Because sometimes cliche lines are necessary. Contrablog.

2006-04-29T12:52:00.000-05:00

Changing Frequencies

2005-11-28T22:09:00.000-06:00

Click on the rioters.

I Don't Know About You, But I Got My Face Shield Yesterday

2005-11-20T13:14:00.000-06:00

I have this idea that society will collapse and the power will shut off for good and all forms of control and regulation will be rendered completely worthless and we will be thrust into a survival of the fittest situation, and I can't get it out of my head. I have a hundred things I could do but none of them matter because I should really just be teaching myself how to build tree forts, hotwire cars and fire assault rifles.

All those ideas and goals and things you want to do with your life, it's all an illusion. Ignorance is bliss and being in a state of understanding is equal to being in a state of anger and frustration. They say that somewhere in that anger and frustration is hope but don't put too much thought into it. Just start stockpiling Kevlar vests and ammo belts 'cause this shit is going down.

Angels With Dirty Faces

2005-11-20T11:27:00.000-06:00

I hate going there because as soon as you walk in the door people are staring at you, judging you. They judge what your wearing, your haircut, your shoes, the way you walk. They judge you for your family and what groups your family belongs to. They think they know exactly who you are because they think they know exactly who your parents are, and you are exactly like your parents, yes you are. I am the son of Dick and Jane and I am exactly the same as them.

"You! I haven't seen you in some time! You are lost, child, I can see this. I don't understand why, since the answer is right here in front of you, in this very building."

"Yes, I am lost but you are hiding. I will never find what I am looking for if I hide in this building and behind that book with you."

I REFUSE TO BE YOUR PRODUCT.

Hey Winnipeg, Let's Stay Home

2005-11-16T19:03:00.000-06:00

Waking up ten minutes before I had to leave for work, hearing the wind blowing against my window, I strained myself trying to think of a half decent reason for staying home. There had to be something to do with the snow that could keep me from leaving to house or making it to work. True, the roads are the worse than they've ever been, but that doesn't stop most people. In the end, it was the need for economic income that got me out of bed with five minutes to get ready.

Of course, since we just got hit by the shock blizzard of the century, it was decided that I would be thrown out of the factory and into the yard where there was much wet and heavy snow to be shovelled. I feel exhausted the way I felt exhausted at the lodge when I devoted an entire day to chopping firewood. Beat up.

Most cities shut down when weather like this occurs. If we were Toronto, we'd call in the army. But for some reason, perhaps since large snowfalls aren't so out of the ordinary around here, Winnipeg just keeps on going full speed. I really think the city itself should just call a snow day and have everybody stay home, if only for the reason that is it unsafe to drive and people are too stupid and in too much of a hurry because they're already late to drive carefully. I found it quite amusing when I saw three cars, one after the other, in the ditch yesterday, all apparantly trying to make the same turn. We should all just stay home and watch movies.

Going to Ottawa next weekend.

Snow Day

2005-11-15T11:51:00.000-06:00

This happened overnight, we had no snow yesterday.

Dragged my ass to work today only to get sent home after two hours.

I went to go see my high school history teacher, something I've been meaning to do for a while now but just haven't had time. It was a good day to do it since all of the kids called their own snow day and the school was empty, giving us time to have a good chat that put some things back into perspective for me.

Sometimes I miss high school quite a bit. My senior year was a time when things were much simpler. Class, as far as I was concerned, was a great place to hang out and actual school work was more or less optional. At the beginning of the year I had decided that I was just going focusing more on friendships than school itself and I have to say the plan was an absolute success, my grade twelve year being the best grade school year of my life, and much class skipping and ridiculous antics ensued.

As the editor of my school newspaper, the year hit its pinnacle with the distribution of the last issue at the end of the year, an issue that almost never was. The absolute deadline for the paper was the same morning as my provincial math exam and I was up all night finishing off the paper and proceeded to sleep through most of my exam and receive a mark worthy of being compared to a plane crash where everyone was killed. My pre-cal teacher was furious, but I couldn't have cared less. I was going into the exam with a decent mark and didn't need the exam to pass, and passing was all I really cared about.

My partner in crime was my grade twelve AP English teacher, an eccentric man with a look very similar to that of Hagrid, giant beard, hunch and all. We printed the paper without running it by the office first, a supposed cardinal sin, since the office likes to sensor out whatever they feel doesn't promote the school.

I was at home when the copies came in, a day early, and Mr. Clark called my house telling me to get to school as fast as I could. When I got there I hit the office with a giant smile on my face, ecstatic that all my slaving away was finally in print. I explained that I was the editor and would like to see the copies and the ladies in the office gave me a scowl so dark that it would have knocked any lesser being off it's feet. They told me to leave.

I found Mr. Clark in the staff lounge. Again, I got scowls for being in a place absolutely forbidden to students at all times. The two of us marched down to office and met a fuming principal. The both of us got an earful as she started tearing the paper apart article by article, claiming it was far to controversial. Highlights included my front page article which was a parody I had written sometime during that last night of hurried preparation, which mentioned marijuana on school grounds, along with a number of other incidents both real and imaginary, including rampant theft and a possible terrorist network. On page three was a scathing, yet hilarious and very well written rant by a younger student on what he hates about high school. On page seven, an article put together by the band teacher and a student on lack of funding. Page ten featured two articles with some extreme political leanings. All of this was unacceptable, she said. All I remember is having a giant smile on my face. I produced something that had pissed off the powers that be.

As the principal took a phone call and stormed back into her office, Mr. Clark and I stood staring at the stacks of papers sitting on a cart in front of us.

"Go," he said.

"What? Where?"

"Anywhere, just grab the cart and let's get out of here."

Before we could receive any more flack we fled the office and started handing out the papers to kids in the hall and distributing them to class rooms. Before long, I was receiving feedback from kids and teachers that it was the best paper ever produced in the history of our school, because it actually had articles that said something, rather than the same blundering rabble produced year after year.

Whenever I think of that paper, and of that year, my From the Editor article always comes to mind, especially the second last paragraph. It really sums up what I wanted from my year and what I thought about high school. Again, I got great feedback for this piece and ridicule from the office folk. Apparently, I can't say what I want in my own editorial in my own paper.

. . . Over the past school year I've discovered that learning is everything but school isn't. Don't me wrong, I believe that strong education breeds a strong individual, but therein lies the key: individuality. Marks aren't everything. Yes, they will get you into university and yes they will get you scholarships and that's enough right there to strive for good grades, but the same time you have to sit and look at what you're really doing and realize when you're just running yourself in circles and when you're actually learning. Teach yourself, live your life, try new things and meet new people. Keep your friends close but take time for yourself too. Keep positive relationships and affect the people around you in a positive way, because really if you can't do that, then what's life about anyway . . .

My Dear Body Organs, It's All Her Fault

2005-11-14T23:12:00.000-06:00

My city is under siege and all I can think of is the night she left me in the standing in the snow with my lung capacity severely decimated. All this excess product leaves me unsure about plans and goals and daily things such as eating and walking and sleeping.

The new blog is undergoing a thorough thought process. One might ask, Why the change. Well, friends, it turns out the title of this blog isn't so original, there's about four or five of them out there. Mostly though, I just want something fresh. How much the content will actually change is yet to be seen, but I want a focus on art and information and the integration of the two.

I have had a few late nights of thinking and writing short notes and ideas over the last week. Julia, if you could send me an e-mail here I'd like to throw a few ideas at you, and that way we have a more direct form of contact as well.

I have this problem where I'm often overambitious in the war room, pulling out extravagant maps and diagrams, taking all the wrong chances and stretching the ground troops too thin, and then I get lazy when it actually comes to go-time.

Inward Eye

2005-11-12T14:52:00.000-06:00

Thursday night at the Pyramid, Inward Eye, a Winnipeg band on the verge of becoming the next big thing, played a riot of a set to an appreciative hometown crowd.

I saw them play a few months back with The Constantines and The Weakerthans where they tore the fucking roof off Les Rendezvous, even though most of the crowd didn't even know who they were. As reported on the front page of the Winnipeg Free Press, the band just signed a record deal with New York City's J Records (SonyBMG), a label run by the 71-year old Clive Davis, the guy who originally signed Bruce Springsteen and Pink Floyd, and put themselves in a prime position for development and longevity, despite having several other major labels offer faster fame and faster cash.

Inward Eye's clout definitely lies in their live show. On Thursday night they played for over an hour straight, using every inch of the stage and pounding out one rock anthem after another. The three Erickson brothers (Dave, 22 - lead vocals/bass, Kyle, 20 - guitar/vocals, Anders, 18 - drums) have a style that pours energy into the crowd, Anders is absolutely manic on percussion. The music itself can only be described as straight up rock, loud guitar riffs that go far beyond the power chords of most garage bands and having just returned from California, they played some new material which proved that their music is only getting better. I can't help but feel this band is something special and they'll have my support and my good word of mouth however far they go. Always nice to be able to support the home team.

After the show Dave and I hit Salisbury House for some quality dining and had a rather lengthy conversation about world politics and movies that could've been a scene out of Waking Life. The couple besides us were obviously trying to hold back their laughter and the fact that they thought we were the absolute largest dorks they had ever encountered in their lives. It was awesome.

I'm planning on doing some blog work today, including a change of address. Stay tuned.

Untitled Project Ideas

2005-11-07T00:16:00.000-06:00

I watched this movie twice today.

As far as The Untitled Project goes, I might just start writing pieces of a larger story. Individual scenes introducing characters and setting, some of them interlinking, others just stand alone pieces. Big on visuals.

Maybe a larger story will come of it, or maybe it could be left in pieces. A collection of short stories and scenes, perhaps utilizing different writing styles.

Perhaps a Project

2005-11-06T18:32:00.000-06:00

I have an idea for a writing project, a multi-part quasi-futuristic fantasy adventure that is not overly complicated in its plot but very character driven. It involves conspiracies and revolutions, secret organizations and dark men hiding in shadows. There will be big guns and big heroes; spies in trenchcoats, assassins with night-vision goggles, cigarette smoking mercenaries and government biotechnology projects gone horribly wrong. There will also be an underlying love story, but not in the usual sense.

And I want Jules to do the illustrations.

Cameras in the Street Lights

2005-11-06T01:04:00.000-06:00

He sits alone on a park bench feeling paranoid and alone. It's dark and it's cold and his hands are shivering and he's seen two cop cars drive by since he sat down. Drinking alone in public places, once an all time low, has become a new hobby for him, but it's getting colder and he doesn't know how much longer he can sit in city parks at midnight drinking cheap booze. He's in one of those weirds moods

Why are here, What are we doing, Where are going.

And he feels like blowing upbuildings and fighting random people on the street. He coughs and hacks and promises to himself he's going to kick the habit. But he know he never will. He hates himself, because he knows the answers to the questions he's asking but he's still confused and still alone and most definitely paranoid.

Why is everybody watching.

Yeah, I Don't Get It Either . . .

2005-11-03T20:52:00.000-06:00

Into the night, they said, Bring your laterns.

Why do we need laterns?

To light the way, of course!

But where are we going?

To the beach. We need sand.

We have lots of sand here.

Yes, but not beach sand.

Why do we need beach sand?

To cover the bodies.

Of course!

Of course.

Let us go.

Yes. Off!

To the beach!

Yes! The beach! Off we go!

Into the night, laterns and all!

Lanterns to light the way!

Light the way to the beach, yes!

Things are happening. Foreign dignitaries are mumbling threats in back rooms and democracy is crumbling like the pieces of cracked pavement we used to kick off the pier.

Yes!

And they cry, Yes! And they pump their fists, half a world away, across oceans and ages and people. Echoes from the past, they say, always circling, always in circles.

Action!

A tank commander fires the first shot.

Right, we say, But how does this affect us? My soap opera remains unchanged, why would I change it by changing my mind? Out of sight, out of mind, things are happening.

Action!

Or silence.

Something tells me that we're far beyond silence. They are chanting.

The Nation State is no longer
We control the lives of the many
Even together, you cannot be stronger
You have the little, We have the plenty.

In the dark, the tank commander listens for impact. He closes his eyes.

The night explodes.

We speak in irrelevant generalizations. The revolution will not be televised because it has already happened, under our watch, under our feet. The revolution is over, we've been had.

We've been made.

Yes. Constructed, developed, engineered, produced. The revolution has made us and now it has left us afraid and sitting alone in the dark, listening intently for a loud bang.

But it never comes.

There is nothing but sand and bodies. It is a stage set for actors for which we spend our time looking for. But we will never find them, because we are them. We are the actors fleshed out in a ragged dark dramedy.

And we aren't getting paid.

Slaves don't get pay. Or benefits for that matter. That's why we all have rotten teeth and bad eyes.

That's why our fingers are falling off.

Because men with stubs for hands are easier to control than men with ten fingers. Fingered men can push buttons, blow whistles and point out things on a map.

Yes. On a map, yes! Impact!

The Gomery Inquisition

2005-11-02T17:36:00.000-06:00

I don't really have much to say about this right now, except that it could be worse.

Information
The Globe and Mail
The CBC

Or Trick

2005-10-31T19:11:00.000-06:00

MG: Part One

2005-10-31T18:41:00.000-06:00

First Winnipeg Set: October 25th, 2005

Giant
Alert Status Red
Hello Time Bomb
The Future Is X-Rated
Suburbia
The Rat Who Would Be King
Buffalo Seven
Load Me Up
Oh Be Joyful
Blue Skies Over Bad Lands
Weapon
Apparitions Acoustic

Encore
Prime Time Deliverance Acoustic
Tripoli Acoustic
Advertising On Police Cars

Before this night I had only ever seen Matt play once and it was at a shitty ten dollar outdoor show at Winnipeg's annual fair, the Red River Ex. The crowd was packed with idiots who weren't really there for the performer in particular, but for a drunken rock show. The security setup wasn't up to par and Matt stopped playing in the middle of Hello Time Bomb to tell everybody to settle the fuck down. It was frustrating for those of us who were there for the music. However, White Light Rock & Roll Review had just hit stores a week earlier and it was great to hear the fresh material live.

This show was entirely different. More expensive ticket prices brought out a different crowd and the venue, a small bar called Cowboy's, was perfect for the show, allowing a great view from the floor and from the second floor balcony and once packed with people it felt as if the crowd was surrounding the band. I hung back for most the show, sticking to the balcony for the first half. I'd been paying attention to the setlists for the tour so far, so I knew more or less what to expect and what not to expect. The shows have been opening up either really big avec rock anthems or altogether anticlimatic, often with an acoustic song. Big it was.

Giant, Alert Status Red and Hello Time Bomb kicked off the night with guitars and flashing lights. HTB is great live. Things slowed down with Suburbia (a song which is quite enveloping as a live band experience) and The Rat Who Would Be King before picking up again with Buffalo Seven, a song played only once before on this tour (in Buffalo, New York), Load Me Up and Oh Be Joyful, the new single that I'm not overly impressed with.

The next bit was my favourite part of the show. Blue Skies Over Badlands, a track ruined at the Ex show, was a real treat. "It never gets old, does it," Matt commented at the end of the song before picking out with intro to Weapon, an epic track that is great in studio and on stage that showcases Matt at his songwriting best. Among my personal favourites.

There's something about Apparitions, a beautifully simple song, that really gets to you. It resounds acoustically and closing the show with it, although expected, was perfect. Matt returned for the encore with two more acoustic tracks, Prime Time Deliverance and Tripoli, before bringing the band back on for Advertising on Police Cars. All powerful songs but it all seemed somewhat anticlimatic, especially as Matt walked off stage at the end of Advertising and let the band finish up. Pat the drummer, however, came out wearing some kind of medieval chest armor that was pretty cool. He yelled something which I didn't catch and pumped his fists. Bravo, Pat.

In a hurried cell phone conversation with Josh immediately after show I explained the evening as such: "It was good, definitely not bad. I wasn't blown away, though." Not really what I was hoping for from the man I consider to be Canada's premier musical outlet, and others I talked to later had the same thoughts.

Second Winnipeg Set: October 26th, 2005

The Rat Who Would Be King
Avalanche
Load Me Up
Alert Status Red
Suburbia
Bright End of Nowhere
Hello Time Bomb
Oh Be Joyful
21st Century Living
Weapon
Advertising On Police Cars

Encore
Giant
Little Terror
Apparitions Acoustic

Where the first show was good, this set was absolutely amazing.

At first, it looked as if the place wasn't even going to fill up. Doors opened at seven and I spent the two hour wait downing beers and talking to Jordan about how I really hoped Matt would change up the setlist. I knew there were certain songs he wasn't going to play for sure, but I still secretly wished for a surprise (Big City Life, Truffle Pigs, Poor Man's Grey, Empty Road, Double Life). I was really hoping for Carmelina (they played it at one of the Ontario shows). The bar filled up nicely by the time Matt hit the stage.

Jordan was throwing is coins for Avalanche and got his wish early on. Otherwise the songs played were the same as last night, save 21st Century Living, the song that more or less made my night, and Bright End of Nowhere, another great Avalanche album track. The music seemed to flow better tonight, the successive tracks complimenting each other wonderfully, and both the crowd and the band seemed more into the show.

One of the best parts of this show in particular was the encore. The band ended the first set the same way they ended the encore the evening before, with Matt walking off stage as the band finished off Advertising on Police Cars. No chest armor for Pat tonight, though. As we waited for the band to come back, the guys beside me started the opening chant and clap to Giant, the opening track off of Beautiful Midnight and classic Matt Good show opener as well. For easily ten or twelve minutes the crowd chanted the K-I-C-K-A-S-S, That's the Way We Spell Success before the actual recording rang out across the loud speakers. The crowd was ecstatic as the band really rocked for Giant and Little Terror before Matt closed the encore with Apparations Acoustic, which I would have got a great video for, if you could hear more than just the crowd singing along.

Conclusion
This was a tour for the fans. With not much for new material, Matt has been delivering a mix of old favourites from the Matthew Good Band and his solo career, along with acoustic renditions showcased on the Rooms section of In A Coma. He's mentioned on his site that this may be the last time he'd play some of this material live and despite being tracks we've all heard time and time again, they really don't get old. Beautiful Midnight, for example, is an album than cannot get old. Overplayed, perhaps in my case, but I always come back to it. I left the second show wishing he was playing a third and eagerly awaiting a new album.

Ladies & Gentlemen
The Ladies & Gentlemen, a band formed out of Ontario by Canadian indie god Thomas D'Arcy, has been opening for Matt Good on this tour. The first night I heard them I can honestly I wasn't entirely impressed. The vocals sat somewhere in the realm of Modest Mouse, just not as good, while the the music itself could have been something Stars would conjure, just not as good. However, the band looked like they were having a great time on stage just making music, and I have all the respect in the world for that.

The second night, however, I fell in love with their quirky repitition and indie pop haze. Definitely a band worth checking out and keeping an eye on. With bands such as Death Cab becoming acceptable and popular in the mainstream, the door is beginning to open for indie projects like L&G. I should have picked up their disc at the merch table, hopefully I'll be able to find it elsewhere.

Take It Out on the Movie Guy

2005-10-29T00:59:00.000-05:00

It appears as if working 60 hours a week is starting to take its toll. I haven't been properly healthy in a month as this flu keeps finding new ways to make my life fun, from roaring headaches to running noses to infected eyes to hoarse throats to coughing fits to twisted stomachs to complete exhaustion. And if anybody can tell me why during the day I can close my eyes and fall asleep standing up but can't for the life of me fall asleep at night, I would greatly appreciate it.

The video store was a complete gong show tonight. It seems that everybody was having problems and decided it would be a great idea to take it out on the movie guy. On the other hand, my manager and I, who I've worked with for seven or eight months, had our first conversation tonight where I felt she was actually listening and responding with actual answers. We confronted my disappearing act last May where I took off for four months with no notice and talked about what was going to happen next. Turns out she's leaving to manage a new store opening in December. This will be the third time they've changed management at my store since I started there two years ago and I'm getting sick of breaking down new managers. I just got this one to like me. I guess I'll be leaving shortly after the switch anyway, so it won't affect me all too much, but still, nothing like a little continuity.

Speaking of leaving, the first real glitch, besides several overhauls in specific travel dates, in my Europe plans occured earlier this week when Mastercard denied my application for unknown reasons. I'm sure this is only one of many oncoming headaches and it's somewhat worrisome, since I really don't have that much time left to sort these headaches out, either.

This week has left me feeling beat but with a resolve I haven't had in a while. I know this weekend is going to pass all too quickly.

There's Always Drinks and Dancing In the Rubble.

2005-10-27T22:24:00.000-05:00

Coming up, a three post special on Matthew Good, including thoughts on the two Winnipeg sets, a personal editorial on how his work has affected me, and a belated review of In A Coma.

For the meantime, due to several factors, I seem to have gone on a creative binge and I feel like a man juggling chainsaws where each toss gives me a new rush of adrenaline and ideas. As depressing as spending 40 hours a week in a dark, dusty factory sounds, it gives me a lot of time to think. Yes, I've got ideas for short films, short stories, novels, musical endevours and all sorts of acts of human expression and/or stupidity.

One idea: I've mentioned this before, on here in writing and in passing conversation, that the first step for solving problems and understanding situations is to be aware of the problem or situation. I believe this ignorance to be a severe epidemic among modern society, myself included. Obviously, not every person is going to be a scholar or a historical academic, but how difficult is it to glance at the headlines once a day? So, to once again utilize the blogosphere for constructive purposes, I propose a blog something along the lines of this, where a group of bloggers post headlines that they found interesting or important along with the source and short description in their own words. They don't have to be incredibly serious or follow any specific topic guidelines, and can be local or global. Regular, even daily, posts would be recommended as it would give individuals incentive to be constantly in tune with newsmedia, ie) the world around them. There would also be an push for comments, discussion and analyzing source and bias.

Comments please, on whether or not this a good idea (if it's not, let me know and I'll abandon it), and if there are any parties interested in taking part.

What's Up.

2005-10-27T21:21:00.000-05:00

In A World Called Catastrophe

2005-10-24T22:58:00.000-05:00

The ongoing conflict in Iraq is, I believe, not entirely understood by most. I know it is not entirely understood by me. Iraq. Invasion. War. Terrorism. Bush. Hussein. Al Queda. Oil. September 11th. America. Elections. Sunni. Shia. Kurd. Iran. Offensive. Defensive. Insurgents. Stronghold. So many messages, so little broadcast time.

The entire country is run rampant with violence and ideological hatred and if there was a posterboy for the backward nature of current times, Iraq would be it. It's the focal point for many activists on the right and the left, just because it so controversial. There is much to say and much to argue over. I believe it's just one big bloody mess.

Around the world there are people on their knees. They are afraid, they are hungry, they are sick, and some of them are right pissed off. The All-Mighty Dollar rules the day and so often it is soaked in tears and blood, a common currency among the powerful. AIDS. Proliferation. Disease. Debt. Starvation. Genocide. Human Rights. Conflict. Overpopulation. Water. Globalization. Racism. Hegemony. Poverty. So many messages, so little broadcast time.

This blog seems to have lost purpose.

Matt Good had an inspiring post today, which I would encourage you to read.

Pass Me That Adenovirus. Thanks.

2005-10-23T23:44:00.000-05:00

So the industry that showed me the door now wants me back. Looks like my days of concrete dust and skinned knuckles aren't over just yet. On Friday morning when I got to the crew room Strange Days was playing on the radio. That was fitting. I was tired and not in the mood and vowed to stay home that night and rest up.

As you can imagine, no such thing was to occur. I hit the apartment with a case of the cheapest beer money can buy and soon enough we were being chased by an absolutely crazy man down Osbourne. Two pubs and ten drinks later (nine beers and shot of tequila with the birthday girl) . . .

"Jason, Jason, come here."
"James."
"Phil."
"My name's James."
"I know! We're best friends!"

. . . I'm back at the apartment using somebody's jacket for a blanket, crashed on the floor beside the balcony door. (Brett, that door has some wicked draft going on.) And there's a girl who plays piano who I'm supposed to call.

The little dog is barking again and I want to kick the fucking thing right off my front step onto the road.

They Say The Kid Sold Out

2005-10-23T16:42:00.000-05:00

Goddamn, It's Deafening

2005-10-20T21:56:00.000-05:00

That post about perogies was like deja vu.

The little dog woke me up at 4am this morning and I wasn't able to fall back asleep afterwards, due to my brain immediately shifting into overdrive. I was consumed by numbers, calculations, anger, anxiety and wondering what the weather in Greece is like in February. I lay with my eyes wide open staring at the dark ceiling until quarter past six when my alarm told me it was time to start moving.

"You look really intense today, Jimmy," she told me. (She's a fraud, she's only Superman's girl.)

The two month stint at the factory has left me with a chunk of money, countless skinned knuckles and a bitter hatred for the place. I have always appreciated the pursuit of education and now I miss that arena daily. Tieing rebar and raking concrete just isn't a career goal for me. Every beast to his own burden, I suppose.

I like to wash the dishes after dinner because it cleans out the little cuts that cover my hands.

There's this swirling mass of indecision hovering nearby and I don't know what to do with it. Plans keep shifting and I keep telling myself that once I'm there it will all make sense. I envision trenchcoats and rainy nights and romantic entrances but the more bullshit fantasies I deliver, the more this freight ship is being driven into the fog. God, I hate those Sirens.

"Not too many people call me Jimmy," I told her, "And you can keep your paradise to yourself."

"Because it's really not that beautiful anyway?"

"That's correct."

I turn up my music to drown out the barking.

Small Piece of Something

2005-10-20T21:54:00.000-05:00

Shouting At Flowers There's this generic guy who lives on the ninth floor of a generic apartment building. He doesn't have a whole lot of friends and spends a lot of time alone. Sometimes he goes out to places by himself and he's always the first to leave because he figures if he has to be lonely, why be lonely around other people. So he goes home and sits in his chair.

One day he wakes up and takes a stroll out onto his balcony, as per his usual morning routine. Routines are very important to these kinds of people, you see, it gives them something to do and look forward to. There's something different about the balcony on this fine September morning, however.

It wasn't that there was a woman sitting in his balcony lawnchair. Or that he had no idea how she got there. Or that said woman was clearly not breathing and hadn't been for quite some time. What really got to him was that it was different. It wasn't routine. He choked back his shock and muttered something. Not thinking that she heard him, he repeated it louder. She didn't seem to be interested so he went back inside to think this over. Turning on the television to the local morning news show, he went to the kitchen to fix some toast and orange juice. Routine.

You Can Go Ahead And

2005-10-20T17:57:00.000-05:00

James: I've said this before. I hope she gets hit by a bus.

Tab: I sat by her on a bus once.

James: I bet you talked about all kinds of fun things.

Tab: You bet.

James: Like how her friends are going to dress up like Tuscan raiders and walk around the store.

Tab: Actually, she did mention that.

James: And how her mom is a Tuscan raider in real life.

Tab: (indistinct laughter . . . pause.) What's a Tuscan raider anyway?

Damn Good Perogies

2005-10-16T13:44:00.000-05:00

Scene: It's 2am, we're watching Queer as Folk, and I'm standing in Molly's kitchen with a spatula in my hand and a cigarette dangling from my lips, five beers and a bottle of wine in the bag, frying up perogies.

It's now detox week.

On Calvert Street NW, Adams Morgan

2005-10-11T20:49:00.000-05:00

If you're ever in DC and looking for a different place to eat, try the Afghan Grill on Calvert Street NW in Adams Morgan. Be warned there's no place to park, so take the metro. It's a tiny place on the second floor with only a few tables and opens only for dinner, so either make reservations or come a little early. The food is authentic Afghan and the service is excellent. Order a bottle of wine and sit by the window so you can watch the street and the people meadering around on it. And if Sarah is working, ask her why she never called me back.

Bits and Pieces

2005-10-10T19:52:00.000-05:00

James!
Thanks for making me laugh today! It made the day 100x better . . .

Now that my gluttonous weekend is over, I've decided to actually do something productive.

Dear James,
How's it going? You're probably exhausted, you had a long shift today. I just thought I'd leave you some hot chocolate . . . Don't forget there's always donuts too! I'm gonna go to bed but I'll see you in the morning . . .

Every time I clean my room I find more stuff to throw away and today was no exception.

Stephen James Cannell
April 10, 1985 - August 10, 2003
It is with deep sadness the family announces . . .

The key to room cleaning is minimalism and simplicity. Most of what you have stored away, you don't need.

Hi James,
You make me laugh in the kitchen when you preach about the Japanese and on the beach with all your Neanderthal ways. Oi! You made the kitchen a blast this week . . .

Often I wish somebody would come into my room when I'm not there and haul absolutely everything out, pile it up in my front yard and set it on fire.

James,
You're tall and scary to me, but I still like you . . .

Sometimes a clean slate is the answer to everything.

Who the hell are you? Do you feel like a bigger man now because you told me that you had to say good bye again? Do you think you better then me? . . . And dont even think about writing back because nothing you can say will make me feel bad about myself ever again. Sorry but have a good fucking life, jerk . . .

I am now at that point where I've stopped cleaning and found myself poring over old journals, notes, obituaries, yearbooks, concert stubs, plane tickets and other bits and pieces of memories I've stored away over the years.

. . . you make me laugh a lot! I'm glad you're here this summer.

It's interesting to look at what used to be important to you and how you've evolved.

James,
Your e-mail made me cry. I've never been able to talk to any guy like the way I know I can talk to you . . . I was sitting there thinking about how you said I was beautiful, and how I had so many things to say to you but never said anything. Nobody has ever called me beautiful before . . . Now listen this e-mail is short, because my eyes hurt from make up and crying and tiredness. I miss you too the moon and back a million times . . .

And how some things always stay the same.

Grade Nine Art Class

2005-10-10T17:29:00.000-05:00

Giant Wet Snowflakes

2005-10-08T15:56:00.000-05:00

They do it everytime.

Hopscotch

2005-10-07T18:46:00.000-05:00

It's the first cold day of fall, the leaves are turning and the townsfolk are busy. The grownups have retreated to the woods, leaving the children alone to play. Lines are drawn on the empty street and out come the jump ropes. A fierce game of hopscotch ignites and they chant.

The Beast is feeding;
Feed it! Feed it!
The Beast is seeding;
Feed it! Feed it!
The Beast is needing;
Feed it! Feed it!
The Beast, The Beast, The Beast

Get off the road (or, Out of the sky)

2005-10-07T18:30:00.000-05:00

I love the first few days of cold and snow and slickness because people forget how to drive. It's basically bumper cars in Winnipeg for about a week until everybody learns to slow the fuck down, and apparantly us on the ground aren't the only ones. A cargo plane crash landed on some railroad tracks in the city yesterday not far from Brett's apartment.

This isn't the first time this has happened either. Two years ago a plane ran out of fuel and crashed on a busy road, barely missing a gas station. Maybe Winnipeg is on top of some kind of inner-continental Bermuda Triangle.

Who Are These People

2005-10-06T19:54:00.000-05:00

Stephanie says:
i see that your different

James says:
am i?

Stephanie says:
well i thought that you were all into god!

James says:
it's been a while

Stephanie says:
really well what happen??

James says:
started thinking.

It's been a bizarre evening.

Marianne from the video store, my old job, phoned. Looks like I might be working there again, on top of my day job.

Then Steph from Portage la Prarie starts asking me questions, even though I haven't seen her in years and didn't even know her then.

Then Jamie, who I haven't talked to for probably a year, tells me we're having a giant thanksgiving potluck on Saturday.

Then Doug, my cousin who I saw quite frequently last school year but haven't seen since I've come home, called. We're doing something tomorrow night. Tomorrow night I'm also supposed to be at the Tijuana Yacht Club for Wilms' going away bar night and at Anne's house for some ginormous house party.

Then Amy from Newfoundland starts talking to me, haven't seen her for two years.

Then Erin started talking to me. Gave a nudge too, actually. Haven't seen her in a good two years.

Then it turns out Emac is back in town from Ottawa, who I haven't seen since July. We're playing poker tonight.

Then.

Viva la Audioslave

2005-10-05T18:47:00.000-05:00

I wasn't really pumped for the show until a few hours before when it dawned on me what I was about to see. Audioslave is a rock alternative super group, formed out of the ashes of two of the largest rock institutions of the 1990s, Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden. I was never really a big Soundgarden fan, although I do enjoy their music, but Rage has always had a place close to my heart, and my mind. It was early in high school that I started to listen to the band and Zack de la Rocha's highly political lyrics. I'd argue that this was a turning point for me and I started to look at the world in which I was living in a different light.

30 Seconds to Mars was the first of the two opening bands. I was a 30STM fan for about a week in grade eleven, so I thought they might be alright. I remember them being a lot better. The arena was only about half full when they came on and nobody was really interested, despite their flashing lights and their Command & Conquer: Red Alert 2 type sound effects. I tried really hard to feel sorry for them as they said "We know we're the opening band, but everybody give us a scream" and they got a lacklustre response, but the lead singer just had this space-vampire thing going on that really wasn't cool. "I know we're different, we've always tried to be so. Thanks for being here with us," he said, but the truth is they're not that different. They're just not that good. I wouldn't normally say this, but what 30 Seconds to Mars really needs to do is sell out, write a catchy record, and start headlining their own shows.

I've seen Seether before, when they opened for Our Lady Peace a few years ago. They've since released a second album which has officially grouped them with the Defaults and Nickelbacks of our age, despite their South African origin. The crowd, however, was much more welcoming and this is where the evening really got started. I watched the first bit from the back as I downed two extremely expensive beers as they played singles off the new album, along with Fine Again, the flagship single off the last, and that song that they did with Amy Lee, without Amy Lee of course, which was pretty cool. Then they covered a Nirvana song which was alright because they sound like Nirvana anyway.

The wait for the headliners was long and I spent it packed towards the front, not wanted to leave and have to fight my way back up. The show went more or less as expected, opening up with Your Time Has Come, track one off Out of Exile, and Set It Off, a song full of energetic rebellion off their first album. The band has been writing new material, and a new album may be out as early as spring. They played a new song which sounded great but wasn't really memorable. The night really focussed on Chris Cornell and Tom Morello, as could be expected. Cornell has an amazing voice and he gave it all he had, the crowd giving the same back, as he powered through a few more Audioslave tracks before the Soundgarden thrasher, Spoonman. He dashed off stage however, while the three remaining members of Rage struck a chord with crowd by playing the Bulls on Parade. "Get ready, this is going to be fucking nuts," the guy next to me said as they were winding up and a flag with the classic red star arose behind the band. Cornell came back to add vocals to Sleep Now in the Fire and the floor was ecstatic. I was ecsatic.

The encore started off with with Cornell and an acoustic guitar strumming out Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun and Burden in My Hand, to which the entire room was singing, before some hard hitting tracks off Audioslave's first album. The night ended with Rage's Killing In the Name, which basically put me back in the clouds and tore the roof of the arena, and the Audioslave classic, Cochise.

The only song off Out of Exile I wish they would have played is Yesterday To Tomorrow, which is kind of an epic track. I'll cut my losses. The Winnipeg Free Press gave the concert a well deserved 4 stars out of 5. This is a band that is much better live than in the studio and seeing Morello rock out on stage really gives a perspective of how good a guitarist he actually is. I do hope it won't be so long until they come back and I'm looking forward to the Live in Cuba DVD due out next week.

Snow Today

2005-10-05T18:19:00.000-05:00

Jordan says:
if other people read it and are interested by it then i'd say you've accomplished your goal, no?

Esposito

2005-10-05T00:28:00.000-05:00

So they did pound out Bulls on Parade, sans vocals though, which was amazing. More later.

Anybody else watch Conan tonight? I can't get over how beautiful this woman is.

Set It Off Now, Children

2005-10-04T16:52:00.000-05:00

Skipped work yesterday and spent it sleeping and watching The OC, trying to fight this cold. I hate Marissa. She's so fucking stupid.

Audioslave tonight. Floor tickets. My anticipation is thick, as this is the closest I will ever get to seeing Rage Against the Machine (Audioslave being three parts Rage, one part Soundgarden), Tom Morello being one of my gods. Rumor has it they've been playing Rage tracks at their recent shows, which has a lot of Rageheads up in a fluff. No Zack, No Rage, they say. I have to admit I'm split between the camps. Chris Cornell trying to hit some of Zack's raps doesn't really appeal to me, but to hear them pound out Bulls On Parade would make my night. Of course I'm also looking forward to the Audioslave material, especially off the first album, which was pure gold. Out of Exile, their second, is far too happy, too full of songs trying to be hit radio singles. Although, the title track does start off making you think it's a RATM song, which is pretty cool. But Doesn't Remind Me reminds me of Theory of a Deadman or some shit like that (yes, yes it is catchy, but still).

You're My Favourite Single-Serving Friend

2005-10-03T15:43:00.000-05:00

How many times can you be fretfully inspired to make a difference only to have that inspiration dissipate an hour, a day, or a week later by the realization that not doing anything makes things a whole lot easier? At what point do you either start keeping your self-promises and your goals that you frantically wrote down on a restaurant napkin, or just forget about it and ignore those moments altogether?

Floating On

2005-09-30T17:59:00.000-05:00

Woke up today with a clouded head, some twenty-five minutes after my alarm went off. It was one of those colds that kicks your ass right from the minute you wake up. Calling in sick to work sounded like a really great idea but the monetary consequences didn't. I took three different kinds of cold medicine (two orange, two white, two red) and downed two cups of black coffee before I left the house. By the time I got to work I was happy as a clam.

It was Wilms' last day at the factory today. He was in a good mood and so was everybody else and we finished early. In two weeks he'll be on a plane to Germany, the same plane I'll be on in three months. As much as I love the smell of concrete and grinder dust first thing in the morning, I'm looking forward to my last day at the factory too.

Chris is a fat native who walks around smiling all day. He quit smoking but bought a pack of cigarettes yesterday. He is also amazed by my height, and tends to make a daily comment regarding such. Chris came up to me today, smiling as per usual, "I knew someone as tall as you once. But he shot his head off in front of his mom."

Audio
Death Cab for Cutie - Crooked Teeth
Sigur Ros - Hoppipola
Third Eye Blind - Darkness
Seu Jorge - Life on Mars
Frou Frou - Psychobabble
Moby - Porcelain
Gustavo Santaolalla - Apertura
A Perfect Circle - Annihilation
Emac - Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand

One in One Thousand

2005-09-29T20:13:00.000-05:00

Balad, Iraq.

Three car bombs kill over sixty Iraqi civilians.

Since the American-led invasion of Iraq in March of 2003, nearly 25 000 Iraqi civilians have been killed. This accounts for one out every 1000 Iraqis.

Before March 2003, a monthly average of 14 Iraqis died due to criminal violence. Today, that average is nearly 400.

Spectacularities (Exit Signs Glowing)

2005-09-25T23:43:00.000-05:00

We're writing this down in the dark and even though the exit signs are illuminateed we choose to stick around and wait for something spectacular.

He's sitting around and waiting for something spectacular to happen because that is what everybody expects, and, quite frankly, it is what he secretly expects as well.

"Hey, do you think we can sell this?"
"Well there's not really a market for it, but . . ."
"We can create that market."
"Exactly."
"Spectacular."

The others walk briskly and talk fiscally even though they are unsure and unaware. Of where they're going. Of what they're doing. Of who they are.

Placed friendships only sail so far and lately there's been a new hurricane every day.

"And you see, if we spin it like this . . . third quarter earnings should all but triple."
Heads nodding. Bravo. A slap on the back.
"Hey, who turned off the lights?"

A great idea doesn't go very far if it is kept a secret and locked away in a dark room. A great idea needs support and votes and a great template upon which it can expand. A great idea does not need to be sold, it needs to be heard and had and understood and accepted. Too often do we try and sell ourselves and our potential short. Too often we are paranoid, staring at dollar signs and the way out.

"No guys, wait. We can fix it."
The lights remain off and the exit signs are glowing. Dress shoes and work boots alike shuffle towards the door.
"Please. Wait."
Heads down, drifting. Bravo. A spectacular slap in the face.

A Mess

2005-09-25T19:37:00.000-05:00

No Response

2005-09-25T02:25:00.000-05:00

And we opened shop and sold seashells to all the tourists. They all paid way to much but were happy with their purchases so what the hell, right? I mean, I didn't really feel bad about it. But after a while it starts to get to you, you know? How long can one sit on the beach selling overpriced seashells?

I often write random story bits to Suzanne. She never understands.

It's All Good: Part Two

2005-09-23T18:41:00.000-05:00

Coldplay Live in Minneapolis

2005-09-21T21:32:00.000-05:00

After a long and arduous planning period where the personel and vehicle arrangements changed almost daily, the final group was chosen.

And so was the transportation. (Yes, that is duct tape. And yes, those are horns.)

Eight hours later the group entered Minneapolis and between getting lost in traffic and talking to an old man from New Orleans about baseball, they arrived to good news. A seat change from the upper deck to the first elevated row in front of the stage put an entirely different spin on the evening.

It was a full house that erupted into a mass of cheers as the lights dimmed and the band opened up with Square One, the first track off their new album, before exploding in Politik, the first track off their last. The arena supported the big sound of X & Y and for the first time I came to really appreciate the album. It is a disc that was written to be played live.

The band powered through their radio hits off all three albums, slowing things down momentarily to play Trouble, a song they haven't played live for some time. Chris Martin announced that they were surprised that they were even present for the show since a few days earlier the band had experienced somewhat of a falling out ("We've been on the road for an awful long time," he said), but were now reunited and ready for more.

Two and a half hours later the encore closed off with Fix You, complete with swinging lamp and dramatic stage presence. As the band walked off stage, holding hands, taking their bows and saying their thankyous, Martin tossed me his water bottle. I walked out of the the arena and onto the street, stunned, the water soothing a parched throat.

The eight hour overnight drive back home felt like a numbing five minutes, an exhausted haze of grand memories rapidly fading, the entire experience becoming very much like a dream. I got some good video clips of last night that do the show a lot more justice than these pictures. Check out the Live 2003 DVD for a good idea of what to expect from a Coldplay concert.

Since coming home from the lodge I've really felt like shit but the show last night gave me a good nudge in the other direction. I got myself a travel agent today.

Twisted Logic

2005-09-21T08:43:00.000-05:00

I haven't slept in 28 hours and I have Chris Martin's water bottle. More later.

Coffee and Cheesesticks

2005-09-18T16:36:00.000-05:00

"Hey somebody drew something on your face. What's it supposed to be?"
"Looks like John Kerry."
"No no, it's a vagina."
"It is? I thought . . . Wait. Yup. Yeah you're right. Definitely a vagina."

In an over glorified prime time soap opera certain events play out in real time. The plasticities of life become the currency of the day, wallets are opened to advertising spots and minds are closed to the gravestones underfoot. The players stay inside their houses and plot against each other through hidden channels, using code words and phrases like THE BABY IS IN THE CRADLE and THE BIRD WILL LIFT OFF AT MIDNIGHT. The very children of this shining neighbourhood are vagabonds lost in their own hometown, sooner or later most of which will be due to become the players themselves, hiding in basements and taking part in clandestine conversations about babies and birds.

At 3am the group graces the local greasy spoon with their presence, arguing over the seating arrangements and what foods best accompany strawberry jam. Over coffee and cheesesticks they put up their gallant front, a decoy ploy, for they know they are being watched. The cutlery arrives late with a hidden message and things appear normal and under control. At least to those who are watching.

It's All Good

2005-09-17T20:31:00.000-05:00

High School and Halloweens

2005-09-17T18:40:00.000-05:00

Last night I started watching A Lot Like Love, the one where Ashton Kutcher is a real dorkshit and Amanda Peet never knows what she wants with herself, with my sister and, thank God, Jordan called at nine-thirty and we went out and saw Lord of War. It was a good movie and although not as slick as I thought it would be, I definitely wasn't dissapointed. It was similar to Blow except with guns instead of drugs, in that the first half of the movie makes you want to be a gunrunner and the second half gives you second-thoughts. I've also come to realize though that I don't really like Nicholas Cage. I used to, I mean Adaption was really good. I was big fan of him in The Rock and Face/Off back in the day. Of course back in the day I was also twelve.

Afterwards we hit Steve's house and hung out there until after three. I was reminded that I have very little in common with my old camp friends.

It's fairly cool and rainy outside right now. It's starting to feel like fall and it's reminding me of high school and Halloweens. Halloween used to be my favourite time of year. It wasn't even so much about the candy, it was about the night and what surrounded it. I was always entranced by things that go bump in the night and as a kid I was always deeply engrossed in an R.L. Stine book, as much as my mother tried to discourage it. She said I should read the Bible more. As far as I was concerned, The Blob that Ate Everyone was a literary classic.

It's beginning to bother me that I keep getting all nostalgic and shit.

I watched the rest of A Lot Like Love this afternoon. Ashton really needs to do something positive with himself, a comedy that actually funny and not either trying incredibly hard to be stupid or trying incredibly hard to make a quick buck as just another romantic comedy for the pile. Actually, I don't give a shit about Ashton Kutcher or what kind of movies he makes. Do whatever you want, buddy. Although, I actually like Just Married. Perhaps only because it has some sentimental value. Bonjour, merci . . .

Dennis Has Brain Damage

2005-09-15T18:42:00.000-05:00

I got sent outside at work today since the previous yard guy was a lazy fuck and got fired yesterday. Somehow being the inexperienced new guy, I got to leave the dusty factory shop and traded shovelling cement for moving the finished the product around the yard where the crane does all the lifting. It was very much like that scene in The Shawshank Redemption where Andy and Red get to tar the roof instead of carrying on with their menial tasks inside the prison. In fact, several of my coworkers have spent time in jail.

This job, although being a great physical workout, is numbing my brain due to the repetitive work, but also due to the people I work with. The first person I met when I got there was Dennis. ~~Several years ago he fell of his snowmobile and cranked his head.~~ Extending his hand, he introduced himself, "Hi, my name is Dennis. I have brain damage." Enough said.

Edit: Today I got the whole story. Poor Dennis was not driving a snowmobile but a four-wheeler when he received his head cranking. He was loaded one night and decided to take his four-wheeler to the beer vendor and rolled it. Again, enough said.

I must now retreat into my room and watch back episodes of The O.C.

Talking to Pelicans

2005-09-13T19:37:00.000-05:00

Scene. The young man sits on a park bench by the river watching the sun set slowly behind the treeline and beside him sits a large pelican. They are talking.

Me: So I feel like I've been demoted.

Bird, lighting cigarette: Demoted how?

Me: I don't know. It's hard to explain.

Bird, blowing out smoke: Try me.

Me: You wouldn't understand, you're just a bird.

Sudden movement, flapping of feathers.

Me: Ow! What the fuck was that for? You pecked me!

Bird: I just felt like it. I'm just a bird, you know.

Me: Okay, I didn't mean it that way.
Rubbing arm.
Me: That hurt.

Bird: So what's your problem?

Me: This new job. I wear ear plugs all day and everything I hear is numbed out, like I'm under water for eight hours a day.

Bird doesn't respond. Puffs cigarette.

Me: Back at home too, you know.

Bird: There is nothing one can do while in purgatory besides wait it out.

Me: Or hope somebody will pay my indulgences.

Bird: Do you really want to rely on someone else to fix this?

Me: No.

Bird: So wait. This is only temporary, this underwater purgatorial state of demotion.

Me, scratching head: I guess.
Stops scratching, sniffing.
Me: Did you just shit?

Bird, staring forward: Yup.

Me: I thought birds only shit when they were flying.

Bird, flicks cigarette: I don't fly much any more.

Me: Why not?

Bird: You wouldn't understand, you're just a human.

Me: How do get around then?

Bird: Usually just take a cab.

Me: Oh.

Bird, hopping off bench: Let's go.

Me: Go where?

Bird: Let's get loaded.
Waddles away, doesn't look back.
Bird: I haven't had a good drunk in months.

Me: Where we going to go? It's a Monday night.

Bird, waddling off screen: I know a dozen places.

Dusk settles as the young man and the pelican exit the park and the scene.

Plot Change

2005-09-12T22:02:00.000-05:00

This post is dedicated to those who enjoy sitting in cars in the dark listening to songs that bring back memories of old relationships and good times long gone.

This city isn't quite the way I remembered it and the people in it seem somehow out of place, as if they're not supposed to be here. It is true, that I feel out of place among friends and family and the streets that I recognize and would call home and perhaps that is the problem, that I have moved on and my city has not moved at all. I care for my city and its inhabitants and I care for my family and my close friends who have done great things for me. To be honest, however, I am sick of their charity and in more cases than one, I am sick of them. I am also sick of the constant; the television, the possessions, the bickering, the bitter sarcasm, the sullen drinks, the fake laughter, the forced conversation. I am sick of remembering times that were better than now and wishing I could go back to them. It is very much time for a plot change in this bland reality show.

Or a change of channel.

Unnamed Characters (The Guy on the Roof)

2005-09-07T10:43:00.000-05:00

He sits alone on the rooftop, the morning sun slowly warming the shingles.

Since returning from his stint on the fringes he had found himself surrounded by flashing screens and social drunkeness followed by lost sleep due to a dark room spinning uncontrollably. He tries to focus but just keeps slipping into the same shitty old rut of redundance to which he swore he would never return. Back home, he's back home, he's back and he never left.

Company. "Hey man, where are you?"

"Hey."

The guy on the ground is looking around. "Where are you?"

"Up here."

Squints through the sunlight. "What are you doing?"

"Want a beer?" the guy on the roof says and tosses down a cold one.

Catches. "No, I don't want a beer. It's nine in the morning. What the hell are you doing?"

"You know. Just thinking."

"You're weird man, let's go."

The guy on the roof climbs down and returns to ground level, his feet hit the grass with a weight beyond his own.

Through Which We Perpetually Swim

2005-09-04T18:36:00.000-05:00

I don't really like being home and I've been doing a lot of thinking and planning and drinking. Woke up pretty shaky today.

What I do enjoy about being home is the access to media; to movies and music and to the news. Like most, I've been enveloped in the Katrina coverage. If you haven't heard what Kanye West had to say, check it out. I left this comment on Julia's blog on what I think:

"The situation in New Orleans is a testament to the follies of ourselves. A city of significant cultural and emotional value destroyed due to unpreparedness, a government so sluggish in its reaction that the city was allowed to sink into chaos, and a media so bloodthirsty that it has misconstrued the truth in the search of shocking images and rumors.

I often wonder what things would be like if the machine called Humanity would work at its full capacity instead of just pretending to do so. So often we are lying to ourselves."

Also, if you have an hour to kill, listen to Tony Pierce and Matt Good discuss Katrina and the aftermath here.

Like Old Times

2005-08-08T20:46:00.000-05:00

Last week I found myself in Winnipeg with my first days off from the lodge since the beginning of May. Coming home it felt like I had never left, which I guess is a good thing. I guess. Nonetheless I couldn't get over an enveloping aura of awkwardness and unease that left me stuttering a lot, even around close friends, and with a general feeling of anxiousness. I spent my few days off surrounded by friends and family and for much of the time I wanted them to go away, not because I didn't want to see them, but because I didn't want them to see me in this backward state.

I spent my last night at home with Wilms and Emac, the two guys I terrorized History and Engligh classes with throughout high school. It will the last time the three of us will be together in the same place for a while, since we're all taking to different corners of the world come September. The evening ended with Eric and I smoking cigarettes on the front steps of the old high school, not really saying much, but enjoying the moment. Like old times.

Eric's been at Carleton for school and I've been at the lodge all summer so we haven't been able to see much of each other as of late. I was blown away when he brought his laptop over and gave me a preview of his CD, by the both quality and amount of work he's into his little project. He's recorded and mixed all his material and plays all his own instruments. Get Out of Town should be out at the end of the month. I might have to wait until I get out to Ottawa later this fall to hear the album in full, but in any case, the evening left me somewhat inspired. Inspired to turn my chosen craft of the written word into something as original and artistic as what Eric's put together for his CD. I've since been running ideas through my head and have come up with very little substanstial, but certain that it will involve a relaunching of this blog this fall when I get home since quite frankly the speed of the internet out here on the island is downright frustrating and the time I have to sit down and create something is extremely limited.

Right before I went home I knew I had caught the island fever. I've only been back for a few days and I feel it creeping back. Before long I'll get the point where I'm drinking twelve cups of black coffee a day and the island starts telling me stories.

My shoes are starting to rot because they're always wet because the water is really high this year and constantly creeping over the dock. My pants smell like diesel and fish guts. My hair is like straw and my fingernails are always black with some kind of dirt. Sometimes I talk to my tools, I tell my chainsaw about my ex-girlfriends. I killed a squirrel with an axe and nailed it to a tree. I hate those goddamned squirrels, always going through the garbage. Yes, I am going bush crazy. And I don't care.

I Don't Really Like the Real World

2005-07-31T10:55:00.000-05:00

Continental Divide

2005-07-03T23:13:00.000-05:00

There are dark and terrible struggles that belong to us. Machines created to help, manipulated to destroy; men meaning to help but thrust into a world of deceit where spent ammunition litters the sand and lies riddle the brain. There are dark and terrible secrets that belong to us, hidden meanings that haunt us and leave us feeling empty. We are confused and misconstrued, missing the mark and reading the wrong billboards. Still, there is beauty and somehow there is warmth in the darkness, a connection from one person to the next, across great distances, oceans, races, nations and continents.

I watch the insects buzz in circles around the light and as I almost cry the protective eye on my Turkish bracelet watches over me.

There is more. We can be more than this.

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

2005-06-25T19:41:00.000-05:00

This morning I was somewhere in the middle of Iowa and now I'm back in Winnipeg for the night again and a day behind schedule. I got held up at the customs on the way down for over eight hours. Apparantly it's not okay to just drive airplane engines across the border. I drove seventeen hours the next day, straight from Grand Forks, North Dakota, to Okmulge, Oklahoma, to make up some lost time.

Tolling the Road
Americans really know how to build roads. Sure, you have to pay to drive on some of them (seeing the 'Toll Road' sign I began looking around at the other drivers to see if they were "tolling the road" because I sure as hell didn't know how to, until the toll booth came up and realized what a dumbass I am), but Canadian highways are shit. Interstates, freeways, turnpikes; it's how driving should be. Cruising down the interstate at 75 mph (that's 120 km/h to the rest of the world) you don't stop for anything and the road is completely smooth. You're moving faster but it's a hell of a lot safer than any Canadian highway where the shoulders aren't paved, the road is riddled with cracks and potholes where there are no fancy exit ramps and overpasses. Also, Canadian drivers don't know how to merge.

On a Canadian highway, when you see a dead animal on the side of the road you can usually tell what it was before it was hit. On an American highway, at least from what I saw, you can hardly tell what it was. I guess 120 is the speed at which animals explode rather than just getting run over.

Spoons on Pens: Not Just a Kansas Thing
Every gas station I stopped at the pens had plastic spoons taped to them. The first time I saw this I left at nothing more than a quirky idea conjured by bored gas attendants. But then I saw it again. And again. I finally asked the old lady working at Subway in a small Kansas town, "What's with the spoons on the pens? Is it a Kansas thing?" I thought maybe it was some kind state pride ordeal, a sports team, The Kansas State Spoons. The lady laughed. "No, everybody's doing it," she stated matter-of-factly, "Someone started it a while ago. Now, even Wal-Mart's doing it." Holy shit! Wal-Mart? Where can I buy plastic spoons, I've got a bunch of pens in the truck that haven't been spooned yet. "I think it's so people don't accidently put it in their pocket." Ohhhhhhh. Gotcha.

Special thanks to Tim and Barb from Iowa for helping out a stranded and weary Canadian.

Some shots from the lodge.

Going to Tulsa

2005-06-22T01:57:00.000-05:00

At home in Winnipeg right now for the night. Passing through.

In the last week I blew a tire on a van so hard I bent the rim and almost rolled it and I left a truck standing in neutral at the garbage dump and it rolled backwards into the pit. Somehow they trust me driving a thirty thousand dollar airplane engine across the continent. Go figure.

At the lodge

2005-05-21T22:44:00.000-05:00

Internet time is limited and I don't think I'll be able to update regularly at all. Everybody's working hard here on the island, putting in 15 hour days to get things ready for next week when the guests start coming in. Been flying into outpost camps all week and hauling logs and boat motors through the bush.

It's such a shift coming up here. Days don't really mean all that much since everyday is just as much a working day as the last and I've already lost track of the date. Things will get smoother next week when the guests start rolling in and we get into more of a routine.

One thing about working at a fishing lodge like this is that nothing is ever the way it's supposed to be. Nothing works the first time and everything puts up a fight and everything is always a test; of endurance, of strength, of patience, especially when you're not sure how to do most things and you do everything wrong the first time. The people who run this place are amazing though and the boss works harder than anybody else. More details on that later.

From the island, take care.

And that's a wrap

2005-05-10T09:00:00.000-05:00

In an unexpected and hurried turn of events it appears as if Contrablog has run its course for the time being. Tomorrow morning I'll be flying up to an island resort in northern Manitoba where I'll be spending my summer. Besides the possible intermittent post over the summer, Contrablog will be shutting down for the season and will most likely return in the fall. I wish everybody a great and safe summer and to remember that drinking in the middle of the day isn't a bad thing. To all you bloggers out there, I ask you to use the power of the blog for the good side, as a the democratic art medium and information tool it was meant to be.
Take care, so long and make trade fair.

B and Nikki and Brett and Jordan and Laura and Ryan

Shrapnel, Saskatchewan

2005-05-08T17:41:00.000-05:00

Now that the middle of the night, pitch black, pouring rain, 140km/hour semi truck madness had passed without serious incident, the rising sun acted as a beacon, beckoning the travelers back across the Canadian prairie expanse towards home. The words she said rattled inside his head like shrapnel; pieces of glass and metal, nickels and dimes, nuts and bolts and screws and old car keys scraping up against the inside. He still smelt like cheap booze and even cheaper cigarettes and he thought about her sleeping, curled up under her covers six hundred kilometres behind him. They were somewhere between cities and the radio wasn't picking up much so he clicked it off and opened the window instead to listen to the morning instead. His two friends, nestled in the back seat and the passenger's seat respectively, both shifted but kept their eyes shut and continued to doze. He put his arm on the windowsill and thought of a piano riff, red lines on map, driving around in circles in parking lots, lost opportunities and lost words and the loss of her soft hair and soft voice to a growing distance. The rearview mirror exposed bagged eyes and a darkness retreating across the skyline and with the pedal to the floor they were heading home to where the taxes are higher and the people don't age well, heading home to all the people he knows and all the people he doesn't want to see and all the people who tend to plow through life at a lonely pace and will never have songs written about them. The sun beckons them home like a Siren and shrapnel litters the road and their thoughts and cuts like razorblades into their every misconception and doubt and belief.

Jordan's Gallery

Now Hiring

2005-05-02T14:28:00.000-05:00

Forecast for May 1st: Blowing Snow.
Woke up yesterday morning after four hours of sleep to one the managers at work calling to ask me to come in because the girl who was supposed to work burnt her arm on the stove when she was making breakfast. But I couldn't work because I had to close that evening and work goes apeshit if you work overtime. So I went back to bed only to wake up half an hour later to a Burmese friend of mine who was wondering where the closest Thai embassy was. Half asleep and barely clothed I stumbled over to the computer to track down a Thai consulate in Canada. Turns out we have two, one in Vancouver and one in Ottawa. The only foreign embassy in Winnipeg is an Icelandic one and all it was built for was to restore some artifact or something. The Icelandic embassy in Ottawa does all the real diplomatic work. That is, whatever diplomatic work actually goes on between Iceland and Canada.

Slone and I talked for a while and then I hung up and was just going to go take a shower and start my day but I looked out the window and saw my city covered in snow so I went back to bed. I couldn't fall back asleep, however, as my mind began to wander to other parts of the world . . .

NOW HIRING.
Job opportunity for experienced tour guide.
FT & PT positions available for enthusiastic, customer driven people able to work in a fast-paced outdoor environment. Must be trained in light and heavy arms and know basic escape and evasion techniques. Must supply own armored vehicle. Fax your resume to Tour Iraq.

Agent Orange

2005-04-30T15:10:00.000-05:00

Guardian Unlimited reports Vietnam is on the upswing with the threat of war fading into history and with an economy that is finally starting to fall into place. However, certain problems have yet to be resolved:

"The biggest outstanding issue between the US and Vietnam is the effect of Agent Orange, according to Vietnamese veterans who blame the defoliant for deformities in hundreds of thousands of children born after the war.

Although American plaintiffs won a £100m out-of-court settlement against the chemical companies that produced the herbicide, US judges recently dismissed a claim for compensation by Vietnamese victims, saying defence contractors are not liable for the use of the herbicide by the US government, which has sovereign immunity. An appeal is expected to be heard in June.

Between 1966 and 1971, at least 10m gallons of Agent Orange, which contains dioxin, were dispersed to clear foliage used as cover by Vietcong guerrillas.

The US government covers medical costs for veterans who develop prostate cancer, but many more problems are blamed on the chemical in Vietnam, where dozens of care centres have been established for veterans and children born with disabilities."

I had a hard time finding an image to put here that wasn't overly gruesome. The effects of Agent Orange are visually horrifying, a side effect of one of the great Cold War-era East Asia power grabs that didn't really amount to anything but a lot of corpses.

Here's some of the other images I found. Be forwarned that they are disturbing and should be viewed with discretion.
Link 1
Link 2
Link 3
Link 4
Link 5

The Official Launch Of . . .

2005-04-27T01:46:00.000-05:00

Featuring the Ultimate Prime Time Line-Up!

6:00 - 7:30
Contrablog NewsHour with Hal Johnson & Joanne McLeod
Keep fit and have fun . . . and stay informed with Contrablog NewsHour, hosted by Hal and Joanne, always fresh and always in spandex. The second half of NewsHour features an Indepth Special Report.

Tonight's special report: A look into the connection between Martha Stewart's release from prison and Kim Jong Il's nuclear missle tests. The controversial story of global intrigue that was first broken by Jordan over at PseudoBlog hits prime time.

7:30 - 8:00
The Impeccables
An adult oriented animated series from the creators of the children's feature film, The Incredibles, about a family of perfect superhero birds that protect the Bird Kingdom whilst undergoing such everyday family tribulations as Baby Bird teething, Mama Bird walking in on Junior Bird beating the bird, and deciding which car is the cleanest and best to shit on.

8:00 - 9:00
Sweaty Naked Fat Men
A violent sitcom about a fat, small town Swiss man who builds custom saunas and has ties with the mob. Tonight, the explosive pilot episode: Yuri Turns Up the Heat. Yuri discovers his son's ambition to join the county police force. Meanwhile, Uncle Georjj is back from the homeland and is looking for family members to dismember.

9:00 - 11:00
Napoleon Dynamite Redux (Extended and Uncut)
Napoleon like you've never seen him before! Completely redone using enough coarse language and sexual innuendo than every Kevin Smith movie combined. Great ready for a new level of Napoleon quotes you'll be saying to your friends for weeks.
Parental discretion is advised: crude language, cannibalism, full frontal nudity, drug and alcohol abuse involving young children, scenes of a teen with big hair, and a scene of brutal violence involving a llama and a Mexican immigrant.

11:00 - Midnight
Ride My Pimp!
Reality television hits the mean streets as we follow the lives of a group of prostitutes and their pimp, Fat PJ. Tonight's episode: Fatty P welcomes a newcomer into the group, Venus runs into an unexpected somebody in the Red Light District and Latifa finds out she was born with a penis and visits a sex transplant clinic for answers. Meanwhile, the local homeless shelter closes down resulting in some irregular traffic at the whore house.

Terrible is in Fashion

2005-04-26T16:37:00.000-05:00

Well I knew but I've forgotten because everyone keeps asking
How come they feel so terrible if terrible is in fashion?
-Double Life, MG

Just A Bit
The children are wired, headphones taped to their ears, their heads bobbing up and down as they wait on the sidewalks for their busses to come and take them to their institutions. As the music picks up the wind kicks up and they're all listening to the bombtrack. It's an army of children.

Late Night
Last night was another one of those sleepless ones, most of which I spent at an all night coffee shop, scribbling down notes shaky from coffee and cigarettes and nerves. I once again managed to prove that I am quite possibly the most incredibly inefficient student who actually cares. Three exams and four courses down, one to go.

5am might be my favourite time of the night/day, during the summer at least. Although, I never enjoy it unless I'm still up rather than getting up like the birds who somehow know it's time to shake off their sleep and start chirping away. The sun isn't up yet at 5, but one half the sky is a dark blue on the verge of breaking into day and the other half is still very much night pocked with visible stars. It reminds me that Earth is just a giant rock spinning in circles and we're all pretty insignificant.

Delete This Blog
I am once again at odds with the blogosphere. Blogging is a time consuming disease like no other. I spend so much time tweaking my little piece of cyberspace when I could be doing countless other things, things that I need to do, such as reading and sleeping. Sometimes I just want to hit Delete This Blog and free myself from the chains of Blogger. I acknowledge blogging as a creative outlet, a place where I can post my words and my shitty photography for others to peruse, and Contrablog is a project that keeps evolving and changing. I don't know what Contrablog is, it doesn't have a theme or any guidelines. A part of me wants to just turn it into a creative writing space and another part wants to go full blown political/current events, something I'll have time to keep up to date now that school is over. But really, is that something I want to spend my summer working on? Maybe I should work on more informative and topical articles and publish once or twice a week, instead of once or twice a day. That way I'd be learning as I'd be researching and I'd be writing with purpose, perhaps making my time spent blogging more productive and enjoyable. I don't know what to do and I guess it doesn't matter. Contrablog is what it is. Maybe one day I'll concoct a formula that will make sense and draw readers, but until then I'll just let it stumble along.

Meanwhile, Contrablog is getting rave reviews . . .
"James is the only blogger who can keep me interested in a political rant. Thank you for not triggering my self-diagnosed ADD, sir! It is appreciated," says NP, the few-screws-loose pen behind Nikki Pea: A Blog.

DVD Release of the Week.

DVD Release of Last Week.

Just a Dumping Ground

2005-04-24T22:15:00.000-05:00

It's just a dumping ground.
They put us here because we weren't up to par elsewhere.

"Look at this one!"
"Sick shit! Toss that one too!"

So we ended up here, on Earth, all rejects from a past life,
born to reject mothers and reject fathers.

And we meander and wander and fall down and get back up.

They sit on crooked bar stools and laugh at us as we run around in little snow globes that sit on the counter.

When they get bored they shake us and watch our world explode into jagged pieces of synthetic snow.

"Bartender! Another round!"

And we meander and wander and fall down and get back up.

Masterpiece of Brutality

2005-04-24T15:06:00.000-05:00

Last night at West End Cultural Centre, Greg MacPherson's CD release show. I coaxed Brett and Vanessa to join me but the show was sold out once we got there. I sold my ticket to some guy who needed one for his friend or something and we went to go see Sin City instead.

This movie is a bold masterpiece from film vet Robert Rodriguez, a guy who directs, shoots, edits, produces, rigs lighting, writes score music and apparently cooks meals for the cast. The film was shot on a slick budget of $40 million, a miniscule sum for the amount of special effects, computer work and star power that Sin City brings with it. Many modern action movies run on a budget twice as high, Famous Magazine reports, such as the latest Keanu Reeves demon-fest, Constantine which ran up a $100 million bill. "You're gonna come up with problems every day on your set," Rodriguez explains, "You can get rid of the problem one of two ways - you can do it creatively or you can wash it away with the money hose." Rodriguez is very creative.

And he won't take shit from anybody, either. He's directed everything from From Dusk Till Dawn to Desperado (of which he gave seven grand out of his own pocket to get rolling) to the Spy Kids movies. When he set out to create Sin City as a film he wanted to make them as close to Frank Miller's graphic comic novels as possible. I haven't read the books yet but apparently he pulled it off and he wanted to give Miller directing credits, something the Director's Guild of America wouldn't let him do. They only allow credit for one director (what about the Wachowski brothers or the Coen brothers?) so Rodriguez quit the Guild. The movie even features a powerfully morbid scene with Benicio Del Toro and Clive Owen directed by Quinten Tarantino.

My favourite section of the movie was the part with Mickey Rourke as Marv, a giant, ugly man who goes on a rampage to hunt down the killers of his new found lover. He wages war against the powers that be and uses every form of torture and killing at his disposal as he works his way to the top.

Sin City is a place run by crooked cops, mobsters and prostitutes, where vice triumphs over virtue and everybody has a rough history. The characters are otherworldy; giant heroes, assassins and mercenaries, sexual predators, cannibalistic serial killers, whores that could just as soon slice you open as give you a good time and creatures deformed by medical procedures and hardened by years of pills and addiction and killing. The world is brutally violent and the film is not for the queasy. Sin City is very much a concept project, something that's never been done before. Much of the acting was done in front of a green screen and you leave the theatre wondering if what you just watched was live action or animation. In any case, it is a magical visual experience, a brutal film noir brilliantly directed and featuring an extremely wide and powerful cast.

Oh yes. And Brittany Murphy's voice . . . .

Martin: "I will call a general election"

2005-04-22T13:35:00.000-05:00

It's rare for a Canadian Prime Minister to get in front of the cameras and speak directly to Canadians. The last time it happened it was 1995, Chretien was on the tube, and Quebec was on the verge of separating and forming its own country. Last night PM Paul Martin hit the television with a plea for more time to investigate the sponsorship scandal that will most likely cause the hegemony of the Liberal party to crash and burn. What came out of last night's television address was a mouthful of textbook PR from Martin including seemingly heartfelt apologies. He said he would like Canada to wait until all the facts have been put forward by the Gomery Inquiry and would call a general election within 30 days of the final statement. With the trial set to wrap up in December an election would be called sometime in January and Canadians would be heading to the polls most likely sometime in February 2006. So Martin wants more time to make himself look clean, an impossible task. He's head of a party that has been in power too long with too much ease. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Even if Martin's hands are clean of any involvement in the sponsorship scandal, he was still Minister of Finance when $100 million went missing. If not directly guilty then perhaps directly negligent.

The Gomery Inquisition

So Martin wants to call a general election next year, Harper wants to call a general election next week, Duceppe continues to be a general flake, Layton wants to cut a budget deal, and as of this morning, Chretien is sending his goons to shut down the Gomery Inquiry altogether. Just give it up already. Give us the truth, give us the vote, and clean house. Politics is corrupt and $100 million is a lot of money but in terms of GDPs and national budgets it's not all that much, and in the long run it's not going to ruin Canada. It may ruin the Liberal party however, something that all three opposition leaders were clear to point out. The scandal is clearly a Liberal problem, not a Canadian one.

Now I don't think Martin is a bad guy. I think he has ideas and he wants what is best for Canada but the truth is his party needs to be revamped. Cleaned out, overhauled, built up on a solid platform rather than the leftist-centralist- rightest-whateverist engine they've been running on since the early 1990s. But then . . . where's the gusto? Where's the passion, the charismatic excitement of the politicians of old? Matthew Good described the party statements as "Four cardboard cut outs address[ing] the nation, their words, spelled out on teleprompters, were like echoes . . . is this really the best we can do?" This is something I've been wrestling with for some time. Canada is a nation with so much potential and so much spirit, with people that love their country and love the world they live in and want to see what's best for it. Where are our leaders, our visionaries? Why is Canadian politics so goddamn stagnant all the time?

Yes, the Liberal party will probably fall, but what will it be replaced by? Frankly I'm scared of Stephen Harper. It's mostly his eyes, but also the fact that a Conservative leadership would be a complete jolt to Canadian politics, virtually killing all the social programs that have been propped up on government money for so long. I'm also not too keen on getting further into bed with the American Republicans. It wouldn't be any more handjobs under the covers, no, it would be fullout, gangbanging, videotaping neo-con action jackson. But I can't see Harper winning a majority government and there's no way the Liberals and the NDP are voting along with the Conservatives on much of anything. Parliament would fall and we be off to the polls again and it may jump back and forth like that for years. Maybe the Conservatives can run the tight ship that would put things back in place. Maybe not. As much as NDP is probably the party I associate with most, they're never going to win a national election and for good reason. NDP works great locally, provincially, but not on a national level. And again, I don't see any inspiration in Layton.

Perhaps a term out will give the Liberals time to clean up and clean out. Still, Canada needs a leader. Oh yeah, and proportional representation.

It Might Break Your Fall

2005-04-20T18:35:00.000-05:00

"Ever thought about jumping?" he asked me.

I didn't answer right away. I took a look across at the building next to ours, the midday sun glinting off the windows and birds circling. I looked down at the street fourteen stories below. "What? Like to kill myself?"

"Why are you always so negative?" he said, following my gaze down to the street and sat down on the ledge. "No, not to kill yourself. Just to jump."

Pondering this I sat down too, my legs dangling over, as I had done so many times before. A crisp wind blew through my hair and I clenched the sides, not scared of falling but not wanting to fall nonetheless. "The fall would kill you," I replied.

"I don't know. It's not that high."

(The concrete is like an eggshell. It's thin, but it might break your fall.)

I looked down again, cars were honking on the street. A bird swooped close by. "We're fourteen stories up."

"So?"

"So we're fourteen stories up."

"Think it would actually kill you?" he asked and leaned back.

"Probably."

The entire roof was covered in gravel. He picked up a stone and tossed it over the edge.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Testing."

"Testing what? You could hit somebody."

"What are the chances of that?" He tossed another rock.

"Fuck okay stop."

"Why?"

"It's stupid. You could hit a car or a person." We looked at each other. He shrugged. We took another peek over the edge and at first we didn't see it. But then, "Oh shit."

Now fourteen stories is high, but it's not that high. You can still easily make out what's going on below. A woman in a blue dress was lying on the sidewalk, not moving. Two men in suits were pointing up at us. One was talking into a cell phone. I saw their mouths moving but the wind carried away what they were yelling up at us. We ducked back behind the ledge and sat in the gravel.

"I feel sick," I said.

"Ever thought about jumping?" he asked again.

I didn't answer right away. Cars were honking on the street.

I love your blue eyes and your automatic weapons.

2005-04-19T16:38:00.001-05:00

The Speed of Sound
and the Hotel.

Weakerthans and Constantines Show

2005-04-17T04:00:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the Winnipeg music scene.
Last night, at Le Rendezvous, a venue that is going to be torn down in the coming weeks, more great Canadian music. Out of Ontario, The Constantines, and from Winnipeg, Inward Eye, Burnthe8track, and The Weakerthans. Inward Eye tore the roof down and The Constantines converted the skeptics. The Weakerthans always play a tight show at home.

Late afternoon, another day is nearly done. A darker gray is breaking through a lighter one. A thousand sharpened elbows in the underground. That hollow hurried sound of feet on polished floor, and in the Dollar Store the clerk is closing up, and counting Loonies, trying not to say, "I hate Winnipeg." The driver checks the mirror, seven minutes late. The crowded riders' restlessness enunciates that the Guess Who suck, the Jets were lousy anyway. The same route every day. And in the turning lane, someone's stalled again. He's talking to himself, and hears the price of gas repeat his phrase: "I hate Winnipeg." And up above us all, leaning into sky, our Golden Business Boy will watch the North End die, and sing "I love this town," then let his arcing wrecking ball proclaim, "I hate Winnipeg." -One Great City!, The Weakerthans

From Our Vantage Point

2005-04-13T02:59:00.000-05:00

Intricate hell
The city itself spanned the horizon, living, breathing, never sleeping. As the sky faded to orange, lights began to scatter themselves across the ground like the stars scatter the heavens and from our vantage point we could sit and watch it all. Somewhere in that intricate mess people were putting their kids to bed, sitting down to watch television and subjecting themselves to the humanity hole that is the internet. Somewhere in that intricate hell people were putting their fingers down on piano keys and guitar strings, putting pens to papers and putting dreams into ideas into actions. Somewhere in that intricate city people were killing each other, kissing each other, fucking each other. From our vantage point we could sit and watch it all.

Atoms and limbs
We didn’t see it coming, at least not initially. I don’t think anybody really did. Sure, there were the visionaries and the thinkers, those who spouted warning of empires collapsing, oceans loosing their salt and people jumping off the moon. But there was far too much excess haze and far too much going for us to allow anybody to really sit down and sort through the fog of crushed atoms and limbs and see what was bearing down on us like the Enola Gay. How could they? Could you?

A mental romance
After the first time we had slept together we had woken up to a bright morning and a fresh breeze softly pushing her bedroom blinds, tapping against the window. We had held each other and told ourselves that together we could take on the world and from that day on we never looked back. It was this aggressive, mental romance that landed us in that city and in that thirty-third floor apartment. It was a mutual craving for a cigarette and fresh air that put us out on our balcony that evening, surveying the expanse of buildings, rolling hills and valleys of structure, built up and built down and built in.

So many people scurrying
So many people talking on cell phones, buying things, driving from one place to the next, being and trying to look important. So many people scurrying. A society, devoid of heart, spinning in circles of profit and built to break people down into consumers from birth. Stock markets crashing and soaring, inventions and patents and pills that make you stronger, better looking, better fucking, better thinking. Self-image is immortalized on magazine covers and billboard advertisements, words and images designed to plug into your brain and grow like weeds. An entire generation as rodents and worker bees, hard working in their physical redundancy yet lazy in the head, content with allowing their thoughts to be controlled by discerning propaganda. A society at loss of heart.

Travelers
Somewhere, though, somewhere beneath the synthetic fluorescence, thrives something real, something jagged and painful and naturally beautiful. These people they tend to wander, not satisfied with sitting in the bloody mess they were born in for the rest of their lives. They tend to hit the road and meet new people, learning new languages and songs as they go, writing it all down, transcribing their thoughts onto paper and for some eventually into audio and visual ingenuity beyond the capacities of most. Many of these travelers don’t know each other directly, but indirectly they are connected through experience and art and a driving will to help and better their own people. These travelers understand that humanity is one race struggling to survive on the dazzlingly harsh planet given to them by the gods, rather than many peoples struggling against each other. They understand their roles as the protectors of their planet because even though the gods supplied them with it, it is up to them to keep it alive. These pockets of people exist everywhere, in every generation and in every walk of life, in coffee bars and basements around the world, writing words and music, and they are connected. This how we met and why I loved her and why she loved me. We were travelers both, thinkers, writers. We could take on the world together.

God himself was flicking switches
The sun had just escaped our view, dipping below the city line, when we felt the first rush of air, followed by a flash of light in the distance and a thunder that shook our building. We stood up and our hands touched, immediately grasping onto one another. Again, a rush of air, a flash, a rumbling, and then darkness. The city turned off in sections, you could hear it, everything electric shutting down as if God himself was flicking switches. Bells chimed and a harmonica played along in a love song in our heads and we held each other in our newfound darkness. The stars were accented now, against the black sky and the black earth, with no big city lights to drown them out, and they were falling on our city. From our vantage point we could sit and watch it all.

In the hands of the survivors
We sat back down and lit up another cigarette to share and watched our city be subjected to the wrath of the heavens. It was the end, we knew, there was no more fighting it. So many of us had believed that if we persisted, if we worked hard enough we could make a change and eventually it would break out into secular communities all over the world. Boy, were we ever naïve. Change we made, yes, and we did affect a great many of people, kids at home in their bedrooms, people we didn’t know, and also friends and family members. But what were fighting against was too well accepted as being good for humanity and what we were fighting for was not understood by humanity, although we would argue again and again that what we were fighting for was humanity itself. So we sat and watched, me and her, and a little percussion and a violin was added to our bells, the harmonica fading into a new chorus and verse. More heavenly bodies screamed out of the sky and slammed into our buildings and our city slowing was lit up again by fires. A building close to us was hit and we were covered in dust and debris. We headed back inside and watched through our reflections behind a closed window. One after the other, crashing, destroying, skyscrapers falling into the streets in roaring fire and rubble. Who would have known, who could have guessed? As our apartment ripped apart like a giant, broken zipper forced apart, we held each other and knew that somewhere out there, in the mass of confusion and wreckage, there would be survivors. In the hands of these survivors would be a responsibility to build a phoenix of a civilization, rising from the ashes of one that failed, and in the hands of these survivors is where we sit today.

Stars and Apostle Show

2005-04-12T18:25:00.000-05:00

Last night at the Pyramid, Apostle of Hustle and Stars, two Canadian bands who bring back some serious class to a generally classless genre known as pop rock. The sound sucked shit but the show was awesome. Met up with Brett, Trev and Manx and various other random people. Afterwards we hit a Perkins and I saw Lisa there and she was real giddy because apparantly she and her crew go to that Perkins all the time late at night after the bar and steal the objects that are glued to the shelves. She hawked a little horsie last night.

Music is the ultimate art medium, it reaches and affects the most people. Everybody can appreciate music in some way or another. Live music is the ultimate undermining of a society that is built to bring us down. Creativity, expression, art and music, will save us all.

Our bodies will burn in effigies of promise. I swear.

Axworthy on the Responsibility to Protect: 'It's no pancake'

2005-04-09T11:17:00.000-05:00

Notes from the 12th Annual Robson Lecture by Dr. Lloyd Axworthy
April 8, 2005, University of Winnipeg

When I walked into the room I was presented with a giant banner proclaiming World Peace Through World Law. To be honest, I didn't quite understand and I was skeptical over what was going to be fed to me over the next hour and a half. I grabbed a brochure from the World Federalist Movement and was soon asking myself why I'd never heard of this before and where was the catch. Am I a world federalist? Apparantly I am, on all accounts. From the brochure, my comments in brackets:

Are You a World Federalist?
You could be if you have three or more of the following signs and symptoms.

1. People just won't believe you when you tell them you're the moral and intellectual peer of Einstein, Socrates, Gandhi and Gorbachev, every one of them an advocate of world government. (Well, I wouldn't go that far.)

2. You're developing repetitive stress syndrome from wringing your hands as one genocide follows after another and the world stands uselessly by, wringing its hands. (I don't do much hand wringing, but I do kick things and chain smoke from time to time.)

3. Knowing that nations spend roughly fifteen times as much money on war and weapons as they do on relieving world poverty makes you want to fly to New York and a) pie the General Assembly, b) moon the General Assembly or c) both a and b. (Not so big on the mooning, don't really see it as being effective. Pieing seems to be pretty successful though, at least in terms of making a point.)

4. Police cars and traffic cops make you nervous, but the law of the jungle in the global village gives you panic attacks. (Law of the jungle? Law of the corporate executives . . .)

5. You feel compelled to put quotation marks around the world 'democracy'. You yearn for the day when strict limits on the influence of money and power will restore the D word to its former glory. (It's kind of a scary thought, complete control of the people . . . but yeah. Okay, yeah, giver'.)

6. You suffer from nightmares and feelings of impending doom, knowing that no one is minding the planetary store - except those who are looting it. (Daily.)

7. To see globalization hijacked by self-serving superpowers and corporations with budgets the size of Belgium gives you clinical case of road rage. (More like general rage. I don't drive all that often.)

8. You are a proud Canadian, but deep down inside dying to get out there is a frustrated world citizen. (Yes and yes.)

Alright, so they got my interest. I'd never heard Axworthy talk before but I generally knew who he was, Manitoba boy, former Minister of Foreign Affairs, current president of the University of Winnipeg and author of a recent scorching open letter to our southern friend, Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice. As he was introduced and began to give his lecture I began to realize that this man had done far more and been to more places than most men and I slipped into an overwhelming realization that Axworthy might as well be my personal role-model. Although, he did start off kind of dry, once he got into what he was trying to drive home you could really tell he was excited about what he had to say.

As an example to prove his case for how world governance is becoming an important reality, he talked about his recent trip to Ethiopia-Eritrea as leader of a United Nations envoy to assess the violence there. Eritrea is a nation that seperated from Ethiopia in 1992 and the two nations have been in a state of perpetual war ever since, both sides unwilling to give an ground on a heated border dispute. As a result, 18 million people in the region are now living below the poverty line (around $200 annual income). Canada, for example, send millions of dollars every year in aid to Ethiopia, yet nothing is done to resolve the border dispute, and without resolving the border dispute, nothing is going to every change for the people of Ethiopia-Eritrea. Axworthy proposed the question, What do borders matter, lines drawn in the sand, when so many people are suffering? Maybe we have to start looking beyond borders and nations look at the people.

Another example, something Axworthy called a 'wake-up call', was the recent tsunami disaster in East Asia. When the wave hit land it didn't discriminate between Indians, Thais, Somalis or the handful of Canadian, European and Americans who were visiting there. Borders don't matter and the global response to this disaster is just a small example of what is possible when people around the world decide something is a good cause to donate to. He mentioned that it is a good thing to acknowledge human suffering and let it haunt us, that forgetting is as bad as instigating.

One of the major terms Axworthy pushed was human security, looking at the wellbeing of individual peoples rather than nation-states. In the post-Cold War world this has become a large part of Canadian foreign policy, it's overall effectiveness something left to be debated. Axworthy argued that since the collapse of the Soviet Union there is no use for giant armies and nuclear arsenals, even though NATO still declares it's ultimate deterrent is the fact is carries a nuclear payload. Who are we deterring? he asked, What nuclear balance is there to keep? The Cold War is over. The real fear now is not a massive launch of Soviet nukes on American cities followed by a massive of launch of American nukes on Soviet cities, but rather the fact that security at rusting Soviet nuclear facilities has become lax and inconsistent. Should, for example, a terrorist group or rogue state use a nuclear weapon they're going to use it whether they scared of getting nuked back or not. Instead of building new weapons of mass destruction, we should be focussing all of our time and energy on securing and dismantling the old ones. Instead of increasing our military capacities to fight wars against nations we should reducing and honing our militaries for peacekeeping and peacemaking missions, interventions to go in and help people rather than bombing the complete shit out of country.

Axworthy talked about his time spent in Columbia where he met a little girl who was forced by the militia to shoot her friends and keep shooting them until she could do it without crying so that she could be a more efficient child soldier. And then, hitting closer to home, he talked about a young woman he met in East Vancouver who was being exploited as a prostitute by the same Columbian drug-cartel. Human security spans borders and continents and cultures. This isn't just a 'Third World' (I hate using that term) problem, rather something that affects everybody everywhere. Another term comes into play here, the responsibility to protect. When a government is uncapable or unwilling to stop the suffering of its own people, or if it the source of the suffering, then this serves as a trigger to the global community to intervene. It is the global responsibility to protect, something that has become feasible with the end of the Cold War, not by entering into a war with the nation but by intervening to stop the killing.

Axworthy proclaimed that we have been in a new world since the mid-1990s, a world where world government is inevitable, and it is up to us what kind of world it is going to become. He sees the university students and young people around the world as the transistional gap that is going to start this global change for the better and he sees the beginnings of a global public domain, a mixture of varied institutions that are restricting markets and limiting power for the good of the people, focussing on human security for the public good, powered by information age technology that we haven't even begun to fathom. In this incredible period of change, graduating university students are going to find themselves in an international job market and take this opportunity and use it for the global public good is, well, as he puts it, "It's no pancake."

Axworthy sees Canada and Canadian students as a hub for this surge of globalized thinking and as a national model for resolving domestic disputes peacefully and promoting peaceful resolutions around the world. Canada has the resources, people and skills to make a difference. He scoffs at those who see Canada as weak because it doesn't have a large armed forces, he says 'There is nothing more important than a new idea to change the world,' a world where borders and national fortresses have been broken down, where people are the focus of domestic and foreign policies, rather than nation-states and gross domestic products.

Some serious emo shit went down

2005-04-05T00:26:00.000-05:00

So here's why writing at night is so much better than writing during the day. At night, all your distractions are put away, it's just you and the blank page, your coffee, your music and all the creative energy you can muster. You see, there's these creative energies that floats around in the air like invisible dragonflies and during the day everybody else is awake and although everybody else is obviously not as smart or creative as you, their numb brains are still tapping into those energies. At night, everybody else, at least most of everybody else in your hemisphere, is asleep, their brains on stand-by for a couple hours, and you're left to wreck havoc on your empty page, ripping through that creative energy like it's your bitch. The graveyard writing shift, where you'll go back to something you wrote an hour earlier and I can't believe that you could have wrote that, where you'll find your Muse and your Maker and quite possibly become delusional. It's in the mid-morning hours, around 4 and 5am, that you really get to test your limits and see how far you can go, how many little dragonflies you can catch and put to work before your brain implodes into itself.

KATE says:
sport?

James says:
is that a question, or are you calling me sport

KATE says:
can I call you sport'?

James says:
cause if you're calling me Sport i'm blocking you right now

KATE says:
haha

KATE says:
can I call you chuck?

James says:
can I call you Chunky?

KATE says:
thats mean

KATE says:
time to sleepy pie

KATE says:
night night chunkster

James says:
good nite

James says:
hope the bed bugs bite you har

James says:
d

James says:
har-duh

KATE says:
I hope your hair falls out

James says:
me too

James says:
love hya

and then . . .

James says:
well it's true

Kristin... says:
oh I know

James says:
what business does a 75 year old man have needing to get an erection

Kristin... says:
its retarted

James says:
you're done man, past your time

Kristin... says:
lmao

Kristin... says:
oh my god lol

James says:
if you didn't have your fun by then it's too late. you fucked up.

Kristin... says:
lol

James says:
there's more important things

Kristin... says:
stop..I'm laughing so hard

James says:
haha

Kristin... says:
ahh god...funt imes

James says:
but seriously. they say they need more money to find cures to these chronic diseases. so what's the problem? give them the fucking money.

Kristin... says:
but oh yeah I mean if not one minute on the tv theres those pill commercial its pamela anderson and her hair blowing in the air ..liek I mean jesus fuck...

Kristin... says:
or Beyonce throwing herself all over the L'oreal shampoo

James says:
don't invade a country this year and cure a thousand diseases and save millions of lives instead

Kristin... says:
yes but for them its probably more easy to fidsn a cure for erectile dysfunction that stoppign war

James says:
'like i mean jesus fuck' . . . it's good to know i'm not the only one who says 'jesus fuck' like it makes sense

James says:
well boner pills make money

Kristin... says:
I say that all the time

Kristin... says:
lol

James says:
Viagra is the stock explosion of the century

Kristin... says:
yeah I get sassed alot my my mom for sayign those two words like that togetehr

T-54 hours
Morale: High
Sleep: Little
Coffee Intake: Low-Medium
Completion: Minimal

Ryan and Jordan and the 1990 Civic.

Coldplay, Globalized Music

2005-04-04T17:25:00.000-05:00

I've recently come the conclusion that Coldplay might be the best band on the planet. There's something about a band when you can watch their concert at home on DVD and feel the energy of the show in your living room.

There's something about a band when they throw away a hefty bonus and scrap the record label's deadline because they want to make better music. "Deadlines be damned," Chris Martin said in a recent interview with Inside Entertainment. "It was all to do with fiscal years and shareholders anyway. Once we forgot about the money we were free to push ourselves to the very limits and make the best album possible." He's talking about X & Y, due out in June.

There's something about a two album, two time Grammy-winning band who has decided that with power comes responsibility and uses its worldwide fame to promote global trade equity and human rights. "This isn't just about me and the band," Martin says, who at 19 spent a year in Zimbabwe, has been to Haiti to represent Oxfam and recently returned from Ghana, "Success doesn't mean anything if we can't survive on this planet."

Coldplay is music that makes me think predominantly of Europe and European cities but I believe it goes beyond that. Certain bands you can easily put in categories and label them American, Canadian, British; but to me Coldplay is music that belongs to the world, to everybody everywhere. Music is a scene that has seen it's fair share of ups and downs since it became such a driving force and it is an institution that is constantly evolving. For me, Coldplay is globalized music, full of feeling and hope for a future peaceful global community. Maybe I'm putting too much on the shoulders of just another Brit-rock band. Maybe not.

One of the best Canadian bands of this past year here.

So It Begins

2005-04-03T13:08:00.000-05:00

My Windows XP crashed for the first time today. This was a daily occurance with Windows 98, I think anybody who ever owned '98 can commiserate avec moi about those wretched blue screens, but I was honestly impressed with XP. Let us all hope for my sanity that this isn't the beginning of the downward spiral into Microsoft hell. That said, click here.

The Stills
Daily Dose of Imagery
Primer

The Man Who Touched Billions

2005-04-02T17:48:00.000-06:00

And we're all fugitives.

2005-04-02T16:41:00.000-06:00

Hiatus

2005-03-24T03:24:00.000-06:00

I'll leave you with this.

Somewhere there exists an underground community that exists through thought and word and art. They are a physical mass, yes, for they are beings, but a physical force they are not, rather a mental and perhaps spiritual collective, those who believe not in a store-bought way of living, but rather in art; rough, jagged and raw. They are musicians, writers, painters and thinkers. They deal with all mediums of art and mind and they manifest themselves from all walks of life. Together they form the backbone of mankind, together they persevere through the sleepless nights and the daily hardships that occur at both ends of the global capitalist spectrum, and together they will eat away at what is wrong with humanity just as what is wrong with humanity has eaten away at everything else.

Rabbits Running Races for Ritalin

2005-03-23T22:35:00.000-06:00

Nothing is what it is anymore. Plans dissolve, thoughts become dreams become extensions of reality and a handshake that never happened is remembered. There is a constant blurry hum and every now and then a transmission is sent, crackling over the radical radio station politico in my basement which doubles as a bomb shelter, picked up by the aluminum attenae lodged in my shoulders. This is how I know what's going on. The invasion will begin in a few weeks and the flood will come without warning and without remorse. Still thinking about buying that summer boat for the lake? Do it, man, the sooner the better.

Tea and A Turtle

2005-03-23T01:46:00.000-06:00

Tea and A Turtle
A Story About Mad Cow

The following events have been blamed on society.

Somewhere off of the coast of Newfoundland bobs a synthetic island, a tiny man-made floating fortress held together by coat hangers and constructed of old bicycle tires and computer monitors. The man who built and lives on this island, G. Proper, is not your ordinary man. G. Proper has mad cow disease.

To understand G. Proper's lot in life, we will first need to go back a couple years. G. Proper grew up in Steinbach, Manitoba, a town nowhere near his current location. Steinbach is a crooked town really, a town that instead of convenience stores has a church on every street corner, a town gripped by religion but yet is cemented in the auto sale industry, the very bane of human existence. Condemnation is widespread and guilt is an everyday event in this fortified pillar of organized religion where everybody is a carsalesman from Monday to Saturday and a preacher on Sunday.

Now, G. Proper did not enjoy his town of birth. He dreamed of grander cities and grander people. As soon as he was old enough he did all he could to propel himself as far away from Steinbach as possible. This reckless, youthful urgency for escape and adventure was what would destroy him in the end.

The day after high school ended G. Proper stole a car. This was not like him, he had never stolen anything in his life. It was something, however, that he felt he needed to do. Something exciting to kickstart his adventure. The car belonged to his next door neighbor.

To be continued.

Film Update 03.22.05

2005-03-22T19:52:00.000-06:00

Just finished watching Following, a Hitchcock-style noir from director Christopher Nolan, the guy behind Memento. It's his debut feature film that opened strongly at a number of film festivals and harbors some of the directing and writing style that made Memento the stunning success that it is. It's about a guy who likes to follow people. One day it turns out the guy he's following is actually a professional burglar and together they start breaking into people's apartments but we soon begin to realize things aren't quite as they seem. The movie jumps back and forth chronologically, but not nearly to the extent Nolan does in Memento, and the black and white gives the film real character.

Also, Finding Neverland. Just incredible, a drama that will blow you out of the water, especially for anybody who enjoys writing or wants to be a writer. Johnny Depp has proven once again that he is one of the best actors alive.

. . . continued

2005-03-22T19:41:00.000-06:00

I'm in Safeway and Gus is there, which makes sense because he works there, and Emac is there, which doesn't make sense because he's in Ottawa. Maybe he's home visiting. We walk to the back of the store where the employees are all riding shopping carts and bumping into things but when they hit the shelves there isn't a loud crash or anything, it's like they bounce off softly and keep on going. There is circus music playing and in the middle of it all is an old man with a top hat bouncing to the music and singing about "Coupon clippings from the newspaper going round and round". I realize it's an advertisement for Safeway; happy music, happy employees and a happy old man singing about Safeway coupons I can clip out of the paper . . .

I'm at a party and it's in a basement. There is a fire in the middle of the floor but it is controlled, like a campfire. The people I am with look like they're from Afghanistan and we dance around the fire and hit each other. A little boy gets a nosebleed and the Afghani men shake their shoulders a little bit. Then an older boy shows us a gash in his arm that is bleeding quite a bit. The men shake their shoulders even more this time. I understand that the more blood there is the more we have to shake our shoulders. We continue dancing and hitting each other . . .

Insomnesia

2005-03-21T14:41:00.000-06:00

I couldn't sleep again last night and the two or three hours I did manage to doze off were filled with dreams that were so vivid and generally fucked up that I don't think those hours should even count as sleep anyway.

I'm at work and a lock is jammed in one of the movie cases. This happens from time to time when the case isn't closed all the way and the lock is forced in by whoever this stupid person is who keeps doing it. Sometimes I just end up breaking the case open to get the DVD out. This time, for whatever reason, there is a gun on the manager's desk and I decide to use it to shoot the lock off. I hold the movie case in front of me and aim the gun at the lock, which is also right at myself, and when I pull the trigger the bullet goes right through and hits me in the forehead.

I don't feel any pain, I just get that extremely nauseous feeling you get when you know you're body is in a lot of trouble. When you get hurt badly the first thing you think of is what you can do right at that instant to help yourself and your next actions become completely objective. Who should I call? 911? Do I need to go to a hospital? Should I clean this? Will it get infected? These questions race around the bullet that is lodged in my head and I come to the conclusion: I just shot myself in the head. There's not much that can be done here. This is it, I'm actually dying.

So I sit down.

My vision isn't gone but all the colors for everything are wrong. Everything goes black and white. Now it's back to the off colors and they change and shift. Sean comes over to me and says the phone is for me and then realizes that I'm not okay. There is no blood but he sees that I shot myself in the head. He starts yelling for help and starts to dial 911. I tell him it's okay, that I'm almost done anyway. I feel like throwing up.

A deeper hole

2005-03-20T18:04:00.000-06:00

It wasn't like we really wanted him to fall, it just sort of happened. It was Hailey's idea to bury the body, though. It was also her idea that three feet was deep enough. Damn it all, Hailey, the next time we bury a body we dig a deeper hole.

Film Update March 20

2005-03-20T17:23:00.000-06:00

So Constantine was pretty good. Keanu didn't really have to act, so that worked out well, although I can't really take him as a tough guy. It was alright in The Matrix because he didn't start off as a tough guy; he was the biggest computer nerd on the block. In this movie he walks around smashing demon skulls and lighting up a new cigarette in every scene. Anyway, the story is more or less good and the computer work and special effects are bang on. I found the way they portrayed heaven/hell/demons/angels was really cool. Good action.

One movie I have to recommened though is The Final Cut with Robin Williams and Jim Caviezel, on DVD this Tuesday. Robin Williams in a drama movie is always a little creepy (One Hour Photo?) and this movie is no exception. It's a sci-fi based in the near future where a chip has been invented that you plant in your child's head when they're born which keeps a video record of that person's entire life, through the eyes of that person. Once the person dies a 'cutter' takes the person's life and takes out pieces of the person's life and put together a video for a 'rememory'. Robin Williams plays the part of one of these cutters. Of course this procedure is highly controversial. For instance, if a person knows he/she has one of these implants then they will live their life differently than if they didn't know they had one. They make different choices. Which can be for the better if the person is motivated to make good choices but in the end it ends up controlling a person's life. It was an interesting look at something that hasn't really been discussed before but something along the lines of what's going to begin occurring sooner rather than later. Reality television is only the beginning.

Chechnya: Open Wound

2005-03-18T19:56:00.000-06:00

Click on the image for a series of photographs from Chechnya by photographer Stanley Greene .

Seriously

2005-03-18T19:22:00.000-06:00

The last few days have been a blur.

I took Tabitha's shift yesterday because it was St. Patrick's Day and because she's a wannabe alcoholic, as opposed to myself who is a real alcoholic. I just drink before I go to work.

No, guys, I'm just kidding.

Seriously.

It was a good shift. It's pretty sad what I think is a good shift. I got to get away from the customers and install a set of new computer monitors. Then when I was changing the reader board outside a woman slipped on the ice and fell across the street. I didn't see her fall, but I heard her screaming. I'm pretty sure if I had seen her fall I would have been laughing so it's probably good I didn't see her fall. Seeing people slip and fall is quite possibly one of the funniest things in the world. I went over to her. She claimed she had broken her leg and I'm fairly sure she had; it was bent in a way a leg is not supposed to be bent and it was flopping around. Not exactly a pretty sight. She refused to let me call an ambulance and used my cell phone to call her friend to come and pick her up and take her to the hospital. When her friend arrived she was like "Why the hell didn't you call an ambulance?" I just shrugged and went back to work.

Listening to Audioslave's new single . . .
Walter: What's that noise?
James: It's awesome.
Walter: It's stupid.
James: You're stupid.

Social Engineering
Social engineering uses influence and persuasion to deceive people by convincing them that the social engineer is someone he is not, or by manipulation. As a result, the social engineer is able to take advantage of people to obtain information with or without the use of technology.
From The Art of Deception by Kevin Mitnick

Audio
Iron and Wine
Woman King

Late Night, Early Morning: Round Two

2005-03-17T07:55:00.000-06:00

Our hero has had a spiritual experience. He hears noises and voices around him, he shivers but he is sweating through his shirt. "Come, gather your friends and get your guns," he says, "We're havin' a good ol' fashioned shoot 'em up at the supermarket." And off he goes, skipping into the sunrise, declaring himself god of the humans.

Late Night, Early Morning

2005-03-16T06:13:00.000-06:00

After a long and arduous night, having accomplished nothing except determining for certain that midnight oil should be used only for burning and most definitely not for drinking, our hero admits defeat and retires.

I am Jack's unfinished essay

2005-03-15T19:26:00.000-06:00

Right. So it's essay night again. Essay Night is more or less an event around these parts. I don't believe I've ever written a paper before the night before said paper is due, most times I end up finishing at around 5 or 6 in the morning and just heading straight to school. The process usually begins with about eight hours of channeling vital productivity into anything but writing, and today was no exception. Skipping Sociology, I came home early. I proceeded to watch a movie, go through my old CDs and rearrange the posters on my walls. See, the way I figure, last semester I had two papers due on the same morning and I left them both til the last night. One was seven pages and the other was twelve. I was up for a ridiculous amount of hours and finished the last one at around 10:30 the next morning. They were, as far as I'm concerned, two of the worst papers I've ever written and I got a B on both of them. The one tonight is a topic I think I can easily handle and it's only got to top out at around eight pages, should be a breeze. Once I start writing the night becomes a blur enhanced by a careful mixture of caffeine and alcohol, usually rum and coke. Tonight I'm going to have alternate between wine and coffee. Why wouldn't I just have worked on it this afternoon and be done by sometime this evening and be able to go to sleep for the night? I don't know, I have a disease. This is just how I operate.

"I say never be complete. I say stop being perfect. I say let's evolve. Let the chips fall where they may."
-Tyler Durden

I shouldn't be allowed to watch Fight Club. Whenever I watch it I feel like blowing up local McDonald's restaurants and fighting random people. I really enjoy the last scene in the movie where the buildings collapse and the Pixies are playing in the background. Genius.

Audio
The Pixies
Where Is My Mind?

Thanks, Norm

2005-03-14T19:50:00.000-06:00

I watched The Yes Men the other day. It's about these two anti-globalization activists who got the web domain www.gatt.org and created a mock World Trade Organization site (the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade was the initial WTO) that looks nearly identical to the real one, except the information is completely different. They began receiving e-mails asking for representatives from the WTO to come and give talks at conferences around the world. They decided to accept some of these requests. It's quite amazing what they're able to pull off as they do their conferences and live television interviews as WTO representatives. The film itself doesn't have much information on world trade or the anti-globalization movement so it's kind of good to go into the movie knowing a little bit about what's going on.

I also watched Alfie over the weekend. It wasn't bad and Jude Law is a spectacular actor. Now when I say this I say this (and I'm stealing this line from Seinfeld, you know the one where Jerry gets the suede jacket with the pink pinstripe lining) I say it with an impeccable track record of staunch heterosexuality. Jude Law looks really good in this movie. He's got great hair.

I got a distant picture of Norman today. Norman works at the library and keeps phoning my house to tell me that my books are overdue. This is where Norman sits for much of the day, phoning students' houses and telling them to please bring back their library books. If it wasn't for Norman, the library wouldn't have any books at all, actually. He holds the place together. Thanks, Norm.

Audio
Mates of State
Leave Me At the Tree

America's Real Action Heroes

2005-03-14T01:27:00.000-06:00

Jordan sent me a link to this.

I kinda want the Rumsfeld one.

Audio
Broken Social Scene
I'm Still Your Fag

Axworthy Article Hits Web

2005-03-13T16:04:00.000-06:00

It appears an open letter written to Condoleezza Rice by former Canadian Foreign Minister and current University of Winnipeg President Lloyd Axworthy and printed in the Winnipeg Free Press on March 3 has been getting a lot of internet buzz and has been reprinted all over the net, including at Truthout.org, among others. Here it is again:

Dear Condi,

I'm glad you've decided to get over your fit of pique and venture north to visit your closest neighbour. It's a chance to learn a thing or two. Maybe more.

I know it seems improbable to your divinely guided master in the White House that mere mortals might disagree with participating in a missile-defence system that has failed in its last three tests, even though the tests themselves were carefully rigged to show results.

But, gosh, we folks above the 49th parallel are somewhat cautious types who can't quite see laying down billions of dollars in a three-dud poker game.

As our erstwhile Prairie-born and bred (and therefore prudent) finance minister pointed out in presenting his recent budget, we've had eight years of balanced or surplus financial accounts. If we're going to spend money, Mr. Goodale added, it will be on day-care and health programs, and even on more foreign aid and improved defence.

Sure, that doesn't match the gargantuan, multi-billion-dollar deficits that your government blithely runs up fighting a "liberation war" in Iraq, laying out more than half of all weapons expenditures in the world, and giving massive tax breaks to the top one per cent of your population while cutting food programs for poor children.

Just chalk that up to a different sense of priorities about what a national government's role should be when there isn't a prevailing mood of manifest destiny.

Coming to Ottawa might also expose you to a parliamentary system that has a thing called question period every day, where those in the executive are held accountable by an opposition for their actions, and where demands for public debate on important topics such as missile defence can be made openly.

You might also notice that it's a system in which the governing party's caucus members are not afraid to tell their leader that their constituents don't want to follow the ideological, perhaps teleological, fantasies of Canada's continental co-inhabitant. And that this leader actually listens to such representations.

Your boss did not avail himself of a similar opportunity to visit our House of Commons during his visit, fearing, it seems, that there might be some signs of dissent. He preferred to issue his diktat on missile defence in front of a highly controlled, pre-selected audience.

Such control-freak antics may work in the virtual one-party state that now prevails in Washington. But in Canada we have a residual belief that politicians should be subject to a few checks and balances, an idea that your country once espoused before the days of empire.

If you want to have us consider your proposals and positions, present them in a proper way, through serious discussion across the table in our cabinet room, as your previous president did when he visited Ottawa. And don't embarrass our prime minister by lobbing a verbal missile at him while he sits on a public stage, with no chance to respond.

Now, I understand that there may have been some miscalculations in Washington based on faulty advice from your resident governor of the "northern territories," Ambassador Cellucci. But you should know by now that he hasn't really won the hearts and minds of most Canadians through his attempts to browbeat and command our allegiance to U.S. policies.

Sadly, Mr. Cellucci has been far too closeted with exclusive groups of 'experts' from Calgary think-tanks and neo-con lobbyists at cross-border conferences to remotely grasp a cross-section of Canadian attitudes (nor American ones, for that matter).

I invite you to expand the narrow perspective that seems to inform your opinions of Canada by ranging far wider in your reach of contacts and discussions. You would find that what is rising in Canada is not so much anti-Americanism, as claimed by your and our right-wing commentators, but fundamental disagreements with certain policies of your government. You would see that rather than just reacting to events by drawing on old conventional wisdoms, many Canadians are trying to think our way through to some ideas that can be helpful in building a more secure world.

These Canadians believe that security can be achieved through well-modulated efforts to protect the rights of people, not just nation-states.

To encourage and advance international co-operation on managing the risk of climate change, they believe that we need agreements like Kyoto.

To protect people against international crimes like genocide and ethnic cleansing, they support new institutions like the International Criminal Court -- which, by the way, you might strongly consider using to hold accountable those committing atrocities today in Darfur, Sudan.

And these Canadians believe that the United Nations should indeed be reformed -- beginning with an agreement to get rid of the veto held by the major powers over humanitarian interventions to stop violence and predatory practices.

On this score, you might want to explore the concept of the 'Responsibility to Protect' while you're in Ottawa. It's a Canadian idea born out of the recent experience of Kosovo and informed by the many horrific examples of inhumanity over the last half-century. Many Canadians feel it has a lot more relevance to providing real human security in the world than missile defence ever will.

This is not just some quirky notion concocted in our long winter nights, by the way. It seems to have appeal for many in your own country, if not the editorialists at the Wall Street Journal or Rush Limbaugh. As I discovered recently while giving a series of lectures in southern California, there is keen interest in how the U.S. can offer real leadership in managing global challenges of disease, natural calamities and conflict, other than by military means.

There is also a very strong awareness on both sides of the border of how vital Canada is to the U.S. as a partner in North America. We supply copious amounts of oil and natural gas to your country, our respective trade is the world's largest in volume, and we are increasingly bound together by common concerns over depletion of resources, especially very scarce fresh water.

Why not discuss these issues with Canadians who understand them, and seek out ways to better cooperate in areas where we agree -- and agree to respect each other's views when we disagree.

Above all, ignore the Cassandras who deride the state of our relations because of one missile-defence decision. Accept that, as a friend on your border, we will offer a different, independent point of view. And that there are times when truth must speak to power.

In friendship,
Lloyd Axworthy

Coffeeshops, Genocide, Porn and Homeless People

2005-03-13T11:44:00.000-06:00

DC Day 3 Feb. 23
. . . slept for most of the day today but I'm feeling a little better. Took a walk to Dupont Circle and spent some time in bookstores and coffeeshops, not really feeling like hitting any of the major tourist spots . . .

One place I have to recommend is Kramerbooks & Afterwards, a bookstore/bar/restaurant on Connecticut NW. It's not the largest bookstore, but it's got great selection and the place is just loaded with conversation and interesting people. Really great politics/current events section.

That night, feeling subdued but not like going home early, I caught a couple movies. First I saw the movie Laura and I wanted to see the other night, Hotel Rwanda, which you should go see right now if you haven't yet. The film is incredibly powerful without being excessively violent, saving it from an R rating and making it more available, but that's not to say some of scenes won't make your stomach turn. Don Cheadle gives an amazing performance, well deserving of that Oscar nomination.
1994 Rwandan Genocide

The next movie I saw was Inside Deepthroat, the early 70s $25 000 flick about a woman with her clitoris in her throat, that took America by storm, grossing $600 million, and single-handedly spearheaded the explosion of the porn industry before even VCRs were around (video cassette recorders became available to households in 1976). Was interesting, but not overly exciting.

Walking home from the theatre I met a homeless man named Mick. He mentioned my height and was talking about his days in high school when he used to run track. He didn't smell like booze and seemed well enough, just lonely, so I offered to buy him a cup of coffee and sit and talk a while. We walked around for a bit but nothing open since it was already passed midnight. We ended up sitting on a low windowsill and talked for over an hour. Mick had grown up in DC and, as a black guy in the 70s, only had a few options open to him, which included either dealing drugs or stealing, both of which he wasn't really into. So he joined the army, where he did quite well, but was never given the chance to advance since he was black. He hated the army since it more like a jailhouse than anything else, its ranks full of murderers, rapists and thieves. He dropped out at 22 and came back to DC. This is where he kinda lost me but somewhere in there he a had son, who now is at college in South Carolina and to whom Mick sends his veteran's check every month, began having nightmares about the military and hurt is foot. He showed the screw sticking out of his ankle where they had bolted it back together and for the rest of our talk I kept glancing at it. He talked about the shelter and how he didn't like it because of all of the drunks who tended to fall asleep on his bad ankle. Mick seemed to be smart guy, he spoke intelligently and he understood that people like him have a bad rep and admitted that there were some homeless people in the city with major drug and alcohol problems. He never asked for money but I gave him ten dollars when we parted and wished him a good evening. He thanked me several times and talked excitedly about going to buy a soda. Feeling guilty about it as I was doing it, I watched him from half a block away. He walked past a liquor store that was still open and into a convenience store, to buy his soda, I guess. Ten bucks was worth the chat, anyway. I walked back to the apartment.

It snowed that night. A lot.

Audio
Matthew Good Band
The Fine Art of Falling Apart

I Hope You Choke On This.

2005-03-13T00:56:00.000-06:00

Hack Philosophy 1.0

2005-03-12T02:37:00.000-06:00

What drives some people? What is it that drives a person to not become part of the suburbanite riff raff and make something of himself? Maybe we need to stop looking at the finished product and go back to what builds up such a person to affect so many people. Some people are just in a certain place at a certain time and are thrust into it, but others aspire for such positions. Perhaps it starts at an interpersonal level.

Not every person can be the romantic revolutionary activist or charismatic leader of a nation, not every person is built for it. Some are made to lead, other to follow; some are made to inspire, others are made to be inspired. Yet everyone is equal, the Leader should be of the people not above the people, he should be humble and fair. Where something like this finds its origin is in human interaction, in the smallest niches of everyday life.

I think you're really getting somewhere when you start questioning the meaning of life. Some people never really get there, others spend their whole lives thinking and debating the age old question, "Why are we here?" (In Manitoba many often add "And how can we leave?"). At my young age and with my limited experience of the world and its inhabitants, I try and not and think about that question too much or too often, otherwise I get depressed and confused and downright miserable. I start drinking in the middle of the day and chain smoking and instead of coming to any kind of positive conclusion, I acquire violent thoughts and violent hangovers. This is the conclusion that my feeble brain has conjured:

1) Life is about relationships. It's about affecting the people around you in a positive way and we should take every opportunity to apply this policy.
2) Life is about balance. Nothing in excess.

When I look at things this way I can break situations down and make things more simple. Yes, it involves sacrifice, but where would the world be without sacrifice. "Affecting the people around you in a positive way" is something that can be utilized by absolutely everybody, from the president of a country to a corporate manager to the guy working at the fast food place to the janitor working in your local high school. If you can help the people around you, make them feel good, teach them something, learn something from them, show them that you care, and yes, love. The word that causes so many to go silent. You have to be able to love. Love your fellow man and realize that we are the human race, not several races competing against one another. We are surviving together on this life-giving rock and really, we're not doing a good job of it.

I've come to believe that happiness lies in two things, balance and simplicity. Some people have to balance more things than others, making it harder. I've used a couple different analogies before, but I like the Life As War view the best (maybe drawing on my Risk-playing days), where every area of life is its own seperate battleground that you deploy troops to. As you grow older and gain experience you gain more troops but you also gain more battlegrounds. When you're young, you have relatively few soldiers and few battlegrounds. It doesn't really matter. As you progress through junior high and high school you acquire more responsibilities (more battlegrounds) and you have to keep up with troop deployment or else you're going to start loosing ground (you start getting stressed). For example, a high school student's Life Warzone could have fronts, or campaigns, such as a sports team, school, family, friends, job. Within each one of these campaigns are different battlegrounds, furthering the diversity of troop deployment and furthering the complexity of the situation. Sometimes troops need to be pulled out of one area and put in another. This is where balance comes in. It's always a struggle to keep the teeter-totter in balance, especially when it's a multi-pronged teeter-totter. Not only do you have to worry about the aparatus shifting from say South to North, you also have to worry about East, West, South-West, North-West, South-East, North-East, South-Southwest, South-Southeast, and so on. The more battle campaigns you have, to more difficult it is to keep them in check. Sometimes you have to abandon certains campaigns altogether just to keep other more important ones up and running. Breaking up with that girlfriend to save your old friendships and your grades. Dropping physics class to focus on other courses and basketball. This analogy can get very complicated very fast, as you can see, but I can't see it any other way. Life is complicated but the more simple we try and make it the easier it is to keep in balance. Sometimes we open up campaigns that aren't even worthwhile, but we go through with them otherwise. Another analogy I've thought of before involves an actual physical balance and grains of sand. Like the teeter-totter, it's not two sided, but multi-sided, and each side holds grains of sand. This visual is a more 'scholarly' I guess, but I like my little war scenario better.

Another question one might ask is "How does one attain such a level without becoming, or being seen, as a self-righteous asshole?" As for becoming, that's up to the person. It's a personal matter which again boils down to the 'L' word. Do you actually love? As for being seen, it all comes across in the presentation. Some people will label you as such no matter what you're intentions, but I think that's in large part because they don't know how to handle someone like that.

I don't know where I'm going with this anymore.

And here we are

2005-03-10T22:42:00.000-06:00

And we've hit rock bottom and this is where we belong. Welcome to something and somewhere and anywhere is where we belong tonight. It's not something that comes lightly and it's not something that's going to leave. It's not a mob in the street, although it very well could be one day, but not today, no . . . today it's in the heart and in the head and today is where we stand. And here we are.

Randomness

2005-03-09T23:35:00.000-06:00

From CNN, the day that Martha got out:

WOLF BLITZER: Up first this hour, Martha Stewart, ex-con. Having paid her debt to society, the hyper-successful entrepreneur bids adieu to a federal prison. And by all indications, she's poised to resume her stellar business career. [...] Mary, set the stage for us. Tell us what has happened since she arrived there.

MARY SNOW, CNN CORRESPONDENT: Well, Wolf, she's certainly getting her first taste of freedom after spending five months in prison. Earlier this morning, she came out. She's certainly not shying away from the cameras.

She told reporters that she's feeling fine, that she's feeling great. And she even offered reporters and photographers camped outside of her house some coffee and doughnuts. And she also shared a story about not having cappuccino in prison.

(BEGIN VIDEO CLIP)

MARTHA STEWART, MARTHA STEWART LIVING OMNIMEDIA: And this is a funny. All (UNINTELLIGIBLE) asked the guards every day for a cappuccino. You know, just as a joke. And they'd come in with their cups of coffee and stuff.

And so I get here, and I have a spot for a cappuccino machine. And it didn't work. So I don't have any cappuccino.

MALE REPORTER: She doesn't have any cappuccino.

FEMALE REPORTER: Want me to get you one?

STEWART: No.

MALE REPORTER: She doesn't have any cappuccino. The cappuccino machine does not work.

(END VIDEO CLIP)

House of Smoke and Mirrors by Matthew Good
I think I've listened to this song ten or twelve times in a row now.

There's the house
There's the doorway
Been locked out
The lights are out anyway
And loosely reconditioned
To be just so refined
A last grasp at the life worth living
In these standard shoes and what's left of my lines
You can see right through me

Hey
I've been thinking
Why don't we get out of here tonight?
Get in the care and just start driving
Fuck them if they can't take a joke
Right?

I've fallen asleep again
And when I wake up you won't be here
Don't you think I don't know?
I've been asleep for years

You can see right through me

Conversation with Jordan
Jordan says:
heh, yeah i tried calling you after i met joanne and amanda

James says:
ahhh i see

James says:
yeah i slept in and then planned to do work and didn't do any.

James says:
wasted my day and now i feel like crap

Jordan says:
i know the feeling

James says:
but it's okay. i'll shoot myself later. too lazy right now.

Conversation with Aaron
Who is in China right now.

James says:
is internet use restricted in China at all?

Aaron says:
yes

Aaron says:
i tried to go to the government of taiwans website and then the internet logged off and didnt get back online

Aaron says:
and it has done that to be before

Aaron says:
but only whenb i try to access informayion on china

Aaron says:
like chinese news sites

Aaron says:
and the bbc

James says:
wow. that's impressive.

James says:
can you get any news?

Aaron says:
ya just about anything

Aaron says:
but things about china are sketchy

Aaron says:
and they started to monitor the internet here a lot

Aaron says:
its really sensored

James says:
how many languages are spoken in China? Chinese and Mandarin?

Aaron says:
chinese isnt a language

Aaron says:
it is a group

James says:
good to know

Aaron says:
mandarin is "standard chinese" used in the government, businesses and stuff, spoken natively in beijing, and where i am, but the rest of the country is like a patchwork of dilects that cant understand eachother

Aaron says:
cantonese is spoken in the guangdong province and hong kong

Aaron says:
90% of chinese people in canada are cantonese

Aaron says:
so maybe you have never heard standard chinese

James says:
it's possible, i guess.

James says:
so if i was to learn 'chinese', i should learn mandarin or cantonese? what would be more useful.

Aaron says:
if you want it for government/education/business, deffinately mandarine, but if you want to communicate with chinese people in canada, cantonese

James says:
how different are they?

Aaron says:
they cant understand eachother at all

Aaron says:
like english and french

Aaron says:
but all chinese has the same writing system

James says:
like french and english have the same writing system

Aaron says:
well no

Aaron says:
like french and english are both romantic languages so lots of stuff are similar, but even cognates have different accents

Aaron says:
but in chinese all the characters are the same no matter what dilect

James says:
oh

Aaron says:
but then again there is traditional chinese, and simplified chinese, and they might use traditional around hong kong

Aaron says:
but i dont think thats directly realtyed to cantonese

James says:
so the same character means then same thing in cantonese and mandarin?

Aaron says:
yes

James says:
but it's said differently?

Aaron says:
but i think in hongkong and maybe taiwan they use characters that are a bit different

James says:
or, spoken differently?

Aaron says:
different accent

Aaron says:
so different that they cant understand eachother

Aaron says:
like another language

James says:
okay, now i'm starting to get it

Aaron says:
i am sure there is something on the internet that can explain it better than me

Aaron says:
i am going to mcdonalds

Aaron says:
talk to you later

And
And that's it. I'm done here. Thanks for listening.