Toronto After Dark Film Fest Coverage Review

(that's supposed to read like "this is a review someone else did on my coverage of the TADFF" which is a convoluted mouthful)

10 days ago when I started covering the TADFF, my darling wife decided that if she wasn't going to see me at all as I spent hours in a darkened room sitting on my ass, then she might as well go visit her folks. While there, she was keeping updated on my activities by reading the coverage I did over on CHUD (I didn't ever have enough time to call her but a few text messages were bandied about.. oh the wonders of technologies and their influence on the modern relationship). While there she mentioned to her father what I was up to, and as a film buff himself he was curious about what was going on, and even more so to read what I have to say on the matter.

I pretended like that was cool when she told me, but to be honest I was a little intimidated. Her dad, my father-in-law, has a very well-defined entertainment palette, which overlaps my own in many respects, but having a much greater fondness and appreciation for classic cinema and less of a tolerance (I'm assuming, anyway) for kitsch and ironic cinema, which, let's be honest, is what the bulk of horror cinema is these days. So yeah, it was fret worthy. I mean, what if he were to read what I wrote and think me a fool for wasting my time with crap, or even worse, that my musings on it weren't worth the effort. Add another dozen or ten worries to that pile and that's what was racing through my mind at the thought of him reading my daily recaps.

My wife's father is in the entertainment industry, in a sense, an actor in smaller-theatre plays, a player in advertising for a long time, and doing plenty of voice work (probably best known for the voice of Canadian Tire "There's a lot more to Canadian Tire than tires"), his opinion matters as both a new family member, as an entertainment junkie and as a professional. So, you can bet that when Aden sent me his response to it all that I sighed in relief before smiled a broad grin and choked back a tear.

although I have little knowledge of the subject, Graig's words made it easy to understand and his sense of humour and personal situations added greatly to the material. they were fun to read.

You know, if I ever had a book that was a collection of reviews, that would definitely be my cover quote, attributed to "my father-in-law". It explains everything about my style of reviewing, and Toast has often complimented me on my style, so I know I must have one... It's really one of the most meaningful praises I've ever received.

Grrr. Argh. Grrr.

There's absolutely nothing that makes me angrier than losing writing to silly computer shit. You know, your computer crashes in the middle of an essay, you accidentally delete your only copy of a document, or you save something not knowing that you somehow deleted 3/4 of what you wrote.

Hulk smash kinda angry.

Misplaced thoughts

As of late, and by late I mean about the past 18 months or so, I haven't had a good sense of what thoughts should go where: should I blog them or should I journal them; fit for the masses or send in an email to a single person; should I just call someone or should I write them about it... or should I just tell someone so I can ask them later about that thought I had that I can no longer remember?

With so many thoughts so often going through my brain some days (as opposed to those days where I just sit sedentary at my desk, stare at my screen and drool as my mind wanders into obliviousness), like today, I often have thoughts about what to do with my thoughts, and sometimes by the time I make a decision, the original thought I had which I was deciding upon is gone.

And sometimes you have those thoughts that you feel compelled to tell someone about, and then you keep forgetting to tell them, only remembering when they're not around, and the more you forget the more you build up the expected response to the idea or statement or whatever, and then, finally, when it is said, it really sounds lackluster, and is pretty much received as such.
Like that one.
Maybe.

Journalista

I started journaling in high school, and I can't really remember why. I do recall I did a lot of angst-ridden, lovelorn entries, a lot of pondering of my crushes both real and celebrity... I worshiped at the temple of false idols ever so frequently. I pondered my navel a lot in those early days, thinking about the world and it's doom (15 years later we're actually worse off than ever, but the gradualism of it has made it so much easier to digest, accommodate and, if not accept, at least understand that the division between the powerful and the common means that the singular input into the world means very little unless you're in the position for it to mean something. I don't even know what that means. It's Friday, I'm not actually paying much attention to myself.

Anyway, I journaled fairly regularly throughout university, plugging thoughts away for future use, but since '99 (aka, the year of the first engagement), my journaling has been sporadic, up and down... peak periods of daily (sometimes multiple daily) writings, and then there valley periods where I have no writing for months on end. I came to understand that when I have time to myself, and things are, perhaps, strained... or boring... well that's when I wrote a lot. When relationships were ending, I wrote volumes. When strong crushes emerged, those too were productive times, also when relationships started I would write all about them. My blog over the years has acted as a (public) supplement to my private thoughts, but there are things I didn't write in either location, and it was usually during the worst periods of my previous relationships.

Those times are what I refer to as "shut down periods" where I deny myself my own truth, my own thoughts, as I try to tell myself everything is okay, that I can cope, and that things will be all right, when in fact I'm just prolonging the inevitable realization of what's really going on in my brain. I havn't been journaling a lot lately.
But everything is okay.
Better than okay.
Everything is great.
I'm not denying myself any thoughts, but rather I've found someone with whom I can share my most deepest innermost thoughts with, and not just get out these demons that plague my brain, but also discuss them, get feedback, and examine them with someone else if need be. It's a sheer delight to have this in my life.

That said, I want to get back to journaling, as the reason I chronicle the things that go on in my life and the thoughts that go behind them is to plunder and pilfer them for later usage, in story or just to hone my personal recollection of events. I don't know if I will, but the number of thoughts that escape me (this morning I had a half dozen while waking up, another three in the shower and a few while walking to work, and do you think I can remember any of them?), things that I'd want to explore or just play with in my mind and develop out... well, they're likely the key to getting me back to writing more creatively (as opposed to just reviews all the time).

Aden and I are both aspiring writers. I've completed a book - Quarter City: A Novel Metropol Fantastique (which some of you have read and helped me to hone, and which Aden is redlining now, hopefully for me to complete the final draft this year... FINALLY!) and Aden is working on completing her first novel. We both need a little motivation to get going on things, a little discipline as well would be nice, but we'll get there when we do. I think getting pen back to paper might be a nice start.

Now, just to discipline myself to do it...

greece's pieces

A new Superman newspaper advertisement has been leaked and it features the MOS bursting out of a page full of reviewer pull quotes. All of the quotes are from easily influenced television or radio station affiliate reviewers... not exactly a ringing endorsement. I fear the films going to be utter pants as is. The ho-hum trailers... all of them... have yet to inspire any excitement, or even really pique my interest. Of course, I will be seeing it... twice probably (the first time I see a big film like this I usually spend my time picking it apart and being over analytical... the second time, when I know what's coming and can actually see if I enjoy it or not).

these days is hawt

The days have been too warm for a Northwestern boy like me... I usually take it in stride but the official sign that it's too warm is cold showers in the morning (and nothing to do with an unfulfilling sex life... riiiiight). Normally my showers are hot, and they get progressively hotter as my body adjusts to the heat. I get so warmed up, in fact, that during the winter I wind up sweating while standing outside (thus negating much of the shower's effect). I usually do this in the spring and summer as well, but not this year... I've been treating myself to that stunning cold water shower. You know what I'm talking about, when the temperature differential is such a shock to your system that suddenly you're gasping for air like your lungs have collapsed. Yeah, that kind of ...shrivelling cold. So cold that I'm actually shivering by the time I get out of the shower... which isn't good, because warm house + shivering = rapid warm-up and sweating... which, again, kind of defeats the purpose of the shower.

I need to find the happy medium.
(and not a cheerful fortune teller)

not my idea...

In the latest Thor's Comic Column there's a big promo for a new "reality tv" contest thing called The Comic Book Challenge and they want your ideas, my ideas, all of our ideas. They want us to pitch the ideas and then through popular selection they'll weed their way from 50 down to a winner. I have a killer idea that could quite easily win over the masses of geek culture that would no doubt be voting in this thing, but I won't enter it and I'll tell you why...
It's not worth it.
Even if I won, it's not worth it. Quitting my job would probably be the only option to take the time away to work this contest process and I don't have the cushion to do it. Not only that, even if I did do comics and developed the idea and handed it over to Platnum Studios for film and/or tv production, chances are they'd put me on some sort of committee validation roster and I'd have to comprimise my storytelling to get the thing done and I'd most likely hate the whole procedure. Oh, and then, say I did manage to get the book out there, my cred as a writer would be called into question for YEARS (hell, Mr. Real World Judd Winnick still has his validity called into question) and any popularity would not be based on my talent and any criticism would not be based on my lack thereof... it would be bitch jealousy and that's it.
And say I did manage to get my book published, comics pay shit. There are very few writers of comics out there making a living at doing it. I'd guess it's between one and two hundred that are actually supporting themselves as writers (and usually not just on comics either). Comics earn and pay shit. There's no money in it, and losing a good job to break into an industry where the lifespan of most writers lasts about 10 years anyway... sigh.

I love comics, and I will get around to making my own some day, but throwing away my life right now for what's essentially a glorified colouring contest isn't really a smart path. There's enough other frothing and/or desperate and/or well-off fanboys that can do this. And I guarantee you that the winner's idea isn't nearly as cool as mine.

oh... and...

Toonage is live.
Go read my Parkas interview and DVD feature. They're good.
Also got some cd reviews and a concert review extracted from the sidebar.

I need to have a short bio to appear at the end of my articles... I have three and I'm wondering what the geeKent reader(s?) thinks. VOTE NOW!

Option 1: Graig Kent is a consumer and a reviewer. He reviews what he consumes and he consumes a lot. He routinely blogs at geekent.com in an effort to publicly embarass himself.

Option 3: Graig Kent lives in Toronto, works a regular job, and spends all his money on things he later reviews. You can find out way too much about him at his blog, geekent.com

If you don't like any of these, feel free to write your own... be as kind or mean as you want, just make sure you plug my blog. Oh and on #2, I may actually have over 1000 reviews to my name. I'll take a tally soon. I've been doing this review thing for 9 years now (whee-yow!)

daVinci da-issed

I was asked if I wanted to see the daVinci Code this evening. I said "not for me, thanks... Not for me, T.Hanks." Aren't I clever?

My sister dropped off her copy of the book yesterday, and I barely made it through the prologue (and not for the reasons in the previous post, but rather because it's pretty overwraught), and the next twenty pages didn't go down much easier. I put it down in favour of a Modesty Blaise newspaper strip compilation. They say a picture is worth a thousand words... well, I think the disparity between Modesty Blaise and daVinci is more like one purdy Holdaway drawing is worth 10,000 of Dan Brown's words.

read good 'n' stuff.

A book report on John Varley's Red Thunder

Purchased: April 5, 2005
Cost: $5.89
Pages: 411
Finished reading: May 19, 2006
Total days taken to read the book: 414
Average reading speed: appx. 1 page per day

Yeah. I'm embarassed, ever so slightly, that it took me over a year to read one book. That's rather pathetic. In my defence, though, I have been living a rather full life. I mean, I read over 400 comics last year, over 100 trade paperbacks, and a number of books in-between spurts of reading this one (I tracked stats here... although funny enough, I manage to exclude any novel-reading statistics, and if you were to ask me what other books I read I'd be hard pressed to tell you). It's not that I didn't enjoy the novel, because I did, for the most part. I like Varley and his writing style is so vivid that even after breaks as long as 3-months I could pick the book up and get right back into it... like hopping back into a tv show after summer hiatus... or getting into the next chapter of a movie trilogy. Basically the reason it took me so long is the sad truth about my reading skills...

... I get bored. It doesn't matter how engrossing a story or a book is, sitting around, being inert, reading... I. Get. Bored. After about 45-minutes to an hour I need to get up, move around, and do something else for a while. Usually it's something differently stimulating like banging my head against a doorframe or slicing -and then ingesting- some cheese. The funny thing is when I usually put a book down out of boredom the last thing I want to do is partake in another storytelling exercise, like watching tv or a movie.

Often what happens though, and for some reason it's usually when I'm reading on the streetcar ride to work, is I get the inclination to start working on my own stories. Reading, and this is part of the reason why I'm a pathetically slow reader, stimulates my creative senses. I divide my attention while reading a book between the actual story and reading for style and technique, which you can imagine means I often miss a lot of story elements, but it also means I drift off into daydreamy land thinking about my own writerly ways (I routinely joke that I could write a book faster than I could read one, but I think I've already proven that false). The sad thing is I'm usually on my way to work so I can't properly capitalize upon the stimuant, which is a tragedy the world should morn, I figure. If the world would like to mourn with financial donations to me, I won't object.

Yeah, I don't really devote a lot of time to reading (books), and it's significantly less in the Spring/Summer/Fall than it is in Winter (most of my bookreading happens on the streetcar, and unless it's raining or snow is on the ground, I'm biking to work most of the year, thus losing most of my prime reading time). This book has actually accompanied me on a number of road trips... up to Thunder Bay last summer and to Montreal this year, and even a flight to New York in December (where I read the on-board magazine on the way there and listened to comedy albums on the way back rather than read). I should find more time to read, like before bed. But I've developed over the past 25 years a near Pavlovian response that equates reading to sleepytime (or its daytime equivalent, boredom). Plus the demands of weekly comic-book reviewing mean I'm usually reading sequential art before I head of to dreamland (the montly books are convenient in their 10 - 20 minute injections of story... it means I don't usually fall asleep with the desire to read more).

Anyway, Red Thunder is an absurd story about four kids, an astronaut and an idiot-savant Cajun who build a spacecraft operated by the Cajun's new propellant(?) discovery. They build the spaceship to take them to Mars on a week-long journey, thus beating the Chinese as the first people to land on the moon. It's all very silly but told in such hyper-realistic detail that Varley makes it plausible. Divided into three parts, the book really covers all the grounds, answers almost all questions, and builds a real-world case around one technological advancement (and not a series of them). It can get jargony, but Varley works it in with a sense of humour and a natural candor that makes it easy to read if not always to understand. If there's a point where it falls apart for me, it's at the actual moment where these untrained college kids make it into space in a homemade craft without any major foul-ups (the sci-fi bits I can get behind, the competence behind untrained engineering, not so much). At the same time, the book succeeds in present an interesting story that doesn't have a nemesis other than time, and even then there's not much emphasis put upon the clock.

Was it worth letting occupy the space at the back of my mind for a year? I dunno. I doubt it. Varley's preceeding books the Golden Globe and Steel Beach were much more entertaining (more humour and very clever sci-fi quirks) and yet I can hardly remember them as vividly as I can this book. It's almost a shame. But, I'm glad I'm done it. Now I have to find my next reading project. Suggestions?

...and the point at which I realize I've stopped pretending to be and actually became

I've been doing this for so long now - 12 years thereabouts - and since I don't really think about it so much as just do it, I've always just seen myself for what I thought I was: some goofy kid posing as writer without actually believing it.

It was probably somewhere between hours five and six of writing my first feature article proper in some time yesterday that I actually realized that I do indeed do this writing thing and I do it well. Sure my grammar can suck sometimes, and I spell things wrong on occasion (in equal measures keyboard mis-types and just a bad grasp of proper English) and I may not have the notariety of some in my blogging circle or the talent of others, but dammit if I don't have a passion and enjoyment for doing it.

My ambitions for my writing career had always been that of novelist or comics writer, but I havn't had the discipline to see it through. During these past 3 years after completing my first book, it's sat on the shelf almost the whole time, occasionally getting dusted off for a quick burst of editing before it resumes it's place. I like the book just fine, and I really like the story it tells, but it needs polishing and I don't have the motivation to do it. Because of this I've been thinking myself a failure in many respects, and yet I havn't seen what I've actually accomplished since then.

A quick troll through my archives shows that I've been writing quite constantly for four years, and in the past 30 months I've done over 500 reviews of movies, comics, music, theatre, television and other miscellany. Ever since my university days, posing as editor in various positions at my university newspaper, it's felt like I've been playing a game, like I've been winging it without really knowing what I was doing. But yesterday I was sitting at my keyboard, a documentary film playing on the tv behind me, my tape recorded interviews from earlier in the week playing beside me, and me jumping back and forth in my Word document piecing together the story of a band ... it was here that I realized I wasn't just pretending. I was fucking writing, like a fucking writer, and I have been for years. I knew what I was doing, and I've been doing what I know for a good long while.

Over at CHUD I've been able to write for something that is beyond just myself. It's not about exposure, but it does feel good to know that the words you put so much though behind (or sometimes not enough thought) are getting read. The fact that I keep finding excerpts of my comic reviews on publisher's websites or, on occasion, as a pull quote in a print ad just tells me that this isn't amateur hour anymore. Though I'm pretty limited in what I can do for CHUD, I'm able to explore a lot of other avenues with Toonage, a new on-line music and music culture magazine I've hitched my wagon to. I can just do reviews if I want, but the crew over there have been very open to ideas and suggestion for things beyond my normal comfort zone. The feature I'm working on will be prominently displayed upon the launch (in about a week's time), and I'm both very proud of the article, and excited to do more like it. I've already got other ideas and bands in mind to approach.

The biggest realization is that I'm not just wasting time and money here. I'm working towards something, and while it's not as glorious as creating comics or novels (I've not given up on doing so) I've been told so many times - and I actually understand now - that although I may not be Roger Ebert, I'm pretty good at this review game. After 12 years at it I should hope so.

Random thoughts

1) new favourite alcoholic drink involves chocolate milk, baileys and vodka

2) working on a list of favourite things. havn't gotten very far. cause I keep forgetting. apparently working on a list of favourite things isn't one of my favourite things.

3) i have new 'special features' i'd like to enact on the blog, but i'm feeling especially lazy

4) ploughed through (reading, not writing) 60 reviews, many of the same book, as thor's comic column is auditioning new writers. it's not an easy decision because there are a lot of really solid entries (at least half weren't easily dismissable) but invariably we had to shortlist to four, and I picked my four. we'll see what the other lads come up with. i'm excited to have some fresh blood on the team, although a couple of the guys are so good i'm almost afraid.

5) where'd all that back hair come from. seriously. where? and what purpose does it serve.

6) i'm growing a beard this week. the last time (and only other time) i had a beard was when i was unemployed (and started blogging) back in '02. it was a hit with the ladies, more than the unemployment was, I'd say.

7) when cuddling up to your dog and going to sleep, is it unusual to have dreams where you think you're cuddled up next to a real person?

8) eating pogos for lunch every day has got to stop

9) i'm just a little kinda slightly just a tad wee bit sorta maybe like so-so smidgum bored right now. i have plenty of movies at my avail, much i could be reading or writing about, or take the dog for a walk or even sleep, but seriously, motivation is nil. i don't even want to be writing this. perhaps more booze would help. hmm, fresca + _____ = crazy delicious

10) i just remembered that there was a time where i'd drink anything mixed with anything unless beer or tequila was involved. i wonder if that's still true.
hmmm, mustard plus cointreau? let's give'er a whirl.

11) i didn't actually just do that. but i will if someone dares me. i'm an idiot

12) okay gross. this fresca is peach flavoured. since when is bloomin' fresca peach flavoured? now it tastes like i'm drinking peach schnappes which is brining back horrid memories of the first time I got drunk (and then didn't drink for another four years).

13) b.w.i
you figure it out
hmm, maybe this will be the next big blogging event. b.w.i night. yes, hear me now, the first annual b.w.i night is happening friday, april 7, 2006 hmmm, all i need now is to a) get a fancy graphic, b) get popular enough to spread the word around to legitimize this event so that people around the world will be choking back the booze and blogging all about it. perhaps i'll also organize a party around it so that we can trade off blogging duties. for all i know there's already an organized drunken blogging night that happens the first friday in april every year... well sod it... i'm doing it anyways as a call to arms or something.
the rules are simple: for every drink there must be a corresponding post
join me will you. or not. whatever. you're your own person, your own worst enemy, your own relief pitcher if you catch my meaning which you probably don't since i don't even catch the meaning so if you do catch the meaning then cudo's you're officially a psychopath or genius or something.

14) psychopathy and genius are so easily confused, no?

15) welcome to barrie where dudes drive snowmobiles down the street and through your back yard. thanks assnut.

16) did i mention peach fresca is horrid. this dirnk won't be over soon enoguh.

17) i left typing mistakes in there intentionally... more a sign of sloppy typing than drunkenness... perhaps also a sign of bad education and perpetual bedwetting, neither of which are afflictions of mine, just saying the perhapability is there is all.

18) made up word count this post to date: 6

19) i bought pants that accentuate my ass. it deserves it, my ass does. for all its hard work it deserves some attention

20) there's a goddamn yogurt commercial for "activia" yogurt that implores you to "take the activa challenge" by eating their product every day for two weeks, the only thing is they don't offer any benefits to actually eating their yogurt for two weeks. they just ask you to take the challenge. what the fuck!?

imagine if every commercial asked you to do that? take the ford challenge. just buy a ford and drive it until it wears out. it's that easy.

take the subway franchise challenge. open up your own subway franchise and make a go of it for an undetermined length of time. it's that easy.

take the do whatever commercials say challenge. for two weeks if a commercial asks you to do something, do it. it's that easy.

hey, if you liked the activia challenge, the you'd love to take the geekent challenge. just read geekent.com every day for the rest of your life and if you aren't satisfied, die unhappy. it's that easy.

21) apparently "casino@mail.nu" thinks i have a "great site". thanks casino@mail.nu for taking the geekent challenge. i'm sure you'll maybe be happy-like

22) apparently all the cool cats are doing it. jowling. not recommended for those with sore necks.

23)i think i'll watch the latest episodes of "the it crowd" again, because, damn, katherine parkinson is freakin hot

ta

24) back. thunder and lightning in february, oh my.

25) was just looking over some early blog entries from '02 and found this

If I were writing a story like that one where Hugh Jackman comes back in time from the victorian era and woos Meg Ryan, I would write it in such a fashion that this 17th century "nobleman" doesn't have a fucking clue how to survive in the 20th century, has his horse shot down by the police, he's on the lam for some reason, and winds up wasting away in the gutter somewhere.

the odd thing is this is pretty much how Grant Morrison kicked off Seven Soldiers: Shining Knight. Weird.

A new word

SNOBSESS

adjective - snob·sess
snobsessed, snobsessing, snobsession, snobsesses

having or showing excessive or compulsive concern with something to the point where you ostracize others for their preferences or tastes - often of or relating to popular culture such as movies, music, food, or literature.
"Dean broke up with me because I wanted to see Prime instead of The Squid and the Whale. He's so snobsessed."

Ref: "High Fidelity" (2000, dir. Stephen Frears). When Barry (Jack Black) rudely turns away a customer who asked if they have "I Just Called To Say I Love You". Snobsession in action.

Customer: Hi, do you have the song "I Just Called To Say I Love You?" It's for my daughter's birthday.
Barry: Yea we have it.
Customer: Great great... Well, can I have it?
Barry: No, you can't.
Customer: Why not?!
Barry: Beacause its sentimental tacky crap thats why. Do we look like a store that sells "I Just Called to Say I Love You"? Go to the mall!
Customer: What's your problem?!
Barry: Do you even know your daughter? There's no way she likes that song! Oh oh oh wait!, is she in a coma?
Customer: Oh, okay buddy. I didn't know it was Pick on the Middle-aged Square Guy Day. My apologies. I'll be on my way.
Barry: Buh-bye
Customer: Fuck you!

I'm the master, it's a good day

It's been, well, 6 years since I last did an interview, and by that I mean conducted an interview with someone of relative stature in whatever field of expertise for publication. I used to do quite a few of them back in University for the student newspaper, the Argus (which, over my post-secondary scholacular career I was a section editor, Editor-In-Chief, and illustrator). At that I was a nervous wreck at public speaking and just as bad at one-on-one with people who didn't know me, but even still I had some great interviews, my favourite being with Scott Thompson of Kids in the Hall fame.

So now that I'm writing regularly for Thor's Comic Column on Chud.com, a site which gets a daily readership in the thousands, I've been encouraged to explore my journalistic tendencies a little more. Which is hard. Because I really don't have any journalistic tendencies, I just have opinions, which is why my best articles back in my Argus days were either opinion pieces or reviews. Dealing with "facts" was never a strong point, I like grey areas.

Attending the Canadian National Comic Expo at the end of August this year, my purpose was to get out there and schill for the Comics column, see if people had heard of us, and if possible get some free stuff. Well, I didn't get much free stuff but people had heard of us so that was good. The seed in the back of my mind, the ease I had interacting with some of these people now that I was on a kind of "professional" status with them (yeah, I know "reviewer" isn't really that far off from mouthy fanboy, but it's still a step up the professional ladder) made me think that perhaps interviews weren't going to be so difficult to get back to afterall.

So there we go, I was committed to expanding my horizons, networking and getting active in the community. I have an open invitation with "Nil" and "Rex Libris" creator James Turner to do an interview (I'll shoot for one before the release of "Rex Libris" issue 2) and I have a few ideas for some more local people. But my big hope was to land an interview with Adam Fortier, president and founder of Speakeasy Comics, a new and successful publisher and consultant firm, barely a year old at this point, but growing at an impressive rate. And they're Toronto based!

I was in the Beguiling one day, and I was having a chat with Christopher Butcher, who has become one of the big stars of comics blogging over the past few months. Chris has connections like nobody's business so I asked if he knew Adam. Apparently Adam lives a few blocks away from the store so he sees him frequently, and Chris noted that, should I attempt to bribe him with beer, Adam would likely be more than receptive to spending a few minutes to chat.

So that's exactly what I did. A few weeks lead time to coordinate and yesterday Adam and I met up, had a few drinks and talked on-record for about 90 minutes. It's going to be a bitch to transcribe but thankfully my recorder has excellent pick-up. Adam is a genuinely nice guy, a smart businessman, highly opinionated but not blindly so. His successes are thanks to clear thinking and smart acting. He's committed to publishing what's good, not what he thinks will just sell big.

We talked a bit on his submission process and the fact he gets hundreds of submissions every month which he and his two Speakeasy cohorts have to sift through. He mentioned how a lot of his conversations with people now waylay into pitches for comic books, and I didn't want to be one of those people, but I figured, after two double gins, I could at least test the waters with a joke.

"So now that we're off record", I said, "it's time for my pitch." He groaned with a laugh.
"I wrote a book?"
He laughed again.
"I'm serious."
"Really," he said, eyebrows perking up. "Is it published."
"Oh god no," I said with a big laugh. "It still needs another edit before it's even ready for more eyes to look at. I think that'll be number four or five."

We talked a bit more about the book, about writing and about getting things going for one's self. And, I think this came as sincere, he offered to read it and if it was worthy, he'd pass it along to some publishers he knows. "A generous offer," I noted, "but I'm still not at that point where it's ready to go there. After the next edit, I'll drop it on your door. Hopefully," I emphasised the 'hopefully', "Hopefully December."

Speaking with Adam, seeing his success made me realize that the path to such good fortune isn't just who you know, although that helps, it's keeping your eyes open for the trails you come across, and sometimes, if there is no trail, you have to forge your own.

I also realized that I'm owed some feedback on my slowly decaying book by some people. Ahem.

I'll obviously let everyone know when the interview is on-line.

Drowning in sequentialness

My stack of reading materials beside my bed is ever growing, and I just can't seem to stave off it's constant revolumizing (yup, I made that word up), I guess I just don't take the time to read all the stuff I have to read.

I have two books, one narrated by a sock monkey and one written by a Dick (Philip K. that is) that I started last year, got about halfway through, and never completed (and my drive to do so is almost nigh). And I'm 1/4 through John Varley's really engaging "Red Thunder", but since I stopped taking the streetcar in and started biking to work I've red no new pages in about three weeks.

Beside the bed, under a stack of laying-in-waiting graphic novels I picked up at one of the comic cons a few weekends ago (more on that soon) is "Wigfield" written by Daily Show correspondant and Harvey Birdman voice actor Stephen Colbert, with his pals Amy Sedaris and Paul Dinello. There's also a vintage edition of "Dr. Fegg's Nasty Book of Knowledge" by Michael Palin and Terry Jones which is going to a friend in his (much belated) birthday package, but I don't want to send it until I've read it all. It is classic Pythonesque.

Oh, yes, and then there's the legion of graphic novels that I continue to sleep on. There's the pile, as I said, beside my bed that I picked up at a recent convention for, on average 70% off. Good stuff like Challengers of the Unknown Must Die (the venerated team of Loeb and Sale's first outing together, the Books of Magic (to remind myself that DC once did creative things with their magical characters, and not shit like "Day of Vengeance"), Sleeper (of which I got volume 2 and 3, so I really can't read them til I get Volume 1), and Swamp Thing vol 2 (it's Alan Moore, it needs to be read).

But then I have a rubberwear bucket under the bed, full of other titles like Darwin Cooke's DC Universe nostalgia "New Frontier", classic Star Wars reprints of the wacky Marvel series (I've read 1 and 2, have 3, 4 and 6, missing 5 and 7... each is usually about $50 Canadian but I've paid under $80 so far for the 5 I have), some ultimate X-Men, and a few assorted Top Shelf books I can't bring myself to be interested in.
And more are on the way, including trades of She Hulk, Wonder Woman, Flash, Joss Whedon XMen, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Gotham Central, Flash, and Walking Dead (zombies, oohyeah).

And I wonder why I'm not writing.. Oy. I think while I'm waiting for the delivery guy tomorrow I'll eschew my TiVo backlog (Sesame Street and Justice League Unlimited, less their final six minutes, will have to wait) and City of Heroes (with all it's new character design options) I'll instead plough through some of these books.

Thor's Comic Column has been forcing me to buy outside my normal spending habits, and luckily I have a sweet enough job that affording the additional $10 - $20 a week isn't an issue (just means not going out for lunch a couple days is all) but I'm reading more monthlies than I have since the mid-90's so I'm reading lots and it's taking away from reading all the other things I've been wanting to read.

Someday... someday I'll get sideswiped on my bike by a spaced-out delivery van and I'll be laid up for a month, then... then I'll be able to catch up.

Fan films, they hurt

Suburban Peril has been one of my favourite blog reads since Daejin relaunched it a month ago. He pointed me to Revelations, no not the religious doomsday miniseries on NBC that I should be watching since I liked the Prophecy and The Rapture so much but I'm not, no. It's a fan made Star Wars mini-movie (40 minutes) which Daejin stated:

Clive Thompson in his latest article for Slate argues that maybe Lucas should step aside and let the fans take over. After watching this 40 minute fan film I'm inclined to agree. And it was created with a staggering budget of $20,000.00

Well I watched it, and you know what, it's okay... it's makers have a definite future in the film industry, making direct to video sci-fi and horror schlock starring hard-up for work former b-level celebrities like Kevin Sorbo or ex Saved By The Bell cast members. The acting is mediocre but it's more the fault of the direction than the actors. The script is actually quite fitting with the rest of the Star Wars run, with some nice bits and some absolutely cringeworthy readings.

Visually the special effects waver from "wow, nicely done on your budget" to "hey that looks like Wing Commander for the Amiga". Lighting is horrid, sound is horrid, soundtrack is somewhat decent and somewhat cheesefest. And then there's hilarity-in-rubber anytime there's an exotic alien. Yeah, for what it is, it's okay. As far as Star Wars goes, it's on par in story, sub-sub-sub par in everything else.

Over at chud.com The Steady Leak advises that perhaps instead of continually destroying the original trilogy that Lucas should just remake them. I'd still watch them and he's probably right that I'd find them more satisfactory in fitting with the prequels.

An animated series and a live action series are set to start up, and I'll be tuning in but I'm not really sure that they're going to work for me.

Nitpicker's Guide to the Galaxy

This review at Planet Magrathea is about as in depth an analysis of what is wrong with the Hitchhiker's movie as you're about to read. It's crazy in the amount of detail this dude paid attention to (I stopped paying attention to all the awkward badness partway through, if that's any indication of what the movie's like), but he nails it all on the head. He plays the role of reviewer well and keeps the ranting fanboy to a bare minimum. He even points out things that were nagging me that I couldn't vocalize.

I too wish Hitchhiker's was a better film. But it's not. Read this and forgetaboutit.

Mama tol' me there'd be days like this

The days at work are sllllooowwwwinnng down, thankfully, giving me a chance to breathe, blog, and catch up on a lot of little projects I've had in various stages. Despite the fact that it feels like I'm not really doing anything, I've actually made a hell of a lot of progress, setting things up like I had planned over 8 months ago. Feels good.

But these slow days are killer, it's easy to lose concentration and slip into vegetative apathy... to dull your mind with on-line entertainment, or just letting that dull ache behind your eye compeltely take over your head.

The Superman Three's game of Rock-Paper-Scissors ended in a stalemate with Golden Age Superman, Modern Superman and Frank Miller's Superman all throwing rock, one after the other. Predictable.

Meanwhile, I just realized that I've worn Captain Murphy T-shirts two days in a row. RIP Harry Goz. We miss you, Fignuts!

The Write Stuff

Found myself a spot on the Freak Girl's Pew this week, handing over my manuscript - which at 10pt font and double spaced wound up as 327 pages (or roughly the weight of a premature newborn). She appeared a little overwhelmed, or perhaps I was projecting.

She managed to ask some serious questions about my motivations as an author (taking notes on the back of a "self breast examination how-to" sheet) which I managed to answer in between some skittish self-deprecating "humour" (it's a reflex) and plentiful sidetracks about life, the universe and everything.

Staying on target wasn't easy, but I think I managed to convey my desire to be an author as aptly as I conveyed my slothfulness and apathy towards actually working towards such a career. My favourite new thought from the meeting was equating my desire to take writing classes or workshops with my desire to go to the gymn to exercise. Your chances of catching some foot fungus are about the same... and oh so many sweaty people. Ew.

Nah, to me both are pretty insular activities. I get my lower body exercise from biking, walking, and taking the stairs, while my upper body gets some work on a nice solid doorway overhang (working on those one armed chin ups for which I now question the physical possibility). In the same respect I work my writing in my own fashion... blogging, reviewing, journaling, and false starts on many other works. Congregating ideas takes time. I could probably benefit from some discipline (me needs a whipcracka) and thought organization skills, but more than anything, writing needs time, and time is not what I find myself having a lot of.
Although I do.
I just don't use it very wisely.

Anyway, the Freak Girl is wonderful people (she even walked me to the safety of the bus stop, to protect me from dragons) and I look forward to her feedback and to metting up again some other time.

Recapped

Looking back on my new year's resolutions (already) I notice a few things:

1. there were a lot more than I had remembered (10 instead of four)
2. I've already broken a bunch of them (I've decided audiobooks are boring and generally unlistenable; downloaded music isn't at a good enough compression rate; I've not been to a concert yet, nevermind one a month; and I didn't make it to the boxing gym (see above)
3. I'm doing well on others (less junk food, yes, more exercise...kinda; Graig movie night's been awesome; I'm keeping track of receipts; and I'm tracking my money very well)
4. I've finished one (laser eyes! Yes!)

All in all I'm doing well... the only thing I'm disappointed in is I'm not writing what I want to write... but I'm working towards it, so that's some progress.

The music without me

I've missed a bunch of concerts this year already. The Parkas, Lederhosen Lucil, The Futureheads, Final Fantasy (and that was all in the past week)... but I'm not feeling bad about it. In fact my ambivalence towards keeping up an invested interest in music wanes as the days pass on.

I know I go through cycles where I get really into stuff and then fall out, but my cycle for music blahs seems to be hyper-extended right now. I've not been keeping up on the Other Music new releases since the first one in January, I've not been listening to CBC Radio3's on-line magazine broadcast (this week is the last one before it reformats), I barely read Exclaim when I pick it up (although this month's history feature on Negativland is great); I take no stock in what most people say about music (my tastes are becoming so subjective that I can't trust reviews); and I just can't be bothered with the live aspect. CMW is this week, and I recognized maybe five names... the only band I'd want to see is the Zoobombs, and they're on at one am each night they play. I'm not too old to go out to a one o'clock show, it's just boring.

I find the tedium of 40-minute 'tween band waits to be killer, not to mention the scenester/seen-ster crowds and the recent experiences of bad band bookings (where you get lovely country harmonies of say a Frontier Index mixed with faux U2/Cure poseurs Hotel... or was it the faux Pulp poseurs Sterling.. either way sitting through a horrendous 50 minute set surrounded by two forty minute set changes seems like an inefficient use of good City of Heroes playing time).

With all that, I still have a desire to go to shows. De La Soul and Gift of Gab are both popping up this month, and I think the Futureheads are coming around again... and I'm keeping a sharp eye on the GO! Team tour waiting for the Canadian dates to happen. And the Exclaim concert series with Stars and the Organ should be a solid show, even if I've seen both of them a half dozen times. And I'm still picking up music (although I'm finding much more interesting stuff from last year than things released this year like Subtle's "A New White" is an amazing anti-genre piece bridging hip-hop, pop, dance, jazz, avante-garde and more into one big swirling fusion of goodness), and I feel naked without my iPod, so it's not like I'm out of music altogether, just finding it hard to really care about keeping up with the Joneses, or the Fluxblogs, SceneStars, Pitchforks etc.

Return to ender

I'm reading the much beloved "Ender's Game" by Orson Scott Card right now, and enjoying it. Some people really enjoy it...

"I'm an admissions officer at a very well known university in the States (yeah check the address), reading applications, writing them up, voting on them, etc., and it's been interesting to see that in response to our little question 'what's your favorite book?' the runaway favorite this year has been 'Ender's Game' by Orson Scott Card. Maybe as many as much as 15-20 percent of our applicant pool considers it their favorite book ever."

From Lying In The Gutters

Card is now writing "Ultimate Iron Man" for Marvel, and the first issue is fantastic. My review will be up on Thor's Comic Column on Monday.

In the city

Downfall became my first City of Heroes character to fly yesterday. She's a level 9 now, and kicking ass (all her powers are enhanced 10++ which helps).

Had my first team play with Toast, Marmy and 3x2xU (with P-dawg's assistance) getting the Sugarman to level 8... with level 9 encroaching. Sug is getting powerful.

And I deleted the SevenNationArmy... he kinda was redundant with Downfall doing so well.

Yes, I'm addicted. An intervention is necessary.

Need for feed

Okay... *deep breath*

It's time to get back into the action. I need to start writing again, but before I can do that I need to finish off that last book for good. I need to get it to the point where it's ready for print at the drop of a hat.

For that I need some inspiration, and for over 18 months my inspiration has been non-existant. Someone else needs to inspire me... I need many someone else's to inspire me. I know there are some writers out there, some of us that are working on books/have already written books, and even better, people out there that like to read dagnabbit.

Two people who I really enjoy reading I would appreciate feedback from on my "finished" but long dormant novel and I will email them shortly, but I'm also wondering if there is one or two others who would like to give it a once or twice over and provide some feedback for me...?

The genre is superhero/urban fantasy. Sounds like your bag, and your either an active reader (the type of person who can devour a book in a day or two) or active writer (the type of person who's interested in the way other people write)... oh and honest to a fault, then you could really help me out. My only payback would be undying gratitude and perhaps a free signed copy of the damned thing when/ifever it gets published... and a commitment to reading your work and giving you equally honest feedback.

Email me if you're interested. gmail at geekent dot com

Thanks.

**update/ Feb.25**
Three most gracious people have agreed to take on the treekiller that is my novel and provide me some feedback. I'll hand it to them with a, say, April 1 deadline and see how we do from there.

sledge hammer

I'm now a columnist. Officially. Well, not officially... not a columnist anyway.
I'm a reviewer. Officially, although I don't get paid. But Emma says I can write off my comic book purchases now... but I'm not entirely sure that I can... I need to check that out.

Anyway, check me out, weekly at Thor's Comic Column over on the Chud website (Chud is one of the top movie-news-rumour sites, constantly expanding with new columns and other interesting things. check checkit)... I know you see me reviewing stuff here all the time, but not usually comics, and not usually of this quality. Because I save the good stuff for the real world.
Just kidding, I loves you baybee!

Hipless Hellspawn

I've been following Jim Munroe's career since I received a freebie copy of "Flyboy Action Figure Comes With Gas Mask" - his first novel - at my student newspaper back in '98 (or perhaps it was '99). It was sent by his then publisher, actually. Here was a writer and ex-editor for Adbusters, writing about things that spoke to my interests at the time: superheroes, university-style activism and counter-culturalism, and girls. Ah, who am I kidding, I'm still interested in those things. ("Flyboy" is now available for free, download from NMK site)

Munroe captured my interest with sensibilities, even if I found the ending to his first novel a little weak. A few years later when I plunged head-first into writing my debut (and still unpublished) novel, Quarter City, I came across Munroe's website, No Media Kings and his second book "Angry Young Spaceman", which I found interesting, if the writing a little abstract at times, and an ultimately disappointing ending. His website was a treasure trove of information on independant publishing, and as he began promoting "Spaceman" the site grew and padded and became an irreplaceable resource, flaunting the idea of writer as touring indie-rocker-style promotion.

His third novel, "Everyone In Silico" was part cyber-punk and advertising satire. It was a mash of ideas executed to various levels of success, remining me much of a Grant Morrisson project, with some concepts just a little too opaque. The ending, once again, was a sticking point, in this case even more disappointing than "Spaceman" (abrupt would be the only word to describe it, like 150 pages were missing from my book or something).

His latest is a blog-as-novel titled "An Opening Act of Unspeakable Evil", which you can read either in book form or serialized. I've read the first few entries and I'm not sold. The demon-summoning roommate is cute, but the concept of blog published as novel, or vice versa, just doesn't work in this instance because, basically, it doesn't read like a blog. It reads like prose.
If it was being sold as strictly a novel, and thusly serialized on the web, I'd have no problem and would have picked it up in a heartbeat, but I can't get over this hurdle of content not matching concept. It's like Munroe doesn't even understand how a blog operates, which I know isn't true, I just don't think he's captured the spirit of one.

Maybe some day I'll get over that hump enough to read the book, but I'm not there yet. Yesterday, Munroe launched his book with the next wave of the The Perpetual Motion Roadshow, dubbed the Hipster Hellspawn Tour. This is all part of the novelists-as-touring-band philosophy that Munroe champions, and having missed any previous runs, I wanted to catch the guru in action, I wanted to see how it was done, and what was done.
The in-renovations, unfinished Gladstone Ballroom seemed the perfect place for such an event where authors acted the role of untested performer, equally rough around the edges as the surrounding.

The kick-off was the amusing video My Trip To Liberty City, which has a voiceover detailing the sites and happenings of a trip to the mythical location of Grand Theft Auto 3. It was fun but in desperate need of editing and polishing. The idea's been done better by Red Vs. Blue and this Channel 101 entry dubbed "Nintendo Cartoon Hour".

Susan Bustos followed up with a rehearsed but not perfected sketch about a scientist that investigated the emerging "problem" of female superheroes, promoting a novel, "Girls Who Bite Back". While mildly amusing, it wasn't a comedy piece and it was barely a performance piece, so it was just a little weird...

Writer Todd Dills read a selection from the compilation All Hands On, an amusing pseudo-post-apocalyptic piece the structured its story around the track listing of a Metallica album. The prose was sardonic and engaging, unfortunately Dills speaks with a bit of a mumble and slur, so it wasn't the easiest thing to listen to (it would be like me doing a reading, I recognize these qualities in myself).

He was followed up by this insanely awful band called "permafrown" or "parmafrown" or something like that. A very Krautrok/avante-guarde style, that reminded me of a louder verson of that Saturday Night Live sketch where Will Ferrell and Ana Gasteyer play Bobbi and Marty Colp, the wedding/bar mitzvah/lounge singer doing the medley of the hits of the day, with will singing deep and low and Ana hitting crackling operettea notes. Throw in the mix some casiotones, and an amped up recorder (like the Friendly Giant used to play) and you're starting to get a sense of the atrocities that reached our ears. Reminiscent of Thinkingfellers Union Local 282 or Gorky's Zygotic Mynci, there were some moments of actual melody and catchiness that threatened to redeem the band, alas, it wasn't meant to be. The only saving grace was they played four songs.
The other saving grace is they aren't on the bill for the entire tour, that I know of.

With that madness out of the way, the evening was looking pretty disappointing, until Joe Meno took to the stage and began reading the opening chapters of his novel "Hairstyles of the Damned".
Joe is a natural speaker, and near performer. He changes his voice when speaking dialogue, and aptly for the character. He reads clean and fluent, with gesticulations and enthusiasm. The guy knew what he was doing and he new how to capture the crowd. The story, at least how it started, was much like High Fidelity, Ghost World and John Hughes movies before it, dealing with mixed tapes , music and highschool romance, in a manner that evoked my own experiences.
I liked it.
A lot.
I bought the book.
Good for me.

Jim Munroe was the final presenter (with another set by awfulband..err p.frost up after him). Complete with slideshow accompanyment, Munroe presented, in essence, the prequel to "An Opening Act", various postcards from his (fictional) friend, the main character of his novel, recounting differently the "real" events of the book. I was hoping this would sell me on the story, or intrigue me enough to buy the book, but again, I was challenged by execution of concept.
The post cards Munroe read from didn't read like personalized post-cards sent from a friend, but again, rather, prose. Munroe isn't a graceful speaker yet, but he speaks with the promise of continual growth.

I ensured that I was out of the Ballroom by the time that Ending Act of Unspeakable Awfulness hit the stage again, but stopped by the booth to get "Hairstyles" signed by Joe Meno. All in all a disappointing evening, but I gathered ideas of what I would do on such a tour, with an audience, which I may share with you at another time.

I kind of wish that the whole three hours I was there was spent listening to Meno read his story. If ever he did a three hour reading tour (a tour of three hour readings, not a three hour tour, Gilligan) I'd be there in a second.

Oh, and eventually I'll cave and buy Jim's book, if only to be supportive... I like what the man is about, even if sometimes I'm not entirely satisfied with the output.

Toast was there too (as were the photojunkie)

Picture books meet pictureless books

I'm terribly terribly excited about the following news bits:

Marvel Announces Creation of New Prose Imprint, Marvel Press

Dark Horse launches M Press and DH Press imprints

It's not because I'm that interested in reading the material they will churn out, but new genre prose publishers is a good thing especially for an unpromising writing talent like myself.

Thoughts of publication in an upstart company - no matter how realistic - will hopefully be enough to spur me on to finish this fourth edit of Quarter City, and have some decent semblance of a readable (perhaps even enjoyable) final product.
I made some headway last weekend in cottage country, although, having put away the book for 5 months I think I lost much focus on what this stage of editing was supposed to accomplish.
But if I do get my shit together, well, here's what's going to happen:

- The Quarter City website (www.quartercity.net ... apparently quartercity.com is owned by some guy that paints pictures of dogs) will feature the full book in PDF format... and for free. Once I figure out the best means to provide books digitally.

- I'll be doing a limited run (less than 100, perhaps as few as 50) of handbound hardback editions(by strange little girl, whether she knows it or not) ... the first dozen or so will go to the people that helped me the most on this insanely long project, as my gift for their support.
Two of these handbound will go to the National Library for archival purposes, necessary to obtain an isbn number.
Another dozen will be used as publisher samples, sent to various parties who may in fact be interested in releasing it to a broader market.
The remainder will be on-line limited edition sales (probably via paypal).

- If this all goes well, perhaps there may be a limited softcover, self published release later on. And perhaps even some support, such as a mini-tour or some sort of multimedia promotional stunt.

- Perhaps, if I feel the interest might be there, I'll do a few conventions for promotion.

- Along the way, if I get my shit together I'll manage to join a useful writers circle or find some sort of message board or listserv that will be professional and helpful.

- And maybe, just maybe, I'll break even on the whole thing.

My timeline on this is negative 767 days and counting.
What's that mean?
It means I was supposed to have this done years and years ago.
Anyone want to be my official asskicker on this (and perhaps a promotion to official asskisser when I glean my millions?)

I didn't say it better myself

I quite happen to like this article from Bookslut about reviewing comics. It says exactly what I want to say clearly and concisely so I don't have to say it all jumbled and awkward and tenuous.

Here's my foot, here's my mouth, now watch:

So Carla chewed on my ass because I keep spelling independent "independant". Goddamn phonetics.

Anyway, I was actually thinking that I wasn't really wrong but that it was, in fact, the British spelling. But that's always the likely excuse of spelling something wrong: "that's the way they spell it in Britain (Briton?).

There are so many variations between US/Canadian/British English, it's hard to keep what's what straight. That's why I've looked up some resources, if only to prove myself wrong about the whole "ent"/"ant" thing.

A partial list from WWlib of American/Canadian spelling/terminology vs British (aka "proper English")

A different way of breaking down the differences from Susan Jones (other links from page as well)

A bit on English vs American grammar (I note too that sometimes it's "British English vs American English" and sometimes it's just "English vs American")

the best explanation of English I came across in looking for various discrepancies:

Americans: Spell words differently, but still call it "English".

Brits: Pronounce their words differently, but still call it "English".

Canadians: Spell like the Brits, pronounce like Americans.

It also seems that looking over chat groups and whatnot, people have a hard time distinguishing between different spelling (color/colour) and different wordage (tube/subway) --- I don't know what the technical term for that is... the difference in terminology for things... anyone?? (crisps=chips, chips=french fries, french fries=boiled Parisians)

The Three Day Novel Writing Marathon Wrap Up Day 3

3:00 - after a shower I manage to scarf down some of Maryann's homemade bread and some pure premium Tropicana OJ. I also manage to choke on the OJ, enter into a coughing fit for four or five minutes, eyes tearing profusely... breathing between burps of fizz from my lungs. Christ I need a sammich.
3:30 - Oh, it looks like Richard is interviewing people... Christ I need a sammich, unfortunately I'm limited to either an "oven toasted sandwich" from Pizza Pizza or one from Tim Hortons... all I can think of when I think of Pizza Pizza these days is them grody-to-the-max hamburger wrap thangs... ew... mm Maple donut. I'm just getting all my emma allergy fixuns this weekend
9:15 - apparently, according to some 14 year old girls, I'm hot.
9:17 - apparently that guy giving his girlfriend a piggy back felt the need for me to see her ass pressed up against the window. The bum(p) into the window made me wonder how affixed it actually is, as it seemed to have quite the warp to it.
10:00 met Blake, or I should say I re-met Blake, ex of lowdown back in tbay and the Talon newspaper. Reminisced for an hour about bullshit etc. Good beans. Graphic Designer... Good that he and Stephan really aren't associated because, well, I still hate that guy.
12:30 finished act 2. ten minutes later everyone left.
1:30 ate lots of pineapple, goldfish crackers and luncheon meat. My stomach is asking me what, exactly, I am trying to do to it. "Do you not like me?" it pleas. "Give the gastric juices a rest already, but nay, I shant, I must continue on, I must perservere, and more than anything I must finish this tonight.
Though it may not seem like it, this is how books are written, long consecutive nights slaving over a hot computer, spilling all the ideas you have on one topic. The only problem is I'm kinda stuck as to where to start the next act of my book.
Oh, random-ambient-noisy-tonal Stereolab, my love-hate with you continues.
Bigpipe Style will get me going.
I have 9 discs left.
2:30... that looked just like the "byyaaaaaaaammmmm" guy from those pop tarts commercials. I wonder if that was the look he was going for.
5:28... the birdies start chirping immediately at day break. Too weird.
7:30am technically done. It's quite rough, and those last chapters are pretty nutty, I mean a mascot costume designer?? Jesus. I got to redo that.
The epilogue is a little over the top too.
Stop coming in last.
3 Minutes later, and someone's here. Yay, going to be
5:00pm And Richard is videotaping me, imploring me to set up my laptop and pretend like I'm really working on something... alas I cannot keep a straight face, nor be unable to mug for the camera. You just want to stare .
Interviewing me, I couldn't think, maybe a little nervous, a little unfocussed, and a little uhm ah. Not my smartest moment.
I'm tired. Hungry.
And ready for home.
Kitty - ho.

Tar Free Dai Naval Triting Maraphone Ramp-pup Day 2

2:20pm - a great lunch, roasted veggie wrap with salsa sour cream.
While eating, very cute baby attracted to the window in the arms of her father, her hand pressed up against it, smiling with one bottom tooth exposed. A great moment of connectivity in the eyes of a child.
4:00pm - Crazy lady enters the store, ranting to herself, moving chairs and exploring the books. As long as she's enjoying herself. I'm trying to ignore her...I'm at least trying to catch something she says... but she speaks quickly, mostly unintelligibly like a hard-core Newfoundlander, and sometimes not even speaking English. Not sure. French maybe.. or Sanskrit perhaps?
7:45 - back to the big window after a big meal at Tims or Toms or whatever it was called... great menu, reasonable pricing, charming waitstaff... interesting "no frills" décor (it's housed in an old greenhouse) I'll have the alligator next time. Their menu consists of some pretty unique flavours including Venison and Moose.
7:50 -I'm way tired, nearly lethargic. But I persevere. Nothing Gonna Stop the Flow - Folk Implosion, I think I need to listen to this a few times and start believing the words.
1:00 - Lori left, I took a break reading magazines just before. Wandering around I wondered what made me any different a writer from these guys. If anything, it's determination, and support. And a little skill, although I'm feeling completely unprepared missing any space tech references. Oh well.
1:25 - Claudia left her computer on, and, it appears, she's writing a dirty novel. I read a little bit... hmm, smutty. Intercourse, blow jobs, coming, orgasms... oh my....
3:15am... oh my god, there's black people in Owen Sound, at least 2 of em, schocked the hell out of them as they looked in the window, not expecting someone to be there... this is more shocking than last time I was here seeing the Asian dude who runs the convenience store up on Tenth. Their on their way to almost having "diversity."
3:50 - Doing a crossword right now
It's been quiet on the main drag for about 20 minutes now. The light at the suntanning joint across the street just went out. Must be on a timer.
Ohno, 4am and the sleepy dream song from the Twin Peaks soundtrack is on.
4:10. Dudes in mullets and beaver canoe sweaters running down the street. Someone's getting their ass beat. Guess I was wrong about that diversity thing.
4:15 - nodded to a husky fisherman.
4:20 - replaced a water cooler bottle for the first time in my life
4:22 - blew up a balloon and let it go
4:23 - did it again. Clapped giddily like an autistic child.
5:00 - I found a cat hair amidst my CD Battle Royale CDs. I miss my kitty on my lap while typing.
7ish - Claudia shows up, graig nodding off, and we have a hilarious conversation about martinis and stuff which I can't remember anymore
7:30 - hop into a small bed with emma, go out like a sucka.

Teh Tree Doy Nobel Writhing Marathong Wrip-up

FRIDAY, MAY 16
6:10, The Ginger Press - In, say hiya to everyone, learn the groundrules, out. If I'm going to be up all night, I need sleep
6:17 - 8:49, Emma's Mama's Place - Sleep, weird non-sequeter dreams about people I don't know.
8:50, the bed - Phone is ringing but I don't hear it...
8:58, the street - I'm on my way. The air is crisp and a nice wake up.
9:11, The Ginger Press - Oh, time to set up... but I don't have snack food, but I'll worry about that later.
11:12, the front window - 2hours later, 2pages in.. not doing so good
11:15-11:39, still in the front window: Emma comes by to see me. She leaves on a quest to buy me food, gives me a big sexy kiss.
11:56, still in the front window - Emma's back, she bought me peanut butter. I wonder when the last time she bought peanut butter was. She makes iced tea before she leaves. Pretty soon everyone leaves
12:16, still in the front window - I'm left alone.
12:29, not quite the front window - I try to figure out the Ginger Press stereo system, but keeping in mind the tenant upstairs, I decide to go back to headphoneville.
1:31, the bathroom - Bad stomach. Don't know where that came from. Distracts me from writing for an hour.
3amish, back in the front window - ... start page 5.. ouch... going slowly. But smoother than at the start... I'm wide awake now though... not the least bit dozey... although the bad stomach makes me wary of the goodies emma bought me.
5 oclockish, the floor of the front window - Two newspaper delivery guys came by during the 5th hour. The first, driving a black jeep looked more like a drunk driver as he was fidgeting with his papers situated in the seats behind him. It looked like he was about to veer into a lamp post but he managed to stop before doing so. The next paper guy seemed to want to greet me sitting in the window, however from his looking up to my looking up we could never sync our glances, so he sped away, feeling a little dejected. Lookatme, I'm elitist window-trash.
6:42, back up at the desk of the front window - The quietest hour has been the sixth.. one pedestrian, no street traffic for the first half hour.
6:44 - She's the one for me, by the beta band, a great 8 minute rallying pick-me up, although I begin to feel the ooz in woozy.
6:52 - A little birdy came hopping by the window. She paused for a few seconds to get a good look at me, and decided I wasn't worth much to her, and kept on moving.
7:58, just about to fall over in the front window - Cheryl, the Ginger Press' most awesome chef comes through the door, meaning I can leave. I leave for sleep.

let the Pope bashing begin

(don't worry we're not actually going to beat on the pope, we're just going to make fun of him)
Mr. Holy, as was his nickname in high-school, is heading to the burg of Toronto for the World Youth Day thang, and well, I couldn't be more disinterested.
And I'm not the only one.
My friend and I were chatting today over messenger, with tonnes of fun at the expense of the Pope, unfortunately I lost the transcript, which was ever so witty with the back and forth and the egging of the Popemobie, and the Secret Service Priests, and the "what do they keep under those robes, anyway?" with the "I dunno, numchucku, a sari, a big fuckin samurai sword"... NINJAPOPE! Ah yes... the genesys of ninjapope, all of which is now lost to the ages.
Please, feel free to steal NINJAPOPE from me, create your own pop-culture icon and empire, and leave me scratching my head or scratching my penniless ass.
(ninjapope is copyright me, now, forever, so phtt)

test pattern

I've been assembling my writing portfolio, very slowly, over the past two weeks - so far mostly stories culled from my personal journals (you think this blog is fucked up you should see those things... but you never will!!! They will be burned with me upon cremation, I swear you this.) Anywho, I've begun to notice a pattern in these little vignettes I write for myself: they're almost (almost!) all guy-girl relationship things, dealing with meet-cute situations or else breakups. They're not really that romantic, but I like to call it "romance for guys"... in the vein of great guy romance things like "High Fidelity" and "Say Anything" and "Some Kind of Wonderful," all mixed with a smattering of neuroses on a Woody Allen level (although I can't claim Allen as an inspiration as the only film I've seen of his is "What's Up, Tiger Lily" and that hardly counts as a "Woody Allen film" as it's really quite funny).
So, why am I so obsessed with these little fantastique interactions? Personally, I think it may be that I have too much love to give but too many "standards" that no woman can have a hope in hell of meeting.
Or, perhaps I've just got too much time on my hands.
hmmm.
Yup, too much time.

fine

so my "research skills" suck.
Atomic was originally done by "Blondie," not Sleeper... fine.
I'm 26, I'm not old enough to remember Blondie (with the exception of Heart of Glass which is always on MuchMusic and Debbi Harry's performance in Videodrome (cause Cronenberg's fuktupdedness is timeless)).
Trainspotting was when I came into my generation, and I recognized Atomic from that soundtrack, my frame of reference, and it is possible (although highly unlikely) that the Tijuana Bibles were just doing a meta-cover of a cover type thing... hmm?
Thanks to the "incredible peeling man" for calling me a "sad parakeet" and letting me know I have no culture.

poseur What does it mean

What does it mean when a straight unemployed writer dreams he's a columnist for a gay magazine?
It means I have a new sitcom in development, that's what!!!
Yes, in the tradition of Threes Company, Bosom Buddies, and Rhythm and Blues, I present to you "Straight Talk"... no, it's not based on that Dolly Parton movie.
Yes, I'm ever questing to create the lamest show on earth...

Waken waken, eggs and bacon

If I were writing a story like that one where Hugh Jackman comes back in time from the victorian era and woos Meg Ryan, I would write it in such a fashion that this 17th century "nobleman" doesn't have a fucking clue how to survive in the 20th century, has his horse shot down by the police, he's on the lam for some reason, and winds up wasting away in the gutter somewhere.
Meg Ryan's character would have about 28 seconds of screentime, walking past the noblebum, whereupon he spies the fair maiden and approaches her:
"Fair maiden, thou hast stolen my heart from but the merest of glances. What say I whist you away, and thoust come join me in poverty."
She shrieks, knees him in the nuts, and runs away.
He buckles to the ground, coughs up a testicle, and says: "I fucking hate this place."
Exeunt.

back on the farm

I'm looking for a macaroni and cheese recipe that doesn't involve the words "Kraft" or "processed cheese".
Anyone?
Beuller?

out/safe
I was almost productive today.
Huzzah for me.