Music Sleuth, I

Of late, a little investigation reveals something so shocking to me: the line-up at Arts County Fair this year includes the Weakerthans and the New Pornographers.

Simply look at this, and then at this, and say it ain't so.

Arts County Fair is a cheesily-named end-of-the-year concert/fiasco at the University of British Columbia. It's the kind of event which involves drinking in the morning, strategic dressing (hot in the day, freaking cold by the nighttime, when you are sweaty from the mosh and covered with mud), and careful plans on how to smuggle the weed in. Once in, you concentrated on not shattering your plastic ACF beer mug, endlessly trying to locate your friends in the giant sprawl of folks, and watching your stoned friends not so suavely steal bites of the hot dogs of complete strangers. A plastic fence halfway down the field seperated the drinkers from the non-drinkers and its periodical seiges by the 18-year-olds after beer and closer proximity to the stage was always an exciting spectator sport.

So, in essence, what I am saying is the music line-up doesn't really matter. The years I attended this event, bands like Moist, The Tea Party, and Big Sugar didn't enhance my enjoyment of the day, but they didn't necessarily squash it into the mud either. 54-40 plays this gig a lot, and we can all get a little enjoyment out of swaying in a mosh and yelling about how we-eee-eee-eee got an ocean pearl, especially when we don't have class the next day.

But what the eff? How come the UBC Arts Undergrad Society waits until now to book the people who sing the anthems of my discontent circa 2002? They were younger, cheaper and more angry then, and so was I, and churning the stadium into mud to the chords of Watermark would have meant so much more.

L.A. Street Q and A

Q: In conversation with your friend, is it permissable to walk past whitey on the sidewalk whilst refering to a fourth party (not present) as "crackerjack"? (NB: this is on the campus of a prestigious and supposedly cultured university)
A: Apparently.

Q: Gosh, someone's waving a giant flag over there. Who is it?
A: It's a man with wraparound Oaklies and a moustache dressed up as the Statue of Liberty and handing out leaflets for a tax agency. He is enacting his constitutional right to take a humilating job in exchange for minimum wage. Thank god the commies lost. That giant foam crown of green spires looks uncomfortable.

Q: Is there an ideal time to tag prominent roadsigns suspended over six lanes of very fast moving traffic?
A: 1:27 pm on a sunny Tuesday while your friend hands you the cans of paint.

In Other News

As Janey and Doretta could tell you, I'm a little obsessed with the news sometimes. Lately, the most interesting and rewarding new stories for me are in the science and health sections. This is my favourite story of late.

For me, the payoff to this is the last paragraph.

And here, Georgie Orwell would be proud.

The Guardian, apart from the obvious satisfaction re: the Brit historian who got three years of jail for denying the holocaust, is good for British nudity and squabbles over which fabulous art gallery is more/less fabulous: MoMA, Tate Modern (p.s.: A: BOTH of them, you twits). Also Mr. Gervais laughing out of your speakers.

And please, please, please, don't miss this. Especially the pictures.

This past summer, I worked in a TV newsroom for about 8 seconds. I got to listen to the police scanner for news of dead bodies and motorcycles, condense copy from one broadcast to the next and for a few thrilling moments, actually write stuff (something about the Queen and something else about Trudeau being in hospital) that then got read on the air. I think that will be the end of my journalism career, but I will continue to be a journalism hobbyist for, at this rate, a while.

John Fowles

Sometimes foxhunter-ish to an overwhelming degree, yet John Fowles writes himself into certain kinds of reverie that are why I read books. (See: The Tree)

The Journal (exerpt)

Liquid Satisfaction

Okay folks, here's where we all get to feel happy.

Go HERE, click on "portfolio" and check out some of the before and afters.

This is how celebrity close up stills look like they've just been hatched out of nourishing amniotic fluid and then posed to take this photo: eyewhites white, skin supple, lips that have never said a word. I know we all always already know that this shit is retouched, but it's fun to see it action, non?

LoveTSucks

When I lived in Japan, purikura (aka Print Club)was all the rage. 300 yen in one of these:


got you a set of fifteen photo stickers of you and your friends (unless you want to get a purikura of just you, but that's like, uh, going on a moonlit horse and buggy ride by yourself) which you then trade with all of your friends at school, or popular girls who you don't even know you and who rock a Paris Hilton look/attitude and see the gaijin handing out purikura and say "choodaiiiiiiii" until you give them one.



Anyway, my friend Emilie had this purikura in which she is making a sad face and she wanted the caption to say "Love Sucks" but she got flustered while spelling the thing out on the two button machine and wrote "LoveTSucks" instead, a situation which is sort of the epitome of Love Sucking.

Anyway, for all of you out there feeling droopy about being single, consider the multi-hour, middle of the night, middle of the street, multi-participant (definitely two female, one or two male) love spat that went on under my window last night. I couldn't discern words. Just a lot of "blah blah BLAH. Eh? EH?" Miranda heard such gems as "I knew him first Ronnie, okay?" and "You expect me to leave like this?".

For the record, I don't think that love sucks, but I'll bet the Midwinter Night's Nightmare crew of last night had a really shitty Valentine's.

Check, Check, and Check

Today was a productive day. I spent, like, uh, three thousand dollars. Under three thousand dollars. Some of which will come back! In refunds for accidentally purchasing two of what I only needed one! And mail-in rebates!

Today, I:
1) gave Sarah back her red jacket
2) solved my only-own-one-pair-of-decent-pants problem
3) bought a Mac Book Pro, which I'll set eyes on sometime in March.
4) bought a bunch of related Mac-y stuff: keyboard, stand to fight tendonitis, extended warranty, TWO mice (meese?) and two printers. Printer, when I get rid of the other one, will end up being free, and I'm only going to keep one of the meese (mice?) because dual mousing has yet to really catch on.
5) saw Alanis Morrisette. She's dyed her hair back, everyone. Thank god.
6) solved my don't-own-enough-nice-bras problem
7) solved my only-really-own-half-of-a-nice-bathing-suit problem (now I own one and half nice bathing suits)
8) spent some very enjoyable quality time with S. Holmes Lebo, RN.
9) solved my don't-own-purple-shoes problem
10) went through several piles of paper, including but not limited to: my school notebooks whose pages are all stuck together from the soaking they received upon putting my water bottle into my bag with the top unscrewed twice last week. Oooo yeah, you heard me, twice.
11) cut both my fingernails and my toenails
12) listened to an argument on the dark sidewalk outside, no "backfiring cars" involved
13) thought about J-L Godard and yearned to improve my French
14) got a phone call from the boy, satisfied my concern regarding falling into oil wells and other assorted perils
15) finally wrote something on the blog, gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Ongoing Food Dilemma

The amount of time it takes to prepare, cook and clean up a decent square meal for one person with no dishwasher is ridiculous. Tonight I had mashed potatoes, broccoli steamed in broth and salmon. A delicious meal that made me feel really good after eating it, but damn it dirtied a lot of dishes. It's so much easier to just eat beet chips out of the bag and then carrots and humus until I feel full (but not fulFILLED, you know?).

The solution, obviously, is to continue crewing on location in doughnut shops. Although not on night shoots, hopefully. Because nothing makes you feel more assy than never seeing the light of day except when you wake up sweaty at sunset to start your day.