Hellboy gotta eat

Sorry. That sucked. Titling shortage!

Last night I had a dream so fucking good, I was actually grinning when I woke up. It was a pirate dream, naturally. I wasn't so much Jack Sparrow as dressed up as Jack Sparrow, but there was a dinner party and a swordfight and a curvy lass and I drank from a goblet with one foot up on the table and made the room laugh. Yeah it pretty much can't be described in any words that do it justice but it set me on the right path this morning, I assure you.

I watched Hellboy: Sword of Storms last night. It was good-not-great. What I don't get, though, is why they're making such a pimping madness of Doug Jones doing the voice for Abe Sapien - as you might recall, the voice was the one element of Sapien that Jones didn't contribute to the live-action Hellboy movie, while all the stuff he did contribute cannot, of course, appear in an animated film. Odd?

Yesterday I bought these. My brother has a pair and I like them because they look like something the controller guys wear on the Death Star. I pretty much copy everything my brother does nowadays. He sets the trends, I follow the trends. It is a fine arrangement (less thinking for me) and increases the hilarity of our workplace commingling.

EXTREME STEVE!!!! episode thirty-one, guest written by MATTY PRICE!!!!

February 6, 2007

The Kaminski equation

While we're on the subject of Indiana Jones, here's the confirmation that Kaminski will be shooting the flick, which is by no means surprising, but has been kicking around in my head for a while as one of the "reasons to be suspicious of Indy IV." Obviously, I never imagined Slocombe would shoot the film... but his absence from the proceedings is as dangerous a hole as trying to, say, replace John Williams. Kaminski, in particular, troubles me: I don't like his work. I don't like the fact that Spielberg has gravitated so specifically to Kaminski's lighting style, which is too ludicrously over the top for me to ever really sink into any of the films he has made post-Schindler's. (Even in Private Ryan, where the cinematographic gymnastics certainly worked for the picture instead of against it, the effect was distracting.)

So I suppose my fervent hope is that Kaminski stops blowing out the highlights and dipping the sats, and tries to shoot a film that at least approximates the visual scheme established in the series thus far. My hope, in fact, would be that Spielberg and Lucas would insist upon such a thing, although I suppose such hope is fleeting at best. One could certainly argue that the Star Wars prequels might have been more visually distinct had Tattersall not been instructed to so closely mirror his betters on the original trilogy... but I yearn for Slocombe's clean, vibrant exteriors and gentlemanly studio lighting. That man knew how to shoot an adventure serial.

February 5, 2007

Every element devoid of her

It's minus everything out there, Internet! It's so damn cold the RT platform at Kennedy station had actually frozen this morning. Apparently some condensation had blown in and then frozen all over the tiles. It was an ice rink. I wanted to take one giant swoosh along the thing but that would have caused more chaos than there already was, so I refrained. The inclement weather has forced me to evolve the phrase: "strategic laundry." Meaning that there ain't no way in no how I'm dragging all the laundry over to Lyra's tonight, but I have to at least do a week's worth of undies and socks, or things will be smelling very rank around here indeed.

Going to hammer out an On the Lot submission for Standoff while sitting in the laundromat, hopefully as far away from the door as possible. I have to a 45-second intro video about myself, and fill out a bunch of paperwork, and get my flick uploaded and all that jazz. Please, lord, let this stop the deluge of e-mails on the subject. We've topped 50 in under a month. I got two more at work today.

It is my determination that there has been entirely too much skull and not nearly enough duggery lately. At World's End can't come nearly soon enough.

Also: need more Batman.

Ford demands whip.

You are damn fuckin' right. And I am prepared to sympathy-strike the mo-fo: I refuse to see Indy IV unless I know for sure that the whip is real. Fie on digital whips, I say, fie!

Harrison Ford, man. Every time I count that guy out he reminds me why he was my hero for about 80% of my life.

Time for a Dr. Jones category on Tederick.com? Yes, I suppose it is.

February 4, 2007

Kissing the lipless

Today when I got home from the smorgasboard I climbed into bed, got under the covers, and pulled my hood over my head. It is my new comfort position. I discovered it in the Goo a few months back when I had a cold and now I do it any time it's cold or depressing outside. It works! Every article of clothing should have a hood. Even the pants. I have ordered this, to have yet another hoodie option.

I don't give a fuck about Windows Vista, but it would have been cool to visit an ice house! Stupid lack of municipal awareness. Like the time the Batmobile was here and I missed it, but Mark saw it and his only thought was "hey, that's a weird looking car." Because he didn't know it was the Batmobile. Fuck!

Here's the old dude that everybody's linking to. Not that he doesn't deserve it, just that I question pack-herding. Read the one called "It bothers me that I have to go" if you want to cry for about a week.

Currently drinking: Moroccan pomegranate red tea, by the quart!

Where shopping is a baffling ordeal

Today Matty Price and I went to Ikea to get me yet another Benno (DVD shelf), which would have brought my count up to 8-and-still-not-enough. Plot twist: HARSH FAILURE! Not only did they not have a Benno in the same colour as the other 7 (stainless steel), they didn't have indication that such a colour still existed, or any other colours (black, brown, chocolate, etc.) that were even close. My choices were white and sandalwood, period. I mean, I could even have gone for the army green - but not sandalwood.

The whole point of going to the Ikea was to avoid the exorbitant Ikea shipping fees, but in returning unsuccessful from the suicide mission to carsickness-inducing Queensway I was called upon to recollect this article: How to Simplify your Life.

First of all, that's a damn solid list. I tend to need to remind people to never view any schema as dogmatic (because the human need for order seems to place to much value on following instructions exactly rather than understanding their spirit) but there are some good ideas in here. Particularly relevant to this case is stop spending time to save money; rather, spend money to save time. The frustrating thing being that I've been doing this for years, thanks to my father, who sat me down at one point when I was with Bearshark and said, "Look, your time has an actual dollar value attached to it now: don't do things that aren't worth the same amount or more as your billable time is worth." For example, there's a guy who owes me forty bucks. I never see this guy. And I specifically do not bother to chase him for it, because the amount of money I'd get back is not equal to the value of the hours I would spend doing it. Ditto the Bennos: yeah, the Ikea shipping expense is atrocious, but it's still less than the lost hours of going to the Queensway or to one of the other stores to track the shelf down.

Other list items that I think are particularly valuable:

  • Focus on doing a few goals really well, rather than a lot in a mediocre way. Sewed that one up at the end of the year by ditching all the non-strategic activities in my life.
  • Stop being a slave to communication tools. My current job pretty much makes this impossible, but I agree in spirit. You don't need a land line and a cell phone. Fuck, if you have e-mail you don't need either.
  • Give away clerical tasks to others. I don't just limit this to the workplace. It's devious but very effective.
  • If you're not using something, get rid of it. There's way too much crap around here.
  • Make time for yourself. Set aside time each day to reflect quietly, go for a walk, plan for your future or meditate. I used to be the North American master of this. I've slipped since I moved out on my own. I still do a fair bit of reflecting but it takes place in fits and starts and rarely on those long, meditative walks I used to enjoy.
  • Cut back on debt. Seriously. I'm about $1500 in the hole right now and planning to be out by the first week of March. Actually in the black, for the first time in three years.
  • Take a moment each day to be grateful. Attitude of gratitude, baby. Tony said it and it's true.

Mamo #72: Adult Swimfan

Yeah, this could be the best Mamo ever. At the very least it's the one I've enjoyed the most in a good long while - no ill-advised tomfoolery, no dead man in the bathroom, and no meaningless guesses at what had been nominated for an Oscar (this time, we had a list!). Plus: Aqua Teen, Wonder Woman, and the future of Al Gore. They don't get better than this for breadth and craft, or Kraft on bread.

Download here for inevitable disappointment after the buildup!

Saying of which, word on the street has it that moviesTO finally has a new host, as yet undebuted. I am crackling with curiousity particles. This came on after an enervating morning yesterday when I dialled up blogTO and found that someone I'd never heard of was writing the sex column. Turns out I have a new partner and I didn't even know it! Then this morning I woke up and there was a woman in bed with me, who told me we'd been dating for the past four months. The sex was all right but I asked her to leave immediately afterwards.

February 3, 2007

Snowbound

Standoff: she done. Not since the halcyon days of Bone Daddy have I dragged my ass on a project to such an inexcusable degree. Motherfucker's only four minutes long. Shieshhh. Still, I'm happy with it. It would have been nice for it to end up being a bit slicker than it is, but there are more successes overall than I was expecting so no worries. My only project for 2006. Shieshhh again.

Digital grading: the process by which everything takes way too fucking long particularly in Premiere which is not, to be fair, even remotely a digital grading program.

To make up for the lag, a fascinating glimpse into the past! In my meanderings today I found an old WordPerfect file which contains, I think, the three potential "image link" layouts for Project 6. (Project 6 was an anthology of short films by the FORPers whose opening images were linked with the closing images of the film that preceded them in sequence.) We picked images out of hat a few times to get a series of links that we thought were good - we ended up going with the third set. Notably, this was back when Daniel Arato was the sixth filmmaker, before he was replaced by the Ferret.

Version I:

Dave: Clock/crucifix falls off the wall --> Refrigerator, all shelves full except one which is empty

Matt: Refrigerator, all shelves full except one which is empty --> 2 people in a kitchen, cooking

Dan A: 2 people in a kitchen, cooking --> Man puts head in oven

Chris: Man puts head in oven --> Cat cuddling an action figure

Dan C: Cat cuddling an action figure --> A face, looking back in fright

Brandy: A face, looking back in fright --> lock/crucifix falls off the wall


Version II:

Dave: A book falls, crushing a black egg --> plumber bum

Matt: plumber bum --> a girl slaps the face of a boy wearing makeup

Dan A: a girl slaps the face of a boy wearing makeup --> a person draws on someone's head

Chris: a person draws on someone's head --> a man hammers a sponge

Dan C: a man hammers a sponge --> a woman outside a building, wearing a sandwich board

Brandy: a woman outside a building, wearing a sandwich board --> A book falls, crushing a black egg


Version III:

Dave: A man stands outside a nightclub, bleeding from the head, holding a hockey stick --> a discarded porno's pages flapping in the wind

Matt: a discarded porno's pages flapping in the wind --> an orange napkin, creased, under knife and fork

Dan A: an orange napkin, creased, under knife and fork--> a man submerged in a bathtub, wearing shorts

Chris: a man submerged in a bathtub, wearing shorts --> a person throwing dice

Dan C: a person throwing dice --> a hand reaching

Brandy: a hand reaching --> A man stands outside a nightclub, bleeding from the head, holding a hockey stick

A not-entirely-fascinating glimpse into the past! I also found all of my various Project 6 script drafts; when we settled on my "flapping porno to orange napkin" requirement, I wrote five or six complete shorts which fell into three basic stories: the one that went on to become Monosperm, one where the porno is found by a boy who uses it to practice life drawing before being ratted out to his conservative parents by a na'er-do-well sister, and one where two men argue in what turns out to be God's napkin. I have long nursed the desire to follow through and complete the set.

Anyways. There's a minus-thirty wind chill warning in place for Toronto. I shall order a pizza and watch yet more DVDs!

I hate Miglo Vegntimigiglia

Well I do.

I really like this line, which is from an essay called Lady and the Vamp: "...one of the basic indicators of a vampire's rehabilitation is that they get the hots for [Buffy], from which one can infer that failing to want to have sex with Buffy is evidence of a profound moral decrepitude." I'd never thought of that before, but how many times on the series did a bad guy wanna make with the Buff-love? Sexual interest for the Buffster is always indicitave of either baseline moral goodness or emerging humanity. (To play the inverse, Parker's lack of ongoing interest in same indicates his fundamental icky-ewness.) Plus, she's hot. It's February, which suggests that I should be hitting my annual Buffy-on in about a month's time, which (in this example anyway) will also be the tenth anniversary of the dawn (heh) of the series. I'm in a season 2/3/second season of Angel sort of mood. Gonna have to look to that.

Premiere project is currently rendering... rendering... just found a new way to do letterboxing in Premiere which meant I had to re-render the whole thing but it looks way better... god I love a really wide widescreen... looks like Leone... music went in without a hitch now that time is actually time and not "Mac time"... rendering... rendering.

Recent 3QF dialogue exchange:

[doorbell rings]
Matt: It's time, buddy.
Chris: It sure is. I'm going to bring it!
Matt: Please don't.

It's like you're living here right along side us!

Oriental Cinema 2

Due in part to a free afternoon and a cancelled Mamo, and in part my desire to defrag my brain to close the last two weeks, my intent on watching some asian films yesterday expanded into a full-on film festival of the far east: House of Flying Daggers, Crazed Fruit, Yojimbo, Sanjuro, and Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence. (Admittedly, only scraps of Sanjuro having watched it a few months ago, and finishing GITS 2 in bed this morning.) I am asianed out. Give me no more asianism! Now, Daggers is a flick I admire more every time I see it. The first time I saw it, as I recall, I wasn't too impressed. But that thing is like colour porn. (i.e. pornography of colour, not pornography in colour, or pornography involving coloured people.) The DVD transfer didn't quite live up to the Hi-def version I've seen on TMN a few times but since I am so strongly evading the siren song of the HD-DVD, I am willing to make do. Meanwhile, the new transfers of Yojimbo and Sanjuro are unbelievable - yes, they are worth selling your old copies to get the new copies. I do a lot of selling these days. Crazed Fruit I found uninvolving for the most part, though with some understanding of the context I could at least see why it was significant. And Innocence... goddamn that's a hard picture not to like, even though it's so subtle it's almost subliminal (and as sleep-inducing as white noise). Made me want to paint a crimson sky, hug my cat, and go buy a freakishly realistic doll. In that order.

At one point last night I pulled all my Criterions off the shelves and contemplated putting them all in their own section. It's pretentious as hell so I put 'em all back, but it was nice to put the "collectible" back in the "Collection" for a few minutes.

February 2, 2007

Suckness personified

Joss Whedon off Wonder Woman for coming up with a movie that is probably better than whatever will eventually be released! (That's the nice thing about the James Dean exit: you never have to prove you were as good as they said you were gonna be.)

Where the bear sits (at least in Britain)

1. Three out of ten men would abstain from sex for life for a million pounds. Perhaps they're misunderstanding the meaning of the word "pounds?" (Additionally, one must admit that such a claim is fairly easy to make on this end, and fairly easy to break once the cheque clears. A million pounds [how the fuck do you make the pound symbol on a Mac?] pretty much buys you Shanghai's entire red-light district.)

2. Womens' sex drive drops 40% once they feel that they have "secured" their partner. I've been referring to this article a lot in the past few months so I thought it only fair that I actually post the thing. I've also been doing a lot of thinking lately about what I think is becoming a post-marital society, i.e. the way social and economic structures shift once marriage is no longer really "necessary" in the traditional sense. Now that we (in the West, anyway) can all hold down jobs and raise children in pretty much any combination of family structure we want, what place does marriage hold - besides being representative of a kind of unattainable ideal of romantic love? And given that procreative strength has always sat with the women and has only been occasionally dressed up as somehow belonging to hererosexual marriage, I would think the coming century is going to completely flip the norm on what makes a couple a couple.

While we're on the subject of large, large things, Al Gore was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize on the exact same day that the scientific community announced climate change to be unstoppable and that we're just going to have to live with the fact that the nature of weather on earth is going to change radically for centuries to come (provided we live at all). I feel an enormous amount of affection for Al Gore, probably solely to keep my brain from having to deal with the other thing, which is... well. I'm glad beyond words that this is finally something that makes the papers on a daily basis rather than a dirty little secret being kept out of the public eye by the worst kind of governmental vagrants. But it doesn't make it any easier to wrap the head or the heart around.

Girls, girls! Mommy thinks you're both pretty.

On Wednesday night at around 9:00, I formally hit what is called "the wall." My brain completely destabilized from fatigue. Although I had slept the night before, it was suddenly as if I'd been awake for 36 hours straight (which I have done before). A completely perturbing dissociation between the ability to think and the ability to interpret. On the whole I think I was fairly lucky to get home alive, being as that I was at the Royal when this happened.

I guess that means I'm wiped out. I sort of struggled through yesterday and last night (not entirely successfully), and am now more than thrilled to be leaving work at 1:00 to balance my hours. I'm going to go home and watch asian movies. I don't really know which asian movies, and I don't know which state of consciousness I will be in when I watch them, but for now, this is the plan. I'd love a big enveloping snowfall to seal me into my little 3QF and make the rest of the world go away for a bit. It's been a very, very long ten days. But all is basically well at home and abroad, so no worries.

D-Coc genius check, year 9: (Re The Lady in the Water) "I would have liked to again see Bob Balaban combine forces with M. Night Shyamalan to become Shyamalabalaban."

Weekend goals:

  • Mamo!
  • Finishing Standoff for once and bloody all
  • Reading Chris' revised script for Portrait
  • Team sports.

Pictures of myself while drunk.

A few weeks back while drunk and lying on my bedroom floor for some reason, I apparently whipped out the digital and took a series of self-portraits. I think it was because I was amused by how my skin was all floppy-feeling. The result? A harrowing glimpse into the dangers of substance abuse! Tell me these don't tell a story:

I found 'em while cleaning out the memory stick last week, et voila, instant funnies.

February 1, 2007

America, you are officially too freaked out.

It's time to stop, Yanks. If a blinking lite-bright box shaped like a Mooninite is your idea of a bomb, then Bin Laden has officially won. Yep, I'm calling it: the war on terror is over, and the USA lost. Terrorism has succeeded in destroying America!

BRING IT

July 21 - our fate will be decided.

(Why not the 31st, though?)

(And why only a week after the Phoenix movie? The second-weekend grosses are gonna go into the ground cuz we'll all be locked in our rooms reading Hallows for three days straight!!)

Behold Harry's happy trail!