When life hands me mayhem, I make mayonnaise
June 30 2005 - 1:45 p.m.
The ugly jar of the Mayonnaise That Didn't Come Out Right has
been sitting on my shelf, smirking at me, for about four days. I replaced it
today with the best mayonnaise I've ever made, ever. As much as my mayo is
currently kicking solid ass, I have to confess to just not understanding the
whole process. Sometimes it works like gangbusters; other times it goes
belly-up. There is no substantive difference between the processes that might
lead to the change. I thought it might be the overall heat, but that's got
nothing to do with it. Just: sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. There's
a metaphor in here somewhere.
Ever-vigilant with the fine internet linking, Amelia reels in a
couple of beauties for us: first,
a line of Christian underwear, with the hysterical slogan
"What a trend we have in Jesus." Ah, nothing like a desperate religion reaching
out to the demographic it understands the least with attempts at being cool.
There's something about having "What would Jesus do" emblazoned across the
vagina that dredges up all kinds of interesting thoughts, but my favourite is
the "Turn or Burn" one, which I choose to read as "Front door's off-limits...
I'll turn around so you can stick it in my ass!"
Second: the new bit of news that
when women have an orgasm, their emotional centers shut
off. You cold, unfeeling bitches. Nah, not really, it deals more with the
apparent physiological necessity of eliminating all high-level anxiety before a
woman can have the full round-the-world O. That's right: chill out. Have a
cummy. Make sense?
Did the prep today for the next batch of film festival
entries... Leap is on its way to test its mettle in such far-flung
climes as Tehran, Bilbao, Karachi, Leeds, Sienna, Rio, and Sudbury. Had a good
script drafting day, too; four pages on She's Come Undone and a whopping
nine on the still-very-sketchy Toronto Omelette.
Boys have the same parts. Girls have three holes (down
there).
June 29 2005 - 9:04 p.m.
It is so freakin' miserably hot at 3QF that Chris is wandering
around wearing nothing but an adorable pair of purple boxers. I've been
favouring the boxer-briefs myself, and before you get too homoerotically
excited, you should understand that due to the heat, our few, addled
interchanges have mostly amounted to some grunting and the occasional smirk.
Okay, that makes it sound more homoerotic, doesn't it. I'm shutting up
now.
So I lit outta here and went down to Timo's to read some comic
books and enjoy the air conditioning. The air conditioning proved to be a bit
much so I ended up sitting on the patio, inhaling all that lovely smoke. Ah,
smoke. The thing about forcing all the smokers outside of every restaurant in
the city: they're matching points with the smog for sheer unbreathable outdoor
grossness. Wouldn't it be great if, by law, any non-smoker could just go over
to a smoker and say "leave"? Like, if we could get a standing 50-foot
restraining order against all smokers by all non-smokers? That would do me just
right.
It's been a while since I've done anything substantial in
comics; the springtime just basically sucked, and I've only been reading two
titles regularly, Astonishing X-Men (which shouldn't even be used in the
same sentence as the word "regularly") and Star Wars Republic. Now,
though, there's some interesting things going on in the various X-franchises; I
enjoyed House of M #2 enough to warrant buying #1, and the second issue
(I always seem to be jumping into these things in medius res) of
Hellions wasn't bad, either. First issue of the new Angel
mini-series came out today, too; mine has a puppet on the cover.
The girl
blogged something really nice the other day, about the Pride parade and it not
mattering whose parts you like to touch, and so on and so forth. And then
before you know it, the same-sex marriage bill actually passes - not quite all
the way there yet, but nearly a sure thing. When the vote was taken, one side
of the visitors' gallery in the House of Commons burst into applause. Tonight
I'm walking down the Danforth, newspaper headlines screaming about the new
equality... There are hundreds of families scattered across every restaurant
patio on the way, kids fidgeting against their parents, people smoking and
laughing and arguing and sweating, and a flock of Hare Krishnas banging their
drums up and down the street, blending nicely in and out with the slow beats on
my barely-recovered iPod. And I really do love it here. I love my country.
Mo' 'Mo.
June 29 2005 - 12:18
p.m.
MaMo #2:
The Ballad of Serenity has been posted to the podcast site. We got
an overwhelmingly enthusiastic response to last week's podcast, so Matty and I
are getting pretty derned excited about the whole deal. Next week, we might
even try to make the site look cooler.
In the meantime, I'm off to see War of the Worlds to feed
next week's podcast opinions.
I love you Peter.
June 28 2005 - 9:58
a.m.
Yup,
that's pretty damn fuckin' good.
Cock rock
June 26 2005 - 9:27
p.m.
Happy Pride Day! Boy, if you need proof that God loves
homosexuals, just look at the blazingly brilliant weather we've had for every
single Pride Parade I've ever been to, including today. Like heaven fell on
Yonge & Wellesley. Today's parade didn't fall under "best parade ever," but
it was still pretty good; it was a brisk affair (after the 3+ hour marathons of
years past) and not notably flamboyant. There also weren't enough cocks and
tits, but then I suppose there would never be enough cocks and tits. The cocks
that did show up, though, were pretty uniformly spectacular, and as for tits...
well, there are no bad tits, even ones with really small nipples. A foreskin
restoration group showed up and marched, and when I saw them I yelled out
"yeah!!!" and gave the V, and was repayed with the slightest of Pai-Mei
nods from their leader. Oddly, though, none of those guys were naked. If you
really want to make a point about the intact male, shouldn't you be showing off
your foreskin in all its turtlenecked glory? Jeez, otherwise what's the point?
If I had one, it would be out and about all the damn time.
The Federation of
Canadian Naturists didn't show up (or if they were there, I didn't see
them), which is a shame; it's always my favourite part of the show. The girl
said that I should be a naturist, and she's pretty much right. I fucking
hate clothes right now. And every year (prior to this one), seeing that
squadron of nudists wander bare-ass down Yonge Street has tugged on my
heartstrings something fearce. Have I mentioned that I fucking hate
clothes right now? I'm dyin' to let it all hang out.
I won some lube and Kate won a razor blade. Later on we're gonna
shave me bare, lube me up, and slide me down the hallway.
She moves around a lot
June 26 2005 -
11:50 a.m.
In spite of a few worries in my mind, I'm posting
my review of Serenity,
because what's the fun of seeing this flick 3 months early if I can't gas about
it on the internet? Thursday night was pretty much a dream come true; not only
was the movie even better than I ever dreamed, but just before the show
started, Sean Maher walked out on stage. Yeah, we got a Big Damn Hero to help
us watch our Big Damn Movie - and afterwards, he signed trinkets!
It's going to be a ludicrously long wait until September to see
this film again, and believe me, I gots ta see it again. Like Batman a
couple of weeks ago, I was just struck by how incredibly satisfying the
movie is. "Bang for your buck" doesn't do it justice; you get a whole dang
cannonade for your loony with this puppy. I am really looking forward to seeing
if non-fans will enjoy it; I suspect they will (while missing out on all of the
best details), but for the most part, it's either a shrine for the faithful, or
a commercial for the Firefly DVDs. Either way, I'm happy.
Today's the Pride Parade; the girl and I are going after she's
done work, although I recently/foolishly threw out my porno shirt. I may wear a
hat instead, because hats are gay. Going gay dovetails nicely with
the first comment ever on the MaMo podcast (which is
getting pretty impressive download stats by the way, making me somewhat scared
to take on episode 2), in which a Chilean spectator guesses accurately that
while the podcast was being recorded above the table, the best word to describe
what was going on beneath the table is "vigorous."
Absolutely flat-out stunned to learn that there's a wee comic
shop just down the street from me... but then, I never really notice anything
around here, do I. Very hole-in-the-wall-y, but I'm going to have a look today
anyway, because a man needs his backup plans.
Well... here I am...
June 23 2005 - 3:56
p.m.
How to get quickly juiced up for Serenity:
Watch "Heart of Gold." Answer the ice cream question. Go for
walk down to the post office in the bright sunshine, thinking about space
cowboys and space whores. Come home. Watch "Objects in Space." Get all pissed
off at Fox again for cancelling the show; remember that the answer is just a
few hours away. Count the seconds left until 10:00; retire to room to read and
make ready.
If you love something, don't put it up on Ebay. It won't come
back.
June 23 2005 - 12:36 p.m.
Geeky collectible story ensues: there's this Han Solo action
figure called "Han Solo: Death Star Escape." It looks like this:
I've wanted to get rid of this thing, literally, from the moment
I bought it. As soon as I had it out of the package, I pretty much hated it. I
hated myself for buying it. I hated the sheer number of Han Solos I had been
gulled into purchasing, and this was the cream of the gullability crop. I
deeply looked forward to a day when I would put this figure up on Ebay.
That day finally arrived last week, and I put it up... but as I
was turning it over in my hands after the photo shoot, it kinda just hit me:
this is a pretty decent figure. Kinda nice actually. Poses well. Head sculpt is
garbage, but overall lines are good.
I took a page from Watto's book and let fate decide. Put it up
for sale, and since nothing else was selling anyway, I figured there was a good
chance it wouldn't end up going. Fate decided: the figure just sold. Fuck,
everything sold. The last batch of auctions was so freakin' successful it makes
me want to sell every Star Wars toy in the house. Now must I bear the
ignominy of ultimately replacing the toy that I've spent three years
hating?
No, probably not... but please consider this a cautionary tale,
if you can find any remote way to relate it to your life. Keep the toys you
even think you might be able to love. $2.25 ain't worth a lifetime of
misery.
It's worse than you know (It usually is)
June 23 2005 - 10:29 a.m.
So while Batman Begins is being unjustifiably crucified
at the box office - go see it this weekend, I implore you - the next great
tentpole is casting a mighty, mighty reach, because
this
Superman blog just about ended my life for coolness. Wow. It's
really starting to look like all of Singer's good work on X1 and
X2 was just the warm-up, because this is clearly the comic book
movie he's been waiting to do all of his life.
It's the same situation with Nolan as with Singer: make a couple
of respectable, character-driven low-budget genre pictures, and then get handed
a superhero franchise to rule like a king. How's that for a career track? I'm
in, baby, I'm in. God I'm so hungry right now I could chew cement.
I'm still fighting a cold, and I (just for the stupid glummy
glee of it) watched a bit of Batman & Robin last night which gave me
a hell of a hangover, but nothing's getting in the way of the fact that I'm
seeing Serenity tonight, baby, I'm seeing the gang again!
The podcast, Episode I
June 22 2005 -
4:50 p.m.
Matty
Price had the idea a couple of weeks ago of getting together to do a
podcast (it's like radio you download, ostensibly to your iPod, but I'm sure
that's not technically required), because we sit around and gas about the movie
business so much anyway, and we consider ourselves quite interesting. Hey,
that's what all blogging is about, right? Anyways, we took over a Demetre's
last night at like 11:30 and in spite of shoddy equipment, too much sugar, and
me coming down with a head cold, we cranked out our first installment.
Somewhere in there, we christined the show MaMo, although I'm sure I was
kidding at the time, but it's doubtful we'll ever be able to get rid of the
moniker now. Like the Barenaked Ladies.
Anyways: podcast ahoy! It's about 30 minutes long and will cost
you a whopping 11 megs of your drive space, until you delete it. At some point,
the theory is that it'll be syndicated so that your iTunes will just download
it whenever there's a new one. But in the meantime,
check out our podcast
site.
Jubblies
June 22 2005 - 11:36
a.m.
I'm watching SexTV (the program, not the channel) with my tea
this morning, and they've got a spot on "golden age" porn stars who have
returned to the business after decade-long breaks, and it occurs to me: porn
sucks. Porn really sucks, man, porn has always sucked. I mean, I'm glad that
there's porn. Frankly I'm glad that there's every single consensual sexual
activity that exists in the world, and hopeful that there are a few new ones
(à la Tracey Ullman's head-bashing) waiting to be discovered. I don't
begrudge anyone their ability to find porn enjoyable, either with or without
irony. But boy howdy, porn is dumb.
Now by "porn" I'm mostly talking about hardcore,
professionally-produced pics n' videos of people having "THE INTERCOURSE." This
is the stuff that sucks. Why? Because it's patently ludicrous, that's why. It's
so ludicrous that I begin to wonder how anyone can enjoy it, because what's the
relation here? What does any of this stuff have to do with actual sex? Maybe
it's just that there's a whole army of people out there who get off on this
particular elaborate fantasy, and don't associate it with sex at all, just like
there are people who like kabuki theatre. I don't see kabuki theatre and think
"real lives, real problems," and I don't see porn and think "real sex."
Elaborate stylizations heaped upon stylizations, and that just isn't
appealing.
Pictures of naked people is a whole other ball of good times,
because let's face it, who doesn't enjoy looking at pictures of people naked?
Sure, when you get an actual porn star making pictures of nakedness it gets a
bit trickier, because the dumbness of porn starts to bleed over into the
fun-ness of pics of naked people. Give me normal-looking naked people anytime.
They can be hot, but they have to be made of real bits and not foam latex, like
some kind of fucking KNB effect. This is why the new high-concept alterna-sites
like I Shot Myself and Beautiful Agony are just so damn compelling - nothing
more exciting than a pretty college girl with a wicked grudge against her dad
turning the camera on herself for the edification of the nation. It deserves a
whole other name than "porn." Maybe "sexual yesness." Can we catch that on,
please?
Climactic boobies
June 21 2005 - 10:03
a.m.
Because consistency is apparently irrelevant,
here's the truly funky box for the next season of
Simpsons DVDs. I'm less interested in the fact that they're doing this
for seasons 6-10, than in wondering what on earth they'll do for everything
after!
I seem to be coming down with a cold, which surprised me; I
thought we were past colds. Bah. The only trouble is doing the first podcast
with Matty P tonight, but I don't think my voice will shut completely down
until at least tomorrow. We'll see.
Finally found that Han Solo blaster-style belt buckle that Ewan
was wearing in the Esquire shoot.... should you desire to purchase one for me,
talk to Han Cholo. I
have bought enough geek paraphernalia on the internet for one week.
She's your Venezuelan Beaver Cheese, right there
June 20 2005 - 12:48 a.m.
The worst-ranked team in the league (us) met up with the
best-ranked team in the league (them) and the results were predictably
predictable. I came home, shoved a bunch of pasta in to boil, and watched
Elephant. Maybe that's not the most ideal Sunday night viewing, but it's
been on my mind the last few days. That movie just takes me apart. It's all so
gallingly simple. It makes me want to make movies.
Tonight I used some of my Ebay earnings to buy a DVD that's a
compilation of a bunch of sex ed movies from the 40s and 50s. I'm really
looking forward to "Molly Grows Up," the menstruation flick, and "As Boys
Grow," the one where the gym coach tells a class of boys just exactly why they
find it so hard to concentrate in co-ed classrooms these days. Shit like this
is gold to me. So much so that I really want to get me some of these -
anatomically-correct sex education dolls being used in schools
in Japan. They're like the urbane older siblings of the Cabbage Patch Kids,
who get to have mutually-exploratory Jack n' Jill parties after school. But I
think that actually tracking one down would make me some kind of plushie.
Not surprisingly, writing scripts is like any athletic activity
- when you're not in shape, you pretty much just can't do it. In 2002 and 2003,
I wrote ten drafts of various feature screenplays. Now, I'm finding it
hard to make even my very, very old "four pages a day" maxim work out. But I'm
giving it my best - I'm putting all this arcane sexual knowledge into use and
writing something about being 14 years old at a shithole middle school like
Glenview. So far it's just a chain of anecdotes with no spine, but for now I'm
keeping the pressure off myself and just assuming that I'll find it as I
go.
At some point in the past few months, the Harold Greenberg Fund
(to which I have been working studiously, preparing a subculture
screenwriting application) changed the rules, deciding that they'd rather only
work with established professionals who have had a script of 90 minutes in
length or more produced to completion. This, of course, begs the question of
exactly how anyone ever gets started in this stupid, misbegotten
industry of ours... but I guess it doesn't matter. The Canadian film industry
just doesn't work, and I sure as hell ain't gonna proselytize and try to fix
it. Government clearly isn't the way to go, and that in itself is going to do
more harm than good down the road. Not my problem. This was still the weekend
where I heard my script out loud for the first time, and it got me all cranked
up: I want to cast it, I really want to rehearse it, I really really want to
put it in front of some cameras. So... that's what I'm gonna do.
She promised me Star Wars
June 19 2005 -
10:11 a.m.
Maybe
for my birthday? "Here, sonny, eat Anakin's immolation!"
No, there aren't any Freudian implications there.
I'm supremely pissed to learn that Marvel has shoved
Astonishing X-Men #11 back by another month, disappearing it from
this Wednesday's release, all the way back to July 20th. That was gonna be a
sweet pairing, AXM on Wednesday and Serenity on Thursday. But
hey, at least we still have the "I'm fucking seeing Serenity on
Thursday!!!" part of the joygasm. I'm so freakin' excited about this, I can
barely see straight.
In the meantime, should I be reading House of M? I'm
feeling X-deprived.
I'm finally listening to the Batman Begins score -
excellent, but no Batman Returns excellent - which I bought a couple of
days ago and was putting off until I had a chance to listen to the whole thing
at once. I also picked up a Dizzy Gillespie CD to go with the further Verve
Remixeds that the girl laid on me. (Boy, this whole thing is doing wonders for
my music sense.) It was hard to get out of HMV alive, what with their various
3-for-30 sales going on in the DVD section. For some reason, I'm pretty heftily
interested in getting a copy of Hulk one of these days. And Superman
II. I'm in a fine comic book movies hit-n'-miss phase right now.
Yes, when
MacLeans listed Hermione at a 28% chance to die before the
end of the series, I almost started to cry.
Have you ever jerked one into the seats?
June 19 2005 - 1:24 a.m.
The subculture table read went very well. It was an
extremely preliminary event, but even at this rudimentary stage, it confirmed
one fundamentally important thing about the script: the material plays. There's
a movie here. I'd say about 90% of the scenes worked nicely; a couple had some
tonal problems that the reading made clear to me, and a couple will be
dependent on a lot of rehearsal. But yeah. On the whole, I could not be
happier.
Here's the cast, all of whom get the big round of thanks for
helping me out with this:
Matthew: Melvyn, Mrs. Amazing
Mark: Garth, Fudge,
Moosehead
Kate: Sarina, Heather
Bex: Ashley, Dwight, Goth Chick
Chad:
Clerk, Corvinus, Heather, Sharky, Jared's pager
Me: Jared
(ugh.)
The read went a bit faster than expected, about 3¼ hours
(including breaks) from start to finish, taking most of the scenes twice. I'm
going to cut the audio together soon to find out just how long the film might
end up playing, and then it's on to the next step.
Afterwards, it was the long-awaited Lick's inauguration, a bit
of casting couchness, some Golden Girls, some Bea Arthur t-shirt getting
recognized on the subway, and some watching Anastasia jiggle her formless ass
at Skin Tight Outta Sight, which may or may not have excited the girl more than
it excited me. Regardless, I'm bitten. These have been a rich nine.
Last minute victory
June 18 2005 - 9:59
a.m.
Daryl's Hard Liquor and Porn Film Festival just e-mailed me
to tell me that Cobra Commander is Gonna Buttfuck Homer Simpson, paired
(I think) with Homer Simpson is Gonna Buttfuck Cobra Commander, will be
playing tonight at their festival in Montreal. The festival is held at
the Society for Arts and Technology, in Montreal QC. If you're in the
neighbourhood and want to watch some freaky action figure sex, visit the
DHL&P web site for details.
Well that's cool. Man, it never even occured to me to send this
flick out. And now, bam!
Off to the subculture table read... nervous.
E-FUCKING-NUFF
June 17 2005 - 5:18
p.m.
Stop with the Tom and Katie bullshit already.
Last night Jason and I drove to the Galaxy cinema in Waterloo to
see Sith, which was my seventh (?) time. That's right: we went to a
Galaxy far, far away to see Star Wars. I don't think I ever have to see
it again now.
In a surprise move, the Lick's at Pape and Danforth just opened.
Must hit that up after the table read tomorrow.
Anyone fancy a drive to Manitoba?
June 15
2005 - 5:15 p.m.
Leap will make its next public appearance at the
Gimli Film
Festival in Gimli, which is north of the 'Peg, in Manitoba. I submitted to
this fest based solely upon the use of the name "Gimli." Hee hee. "Gimli." The
flick will screen on Thursday, July 28th, as part of the "Nervous Laughter"
programme. Looks like a pretty good show, all in all. Check it out if you're
anywhere nearby! It's here:
Which is actually even further than Chapel Hill North Carolina.
Man I live in a big country.
Bust out the Rohypnol, we're goin' to the movies
June 15 2005 - 5:03 a.m.
Back from Batman, and what impressed me the most was just
how freakin' scary the movie is - not only does it successfully make you
appropriately afraid of the various bad guys, but it genuinely succeeds in
making you scared of Batman. Which is pretty much all right in the world as far
as I'm concerned. Will it be the 300 million dollar success I predicted?
Probably not. This is wayyyyyyyy too good of a movie for most of the crowd that
it's being marketed to. At this point, I suppose we can only hope that it'll
make enough money to spur on the already seemingly pitch-perfect sequel.
Damn, the sky's already lightening outside. It's five in the
freakin' morning. It took an hour to get eggs benedict served at the stupid
Golden Griddle because a flock of twenty kilt-wearing Scottish rugby players
were pretty much owning the joint when we walked in.
The heat finally looks to have broken, at least, which is good;
today I just had one of those despair moments because I was just so damn tired
of being damp all the time. I gave as good as I got, today, though; So
Good is in the can, and the first unit for my one-minute movie -
E-Watchamacallit Un-amation - is finished. Fielding offers for
nude-willing actors for the second unit plates.
If Batman was just gobsmackingly satisfying as a
filmgoing experience (it's way too late/early to write a review as detailed as
I want to write, so it'll have to wait until tomorrow), then the gala premiere
of the Worldwide Short Film Festival was pretty shockingly poor. Seven films,
and only two of them - Fluent Dysphasia and the now-ubiquitous
Ryan (which I had seen several times before) could actually be called
"good," with the rest falling towards mediocre. Yup: on sheer batting averages,
a little 3-man operation in Chapel Hill, North Carolina just kicked the
Canadian Film Centre's ass. Shame, shame, shame.
Courtesy pass worked out great, though; I'll have to put some
time tomorrow into architecturing my Worldwide screenings for the rest of the
week.
Puffles the Cat: Using Magic to Solve Crimes
June 14 2005 - 10:15 a.m.
Amy got the 1MFVFers some VIP passes for the Worldwide Short
Film Festival, so now I've got Mark coming at 1 to fuck around with various
sketches, the Worldwide gala opening at 7 at the Bloor, and then at midnight,
I've got Batman. And I've got that Stanley bit to shoot, if I can squeeze it.
And another trip to the post-office to off-load Ebay victuals. And coordinating
the table read. And so on, and so on. That's a chock-full kinda day, yeah?
Tomorrow, I'm going to try for Lava Spy Girl and maybe double-feature it
with the Miyazaki flick. I'm just that cool. And the pre-Serenity vibe
is really growing on me. Can't believe I'm finally seeing this thing, in just
nine damn days. Shiny.
Last night the girl and I made the best meal in the history of
the world, being largely wild mushroom risotto with a side of asparagus
drenched in hollandaise, and if there isn't a better dish to watch Family
Guy and sfoo avec, I dunno what. Now: is it weird that we both found
Lois getting spanked by Brian both disturbing and inappropriately arousing? I
mean for a cartoon, that woman wears some pretty spectacular undies.
Rotterdam
June 13 2005 - 3:42
p.m.
My march to Ebay supremacy continues unabated... if you're after
Simpsons items at all, I put a raftload of them up the other day.
My
auction listing is here. More shit going up this week, including the
long-awaited thinning of the Star Wars herd. So far I've collected about
a hundred bucks... and spent probably eighty of it on shipping and fees. (Got
whalloped shipping the Wookiee.) But hey, at least the crap is out of
the house.
I took a shot to the balls in soccer yesterday, and things still
don't feel quite right. Stupid residual soreness, I wanna wank.
Working on a new Stanley routine; dug out the purple costume
this afternoon.
And last night I had a lengthy dream about the One Minute Film
Festival (good time to point out that
our free submission
deadline is a scarce two and a half weeks away) in which, instead of
tending to my duties at the Bloor, I was down the street, fucking around with
another film festival that was being run by Drew Barrymore. I think I was
conducting corporate espionage, but the real question oughta be: why wasn't I
manning the projector at our show? Zuh.
Sucker-punch
June 13 2005 - 10:21
a.m.
The Aint-it-cool review of the X3 script is up, and
I read every word. (So this is it: severe X-Men spoiler warning on the
content below.)
Wow. Never done that before. In fact, having no experience with
reading far-advance spoiler information at the script stage, I'm not sure how
many grains of salt I'm supposed to be applying. Truth is, all of the obvious
botches are in place - the film doesn't improve on the X2 concept (in
many ways, simply attempting to repeat it with the whole de-mutantization
formula dealie), and seems to make a muck of introducing a whole lotta new
mutants without giving them anything substantial to do (Juggernaut, Gambit).
There's a whole "give Halle Berry something to do" angle that is becoming more
and more despicable by the day. And then, in their bizarre attempt to re-write
Dark Phoenix as a subplot, they go and do the single thing that would most piss
me off in the whole damn run of things: they kill Cyke. They de-mutantize
Mystique, too, and a couple of other folk are in dire straits by the end of the
second act, as well. It's looking like it will either be the biggest
skull-fucking you-never-thought-we-could-do-this X-Men extravaganza of
all time, or the franchise's equivalent of Star Trek: Nemesis - a movie
that does a whole lot of damage to the continuity in an attempt at gravitas,
while comprehensively failing to earn the major plot events it unfolds.
Thank goodness we still have a Whedon-fuled X-verse, and
the next issue is just nine days away.
It's a great t-shirt
June 13 2005 - 9:20
a.m.
Somewhere in the last five or six years, Ewan McGregor became my
favourite actor. Even though this might seem fairly obvious to most readers of
this blog, it didn't occur to me until this weekend. Ten years ago, Harrison
Ford was my favourite actor; that downfall's causes and purposes should be
fairly obvious. Now, somehow, McGregor is sitting in the spot that Han Solo
himself vacated, because not only will I go see a Ewan McGregor movie even
whilst every other critical faculty in my head is screaming at me not to go -
hence, I'll see The Island - but Ewan's also the only actor for whom I
will actually buy a DVD on spec. Yup: I'm willing to ante $20-30 to see a
McGregor flick. That's star power.
This all came roaringly clear to me at the exact moment that I
realized that the Star Wars prequel experience is completely over; I
knew it was over, because it is bookended by magazine covers. The very first
prequel coverage I purchased and read was in Entertainment Weekly in
1996, and it had Ewan McGregor on the cover announcing his casting as Obi-Wan
Kenobi. Yesterday, I was sitting by the pool reading Esquire, which has
Ewan on the cover with the headline "3 Star Wars Movies & All I Got
Was This Lousy T-Shirt," and it all became zen-like. Nine years, two covers,
one actor all growed up, and this ship has sailed.
Come thunder
June 10 2005 - 8:42
a.m.
Give me a second here to talk about the weather: you know what
would be nice? If it would actually thunderstorm already. For the past week and
a half, I've been looking at the forecast every day, and every single
day has been advertised as an inclement thunderstorm. It has completely
buggered my ability to get Nuns That Fuck scheduled, because I can find
no day in the immediate future that seems to be shoot-worthy... and yet, has
there been any big, rag-tag thunderstorm in the city of Toronto in the past ten
days? Noooooo. Stop teasing me, Weather Channel! Get it done!
(The Weather Channel, of course, is the home of that big
lever-and-pulley machine that controls the weather.)
Now I'm wondering if I oughta slip downtown today to see the
Batmobile. My dad took
me to see the Batmobile back in 1989... I guess it wouldn't be as much fun
if I wasn't going with him. My dad's into sports cars; I don't think he'd be as
impressed with this new humvee version. Stupid Batmobile.
All in all, yesterday was pretty much the best day ever. Not
only did I get my Serenity tickets - which sold very much out only a
half an hour later - but I got an apology letter from Fido, a free Star
Wars magazine at Chapters due to a shelving error, a free lottery ticket, a
few DVDs I'd been looking for... and later on? There was kissing.
Best day ever.
I aim to misbehave
June 9 2005 - 2:16
p.m.
Take my love,
Take my land,
Take me where I cannot
stand...
I don't care,
I'm still free
You can't take the sky from
me.
Take me out
to the black
Tell 'em I ain't comin'
back...
Burn the land
and boil the sea,
You can't take the sky from
me.
There's no place
I can be
since I found
SERENITY...
But you can't take the sky from
me....
WE GOT A FREAKIN' SIGNAL!!!
June 8 2005 -
9:18 p.m.
Serenity nowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww....!!!!
Um... you can't sneak a piece of cheese past this kid?
June 8 2005 - 4:46 p.m.
Every few days, I've been spending a bit of time continuing to
go through the 4-odd hours of videotape from Celebration III, trying to find my
movie. The good news is, there are at least five different flicks that can come
out of what I've seen so far:
- overall "video journal" documentary
- montage of me feeling peoples' cloaks
- the "every time you think you've seen the best costume of all
time, an even better one's around the corner" film
- Star Wars kids being really cute
- gratuitous shots of cleavage and bums.
Meanwhile, I think I'm going to start writing again. Today,
actually. After a couple of years of really enjoyable productivity, I knuckled
down and made subculture my priority for the past fifteen months... but
it's well past done, and I want to get back to drafting something new. I've got
a few ideas kicking around, nothing terribly substantial, but I'm going to go
back on the 4-pages-a-day routine that worked so well in '02 and '03, and see
where it takes me.
The lovely bones
June 8 2005 - 9:31
a.m.
One of the nice things about driving all day to someplace you've
never been with someone you know reasonably well is, not only do you learn
everything there is to know about their sexual habits and toilet issues, but
you also open up an enormously deep discussion on most of the various facets of
life itself, from the mundane to the profound and everywhere in between. Which
is just a fancy way of saying: somewhere in Pennsylvania on the way home on
Saturday, Matty Price and I started talking in detail about collecting - what
it means, why we (and others) do it the way we do, and what it does/doesn't
satisfy in our lives.
I came into this conversation after a month or more of wondering
about my two basic collections - the DVDs, and the action figures - and what
place they will occupy in my ongoing life. The girl and I have been fairly
future-orientated in our discussions lately, and the money situation has been
cramping down on me, and the sheer weight of the size of these congeries makes
me wonder if any of it is meaningful: is there a point in owning a hundred
giraffes? Doesn't that make you stop looking at the individuals, and only
observe the herd? Why own a single giraffe at all if you're not willing to look
at it, specifically?
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A herd is a herd past a certain point, regardless of further
increase in size; with 500 Star Wars figures under the belt, I could
stop right here and I would still have "a gigantic freak-load" of Star
Wars figures for the rest of my life. I could also sell 400 of them, and
the "freak-load" term would still apply. I could keep collecting until the toy
line dies, increasing the unit number into the thousands, and the first word
that people would think of when describing this conglomerate would still be
"freak-load." Ditto for the DVDs, I thought; why own 400 at all? Am I likely to
watch any of them at any point in the near future? My DVD purchases have
already been all but shut down, in the wake of the money situation and the
pragmatic interest in actually watching all of the stuff I already have, before
ballooning the library even further. These two collections got all massed up in
my mind as being sort of the same thing, and I was quickly losing patience with
both. Being something of an all-or-nothing sort of fella, I figured I might, in
short order, jettison 90% of the load of both figures and DVDs to Ebay or
elsewhere, and try to live a simpler life.
As you have probably already surmised here, the big error was
that I was wadding toys and DVDs together as being amassed under the same
uncontrollable fetish impulse - this is not true. They are both fetish
impulses, certainly, but the conversation with Matthew made me assess the
differences in reinvigorating ways. Firstly, it pretty much renewed my sense of
the importance of my movie library in my life, and movies in general. It's
similar to a few months ago when I reorganized my DVD wishlist with a stricter
sense of priority; it reaffirmed that I am passionate about great films, and
that there is a palpable sense of self invested in making selections that
enhance the artistic value of the collection as a whole. It serves as the other
side of the coin that is my filmmaking life; it's the affirmation of "this is
where I am, this is what has put me here, this is what lets me make the films I
make." The cycle flows backwards, too; the films I make tell (some of) the
films I own that "I am here, I am part of the same process, I inflect you as
much as you inflect me." That's a pretty hefty intellectual conceit, yes, but
it's an important one. The fact that I missed it for so long pretty much
reaffirms that you should never let a) money or b) storage space dictate what's
important in your life.
The toys, on the other hand, are a different story. A lot of
people ask me why I like to collect toys, and the answer is not what some
expect: I am not a completist. I don't have to own all of the Star Wars
toys just because they are Star Wars toys. Rather, for my entire life, I
have just had a simple psychological need fulfilled by the sheer pleasure of
having miniature representations of my various heroes, in tangible, plastic
form, right in front of me for me to manipulate or observe. I don't know why
this is, but it goes to the core of why I (and Mark, and Adam) was always so
fascinated by the Kenner Star Wars line as kids - they did
everyone. They did Hammerhead and the Cloud Car Pilot and the Imperial
Dignitary, and if you don't know who these people are, that's the point.
Kenner started down a path of filling the entire Star Wars universe in
plastic, regardless of screen importance, and the result is nothing short of
magic to me - you can have anyone, anything. You can tailor your desktop
Star Wars galaxy to your exact experience of why you love the films -
hence my newly christened Obi-Wan Keshrine (featuring Great Moments in
Obi-Wan, curated by Matthew C. Brown!), hence the army of Wookiees and
Clones swarming across my keyboard space, hence the lightsaber at arm's reach
at all times (should it become necessary for me to defend peace and justice).
These are things that make me me, too; like a piece of music, they're an
expression of emotional headspace. They're a rudder, like the DVDs, keeping me
in the part of the river I want to inhabit.
But here's the thing about them: I don't need them all. I need
the ones that are on display (probably a fifth of the total collection), and
will always have a few that are off-shelf for a while, waiting to be rotated
back in... but everything else, that's just taking up needless space. So over
the next couple of weeks, a bunch of stuff - Star Wars and otherwise -
is heading over to Ebay. I don't expect to make any money on the sales, really,
but I'd rather get them into homes and stores than into dumpsters (too many
shades of Shoppers Drug Mart 1991).
Going through the bins of the collected detritus of the past
eight years, I'm struck by just how "plastic" my toy collection really is. It's
constantly renewable, constantly moving forward. There is simply no point in
hanging on to the stuff I'm not using any more; this process is only fun if
it's constantly refreshing itself, Kleenex-style.
I know who I am. I know why I do this. Somewhere in my middle is
the truth that I'm always going to be a collector in some way or another, but I
like to think I'm reasonably more pragmatic about it than most other collectors
I know. For those on the outside, this probably sounds pathologically insane,
but I'm going to keep holding this course, saved one more time from making a
big, costly mistake out of nothing more tangible than frustration and fear.
Landing Platforms of Doom
June 7 2005 -
11:06 p.m.
Saw Revenge of the Sith for the sixth time, with Mer and
Jonatha. After two years of reading an abnormally large number of starwars.com
production reports mentioning that "today's shooting took place on _____
landing platform," tonight's screening gave me the opportunity to finally count
the number of scenes on fucking landing platforms in this movie. Guesses? It's
an even twenty-five. (For a scene to be counted, it had to feature characters
standing on a constructed landing platform. The scene with the Yodapod was not
counted, because it's more of a landing hill. And the scenes on Padmé's
veranda were only counted if there was a ship docked on the platform, because I
say so.) Anyways, the whole thing gives new meaning to the "always on the move"
thing.
Marking the passing of Anne Bancroft, who died today at the age
of 73. Where's that frickin' Graduate anamorphic DVD already?
Just to prove I was actually there and that your sponsorship
money didn't go to waste:
Thanks to Felix for the cool (shot over his shoulder during the
ride) pic!
All right, let's see us some Batman
June
7 2005 - 11:30 a.m.
There's no way around it, some of the advance reviews for
Batman Begins - Moriarty's, Ebert's, even Harry's - have me very
excited now. It's going to be difficult for the movie to actually live up to
what I've got in my head, because at the end of the day, not only does it have
to be a good Batman movie, but it needs to prove to me that we actually
need Batman right now. Does the world currently need Batman? In 1989, we
needed Batman. Batman was the perfect summation of everything that went wrong
in the '80s; he caught the zeitgeist in ways few Batmen ever have. But in 2005,
I need to be convinced that this isn't a horribly bad time for Batman (which is
what I've believed for a couple of years). Superman? Spider-Man? Those are the
superheroes of this weird first decade of the 21st century... but I'm nowhere
near convinced about Batman. Does the world need Batman? We'll see.
Meanwhile, Watchmen's gone. Not that I care much, yet.
I'm reading it this summer. By the time I'm done, they'll have probably set it
up at a new studio.
Sfoo premiere was excellent, but very, very depressing -
nothing like a triple-dose of depression, pregnancy complications, and weddings
gone wrong to make me curl up and shake like a leaf. Can't wait to see where
we're off to - 1 down, 11 to go...
Ass Transfer!:
Tales of mystery and intrigue in Chapel Hill, North Carolina
June 6 2005 - 11:32 a.m.
Here's how it went down:
The Drive
14½ hours there, 13 hours back. Time difference was due
to hitting Washington D.C. at pretty much exactly 5:00 on Friday night - which
was a bad idea. The ensuing crawl from D.C. to Richmond was pretty much hell on
wheels. Otherwise? The drive couldn't have gone better. It's a surprisingly
easy slog, and 13 hours screams by pretty effectively. Matthew and I took
2-hour shifts on the way down but found 4-hour shifts entirely digestible on
the way back. Driving through the Alleghenies, which were fog-bound and rainy
on Friday and sun-baked and gorgeous on Saturday, was definitely the visual
highlight of the trip. There's some really beautiful country in the land to the
south.
We got to Chapel Hill - which is kind of like Kingston
surrounded by St. Catharines - at 11:20, with forty minutes to spare before the
screening. Checked into a Days Inn where the staff could not have been more
courteous and friendly.
The Festival
I had very little information about the venue going in, but
cruising along Franklin Street at 11:30 on a Friday night pretty much sealed my
suspicion that this college town was about to treat us to a night of
film-watching in one of the local bars. This concerned me, but needlessly.
Yeah, the screening was at a bar that was either called Bub's, Hell, or The
Wetlands, depending on who you asked, and yes, it was populated entirely by
college students... but as soon as the movies started at midnight, they shut
right the hell up and were one of the most attentive and enthusiastic audiences
I've ever seen. A really, really cool crowd.
I walked in the door and introduced myself to the festival staff
- and got a "You're that guy?! I have to shake your hand" when I told them that
I'd made Cobra Commander is Gonna Buttfuck Homer Simpson. Matthew and I
were given courtesy passes to the entire festival, and it's a damn shame we
weren't able to use them, because based on what we saw at Midnight Madness,
Hi Mom! is running
a pretty tight show down there. Oh well; bad scheduling. Next time, I'll do the
whole weekend.
The show was pretty much astonishingly well-programmed. There
were only a couple of clunkers in the whole lot; I'd say at least 70-80% of the
films were a "good" or a "great," and a couple of them were flat-out fantastic.
Onur Tukel's The Tozer Show was my personal favourite; it kind of played
like "Violet Incredible: The College Years," only with lotsa sex. There was
also Down Home Cookin' by Aaron Yonda, a comic concept so simple yet so
effective that, frankly, I became upset that Mark and I hadn't come up with it
years ago.
Cobra Commander went over pretty well; we followed a
Bigfoot anal rape movie that went over like wet cement, so the lead-in was
pretty good... the DJ came on the mic and said "If that's not your kind of
buttfucking, the next film is called Cobra Commander is Gonna Buttfuck Homer
Simpson." And the crowd went proverbially wild. Then completely silent as
they realized just how foolish this flick really is, and then a little crazy
again once CC actually jumped on Homer's ass and made with the bum-play. Very
satisfying.
That's one last thing: extraordinarily high butt-sex
content at this particular programme. Wanted to make a pro-anal-play pitch if I
was asked to say anything, but the opportunity never arose. Flicks ended at
1:30; drove immediately back to the hotel and wrestled with sleep.
The Americans
Oh, those wacky Americans.
No, actually, the Yanks distinguished themselves pretty well. On
the way home we stopped in a town called Petersburg, which looked absolutely
sketch from the gas station we started at, but our search for coffee lead us
into a pretty nifty slice of Civil War-era buildings and houses, and as we were
slapping together some sandwiches on the hood of the car and chatting with the
locals, Matthew and I both agreed that this was pretty much the nicest place
we'd been in the whole trip. Incomprehensible old men, hot barristas, plenty of
sunshine, old buildings, and friendly folk. What more could you ask?
As a post-script: everything you've heard about American kids
getting fatter? Not wrong. You don't really notice it in the boys - probably
because Canadian boys are getting to be just as Playstation-fed blubbery as
their American counterparts. The girls, on the other hand, just floor you -
what used to be a bit of natural baby-fat on an 8-year-old is now becoming the
beginnings of a lifetime of Bob Evans-sponsored obesity. This whole thing about
precocious puberty could even potentially be a partial misapprehension - them's
titty-fat, not tits. Stopping for dinner was like walking into a 3-dimensional
growth chart, where as the kids age, they don't just grow up, but out. It's
apallingly sad to see.
The End
Good trip - shoulda been longer. Can't believe I might do it
again in 8 weeks...
Give me back my belly fruit!
June 6 2005
- 9:18 a.m.
No use crying over spilt milk, because with everything that's
happened (Singer, Penn, Whedon, Vaughn, Berry, Dark Phoenix, and now this), it
really does look in retrospect like X3 was pretty much dead from the
get-go. But in case you haven't heard,
one of
the top-five worst directors in Hollywood is directing X-Men 3.
Can't wait to read Moriarty's script review - yes, this time I think I'll
actually read it - because it sounds fantastically disastrous, and I have
nothing left to lose by spoiling myself. Way to go, Fox! From best comic book
movie ever made to colossal fuck-up in yes, just one move! Deep Blue
would be proud.
Lostie Maggie Grace has been confirmed for Kitty, too,
which at this point I'm not even willing to offer odds on - it could be
the best thing about the flick, for all I fucking know. Other Lost news:
finale guest-star Michelle Rodriguez is aboard for Season Two. Guess they're
getting to the other side of the island, huh?
I put in the AC yesterday, which has the unfortunate effect of
not only giving me no window to open in my room on a breezy day, but also
blocks my view so thoroughly that being in my room is like being in a prison
cell - the only window space is above my eyeline, so all I can see is sky. I
responded by cutting a makeshift peek-a-boo in the surrounding cardboard seal,
which I can open at will to see out / air out, and may someday improve with
either a bit of screen, and/or a computer-controlled gun turret. In any event,
it's fun to act like my grandfather: aesthetics don't factor in makeshift
projects, when there's duct tape and X-acto knives around.
My two jobs are colliding inwards nicely on each other,
preventing me from really doing anything else at all between 9 and 5 without
feeling horribly guilty, which sucks because today's a perfect
read-comic-books-at-Timothy's sort of day. But that would just be taking it all
just a step too far. There's futures to plot.
The girl wants to go to Pride - must fit leather pants with
appropriately-sized cock-hole.
i.o.u. one North Carolina report.
I am very excited about sfoo tonight.
Music in colour
June 5 2005 - 10:18
p.m.
This is going to sound like a very strange thing to say, given
who's saying it, but: I don't think I ever fully appreciated the music in
Lord of the Rings.
Steve, Chris, Bridget and I took in the Lord of the Rings
Symphony tonight at RTH; Toronto native Howard Shore should by rights have
been there, but he wasn't. No matter; under Markus Huber's conduction, the show
was still absolutely superb in almost every respect, and made me listen to,
understand, and appreciate Shore's score at an entirely new level of
involvement... and that's hard to do, at this late date. Plus, the
emotional involvement was sublimely heightened. When the Kitchener Waterloo
Children's Choir struck up the Ring's "seduction" theme, I felt like a ghost
was passing clean through me. The heights of the storming of Isengard was
absolutely bone-shaking. Notably, too, the two primary soloists - 16-year-old
Kaitlyn Lusk for the girly parts, and boy soprano Timothy Lanigan - were just
absolutely fucking phenomenal. Strong, dedicated performances from both of
them. They really made the night.
I still don't think I'm doing Star Wars, and it's a
shame, because if I had the money, I'd do this all the time. This was a really
great epxerience.
That was the hard part... now comes the stroke part
June 5 2005 - 3:02 p.m.
Taking an 11 km bike ride to a 50 km bike ride? Seems stupid,
but well worth the effort. Nothing like a little confidence booster at dawn on
a Sunday morning, on no sleep and way too much undeserved anxiety.
Yeah. As it turns out, a 50 km bike ride on a 400-series highway
is pretty surprisingly easy. There were only three or four moderately
challenging uphills (what feels like a roller coaster when you're in a car at
100 km/h is in fact a fairly gentle incline), a whole lot of straightaways
where you cover a great deal of distance very quickly (because the road surface
is so smooth and no cars or lights are pissing you off), and as for the
downhills... well, you clear two or three K in about six seconds flat. Our
rag-tag little band - me, Mer, Brenda, Julie, Daryl, Hilda, and Felix -
finished the 50K course - from the CNE to the York Mills exit of the DVP - in
just north of two hours, beating my own time for the surface-street 30K I tried
a month ago by about ten minutes. Pretty cool. Pretty damn cool, actually, and
everyone wound up feeling really good about themselves by the end of the
exercise. It was a gigantic bit of fun. And seeing the hazy sun rise over the
downtown core while you're riding straight towards it on the Gardiner? Highly
recommended.
After our ridiculous Tofu Spam free lunch, the endorphen crash
happened, and I pretty much just fell apart, dead man walking - I got an
hour of sleep last night. I've been having trouble for the past few
nights, and last night it cycloned into a literally nightmarish vortex of
insomniac evil. I was pretty much flat-out terrified, for a portion of the
night, that I simply wasn't going to be able to finish this course at all.
Fortunately, pretty much all of my pre-marathon worrying was for nothing. This
couldn't have been more doable, and 50K was just about exactly the right
distance.
Having a really good, self-affirming time while raising three
hundred bucks for a good cause? Can't say fairer than that.
So... can I have my penis back now, please?
Home alive, and the rest is later
June 4
2005 - 10:49 p.m.
All about NC at the later date. Thanks to all of my sponsors for
tomorow's ride - my parents, Caitlin, Uncle Paul, Aunt Beth, Mark, Kate,
Matthew and Leah, Andy, and Steve. You guys really came through for me. Gonna
be something to see if I can do this on the net total of ten hours of sleep
I've had in the preceding three days...
So uncivilized
June 2 2005 - 9:47
a.m.
I hate to fall for a bad guy, but there's no way around it: I
loves me some General Grievous. I feel a little like I've jumped on the loser
bandwagon of people who think Darth Maul is cool, but yeah, Grievous is my kind
of Star Wars. And there's slim pickings on that front in ROTS, so
I'll take what I can get.
Obi-Wan will always be my favourite main character. Each prequel
thus far has yielded two new fetish icons, one supporting and one itty bitty
bit part - Watto and TC-14, respectively, for Phantom Menace, and Zam
Wesell and Wat Tambor for Attack of the Clones. Sith is
surprisingly light on new peripheral characters, unless you want to count the
fleshbots or the Lucas cameo. I lean towards Zett Jukassa, just cuz if I were
14 years old and doomed, I'd want to go down fighting a squadron of
stormtroopers with a bright blue lightsaber. But for actual characters -
y'know, the ones with lines - Grievous is the king of the slag-heap. He's kind
of like the Jabba of this flick - good, evocative bad guy that gets offed just
before the real story starts. And let's face it, as computer-generated demon
skeletons go... pretty cool.
Man. Production design has trumped reason.
Everyone wants a piece of Matt Brown
June
1 2005 - 8:02 p.m.
So Ben Burtt has completed his Star Wars duties, left
Lucasfilm behind, and
joined
Pixar. Almost enough to get me into the theatres for whatever he works on
first.
I'm a Ben Burtt fan. I've been a Ben Burtt fan for most of my
life, in fact, and I'm thrilled to bits that he - among very, very few others -
has actually completed the entire 29-year Star Wars cycle with the same
active involvement and dedication, from beginning to end. I'm excited to see
what his role at Pixar comes out with.
Meanwhile, Deep Throat is out of the closet - and that's just
freaking cool.
Finally: Hi Mom! sent me their programme today; here's the entry
for Cobra Commander, with its brilliantly inappropriate doodle on the
side:
Fido, take note
June 1 2005 - 1:59
p.m.
I just called Rogers to add TMN to my cable package so that the
girl and I can watch Sfoo starting next week... and it was the best
service call I've ever had. The operator:
- was friendly
- seemed laid back and relaxed
- was knowledgeable about my account and my options
- was generally fun to talk to; we shared personal experiences
dealing with "the claw" that forms when you CTRL-V too much on the job
- saved me money. I got upgraded for just $4 more a month.
I might have to go whack off right now.
Yaynus
June 1 2005 - 9:57
a.m.
Matthew Vaugh
is
off the X-Men. Don't get too excited by Moriarty's speculations: I
can't see how Joss Whedon could get involved at this point, get a script that
he likes (i.e. he's written), and still be ready to go to camera in 9 weeks and
get a Wonder Woman draft delivered on time. But hopefully whoever takes
over won't be quite such an unknown quantity. I hate unknown quantities, only
because I am indeed one myself.
Calm yourselves with the knowledge that
Bertie Botts now has Rotting Eggs, and Bacon. (Not
combined.) Bravo! Starting to feel the Potter-pull, at long last.
Talk about burning a hole: I listen to the Sith score
about three to five times a day. And it's not all I'm listening to - I'm
just doing a lot of musically-inclined work right now, and I keep coming back
to Sith. I think it's the most play I've given a Star Wars album
since my very first one - the vinyl Return of the Jedi I got for my
seventh birthday. Too bad that old fucker don't play no more: the bass in
"Lapti Nek" is tight on vinyl.
We may have found the girl a new pad - apartment pad, not flow
pad - so now we're in the "whoa don't jinx it" phase of going through the
process and trying to snag it. Nervous-making, and makes the day somewhat
fraught with unpredictability. But I have work to distract me, and the Force
flowing through me, and CAYA with the Box girls tonight. So life =
good.
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