i was reminded today by a very wise man of my own personal love mantra of sometime back:
i want to share a world with someone, not a sofa.
yes, i concurred, that's True. and it's changed my life.
now i have a Great Big Empty Sofa to lounge on, All to Myself.
31 January 2005
late-night somewhat drunken melancholia.
the problem is Not falling in love with someone. that part is Very very easy.
the problem is How to fall out of love.
if that is indeed even possible.
the problem is How to fall out of love.
if that is indeed even possible.
30 January 2005
a momentary evaluation.
well, i first started this blog to turn my grievous surplus of email indulgence into a daily writing discipline, which will grant me membership (in some capacity or another) to the literary stream of modern-day writers.
(or, conversely, to the cyber-geek basement mixture of Untold Geniuses, closet sickos and downright wienies)
so anything i find pithy or even remotely eloquent now finds itself pasted into some multitude of trivial blog entries while the rest of the world (ah yes, always the rest of the world) produces produces Produces. so is This actually productive?
a moment to step back and evaluate...i have to say it's ten shades of Fun. Fun Fun Fun. where else can i write a short ditty about stylish poo and feel no remorse? my email time of late has been downsized by two thirds or more, my tendency to actually Edit (extraneous wordiness is my nemesis) is flourishing. (relatively speaking, of course). i'm on the eighth edit of a one page story, which i Tenaciously refuse to abandon, now that i have a clear recognition of the very moment when the self-doubt sets in. this "one page wonder,nary the epic" philosophy makes me feel dismally insufficient on some days, on others like i'm one step closer to the entire universe.
this is SO COOL.
i have little moments of nostalgia for the time before 2002, when i wrote ALWAYS AND CONSTANTLY. and nigglings of the return to that mind-set.
einstein said this: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
EVERYTHING is a miracle.
(pause)
my GODS. i think i have just heard the strains of the "coronation street" theme song coming up through my floor. This from my downstairs neighbours, whom i can (CLEARLY) hear snoring at night, as well as farting,cursing, playing video games and watching jeopardy.
coronation street!
there may not be a god, but there is at least one anglophile living in hell.
(or, conversely, to the cyber-geek basement mixture of Untold Geniuses, closet sickos and downright wienies)
so anything i find pithy or even remotely eloquent now finds itself pasted into some multitude of trivial blog entries while the rest of the world (ah yes, always the rest of the world) produces produces Produces. so is This actually productive?
a moment to step back and evaluate...i have to say it's ten shades of Fun. Fun Fun Fun. where else can i write a short ditty about stylish poo and feel no remorse? my email time of late has been downsized by two thirds or more, my tendency to actually Edit (extraneous wordiness is my nemesis) is flourishing. (relatively speaking, of course). i'm on the eighth edit of a one page story, which i Tenaciously refuse to abandon, now that i have a clear recognition of the very moment when the self-doubt sets in. this "one page wonder,nary the epic" philosophy makes me feel dismally insufficient on some days, on others like i'm one step closer to the entire universe.
this is SO COOL.
i have little moments of nostalgia for the time before 2002, when i wrote ALWAYS AND CONSTANTLY. and nigglings of the return to that mind-set.
einstein said this: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
EVERYTHING is a miracle.
(pause)
my GODS. i think i have just heard the strains of the "coronation street" theme song coming up through my floor. This from my downstairs neighbours, whom i can (CLEARLY) hear snoring at night, as well as farting,cursing, playing video games and watching jeopardy.
coronation street!
there may not be a god, but there is at least one anglophile living in hell.
stylish poo.
(chuckle) we were introduced on friday to a book called "a year in the merde" about some poor tosser in paris, and i had a dream last night that one of my classmates was forced to redesign it and chose to put a small piece of poo on the front cover, standing proudly and wearing a small beret and a rainbow stripey scarf.
love of fashion can be truly horrifying.
love of fashion can be truly horrifying.
the path to armageddon is peppered with bad design.
cris, design teacher extraordinaire brought up an interesting point during our computer lab the other day that Blew my Mind.
speaking of the gore/bush election ballot in florida, and an unexpected and inordinate number of votes which came in for reform party candidate pat buchanan, cris pointed out that buchanan's ballot square was directly above gore's, and the lines separating the candidates did not in fact extend between the two voting circles, making it such that it would be VERY Very easy to mistake the two.
(shiver.)
googling it for a close up look of the ballot in dispute unearthed this small caption:
Why Usability Testing Matters: Palm Beach County Ballot Design Raises Questions about Election 2000
08 Nov 2000; Dennis G. Jerz
Image of the Palm Beach County election ballot (first published in the Orlando Sun-Sentinel)
The result of the 2000 U.S. Presidential race was so close that some Democratic Party officials argue that one Florida county's hard-to-use ballot may have unfairly decided the presidency.
Critics argue that some voters in Palm Beach County, Fla. might have accidentally voted for Reform Party candidate Pat Buchanan, when they thought they were voting for Al Gore. The Democrats are listed second in the left column; but punching a hole in the second circle actually cast a vote for Buchanan.
The significant factor, the crucial one, is that MOST PEOPLE DO NOT PAY ENOUGH ATTENTION TO DETAIL.
speaking of the gore/bush election ballot in florida, and an unexpected and inordinate number of votes which came in for reform party candidate pat buchanan, cris pointed out that buchanan's ballot square was directly above gore's, and the lines separating the candidates did not in fact extend between the two voting circles, making it such that it would be VERY Very easy to mistake the two.
(shiver.)
googling it for a close up look of the ballot in dispute unearthed this small caption:
Why Usability Testing Matters: Palm Beach County Ballot Design Raises Questions about Election 2000
08 Nov 2000; Dennis G. Jerz
Image of the Palm Beach County election ballot (first published in the Orlando Sun-Sentinel)
The result of the 2000 U.S. Presidential race was so close that some Democratic Party officials argue that one Florida county's hard-to-use ballot may have unfairly decided the presidency.
Critics argue that some voters in Palm Beach County, Fla. might have accidentally voted for Reform Party candidate Pat Buchanan, when they thought they were voting for Al Gore. The Democrats are listed second in the left column; but punching a hole in the second circle actually cast a vote for Buchanan.
The significant factor, the crucial one, is that MOST PEOPLE DO NOT PAY ENOUGH ATTENTION TO DETAIL.
26 January 2005
jeunet's latest, some living authors at last, and a dried up writing utensil.
saw "a very long engagement" last night and i must encourage all jeunet fans to make the effort to see this, his latest film.
the first ten minutes are DARK. unfathomably so. even i was questioning whether i could sit through them. and then the film and its characters began unravelling in "amelie"-esque colour and i found myself enjoying it greatly. was Very appreciative of the fact that mister jeunet has begun to temper this uber-idyllic picture postcard style with some genuine Grim-mery (sic), which actually Heightens the beauty of his magical narratives. YAY, monsieur jeunet. merci!
also am well into my first ever issue of "brick", a literary journal stemming from this modest city. Really really good. a melange of epistles, philosophies, bits of fiction, thoughts and other written sundries, from really Good writers. all in all it's been a humbling time of late, now that i've emerged from my library of dead white men to actually enjoy the living authors.
sigh. my story of a few days progresses slowly; i've done one edit, and am fighting off the "gods i'm weird" sentiment that accompanies so much of my work these days.
christ. writing feels so much like a shotgun wedding, 'xcept somehow i worry i've ended up with a sterile partner for a pen.
ah well, only Time and Tenacity will tell.
the first ten minutes are DARK. unfathomably so. even i was questioning whether i could sit through them. and then the film and its characters began unravelling in "amelie"-esque colour and i found myself enjoying it greatly. was Very appreciative of the fact that mister jeunet has begun to temper this uber-idyllic picture postcard style with some genuine Grim-mery (sic), which actually Heightens the beauty of his magical narratives. YAY, monsieur jeunet. merci!
also am well into my first ever issue of "brick", a literary journal stemming from this modest city. Really really good. a melange of epistles, philosophies, bits of fiction, thoughts and other written sundries, from really Good writers. all in all it's been a humbling time of late, now that i've emerged from my library of dead white men to actually enjoy the living authors.
sigh. my story of a few days progresses slowly; i've done one edit, and am fighting off the "gods i'm weird" sentiment that accompanies so much of my work these days.
christ. writing feels so much like a shotgun wedding, 'xcept somehow i worry i've ended up with a sterile partner for a pen.
ah well, only Time and Tenacity will tell.
ALL HAIL THE NOBLE SEAN DWYER!
today's self-perpetuated anxieties were momentarily displaced by a short and glorious missive from the long lost sean dwyer, who is alive and well and living in australia.
which should surprise absolutely no one aware of the fact that australia is the land from whence he hailed in the first place.
sigh. yes, ladies and gents, sean dwyer.
allow me if you (all) will to wax nostalgic for just a moment.
ah mister dwyer, with whom i spent many an afternoon perambulating kensington gardens in london, england, in years gone by, discussing philosophy, books, and very probably beer.
mister dwyer, with whom i commiserated on the joys and consequences of working at a chocolate shop in covent garden, whilst dreaming of pursuits more apropos to our mutually literate natures.
mister dwyer, who, after one of our forrays into the matter, felt (and i Heartily agreed) that the act of taking LSD should be a controlled experiment, with variegated phenomena (such as jelly donuts) close at hand, in order to better understand the effect this strange substance has on the average (or somewhat taller than such, in his case) human form.
mister dwyer, who was once given strange religious amulets (by his parents? i Can't remember) to arm himself against preternatural spirits rocking the couch he was sleeping on at a friend's possessed dwelling.
mister dwyer, gentle readers, who proved a constant and compassionate bastion to my irrepressible 22 year old self-concocted dramas, which even then were incendiary, unexpected, and very likely proof positive of psychotic tendencies.
mister dwyer, whom i met up with in canberra years after our initial comradeship to discuss life's progression, the lack of charisma in australian government employees, the strange nature of pre-fab urban sprawl, and, well, beer.
you are for me the last remaining voice of an era, at this moment, do you realize that sean? YAY TO YOU, SIRE! why aren't you the pope or the president yet? or ARE you the pope, or, gods love us, the president? i can't tell from beneath my solitary rock of bibliophilic preoccupations.
sean dwyer marks the third (or fourth, not quite sure) of my confirmed blog readers, which means i'm well on my way to fame, fortune, and world domination. YYYAHAHHOOOOOOOOO!
what a Wonderful thing to read from you, sean. do come to one of my art shows or whatever some day, i'll save you a glass of red to toast time, timelessness, and beer.
enough nostalgia. Gods that was fun. we now return to our regularly scheduled blog. cheerio.
which should surprise absolutely no one aware of the fact that australia is the land from whence he hailed in the first place.
sigh. yes, ladies and gents, sean dwyer.
allow me if you (all) will to wax nostalgic for just a moment.
ah mister dwyer, with whom i spent many an afternoon perambulating kensington gardens in london, england, in years gone by, discussing philosophy, books, and very probably beer.
mister dwyer, with whom i commiserated on the joys and consequences of working at a chocolate shop in covent garden, whilst dreaming of pursuits more apropos to our mutually literate natures.
mister dwyer, who, after one of our forrays into the matter, felt (and i Heartily agreed) that the act of taking LSD should be a controlled experiment, with variegated phenomena (such as jelly donuts) close at hand, in order to better understand the effect this strange substance has on the average (or somewhat taller than such, in his case) human form.
mister dwyer, who was once given strange religious amulets (by his parents? i Can't remember) to arm himself against preternatural spirits rocking the couch he was sleeping on at a friend's possessed dwelling.
mister dwyer, gentle readers, who proved a constant and compassionate bastion to my irrepressible 22 year old self-concocted dramas, which even then were incendiary, unexpected, and very likely proof positive of psychotic tendencies.
mister dwyer, whom i met up with in canberra years after our initial comradeship to discuss life's progression, the lack of charisma in australian government employees, the strange nature of pre-fab urban sprawl, and, well, beer.
you are for me the last remaining voice of an era, at this moment, do you realize that sean? YAY TO YOU, SIRE! why aren't you the pope or the president yet? or ARE you the pope, or, gods love us, the president? i can't tell from beneath my solitary rock of bibliophilic preoccupations.
sean dwyer marks the third (or fourth, not quite sure) of my confirmed blog readers, which means i'm well on my way to fame, fortune, and world domination. YYYAHAHHOOOOOOOOO!
what a Wonderful thing to read from you, sean. do come to one of my art shows or whatever some day, i'll save you a glass of red to toast time, timelessness, and beer.
enough nostalgia. Gods that was fun. we now return to our regularly scheduled blog. cheerio.
25 January 2005
martin sloane.
and can i just say that i went to bed the night before last leaving the last 15 pages of this Glorious book unread, so i wouldn't have to wake up having already finished it. in a mere day and a half. i have Not Consumed a book this fast and this voraciously in an AGE. a Feast, is what it was. an Utter and Complete Feast.
a greasy and humbling confrontation with the wonderful world of Business.
spent this morning's marketing class in a mire of nausea listening to a sales rep from maxim magazine talking his trade. he began with an admission that he had only agreed to this little lecture when he found out the class was 90% female. he told us he reads cosmo, and therefore "sympathizes with us girls and our dating habits". other transgressions against good taste and breeding involved shameless waffling about the insignificant politics of having a us. military ad on the back cover of their canadian issues, and a marked avoidance of any discussion of the Walrus, one of his company's other (and Much Preferred, if i may be so bold) clients. christ. here's this guy making over ("remember that, girls, OVER" he says) $62K/year, and he Isn't Worth A Bloody Thing.
my Amazing Amazing classmates made him Squirm in his greasy looking suit though, until he was more afraid of us and our merciless questions than we could Ever be of him. maya, on whom he very probably had his lascivious eye, puts up her hand and makes an apt observation about the psychographic of maxim readers, with their love of sports, toys, and Objectifying women. non-accusatory, Completely off-the-cuff tone of voice. there was a silence, a nervous chuckle, and a "woah, i guess i'm a psychographic!" from mister maxim himself. he kindda went downhill from there on the confidence front.
talking to people about it afterwards, it's so Cool to me that our class is this microcosm of observant and erudite people, diverse as we may be in our interests, and that was a pretty exciting moment when i realize we're gonna all be publishing in some form or another.
my Amazing Amazing classmates made him Squirm in his greasy looking suit though, until he was more afraid of us and our merciless questions than we could Ever be of him. maya, on whom he very probably had his lascivious eye, puts up her hand and makes an apt observation about the psychographic of maxim readers, with their love of sports, toys, and Objectifying women. non-accusatory, Completely off-the-cuff tone of voice. there was a silence, a nervous chuckle, and a "woah, i guess i'm a psychographic!" from mister maxim himself. he kindda went downhill from there on the confidence front.
talking to people about it afterwards, it's so Cool to me that our class is this microcosm of observant and erudite people, diverse as we may be in our interests, and that was a pretty exciting moment when i realize we're gonna all be publishing in some form or another.
24 January 2005
discourse on Love and a Bicycle.
i've figured it out. Love, that is.
tomorrow it will be the meaning of the universe, but for today, this will suffice.
after two days of Hideous slushy and unbikeable roads, and kilometres trekked on foot from home to school to work to home etc etc, i've hereby determined that Love is a Bicycle.
pray, dear reader(s), let me explain.
the loyalty between us is Unbreakable. i can imagine NO other alternative in getting from one place to the next than on my Bicycle.
that is, i Can imagine alternatives (my head suddenly fills with grim odious pictures of the ttc during rush hour), but these alternatives Always come up Wanting. even the occasional infidelity with public transit leaves me unwilling to shed the emotional fetters tying me to my two-wheeled wonder.
bike riding never stops being new and potentially dangerous and negotiable and adrenaline-inducing and solitary whilst being coupled (so to speak). i'm always going somewhere and it's always going with me (except for when its going into a pothole and i'm going flying into the middle of sherbourne street) and yet even then we are never far from each other. my bicycle is a fellow machine in need of support, security (albeit triple locked security), occasional repairs, and, of course, Frequent Rides. har har.
tomorrow it will be the meaning of the universe, but for today, this will suffice.
after two days of Hideous slushy and unbikeable roads, and kilometres trekked on foot from home to school to work to home etc etc, i've hereby determined that Love is a Bicycle.
pray, dear reader(s), let me explain.
the loyalty between us is Unbreakable. i can imagine NO other alternative in getting from one place to the next than on my Bicycle.
that is, i Can imagine alternatives (my head suddenly fills with grim odious pictures of the ttc during rush hour), but these alternatives Always come up Wanting. even the occasional infidelity with public transit leaves me unwilling to shed the emotional fetters tying me to my two-wheeled wonder.
bike riding never stops being new and potentially dangerous and negotiable and adrenaline-inducing and solitary whilst being coupled (so to speak). i'm always going somewhere and it's always going with me (except for when its going into a pothole and i'm going flying into the middle of sherbourne street) and yet even then we are never far from each other. my bicycle is a fellow machine in need of support, security (albeit triple locked security), occasional repairs, and, of course, Frequent Rides. har har.
22 January 2005
recap
write everyday, write (sic) ?
that was the point anyhow.
sigh.
finished reading "the fuck-up" by arthur nersesian the other day. "catcher in the rye" meets "on the road" meets a very lucky slacker wandering the east village in nyc. gold star to nersesian, who knows how to weave fortuity into entrancing scenarios.
moved on to "martin sloane". within moments joseph cornell's art comes SHINING through the storyline, like running into an old Best friend thought long dead. YAY YAY YYAAYYYY! glorious, Glorious, mister cornell. YAY!
the whole novel is Fantastic. i'm a third of the way through in but a few short hours. GLORY BE THE AUTHOR OF LITERARY FICTION THAT KNOWS HOW TO WRITE DIALOGUE. HONEST DIALOGUE.
HOW UUUTTTERLY CRUCIAL. seems so many authors engage in the passive act of description, like we really need to hear it all. characters exist alongside each other, but never relating to each other. in "...sloane" you can tell is a person who has written for the stage.
unwittingly end up at a staged reading of one of redhill's plays on wednesday. that is, Quite Wittingly end up there, but for the purpose of seeing volcanoe's latest undertaking, oblivious beforehand to michael redhill's involvement.
good. Confusing. well staged, Talented crew, great story. but VEERRYYY convoluted. tired out my tiny brain.
what else?
trying to sift through old school notes that are no doubt moot and excess...find a few interesting thoughts in an article entitled (wait for it) "9 secrets to blow-their-socks-off service writing".
CHRIST. am i really doing the right thing in this program?
who knows.
Anyhow.
"if you don't like your reader, it will come through in your copy. if you don't like 'em, don't write for 'em. condescension isn't pretty."
and how much of my time today, (and the last couple of days in fact) have i devoted to potential logos and grid plans for this magazine for a community our group has determined to be "yoga yuppies"...
GAH.
here's another little tidbit, pretty self-evident, but worth recapping: "fall in love with your readers...what motivates the readers...you're pitching to? what are their problems? what are their secret desires? what are the things they wish they had, or wish they could do, or fear they'll never be able to do again? what keeps them up at night? what do they daydream about?
wrote my first one page story (in Forever) two days ago. that's right. beginnning, middle, end. all in one page. SHORT. i can barely believe it. it may show up here, if i can get up the gumption, i'm kindda afraid to look at it again.
next objective: ILLUSTRATE IT.
next objective after that: KEEP FUCKING DOING IT. NOTHING OVER A PAGE.
SCREW THE BLOODY EPIC!
that was the point anyhow.
sigh.
finished reading "the fuck-up" by arthur nersesian the other day. "catcher in the rye" meets "on the road" meets a very lucky slacker wandering the east village in nyc. gold star to nersesian, who knows how to weave fortuity into entrancing scenarios.
moved on to "martin sloane". within moments joseph cornell's art comes SHINING through the storyline, like running into an old Best friend thought long dead. YAY YAY YYAAYYYY! glorious, Glorious, mister cornell. YAY!
the whole novel is Fantastic. i'm a third of the way through in but a few short hours. GLORY BE THE AUTHOR OF LITERARY FICTION THAT KNOWS HOW TO WRITE DIALOGUE. HONEST DIALOGUE.
HOW UUUTTTERLY CRUCIAL. seems so many authors engage in the passive act of description, like we really need to hear it all. characters exist alongside each other, but never relating to each other. in "...sloane" you can tell is a person who has written for the stage.
unwittingly end up at a staged reading of one of redhill's plays on wednesday. that is, Quite Wittingly end up there, but for the purpose of seeing volcanoe's latest undertaking, oblivious beforehand to michael redhill's involvement.
good. Confusing. well staged, Talented crew, great story. but VEERRYYY convoluted. tired out my tiny brain.
what else?
trying to sift through old school notes that are no doubt moot and excess...find a few interesting thoughts in an article entitled (wait for it) "9 secrets to blow-their-socks-off service writing".
CHRIST. am i really doing the right thing in this program?
who knows.
Anyhow.
"if you don't like your reader, it will come through in your copy. if you don't like 'em, don't write for 'em. condescension isn't pretty."
and how much of my time today, (and the last couple of days in fact) have i devoted to potential logos and grid plans for this magazine for a community our group has determined to be "yoga yuppies"...
GAH.
here's another little tidbit, pretty self-evident, but worth recapping: "fall in love with your readers...what motivates the readers...you're pitching to? what are their problems? what are their secret desires? what are the things they wish they had, or wish they could do, or fear they'll never be able to do again? what keeps them up at night? what do they daydream about?
wrote my first one page story (in Forever) two days ago. that's right. beginnning, middle, end. all in one page. SHORT. i can barely believe it. it may show up here, if i can get up the gumption, i'm kindda afraid to look at it again.
next objective: ILLUSTRATE IT.
next objective after that: KEEP FUCKING DOING IT. NOTHING OVER A PAGE.
SCREW THE BLOODY EPIC!
21 January 2005
new-moan-ia
my mum has pneumonia. i only lost a few years off my life in anxiety before realizing that it's only my brain that still lives in the 20's, the medical industry has taken substantial leaps forward and it's not as big a deal as i think.
18 January 2005
post-traumatic bike disorder.
it's two days later and i still can't believe my own stolen bike experience.
i have to say,
dear reader(s), my account of it sounds Much more heroic than it
was....i was completely uneloquent, to be frank: holding the guy's arm
with one hand and my bike handlebars with another, and just repeating
"this is my bicycle GET OFF my bicycle" over and over again. i think
the only reason he didn't just kick me and ride off is we were both in
COMPLETE shock and he was a bit of a dishevelled ratbag, who obviously
just got lucky when he managed to break the lock in the first place.
but it happened. i have my bicycle still, when at 8pm sunday night it
was but a fond memory.
what a Weird thing. suddenly "stuff" (in this case, a red bike light)
takes on so much significance, 'coz it's the only proof i have that
anything at all happened. that and my missing fenders, but, they
could well have been removed and the bike left untouched.
material nostalgia is suddenly a very real thing to me.
if a tree fell in the forest and then disappeared, was there ever
really a tree?
i was up 'til 4 am sunday night shaking with disbelief.
of course now i'm touting around Both my u-locks which weigh more than
the bicycle itself. (grrr)
i have to say,
dear reader(s), my account of it sounds Much more heroic than it
was....i was completely uneloquent, to be frank: holding the guy's arm
with one hand and my bike handlebars with another, and just repeating
"this is my bicycle GET OFF my bicycle" over and over again. i think
the only reason he didn't just kick me and ride off is we were both in
COMPLETE shock and he was a bit of a dishevelled ratbag, who obviously
just got lucky when he managed to break the lock in the first place.
but it happened. i have my bicycle still, when at 8pm sunday night it
was but a fond memory.
what a Weird thing. suddenly "stuff" (in this case, a red bike light)
takes on so much significance, 'coz it's the only proof i have that
anything at all happened. that and my missing fenders, but, they
could well have been removed and the bike left untouched.
material nostalgia is suddenly a very real thing to me.
if a tree fell in the forest and then disappeared, was there ever
really a tree?
i was up 'til 4 am sunday night shaking with disbelief.
of course now i'm touting around Both my u-locks which weigh more than
the bicycle itself. (grrr)
a single moment.
barker:"when you are ready, and when the world deems it time, cupid will skewer you once again"
me:"whatever. i've put on a kryptonite snow suit."
barker:"heh heh- well that might keep superman away in any case."
me:"if he's anything less than superman he does well to keep his distance.
anyhow, i always thought superman looked like a raging ponce in those silly tights."
me:"whatever. i've put on a kryptonite snow suit."
barker:"heh heh- well that might keep superman away in any case."
me:"if he's anything less than superman he does well to keep his distance.
anyhow, i always thought superman looked like a raging ponce in those silly tights."
17 January 2005
A TRUE STORY THAT WILL BLOW YOUR FUCKING MINDS. (for any and all that have had their bicycles stolen)
it started, as many great stories do, at the bookstore.
i had been in there for 2 1/2 hours.
surprising? no.
excessive. Of course.
i had finally decided to spend my christmas gift certificate, walked out with books in my bag, spring in my step, glee in my future, and.... MY BICYCLE WAS GONE.
FUCKING GONE.
i stood in front of the empty bike rack for at least 4 minutes in (yes, i know more than a few of you have been there) UTTER DESPAIR.
i was off to meet jp for hot chocolate, and there was nothing to be done. i walked along richmond, up some little street past spadina towards queen, called jamie to arrange getting my old gary fisher back which i had loaned him, Burst into Tears, and then kept walking.
queen and bathurst. i'm about 20 steps from the lights and someone rides by me.
ON MY FUCKING BICYCLE.
i'm SO not kidding.
but i'm also, at this point, in shock, in tears, and not all that positive about anything.
i run up behind him...all i can think is be quiet and don't move fast. i reach his side, the light turns green, he puts his foot on the pedal, and i put my hand on his arm.
s: "excuse me..."
sob (that's Son Of a fucking Bitch to the uninitiated):"WHAT?" he says.
i grasp his arm firmer, swing around to the front of the bike, see the skull sticker.
s: "HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK YOU ARE ON MY BICYCLE." he starts biking, sort of, not really, but my hand is on his arm and i'm not letting go.
"You're on my bicycle GET OFF my bicycle"
sob: "what do ya mean, man, i just bought this bike off someone up the street for 40 bucks"
s: "i don't give a shit man, this is my bicycle and i'm not letting go of you, i'm going to call the cops, it's registered, i have the serial number, and IT'S MMMMYYY BICYCLE".
we're standing in the middle of bathurst street and the light has turned red again but he won't get off.
sob: "I WANT MY MONEY BACK I PAID 40 BUCKS FOR THIS BIKE" he howls.
s: "we're gonna walk across this street so we don't get run over, and you're gonna get Off my bicycle or i'm gonna call the cops!"
we cross, he's still on it, we stand for another two minutes or so and finally he says "Fine, take the fucking bike, can i at least have my light back?"
s: "i don't care WHAT you do with your light and if you want your 40 bucks i can probably cough it up, AFTER you get off my bike."
so he's off, i'm holding my bike now, i'm holding his arm, and i say (truthfully) "i don't know if i even have 40 bucks" (i confess i was in such Utter shock that i was ready to fork it over...i mean, Really. MY bike or 40$? i know what my priorities are)
to which he looked at me for a minute and said "forget it, i'm gonna go get my money back from that guy" and runs off down the street.
(chuckle) "that guy" yeah Right. "that guy."
SON of a BITCH.
and as i bike off i realize that, tho' the s.o.b took the fenders off it in some lame attempt to make it inconspicuous, he left his rear flasher on before booking.
so.
i would think, sitting here now, that i dreamt it all in my mind of constant chaos and delusion, but, i now have my bike (hovering quite snugly behind me) a new rear light, no more fenders, and a conspicuous absence of lock.
friends, citizens, bike lovers amongst you THIS REALLY HAPPENED.
for those of you who've lost a bike in this city, this is for you all.
just know that there is Some justice.
for those of you who had the privilege in days gone by of seeing (or filming :) ) "teef", in which i played a character enacting the very same trauma, here it is. (albeit without the tighty whities and the goggles.)
art IMITATES life? HAH.
a caveat to you all, the moral of my story even, before i bid you fond adieu: NEVER leave your bike at richmond and john for any length of time unless you have a small team of mafia bodyguards to watch it.
later, all.
stef
i had been in there for 2 1/2 hours.
surprising? no.
excessive. Of course.
i had finally decided to spend my christmas gift certificate, walked out with books in my bag, spring in my step, glee in my future, and.... MY BICYCLE WAS GONE.
FUCKING GONE.
i stood in front of the empty bike rack for at least 4 minutes in (yes, i know more than a few of you have been there) UTTER DESPAIR.
i was off to meet jp for hot chocolate, and there was nothing to be done. i walked along richmond, up some little street past spadina towards queen, called jamie to arrange getting my old gary fisher back which i had loaned him, Burst into Tears, and then kept walking.
queen and bathurst. i'm about 20 steps from the lights and someone rides by me.
ON MY FUCKING BICYCLE.
i'm SO not kidding.
but i'm also, at this point, in shock, in tears, and not all that positive about anything.
i run up behind him...all i can think is be quiet and don't move fast. i reach his side, the light turns green, he puts his foot on the pedal, and i put my hand on his arm.
s: "excuse me..."
sob (that's Son Of a fucking Bitch to the uninitiated):"WHAT?" he says.
i grasp his arm firmer, swing around to the front of the bike, see the skull sticker.
s: "HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK YOU ARE ON MY BICYCLE." he starts biking, sort of, not really, but my hand is on his arm and i'm not letting go.
"You're on my bicycle GET OFF my bicycle"
sob: "what do ya mean, man, i just bought this bike off someone up the street for 40 bucks"
s: "i don't give a shit man, this is my bicycle and i'm not letting go of you, i'm going to call the cops, it's registered, i have the serial number, and IT'S MMMMYYY BICYCLE".
we're standing in the middle of bathurst street and the light has turned red again but he won't get off.
sob: "I WANT MY MONEY BACK I PAID 40 BUCKS FOR THIS BIKE" he howls.
s: "we're gonna walk across this street so we don't get run over, and you're gonna get Off my bicycle or i'm gonna call the cops!"
we cross, he's still on it, we stand for another two minutes or so and finally he says "Fine, take the fucking bike, can i at least have my light back?"
s: "i don't care WHAT you do with your light and if you want your 40 bucks i can probably cough it up, AFTER you get off my bike."
so he's off, i'm holding my bike now, i'm holding his arm, and i say (truthfully) "i don't know if i even have 40 bucks" (i confess i was in such Utter shock that i was ready to fork it over...i mean, Really. MY bike or 40$? i know what my priorities are)
to which he looked at me for a minute and said "forget it, i'm gonna go get my money back from that guy" and runs off down the street.
(chuckle) "that guy" yeah Right. "that guy."
SON of a BITCH.
and as i bike off i realize that, tho' the s.o.b took the fenders off it in some lame attempt to make it inconspicuous, he left his rear flasher on before booking.
so.
i would think, sitting here now, that i dreamt it all in my mind of constant chaos and delusion, but, i now have my bike (hovering quite snugly behind me) a new rear light, no more fenders, and a conspicuous absence of lock.
friends, citizens, bike lovers amongst you THIS REALLY HAPPENED.
for those of you who've lost a bike in this city, this is for you all.
just know that there is Some justice.
for those of you who had the privilege in days gone by of seeing (or filming :) ) "teef", in which i played a character enacting the very same trauma, here it is. (albeit without the tighty whities and the goggles.)
art IMITATES life? HAH.
a caveat to you all, the moral of my story even, before i bid you fond adieu: NEVER leave your bike at richmond and john for any length of time unless you have a small team of mafia bodyguards to watch it.
later, all.
stef
15 January 2005
saturday traffic.
i'm doing a Really cool illustration for a magazine cover at the moment. it's wretchedly dark, screaming people and highways writhing in and out of an anatomic heart. yay.
what was i saying yesterday? something about happy citizens and roadways?
what was i saying yesterday? something about happy citizens and roadways?
13 January 2005
a sad and insignificant interview.
had an interview to do some design(possibly illustration!?!?) work for one the indie theatres in toronto today. sigh.
it started off fine...the publicist was, as foretold, a Lovely jovial person. he liked my stuff, and i successfully curtailed the temptation to explain away all the sad innocuous covers of non-profit annual reports, all insignificant sneezes on the grand canvas of creation.
( "insignificant sneezes on the grand canvas of creation.")
in fact i felt confident enough, and pleased enough with all my work (yay!yay!yay!) that i offered to, NAY i was Asked if (!) i would show my art/illustration stuff. so i brought it out, with the old familiar caveats, you know, a bit on the dark side, just here for a sense of scope and skill, yadda yadda...
well.
i had been warned that the general manager, also a very kind lady, is a bit on the conservative side. still i was unprepared for the terror i instilled into her very heart at the sight of my stuff, people unzipping themselves out of their skins and whatnot. Curses!
things sort of ground to a halt, although i think they were still impressed with my skill (shrug), i conducted myself with shameless aplomb, and walked out with my head high, before i sunk into the doldrums of melancholy and pessimism a few hours later.
GAH.
i know i know, leave the personal work at home under the bed. this is True, and worthy, and yet i truly believe, selfish and ignorant that it might be, that the world is ready to have alot More personal and intimate work enter the public domain. i'm sick to death of all this innocuous and flaccid stuff i see in the visual material gracing our streets and public spaces. it's supposed to Effect people, to Sway them, but it's nothing more than watery gruel simmering on the visual stovetop of life.
STEW STEW STEW! mmmmmm.
it started off fine...the publicist was, as foretold, a Lovely jovial person. he liked my stuff, and i successfully curtailed the temptation to explain away all the sad innocuous covers of non-profit annual reports, all insignificant sneezes on the grand canvas of creation.
( "insignificant sneezes on the grand canvas of creation.")
in fact i felt confident enough, and pleased enough with all my work (yay!yay!yay!) that i offered to, NAY i was Asked if (!) i would show my art/illustration stuff. so i brought it out, with the old familiar caveats, you know, a bit on the dark side, just here for a sense of scope and skill, yadda yadda...
well.
i had been warned that the general manager, also a very kind lady, is a bit on the conservative side. still i was unprepared for the terror i instilled into her very heart at the sight of my stuff, people unzipping themselves out of their skins and whatnot. Curses!
things sort of ground to a halt, although i think they were still impressed with my skill (shrug), i conducted myself with shameless aplomb, and walked out with my head high, before i sunk into the doldrums of melancholy and pessimism a few hours later.
GAH.
i know i know, leave the personal work at home under the bed. this is True, and worthy, and yet i truly believe, selfish and ignorant that it might be, that the world is ready to have alot More personal and intimate work enter the public domain. i'm sick to death of all this innocuous and flaccid stuff i see in the visual material gracing our streets and public spaces. it's supposed to Effect people, to Sway them, but it's nothing more than watery gruel simmering on the visual stovetop of life.
STEW STEW STEW! mmmmmm.
11 January 2005
god's replacement.
google. as in, oh my google, oh, for google's sakes. okay so it sounds Ridiculous, but i'll tell ya what google has been more enlightening than god ever was, and it answers my pleas for help and enlightenment more than daily.
10 January 2005
aahhh, anxiety.
what better bedfellow to fetter myself with in this dreary month of january?
the national anxiety foundation states that one of the symptoms of a panic attack is when "familiar things feel odd"
like oneself?
then again, when was the last time i actually felt "familiar" to myself, even. oh mope.
although i must confess to the beginnings of familiarity with this shell of mine reacting when anxiety starts, in a real physical way. i'm usually running around so much that i can't feel any change, but now i can, kindda. it's like a caffeine rush, without the caffeine. weird wonderful bodies, even Weirder, not-so-wonderful but Definitely Powerful thought, that can treat us like a triple expresso on a most nominal whim.
but enough about my trivial worries.
i was looking for your everyday "calm down" mantra collection, but, courtesy of google i found this "national anxiety foundation" website, with its following categories as alleviation treatments for americans experiencing terrorism panic attacks.
i post this for your re-evaluation, dear readers. i mean, REALLY. sounds like a bloody "keep shopping" advert.
"listen to a Carl Hurley tape"?! who the Bloody Hell is carl hurley?
enlist in the armed forces"? "buy a PET"? Unbe-fucking-lievable.
oh, and Here's one:
"Allocate only a reasonable amount of time to each of your stresses" GOD OF COCKS WHAT'S A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF...(ahem) i mean, What is a reasonable amount of time to allocate for each of my stresses?
read it all below, folks, Unbelievable.
oh, and i would also like to point out the primary recipients under the "give to charity" section, namely "church", followed by (drum roll) "national anxiety foundation". how clever they are.
Courage
* Fly airlines again
* Travel on business and for pleasure
* Invest in securities
Patriotism
* Enlist in the armed forces
* Fly or display an American flag
* Register to vote (and vote)
* Run for public office
Distraction
* Read a novel
* Engage in a hobby
* Paint the house
* Buy a pet
* Get back to your everyday routines.
"Hope for the best. Be prepared for the worst"
* Have 3 gallons of drinking water per person stored.
* Have food that does not require refrigeration or cooking.
* Have a flashlight and batteries, matches and candles.
* Have some currency cash on hand.
* Have a weeks supply of regularly taken medications.
Decrease stimulus
* Turn off excessive TV news
* Change the topic in conversation from catastrophe, doom and worry
Relaxation
* Exercise
* Go to bed early
* Take a hike in the woods with your family or friends
* Do something that you enjoy like going for a drive, or playing with your dog.
Self-expression
* Put your feelings into words
* Talk to a friend about your fears. Listen to their fears.
* Write a journal to express your thoughts and feelings
Compartmentalize
* Allocate only a reasonable amount of time to each of your stresses
God
* Go to church
* Donate to Charity (church, National Anxiety Foundation, Red Cross, Salvation Army)
* Prayer
Humor
* Listen to a Carl Hurley tape
* Watch a comedian monologue about terrorism
* Read political cartoons
Reason and Logic
* Stop expecting the worst
* Think of how very unlikely harm is to come to you or your loved ones
For Children:
* Tell them that they really are safe.
* Keep to your usual routines.
* Keep them from seeing too many frightening pictures of the events.
* Teach them repeatedly not to play with white powder as a joke or prank. It is not funny. It is illegal. It is disrespectful to their country and their fellow man.
* Teach them to respect all people including Muslims and those appear to be "Persian".
the national anxiety foundation states that one of the symptoms of a panic attack is when "familiar things feel odd"
like oneself?
then again, when was the last time i actually felt "familiar" to myself, even. oh mope.
although i must confess to the beginnings of familiarity with this shell of mine reacting when anxiety starts, in a real physical way. i'm usually running around so much that i can't feel any change, but now i can, kindda. it's like a caffeine rush, without the caffeine. weird wonderful bodies, even Weirder, not-so-wonderful but Definitely Powerful thought, that can treat us like a triple expresso on a most nominal whim.
but enough about my trivial worries.
i was looking for your everyday "calm down" mantra collection, but, courtesy of google i found this "national anxiety foundation" website, with its following categories as alleviation treatments for americans experiencing terrorism panic attacks.
i post this for your re-evaluation, dear readers. i mean, REALLY. sounds like a bloody "keep shopping" advert.
"listen to a Carl Hurley tape"?! who the Bloody Hell is carl hurley?
enlist in the armed forces"? "buy a PET"? Unbe-fucking-lievable.
oh, and Here's one:
"Allocate only a reasonable amount of time to each of your stresses" GOD OF COCKS WHAT'S A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF...(ahem) i mean, What is a reasonable amount of time to allocate for each of my stresses?
read it all below, folks, Unbelievable.
oh, and i would also like to point out the primary recipients under the "give to charity" section, namely "church", followed by (drum roll) "national anxiety foundation". how clever they are.
Courage
* Fly airlines again
* Travel on business and for pleasure
* Invest in securities
Patriotism
* Enlist in the armed forces
* Fly or display an American flag
* Register to vote (and vote)
* Run for public office
Distraction
* Read a novel
* Engage in a hobby
* Paint the house
* Buy a pet
* Get back to your everyday routines.
"Hope for the best. Be prepared for the worst"
* Have 3 gallons of drinking water per person stored.
* Have food that does not require refrigeration or cooking.
* Have a flashlight and batteries, matches and candles.
* Have some currency cash on hand.
* Have a weeks supply of regularly taken medications.
Decrease stimulus
* Turn off excessive TV news
* Change the topic in conversation from catastrophe, doom and worry
Relaxation
* Exercise
* Go to bed early
* Take a hike in the woods with your family or friends
* Do something that you enjoy like going for a drive, or playing with your dog.
Self-expression
* Put your feelings into words
* Talk to a friend about your fears. Listen to their fears.
* Write a journal to express your thoughts and feelings
Compartmentalize
* Allocate only a reasonable amount of time to each of your stresses
God
* Go to church
* Donate to Charity (church, National Anxiety Foundation, Red Cross, Salvation Army)
* Prayer
Humor
* Listen to a Carl Hurley tape
* Watch a comedian monologue about terrorism
* Read political cartoons
Reason and Logic
* Stop expecting the worst
* Think of how very unlikely harm is to come to you or your loved ones
For Children:
* Tell them that they really are safe.
* Keep to your usual routines.
* Keep them from seeing too many frightening pictures of the events.
* Teach them repeatedly not to play with white powder as a joke or prank. It is not funny. It is illegal. It is disrespectful to their country and their fellow man.
* Teach them to respect all people including Muslims and those appear to be "Persian".
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