Right back to the beginning
Feb 28 2005 - 5:23 p.m.

I just digested the Oscars in about 73 minutes; it's amazing how easy it is to do that these days. As expected, the show was one of the most colossal bores in the history of the process - America's continued, and shameful, post-Boobgate modesty didn't even allow for the impression that something interesting might be waiting around the corner. Chris Rock sucked. I mean, I really like the guy and I know some people liked his performance, but there's no way around it, he just really sucked. The material was unbelievably tame, his stage energy was often way off, and as a viewer who basically is willing to stand behind any host - a card-carrying fan of Crystal, Letterman, even Goldberg, and especially Steve Martin - this will have to go down in my personal history as the first time an Oscar host has let me down. (My first telecast was Billy's first, back in 1989.)

And at the end of the day, Million Dollar Baby and Aviator are both flawed pictures, but Aviator is actually the better one.

It was maddening to watch ILM's fine work on Harry Potter get scooped on visual effects, and by the day-glo crap from Spider-Man no less; the Academy didn't just pick the wrong Best Original score by choosing Finding Neverland, they actually picked the worst of the five nominees; and yeah, Kate Winslet should have won. Really should have, and if she shouldn't have before Hilary Swank hit the stage, Hilary's speech should have changed some minds. Does nobody use the shepherd cane any more?

Let's focus on some good: it was great to see Eternal Sunshine get script, and Cate Blanchett and Morgan Freeman were justifiably honoured, even if these particular performances weren't the ones they should have been honoured for. It was great to see Thelma Schoonmacher win - modesty aside, Aviator really is a triumph of editing - and seeing Incredibles beat Shrek 2 was surprisingly satisfying. (Come on, it's Brad Bird for cryin' out loud.)

Next year, let's stop demeaning the technical categories by not even allowing the nominees to stay in their seats, and I do believe it is high time for Steve Martin to return to the hosting position. And as for the meteoric pace of the show... unnecessary. As Peter Jackson has proven time and again with multiple DVD special editions, once we're sitting for 3 hours, we'll sit for 4½.

The various ends of the worlds
Feb 28 2005 - 3:39 p.m.

Kate woke me up from a dream of the apocalypse that had me literally whimpering in my sleep. Apparently the apocalypse concerns math. Math run amuck. Math so foundational that the sudden understanding of it is enough to rip the human mind apart and break the cosmos wide open, which is basically what happened to me. The dream saw me locked in a cell for many years with a man I have never met; he was approximately 35 with close-cut grey hair. We didn't get along, except very functionally. The world was ending outside and the cell door blew open; the cell was on this floor, and in a fit of horse-madness I ran downstairs in an attempt to escape, but there I only found my mother. Not my mother; more my mother born again as a Star Child-like creature that was both impossibly old and impossibly young, and I was so terrified by that spectre (which was downstairs) that I quickly ran back past my cell and then upstairs, and found myself in a bathroom, face to face with The Genius, who proceeded to grab my head and convey to me the entirety of the Supermath in only a few moments, which caused my death. And since I was the last human on the planet at this point (the Genius was holding the bloodied corpse of my cell mate in his third arm), this signified the end of mankind. Apocalypse. Then she woke me up, and thank goodness for that. It was the most blood-curdling dream I think I've had in a decade.

I returned home to 3QF this morning and followed the blood indoors. There was blood on the snow outside, blood on the steps, blood in the car, blood on the carpet, and blood in a little brown bottle on the shelf labelled "Stage Blood - Zesty Mint Flavour!" and then on the back "do not eat." Dreams and waking did a bit of a tango but I became mercifully convinced that I was in fact lucid, while I drove Chris and his shooting equipment back to Charles Street. After taht, Jason and I went uptown to drop off our taxes information. I spent a little shy of 2 grand on DVDs in 2004; this is down from the running average (which holds between $2500 and $3K annually) but hey, I don't have a job. Let the gov try to get my phat cash. Let them try.

Tracy + the Plastics has been cancelled for tonight, which sucks balls. Now it's all murderball with no payoff.

Just let me smell it, Halle
Feb 27 2005 - 11:18 a.m.

Taking out all the 12" dolls and filling the null space with books and reference materials for my movie is the single most ingenius use of desk space in my long history of desk space usage. Let's face it, I'm a man who thinks a lot about desk space. And shelf space. And really, any manner of horizontal flat area space because I've just got so many damned little feet that need turf to stand upon. But sacrificing some feet space for some book space? That was actually a bit smrt. Now I've got books to my left, computer support hardware to my right, and toys above. It's almost a productive work environment. Someday, I may have to do productive work.

That day wasn't yesterday, which is sad, because yesterday was supposed to be a big productive work day. I ended up feeling kinda sick so mostly I just watched The Simpsons. It's amazing to me how many Jasper gags have been targeted for removal when the show gets stripped for syndication. The archive is growing by leaps and bounds. Which for some reason has had me thinking about McFarlane getting the Simpsons toy license. Will there be a new Jasper figure? How would it differ from the old Jasper figure? What's the "take" here, anyway? It seems to me that Playmates did The Simpsons about as Simpsony as one possibly could.

So tonight is in fact the Oscars. I don't think I was even aware of this until two days ago. For the first time in half a decade, no party, no pool, no nothin'. I'm PVRing the show in case Chris Rock actually does manage to set something on fire, but on the whole it's a moo point anyway because Chris is shooting more Walter at 3QF today and tonight. I'm hiding out with the girl, making quesedillas and watching various DVDs of note. I sincerely hope Kate Winslet wins best actress and Eternal Sunshine wins best screenplay; I think the latter is possible but the former is unlikely. It's the most unexciting awards season I've ever seen.

The word of the day is "thresher."

FIRST BLOOD
(for the last time)
Feb 26 2005 - 5:54 p.m.

Here's something I didn't expect to be buying today:

The Emperor with a lightsabre. (i.e. Revenge of the That Guy.) A Chewie who freaks out. And my third Grievous in the month of February. The figs are at least six weeks early... that certainly beats the crap out of '99 and '02.

Add to that, StarWars.com announced this week that they will be publishing a new Chronicles volume, for the three prequel films. (The Star Wars Chronicles is the largest, most exhaustive, and most expensive Star Wars reference book, and a foundational prize of my entire collection.) Money? Who needs money?

With three months to go, I'm so deep in "the mood" that I might start bleeding blue milk. I finished Yoda: Dark Rendezvous last night, and have an uncomfortable admission to make: I enjoyed it more than just about anything I've read in the past year. And it's a Star Wars book. A particularly pulpy Star Wars book, no less, not even deemed worthy of a hardcover run. This is the kind of novel you put in your pocket and take to the cottage. It's embarassing, but I can't help but admit to its power - this is just great storytelling. Not only does author Sean Stewart write Yoda better than anyone ever has since, and possibly including, Lawrence Kasdan, and not only does he breathe much-needed life into Star Wars regulars such as Count Dooku and Asajj Ventress, but he creates a coterie of supporting characters so well-realized, that at least a few of them - a pair of padawans named Scout and Whie, and a chess-playing pair of assassin droids called Solis and Fidelis - will undoubtedly end up on my customs page before the end of the year. The result is a Star Wars book that feels like the Star Wars adventures I imagined when I was a kid. It's the first book that makes being a Jedi learner seem fun, leaning heavily on the Harry Potter vibe to turn the Jedi Temple into a galactic Hogwarts. It foreshadows the dealings of Revenge of the Sith with such clarity that a few revelations (Palpatine's unseen manipulation of the endgame, Whie's dreams) crackle with gleeful darkness. And it tackles, head-on, the two biggest dilemmas that the prequel films have raised about the Jedi order: the fact that all Jedi are essentially abducted from their families as infants, and the questionable morality of forbidding the Jedi to love. Sean Stewart doesn't just surrender to these paradoxes, he actually manages to jump beyond them and create new thematic points, which (to my moderate knowledge) no other writer in the Expanded Universe has managed to do.

About halfway through reading the book, I cracked and started reading a bit about it online... which was when I discovered to my surprise that one of the Jedi kids, Whie, is actually going to be in Episode III in a small role. In the book, the character suffers from prophetic dreams, and early on, he dreams that he is going to be killed by a Jedi. Stewart pulls off a brilliant game of misdirection, so that at first, we assume that Whie has dreamed about Ventress killing him; later, we believe instead that Whie will eventually go to the dark side, and Scout will kill him when she is unable to turn him back. It isn't until the very last chapter of the book that we actually figure it out - Anakin is going to kill him. Anakin is going to kill them all. Anakin is going to kill the Jedi children, and burn the Temple down, and... good lord in heaven, how can even the most cynical Star Wars fan not be moved by that?!

Ring the Bell
Feb 25 2005 - 4:05 p.m.

To complain about Bell Sympatico's mindlessly sexist and demeaning ad from last week, which described the female body as "inappropriate content" and seemed to suggest that learning about human anatomy is somehow wrong, contact Bell at:

1 888 932 6666 or 1 800 267 7734

or e-mail bcecomms@bce.ca

Here's the ad, for anyone who hasn't seen it:

Hmm, all my posts today seem to be about how fucked up our society is about nudity and the human body. Thinking about what kind of message this sends, particularly to young girls, just makes me want to cry. Please take a moment to call. It's fun!

Friday pussy blogging
Feb 25 2005 - 10:00 a.m.

Sadly, I have no pussy to blog. But what a concept! Sex bloggers of the world, untie (yourselves from your whips and chains, and blog about your sex parts en masse)!

Wow, and on my mother's birthday too. I'm a horrible person.

Speaking of parenting, and since I've been having quite a few conversations on this topic in the past couple of weeks, here's a fairly decent article about family nudity and physical affection in North America, and what's gone wrong in the past few decades. It's from a couple of years ago, and a bit dogmatic in places, but on the whole it hits all of the major points, especially regarding what can happen to children who are unconsciously taught that physical affection is wrong, and that their bodies are shameful. Thank goodness I was raised by parents with a straight-forward, no-bullshit approach to physical affection and body issues. Who knows where I'd be today otherwise.

Well, one of my [adjective deleted] 3QF roomies has run us completely out of toilet paper yet again, so I'm off to make an emergency run to the Shoppers DM. Then it's off to Barrie to pick up FORP's equivalent of Hunter S. Thompson, for Chris' shoot. The following improv from last night's shoot, where I served as an extra in the freezing cold for a couple of hours, should prove useful: "my temper is the only thing keeping me alive."

Gary bum tat
Feb 24 2005 - 5:29 p.m.

Working under the Jason Gorber Theory of the Therapeutic Use of Lego for Cybernerds, I built the Shrieking Shack today, which ended up taking the larger part of my afternoon, and doing wonders for my sense of self. I suppose everything can be a meditation, if you approach it from the right angle. Likewise: the other night I was filing down my VHS collection and derriving great pleasure from it; there's something about seeing a pile grow steadily smaller (as the corollating pile of DVDs grows steadily larger) that is tremendously satisfying. It helps a man think, find the center space, like green tea or the moment when White Rabbit peaks. I've been thinking a lot lately about making movies, mostly because Chris is off making his, and - from this roommate's perspective, anyway - having a fairly rough time of it. This is natural: making movies is hard. It's a shite way to make a living, actually, with all the running around and managing things and making the real world conform to the script world and trying to get other people to think that the thing you're doing is as cool as you think it is. And the connection between the impulse and the process and the product has all but vanished from my mind, which I suppose explains why I haven't made anything substantial since Bone Daddy, and why I don't even consider Bone Daddy substantial, and why my feature film remains - after 9 months - completely stillborn. I find myself wandering backwards along the path. I've been mired in the process for so long that the impulse has all but evaporated; a moment's contemplation about whether or not I should still be doing what I'm trying to do reveals all manner of doubts and quandaries. Questions like "should I just try to make a short film instead?" or "should I just become a janitor?" have been plagueing me since the new year, and not even 12-inch Quentin - dogmatically pointing his gun at me, as in olden days - can bolster my sense of resolve. It's been a terrible 2005 so far, from an ambition standpoint. But there's a lot of equipment in my living room right now and work to be done yet tonight, and if tomorrow I'm driving a madman back from Barrie rather than working on my script, so be it - the road always seems to lead back to the same original thing, no matter how far I stray.

My brain controls the Universe.
Feb 24 2005 - 10:57 a.m.

Yesterday in the shower I was thinking about how I haven't watched Casino in a really long time, and that I should go and buy the DVD so that I can watch it soon. Then it occured to me that I should try to find out if Universal was planning to release a special edition at any point in the future, so that I'm not wasting my dinero on outdated video products. And today they announce a "10th anniversary edition" of the film for release in June.

This is not the first time my brain has controlled the Universe. I just wish it would control it in a more coherent way. Like, winning the $24 million two weeks ago woulda been nice. The ability to move things with my mind is a longstanding desire. Or let's face it, being able to make one's own head explode and reassemble at will is nothing short of revolutionary - how much better would my soccer game have gone on Monday if, when I got hit by that ball, I could have made my head split apart, sending my gooey innards flying about like so much ground chuck?

These are the things I think about when I am resolutely unable to deal with the larger tasks in my life.

Amsterdam
Feb 23 2005 - 5:23 p.m.

I just looked up all of the side effects for my new-ish thyroid medication, just to see if the weirdness of the past couple of weeks could possibly be blamed on the pills. Well, nope. It turns out I'm just generally fucked up.

Today was satisfying, being that it was the first day in February that I actually did everything I was supposed to do. And before 4:00, no less. Dynamic!

Trial and error
Feb 23 2005 - 9:49 a.m.

I don't know why it took until just a couple of days ago for me to realize that if I sit at my desk naked, the window beside me lets about two dozen houses gain a fine glimpse of my nude, sculpted form. That's a key distinction, but at this point the horse is so far out of the barn, I figure the only way to deal with it is to hang a big pink bristol-board sign in my window that says "Maybe I'm a NATURIST, okay?! and if even ONE of you bastards refers to me as 'Ugly Naked Guy' in your household, I will come over there and BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN."

I was going to write about this Star Wars book I'm currently reading, but I'm going to wait to finish it first. In the meantime, though, here's a book-centric meme, because I just loves them so much:

What are you reading now?

Yoda: Dark Rendezvous by Sean Stewart (will comment later).

Favorite Bookshop?

As recently reported, it's the Chapters web site. I know that this makes me a whore and that I'm grinding all independent booksellers in the city of Toronto into dust. But books are expensive and you can't beat those prices. You really can't. Unless you're Moses.

All Time Favorite Book?

Heart of Darkness, which has been my own little bible since about 1994.

Favorite Place to Read?

Varies. Currently the second couch in the Timothy's at Chester and Danforth.

Where are most of the books in your home?

They're all in my bedroom. And there's a lot of 'em.

How are the books on your bookshelf organised?

Thoroughly disorganized. Usually by size, or colour, or coolness.

Which books do you re read?

Anything I want to, but I've been making a habit of Harry Potter at least once a year since 2001.

Do you use bookmarks or fold the pages back?

BOOKMARKS. Jesus! If anyone folded my pages back I'd set their hair on fire.

Favorite film made from a book?

I think technically (highest place book-movie on my Top 30 list) it's Schindler's List, although you could argue about the spirit of the question in that case. The safer bet would be Lord of the Rings.

Book you've been meaning to read but as yet not got round to?

There are thousands. I think the biggest cheese right now is Don Quixote, followed closely by that old standby, Moby Dick. The motivation behind this is probably why my English professors always wanted to chug my cock.

Book you've never finished or enjoyed?

I actually can't recall giving up on anything, unless you count the 3-month hiatus in The Piano Man's Daughter that I recently took. Oh, and Ulysses took forever. But if Ulysses doesn't take forever, you're not doing it right. (Read it on the beach in Cuba when I was supposed to be vacationing! Yeaaaahhh!!)

Author you'd most like to meet?

I wouldn't mind a couple of hours in a bar with D.M. Thomas.

Looking at the books on your shelves, which category dominates?

Movie-related, Star Wars-related, and novels. Some Canadian, some sci-fi, but not much domination either way. Oh and my comic book / graphic novel collection is growing by leaps and bounds. Two full shelves, with some spillover! Not bad for a couple of years. Next stop: photography books.

In Narnia news, I'm gonna kick this little lily-livered jerk-boy's ass. Holy doodle am I gonna kick his ass. Scrawny punk.

I left the first wave of Pirates of the Caribbean action figures on the shelf yesterday. I'm in a more Buffy-agreeable mood since I got my Spike; I may cave and buy the Darla once my Dru arrives, but the rest of the money's gotta go towards Star Wars. You knew that.

Sooooooo.... I woke up all full of piss and vinegar today with a goal-accomplishing mojo on like you wouldn't believe. I'm going to see if I can actually sustain that. 'Twill be funny.

Fire and forget
Feb 22 2005 - 10:54 p.m.

As a toy collector, I am, by nature, somewhat attracted to audacity within the medium. As such, I couldn't help but smile when I learned that the next wave of Lord of the Rings toys will include an electronic light-and-sound Eye of Sauron action figure... but I have to admit, this also falls well under the "scraping the bottom of the barrel" column. I suppose I'm somewhat bitter because I still don't have a decent Faramir from Two Towers, nor a Theoden on Snowmane, but I was gladdened to see that the company will also be marshalling their light-and-sound gizmos against a Spooky Elf Galadriel - surely the only time the "with Light-Up Hair" moniker has been inscribed on a toy - which oughta make an able companion to my glow-in-the-dark King of the Dead.

I got hit pretty bad in soccer yesterday, as anyone within fifteen blocks of Malvern must have heard; I certainly made enough noise about it. We were playing a pack of over-charged frat boys who thought the key to success lay in firing the ball at punishing speeds at point blank range, apparently obviating the key understanding that there were flesh-and-blood people between them and the goal. Today my chest has a circular bruise on it the size of a soccer ball, and it kinda hurts to breathe or bend over. I'm not in a good mood about the whole thing. It sorta took the "fun" out of the game for me, and stirred up a wickedly foul mood that capsized most of my afternoon.

I'm in turnaround on a project, and everything else softa feels like it's just mired in muck. Not in a good mood. But I know what I've got, and what I've got is good. Breathing, relaxing... trying to find the way back...

Dead Man's Chest
Feb 21 2005 - 3:09 p.m.

I'm waiting for the word to come in, waiting for the "okay." My day is paralyzed until the word comes in. For that matter I think my whole life is currently paralyzed until the word comes in. Whoa - that got big. Sorry. I'm commemorating the death of Duke, to pass the time, by listening to his commentary on Fear and Loathing, and answering overdue e-mail. Jesus this is a great fucking movie. This movie gets better every time I watch it, and I watch it a lot, usually in the middle of the night when I can't sleep, the same territory jealously patrolled by Fight Club. In a nice bit of unintentional visual parallel, Chris just called me downstairs to watch footage from his Saturday night shoot which got interrupted by a phalanx of fire trucks; it was spectacular, better than drugs. I'm becoming more and more fascinated by the shattering of visual data when the recording medium just isn't capable of intercepting the information fully - blown out film, gained-up video, or in this case, the haze of staccato strobe lights from the fire trucks overwhelming the video camera's CCD, causing all manner of sympathetic flashes and bolts throughout the frame that turn the entire shot into a kind of visual symphony of unintentional electronic explosions. We should all be so lucky as to get our attempts to do one thing so unceremoniously destroyed by the arrival of a whole other thing. These accidents must be utilized.

Waiting still. Jesus this fucker is taking a long time to write. I bought that Dru; I replied to the e-mails. I got this from Amelia - she said something about men still being the fuck-ers, and women still being the fuck-ees, and yeah, we've gotta be at least forty years behind on figuring out how to make everyone cum at the same time. It's annoying. The Bell ad is still pissing me off. Kate pointed out the anti-educational bent of the whole thing - I remember looking up sex information in anatomy books when I was a kid, behaviour which is now apparently "indecent." I've been moving toys around for an hour; I had to feel the lightsabre in the palm of my hand again, it's been on my mind for at least a week. Moving toys, listening to words, chugging Homer Simpson sour candies, trying to figure out why my last post was so fucking awful, and how to steer the course back in the right direction. It's got to do with colour, and light, and the sickly What I'm Supposed To Be Doing With My Life - for someone who keeps getting filed in the pile of people who have Known All Along, it sure can be apallingly opaque.

I've been fighting with this goddamn thing since 3:09. An hour and a half. I'm apalled with the shape of my blog lately, but also somewhat amused and occasionally pleased. When it's working, it's working in new ways. When it's failing, it's failing in new ways. That's good, isn't it?

Am I posting this now? Is this really happening?

Spaceballs
Feb 21 2005 - 12:21 p.m.

The pictures from Toy Fair are all over the place; there's a fagtastical 12" Angel from his pre-vampire days; one more Star Wars Monopoly edition and, at long last, a Star Wars edition of Risk; and of course, the Lego death star. You've gotta love the fact that they've so conclusively run out of things to do, that they're sending out a big nondescript plastic ball.

I'm in a weird buying frenzy right now. I feel like I should be buying something, but I ain't got no money. It's interesting. I might end up buying Vamp Dru, because let's face it, enough is enough. What good is anything if you can't have Vamp Dru.

Hey, best news of all out of this long weekend just past: Joss Whedon and John Cassaday have indeed signed to do another year's worth of issues on Astonishing X-Men. They're going to finish the current 12 issue arc, take a short break, and come back for another 12. Anyone who likes comics, the X-Men, or good writing in general, who isn't reading this book right now is... um... stupid. Really dirt stupid. What can I say? It's the best thing running.

Yesterday was the Buffython at Chad and Andria's, which was tremendously successful; we watched "Doppelgangland," "Graduation I & II," "Something Blue," "Hush," and "Once More With Feeling" before I had to pop the hatch and get some oxygen. The weekend's other "thon," the View Askewathon at the Box on Friday night, was less successful, simply because I think you need more than 2 entries to legitimately call anything a "thon." We only watched Mallrats and Jay & Bob and the sex story from Evening. It would have been nice if we'd had those Kevin Smith Degrassi episodes on tape, but 'twas not to be. Also, I think I'm just completely Askew-sick right now, so it's probably time to put them all in a box for a few years. Anyone remember when I used to make movies, instead of slogging DVDs of other people's movies back and forth across the province? Honestly, sometimes I don't know what the fuck is going on any more.

Chris is shooting, I've got a shooting pain in my head, and Hunter S. Thompson shot himself in the head. The Duke is dead. Long live the Duke.

Kyika Greened
Feb 20 2005 - 12:09 p.m.

Undertow
Feb 18 2005 - 10:56 a.m.

Yesterday, Bell Sympatico ran an ad on the front page of the Metro that went something like this: on the left, a page of a book showing a simplified scientific diagram of a naked female body, with various scraps of the surrounding paper cut out to cover the breasts and vulva; and on the right, the tag line "You will do anything to protect your children from inappropriate content. So will we." The thinking behind this ad was so fundamentally wrongheaded it almost made me want to cry. Kids growing up in North America - young girls in particular - have enough trouble learning to accept their bodies, and now this comes along, filing even the most innocuous representation of a naked body - a female, no less - under "inappropriate content?" I'm going to do some digging, and find out if there isn't someone in the Bell hierarchy that I can yell at about this today. These people are well into my bad side already this week.

I've finished 2 books in the past week; the Star Wars novel, The Cestus Deception, and Timothy Findley's The Piano Man's Daughter. The latter was a bit of a cheat; I'd started it in the fall and then left it lying open while I went stumping through other marshes, the worst crime you can do to a book. Returning to it was like a contract kill - I had to get this job done to get to the next job, but Findley being Findley, I enjoyed my 20-hour dive through the last 200 pages a great deal more than I had any right to. Cestus, on the other hand, was mediocre; I read Star Wars books (and only rarely, of course) for the simple pleasure of hangin' wit da Jedi, and this book was bowled over by too more emphasis on treaty negotiations and politics than even The Phantom Menace is accused of having, and far too little vwimm-vwimm action. I'm heading into Yoda: Dark Rendezvous next, before tackling the Revenge of the Sith prequel, Labyrinth of Evil. And after that, I'll definitely be back into normal books.

I've been largely disappointed by Diamond Select's current wave of Buffyverse action figures; the Darlas are all tremendously wide of the mark (especially when compared against the original, brilliant prototype), and the multiplicity of Spikes weren't exactly setting my hair on fire either... until I walked into the Snail on Wednesday and found the "Fool For Love" Spike waiting for me. A Toyfare exclusive, the figure has been packaged in a nice window box instead of a blister card, has content and images from "Fool For Love" (which is, of course, my very favourite episode ever) on the back, and has an appropriate "I'm gonna kick your Slayer ass" look painted on his leering face. It's a toy that does that ultimately rare thing: reminds me of why I do this. I'm very happy with him, and he's strutting his stuff on top of the TV right now, as I dash out to buy my last Whedonverse DVD ever...

Skylon Gone Wrong
Feb 17 2005 - 11:58 a.m.

Me versus Anakin Skywalker, for the last time
Feb 16 2005 - 9:48 a.m.

Galactic Hunter, which has been leading the pack on releasing images of the Revenge of the Sith toys long before Hasbro makes official releases, has put up a wall of pictures of the new role-play electronic lightsabres, a personal favourite from years gone by (as my fellow Yorkies will remember, from the endless hallway lightsabre fights of 1999). There's this, which is perfectly adequate for my needs, thankyouverymuch. But let's face it, what I really want is this mo-fucker. FX Lukesabre notwithstanding, I have yet to actually pop my cherry on a real Master Replicas prop replica. And this pic of Anakin and Obi-Wan has me so lusty for Obisabre that I might just go out of my mind.

It comes down to the costume situation. I have decided not to do an Obi-Wan Kenobi costume this year, which is a break with tradition from the releases of Episodes I and II. The reason is largely financial, because I promised myself a long time ago that if I did do a costume for Episode III, it would be the costume, my final statement on the process, and a piece of fan costuming of a quality high enough that I could, if it were my ken, display it proudly on a mannequin in my future home or office. Well, let's do some math:

• Real leather Jedi boots - US$349
• Leather replica belt - US$49
• Jedi cloak of appropriate weight and texture - between $100 and $150
• New tabard and tunic - at least $50 worth of materials
• Obi-Wan Kenobi replica lightsabre hilt - US$369
• Electronic lightsabre for the duelin' - $30
• Wig and beard - $80

And since I'm not really willing to compromise on that level of quality, I'm choosing not to do it at all.

It sucks balls.

It sucks balls because it's the last time, it sucks balls because it's a 7-years-in-the-making goal that won't be realized, it sucks balls because I'm already spending multiple hundreds of dollars to go to Celebration III and I won't even get to geek out oldschool and strut around in fine Jedi duds. Go geek or go home, I always say, and I won't be able to do either.

Oh well. Time for some moping.

My ass has finally decided to eat my hand! It hungers for more!!
Feb 15 2005 - 3:28 p.m.

I think that for the first time in easily 6 or 8 months, absolutely nobody owes me any money. I'm also within a stone's throw of having no DVDs out on loan. It's interesting. Though possibly not to you.

This is interesting too (though possibly not to you, either): an open plea from J. Michael Straczinsky (Babylon 5, Captain Power) for the chance to run the next incarnation of Star Trek. He recants at the end, which is odd, but basically, everything he says makes sense. What I really miss about the original Star Trek (and, to a degree, Next Gen) is that it was legitimate science fiction, written by actual science fiction authors (Harlan Ellison, Robet Bloch, etc.), less concerned with the internal character politics of the cast than with ideas and speculations about the possibilities of science, exploration, and the human mind. Maybe there aren't any interesting science fiction stories any more, but I'd much rather see someone try to find out, than witness any more tight Vulcan asses paraded around in gym shorts.

Fuck, I just remembered someone who owes me money.

Well anyway. I try to keep the blog-incest to a minimum, but I have to do two bits today:

Matty Price expounds at length on why he hasn't been to the dentist in 2+ years, and I'm in exactly the same boat, although for slightly different reasons. Let's face it, dentists suck major horse balls anyway; it's a horrible cash-grab industry that just feels slimy around the edges most of the time. In my case, this manifested itself in the persona of Marilyn, the receptionist at my former dental office, who would pester me by phone to absolutely no end, to book appointment after appointment, every 5.5 months on the dot. She'd call endlessly until she'd actually spoken to you, every 48 hours for weeks on end. There were months where I'd just stop picking up the phone, simply because I didn't want to talk to that indomitable woman. Dentistry is a personal hygiene issue, and you know what? I don't like it being shoved down my throat (so to speak). I think I'm capable of determining when I need a cleaning, just like I'm able to figure out when I want my hair cut. Add to this the fact that every single time I've been to the dentist in the past eight years, the hygenist has commented that I have the cleanest set of teeth that he/she has ever seen, and the fact that the actual "dentist" in question is a man that I've seen exactly thrice in my entire tenure at the office, and everything just starts to feel like the world's biggest scam. I don't pay $400 a year to get hosed by a wanna-doctor who can't even be bothered to check my "perfect" teeth, and whose choice of receptionist is little better than a telemarketer. The. Hell. With. That.

Then there's Chris, by whose blog I have learned that the enigmatic wraith of our York film production days, Mendelsohnnnnnn, may be staying at 3QF in the near future, to participate in the Walter's Undoing shoot. This is both brilliant, and unbelievably terrifying. I may have to make a covert documentary regarding the man's stay. Or maybe I'll just stay at Kate's that weekend.

Hot Blood Red
Feb 13 2005 - 5:33 p.m.

Blood continues to fascinate me. The way it flows, the way it drips, the way it feels in your ears. The nature of it, the fact that it exists at all. The river inside. The thumping. Flushed cheeks, stiff dicks, hard nipples. Blood red - the colour, and all its associated colours in the red spectrum. I love blood red. I picked my current apartment because of the blood red wall, and if I had more money, I'd make all of the walls the same red. Crimson. Scarlet. Ruby. Vermillion - now that's a great fucking word.

Like I said the other day, one of the key attractors of Pom for me is the sinful blood-reddiness, so much like frothing blood that I almost have to look twice when I'm gulping it down. I'm not quite ready to pony up and drink a quart of the real stuff, but I'm not ruling it out either, especially if Probsty's offering it up as part of a challenge and my whole team's behind me.

Last night Kate and I did Kama Sutra Yoga at the Big Stretch, which was my first session at the centre since long before Christmas, and it was excellent. We've been amping up the at-home yoga all week in preparation, and I was deep into poses like I've never been before. Joanne lead a lively session with all of the trimmings; moody candles, incense, love poetry, and every once in a while, an assistant coming around to rub essential oils on your body. The whole thing left me feeling flushed and full and a bit naughty.

The guiding notion had little to do with the Kama Sutra itself, but just to devote a class to poses that specifically open up the heart chakra and the root chakra, and let the good times roll. It wasn't partner yoga per se, but that didn't stop Kate and I from holding hands during our twists. It was part of our V-day dealings, and if it took a couple of tries to get us there (Friday night scheduling mistake, d'oh!), everything worked out brilliantly in the end. I had more fun than I've had doing yoga in a very, very long time.

Enjoy V-day everyone. Find someone warm to hug.

Steve's big-boy hair isn't going to come in any faster with you taunting him.
Feb 12 2005 - 11:07 a.m.

I think it's fairly safe to say that the forthcoming Revenge of the Sith lava lamp, with all its inherent Mustafarian implications, is pretty much a must-have for just about everyone on the planet. Or, anyone on the planet like me. Besides, it looks like something I saw at CAYA last month. How can you not? How - can - you - not?!

All rightie, want your imagery a little more specific? Visit ratemyboner.com for some fine hardcore imagery of various mens' turgid wangs, and the power at your fingertips to uphold or throw down the aesthetic appeal of their boy-parts. I really would like to get behind this site as a chance to see a broad variety of penises and notice the extraordinary diversity among them and thereby realize that every penis is a fine penis and that there's nothing wrong with a little variety... but there's no way around it, some of these suckers are just damn weird lookin'.

Twilight and shadow
Feb 11 2005 - 1:55 p.m.

I said suspended, not expelled
Feb 10 2005 - 1:27 p.m.

People are so funny.

I didn't accomplish any of the things that actually prompted me to take the blog break, because I got waylaid by a nasty bug for the past few days, complete with poison-green dreams and the raging body inferno. Nor do I have anything particularly deep or moving with which to delight you fine people on this day. And it's not looking likely that this blog will end up being bifurcated, penis-style, between the "personal" and the "political" (er, I mean "entertainment news"). Today it's mostly "world at large."

Let me take a moment to impart to you the Pom situation. Basically, Pom is - ahem - the bomb. Not unlike the Mach 3 Power, it's the sort of thing where I really don't want it to be as good as it claims, out of sheer irritation. And yet, I have no choice but to cop to its unbelievable success. Though not 100% sure, I'm fairly convinced that it cured my migraine on Tuesday night. It looks like rich, creamy vamp-juice in its adorable little bum-shaped bottle. And it tastes... well, like fine pomegranates. Absolutely adorable.

The downside? The shit is FIVE DAMN DOLLARS A BOTTLE. Yup, for the amount of fluid in a can of Coke, you're paying a hefty fin and potentially a little more (depending on the store). The dude at the Carrot couldn't believe his eyes when he rung up the sauce yesterday. It's a long way to go for a little bottle of juice. But it's so goooooooooood.

Now Magazine has posted the results of this year's sex survey, ever helpful. Particularly, the results on number 9: that the younger a person is, the less likely they are to count oral sex as "having sex." Those kids and their loose morals (and mouths). Wait, there's a pun in there somewhere.

Mmmm. Sex. By the way, the word of the week is Kizlik Zari, which would be Turkish for hymen. I discovered this when doing some miscellaneous hymen research for Bex, and now I think I might have to use it as a name for a firstborn daughter, beloved pet, or feat of Dwarven architecture. I'll keep you posted. A quick Googling of the kizlik reveals that, as usual, the more a society tries to cover something up, the more it becomes a fetish object. Like kneecaps for Amish folks.

Here's the fancy hotness of Unleashed that got me all sweaty this morning:

And yes, the sex survey lists "Star Wars fan club" as one of the places that people meet sex partners. (Sniffles) It never worked for me!

Well. That's it. Sleep was mighty; sniffles are all but gone; cough lingers but as soon as I expectorate the frog currently sitting in my throat, I think all will be well. I'm off to launder, and possibly ponder, while waiting for the sun to set.

Field of Dreams
Feb 3 2005 - 6:18 p.m.

All right, that's enough a' this shit.

BLOG SUSPENDED

Chapters has me by the balls.
Feb 3 2005 - 10:38 a.m.

I don't know what the hell is going on, but I am freaking addicted to buying books online right now. I literally spend half my day surfing endlessly across the vast wastes of the Chapters.Indigo web site. Here's the problem: there's the list price (which is the price you'd pay in stores, say forty bucks for example) and then there's the web site price! (which is always a hell of a lot less! Like twenty-five bucks in the same example!) And because this isn't nearly insidious enough, there's the iREWARDS PRICE!!! Which is another foolish ten damn percent off!!! IT'S INSANE! I'm getting excited just writing about it! So the upshot is that your forty-dollaridoo book ends up being like twenty-three bucks plus tax, and if that isn't enough of a discount to make you buy something you don't actually need, I dunno what. Holy fuck, they've got me in a corner and I can't get out.

This is probably at least partially in response to the PayPal ignominy; somehow, without telling me, PayPal deleted my credit card as a payment source, and will now only accept debit payments. Which means that when I buy something on Ebay, I actually have to pay for it right away! What the fuck is that? How is that fun? Not fun IMHO. Folks, if your PayPal account still hooks up with your Visa, hang onto it like grim death. Don't be like me. That way lies disaster.

Twilight of the other star
Feb 2 2005 - 6:49 p.m.

...and not a moment later, Star Trek is off the air. Wow, what a day!

The end of all things
Feb 2 2005 - 6:44 p.m.

Oh, man.

The last day of shooting on Star Wars.

Ever.

...

          ....

                      .... Oh, man.

I got spam from a girl named Vanina; she included her lovely --
Feb 2 2005 - 2:14 p.m.

This is Wonderland is actually coming to DVD. I'm gobsmackered. And happy. But worried that it'll be really costly, since only six people (myself included) are going to buy it.

But I didn't buy Buffy figures today, and that's something. Yup, the Darlas are out, and one of the Spikes, and I... just don't care. The Spike is pretty good, but money's tight, and the Darlas all miss the mark for me, so I actually left them all behind. I'm still somewhat amazed myself. I'll still probably pick up "Fool for Love" Spike out of nothing more than a sense of obligation when it finally hits the shelves, but on the whole my interest in Buffy collectibles completely vanished after the Season Seven DVD came out. It must have smacked my head with the "closure" mallet, or something.

Meanwhile: I told you circumcision was a bad idea! And also ewwwwww. I'm not one to mock another man's religion, but COME ON. With his mouth?!

Close the Book (Part 2)
Feb 2 2005 - 9:46 a.m.

Yesterday I watched The Lord of the Rings. The whole thing. Extended cuts the whole way. And let me tell you, this is the way to do it. Whatever qualms I may have with the extendo-cuts as individual pieces, there's no denying that if you're going to devote that 11¼ hours gluing your eyes to Middle-Earth, you're going to have a much more complete experience by going with the big dogs. Quibbles like narrative flow and breaking of tension don't matter as much, because you're only serving the conclusion of one storyline instead of three. And the hours just flew by. It didn't feel like a whole sunrise/sunset thrown over to television watching.

It was a good excuse to eat like a hobbit, and so I did; I had breakfast (tea and marmalade on toast), second breakfast (salted pork, crusty bread, old cheese), elevenses (grapefruit), luncheon (PB&J), afternoon tea (tea and Snakmastered cheese sandwich), dinner (garlic bread and red wine), and supper (3-cheese tortellini à la Denethor, drenched in oil). Apparently I was feeling carby. I may never eat again.

So that's done. I never have to do it again. There's only one thing left, and it's harder; I'll have to figure out the most facile way to achieve it.

I never felt particularly uncomfortable in the boys' change room
Feb 1 2005 - 9:09 a.m.

I think we can pretty much declare NYX dead. The latest was supposed to ship last week; now it's completely off the schedule, and the Marvel site won't cop to its existence at all. I'm annoyed. The book had a lot of potential (although a couple of missteps along the way) and watching the deadlines slide by again and again has been really frustrating. I picked up the second issue of X-23 to compensate; it's not quite as good, but I'll hang with it for a couple more months to see if it goes anywhere.

Because we needed more proof that when it comes to raising children, North America has gone completely off the deep end: there's this. I thought the presexual hyper-paranoia was scary enough. Getting arrested for stick figure drawings? Could somebody please get their head out of their ass for a minute, and actually think of the children?

Well anyway. This is it, Tederick.commies, I'm officially getting old. I've been diagnosed with my first incurable disease. Well, "disease" is probably a strong word (although my doctor used it); I think "disorder" or "condition" would probably be slightly more accurate. I haves the hypothyroidism. I ain't gots enough thyroid. Symptoms of my ailment include fatigue, depression, weight gain, low sex drive, and constipation, which by my tally would make this the best disease in the world to have, because treating it will clearly lead to an abundance of energy, a positive mental outlook, a slender physique, a boner you could break a brick wall with, and the bowels of a goose on Metamucil. This is going to be fabboo.

I took a long walk downtown with Mark yesterday where we discussed many things; I ended up in Pages, looking at the photography books (cheap excuse to look at the nudie books). I'd buy a half a dozen of the ones I saw if they didn't all cost like ninety damn dollars. There was one series of subway photographs that just enthralled me, but then I've been enthralled by subway imagery more and more for the past couple of years, and think I might have to do a photo essay or video collage of my own on the subject. There was a great book of porn star portraits, where the facing pages showed the actors clothed (on the left) and naked (on the right) in the same poses. There was a book of a photographer's polaroids and sketches accompanying the final photographs, which is a part of the process I'm becoming increasingly fascinated by in the last little while; although I never look at another man's storyboards for some reason, the planning that goes into a final image is something I'm trying to understand more and more. Meh. Too much scribblin', not enough sketchin'.

There's a great little snippet of the Dooku/Obi-Wan/Anakin duel in the latest Making Of segment on StarWars.com. Appropriately ferocious. And I've started The Cestus Deception, and am thus far thoroughly reminded as to why I don't usually read these things.

Well. Here I go...

The Deeper Well