Well, Ali does occasionally. And queer in the broader, less euphemistic sense, it goes without saying. NTTAWWT. So many things to tell you about because it's been awhile because there are so many things to tell you about. But not yet. Soon. I promise.
- Andrew
Monday, November 26, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Marvel's Newest Supervillain
In all my wise-assery, I forgot to mention that Ali got laser surgery done on her eyes yesterday! She won't have to wear glasses anymore. Pretty miraculous. But right now, she's supposed to use her eyes as little as possible, so the curtains are all closed and she's sitting around listening to music in sunglasses.
- Andrew
Let's Hope It's Kenny G.
Celine Dion has decided not to come to Halifax after all. She was recently booked to play an outdoor concert on the Commons next summer, à la (aux?) The Rolling Stones. At first the powers that be just told us that some big act was going to be coming, causing massive-scale rumours and speculation about AC/DC, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, and just about any other exciting musical entertainers of whom you can think. Then they announced that it was in fact the big C, and the entire city fell into a cyclically tripolar mood of depression, hilarity, and anger. I had a fun preoccupation for a few days trying hard, with next to no success (except see post title), to think of an act I'd less like to see than The Francowhippet.
But now the fun's over. Her people say that the Commons, as a venue, cannot handle her "elaborate production needs" (e.g. a non-ironically interested audience). "'It's like Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown,' said Mr. Adams, the councillor [and self-admitted non-fan] for Spryfield-Herring Cove." I.e. we are Charlie Brown and Celine is the football we can no longer hope to kick squarely and with all our might. Our reverse snobbism thus thwarted, there's nothing left for Halifax to do now but hang our heads and grumble about grapes whose sourness we never even got a proper chance to complain about before the point became moot. Except I guess we are still promised some large and popular act in The Smirk's stead. How camp will it be? How embarassingly melodramatic? How overall cringeworthy? These are burning questions only time can answer.
- Andrew
But now the fun's over. Her people say that the Commons, as a venue, cannot handle her "elaborate production needs" (e.g. a non-ironically interested audience). "'It's like Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown,' said Mr. Adams, the councillor [and self-admitted non-fan] for Spryfield-Herring Cove." I.e. we are Charlie Brown and Celine is the football we can no longer hope to kick squarely and with all our might. Our reverse snobbism thus thwarted, there's nothing left for Halifax to do now but hang our heads and grumble about grapes whose sourness we never even got a proper chance to complain about before the point became moot. Except I guess we are still promised some large and popular act in The Smirk's stead. How camp will it be? How embarassingly melodramatic? How overall cringeworthy? These are burning questions only time can answer.
- Andrew
A Fantasy Story
One day, in a weird land beyond imagination, it was and will forever be snowing. But it was also not snowing. The great wizard, Falafla-Flarngio, unscrewed a lightbulb, and this was a sign that there were ghosts in his liver. It was just as the old woman had predicted.
- Andrew
- Andrew
Sunday, November 04, 2007
It Is a Sad and Beautiful World II
A couple of weeks ago, my dad's sister died of cancer, which she'd had for a year. I haven't really known what to say about it, partly because I feel like I never knew her very well. Maybe that's just how you feel when someone dies and the chance to know them better is gone. But it's not entirely gone, because then all these people you've never met come out of the woodwork and tell you all these things you didn't know about the person, and it's kind of nice. Sad but nice that you learn how great someone was after their life is over.
Not that I didn't know my aunt Chooch was great. We all did, and were maybe a little intimidated by her greatness. We needn't have been, as she was a very warm and genuine person. But she was also a fiercely unique artist and a passionate advocate for the arts, with no time for foolishness while she accomplished wonderful things with her conviction and determination. Nothing done in any kind of half-hearted way — that sort of person. Very inspirational to me. I was inspired by the way she lived and by her art, but more specifically by the great birthday and Christmas presents she gave me. Books, mostly. I can probably ascribe a pretty large portion of my interests in nature, science, philosophy, and of course art to the just-challenging-enough-to-be-forever-fascinating books I got from her over the years.
There was a funeral for her in New Brunswick last Wednesday, which I didn't attend. I'll be going to a larger memorial service, probably in the new year. My dad has posted a bunch of links to articles about Chooch on his blog.
I was thinking about my aunt and life and death when we went to see The Darjeeling Limited, Wes Anderson's latest film. His movies always make me sort of sad in a pleasant, humanity-loving way, and this one was no different. It's about three American brothers who meet up in India to rebond by going on a vaguely spiritual journey by train. It's really good. Less far-fetched, plot-wise, than most of his films, but just as quirky and gorgeous and warm. Owen Wilson is great, as usual. I think the knowledge that he recently attempted suicide, coupled with my aunt's passing, left me a little sadder than usual. Greatness in our species is much rarer than we like to tell ourselves.
But here's some. I don't know if you remember, but a few posts ago I put up a scan of Mark Alan Stamaty's classic Village Voice comic strip, MacDoodle Street. Well, the other day in a comic store, Alison noticed a children's book called Who Needs Donuts? by Mr. Stamaty, and we immediately bought it. The pictures, being on large pages, are even more detailed than those in MacD St. I haven't even gotten halfway through it yet, because I'm savouring it, but so far it's just incredible. The more you look at it, the weirder it gets. I hope these scans give you some idea. Of course, you'll want to click on them for larger versions.
I recently discovered a Blogger blog that is nothing but scans of book illustrations, found elsewhere on the internet. It's fantastic. You could spend days just randomly poking around on this thing. There's really no rhyme or reason to it — just exquisite and/or fascinating pictures, mostly quite old. It's definitely going on the old links list.
Here's a slightly less exquisite illustration, featured on one of the more cynical billboards I have ever seen. There are at least eight of them around the city, and this one is just around the corner from our house. Many people have died in wars throughout Canada's national evolution, so think about it while you drink some vodka. Hmm? Connection? No, no, we're not honouring anyone monetarily or in any specific way like that, but we just thought it was our responsibility as a vodka company to remind people about the sacrifices that have been made for us all. And also parenthetically about drinking vodka, of course. Oh yeah, and John A. MacDonald was a Canadian hero too.
And finally, bowling. We did some. It was lots of fun. Went for the candlepin this time, which for any non-maritime readers means you roll five-pin-sized balls at ten pins that are close to cylindrical in shape so that there's lots of room for the ball and/or flying pins not to hit non-flying pins. For this reason, you get three balls to knock down the pins, instead of only two. Scoring is the same as ten-pin, only it's possible to get ten in a frame without getting either a strike or a spare.
There was plenty of victorious gloating...
... and defeated head-bowing.
And then Charlie's Angels showed up just in time for the Moonlight Bowling (lights out except for some blacklights and a disco ball).
Looking fine, ladies!
- Andrew
Not that I didn't know my aunt Chooch was great. We all did, and were maybe a little intimidated by her greatness. We needn't have been, as she was a very warm and genuine person. But she was also a fiercely unique artist and a passionate advocate for the arts, with no time for foolishness while she accomplished wonderful things with her conviction and determination. Nothing done in any kind of half-hearted way — that sort of person. Very inspirational to me. I was inspired by the way she lived and by her art, but more specifically by the great birthday and Christmas presents she gave me. Books, mostly. I can probably ascribe a pretty large portion of my interests in nature, science, philosophy, and of course art to the just-challenging-enough-to-be-forever-fascinating books I got from her over the years.
There was a funeral for her in New Brunswick last Wednesday, which I didn't attend. I'll be going to a larger memorial service, probably in the new year. My dad has posted a bunch of links to articles about Chooch on his blog.
I was thinking about my aunt and life and death when we went to see The Darjeeling Limited, Wes Anderson's latest film. His movies always make me sort of sad in a pleasant, humanity-loving way, and this one was no different. It's about three American brothers who meet up in India to rebond by going on a vaguely spiritual journey by train. It's really good. Less far-fetched, plot-wise, than most of his films, but just as quirky and gorgeous and warm. Owen Wilson is great, as usual. I think the knowledge that he recently attempted suicide, coupled with my aunt's passing, left me a little sadder than usual. Greatness in our species is much rarer than we like to tell ourselves.
But here's some. I don't know if you remember, but a few posts ago I put up a scan of Mark Alan Stamaty's classic Village Voice comic strip, MacDoodle Street. Well, the other day in a comic store, Alison noticed a children's book called Who Needs Donuts? by Mr. Stamaty, and we immediately bought it. The pictures, being on large pages, are even more detailed than those in MacD St. I haven't even gotten halfway through it yet, because I'm savouring it, but so far it's just incredible. The more you look at it, the weirder it gets. I hope these scans give you some idea. Of course, you'll want to click on them for larger versions.
I recently discovered a Blogger blog that is nothing but scans of book illustrations, found elsewhere on the internet. It's fantastic. You could spend days just randomly poking around on this thing. There's really no rhyme or reason to it — just exquisite and/or fascinating pictures, mostly quite old. It's definitely going on the old links list.
Here's a slightly less exquisite illustration, featured on one of the more cynical billboards I have ever seen. There are at least eight of them around the city, and this one is just around the corner from our house. Many people have died in wars throughout Canada's national evolution, so think about it while you drink some vodka. Hmm? Connection? No, no, we're not honouring anyone monetarily or in any specific way like that, but we just thought it was our responsibility as a vodka company to remind people about the sacrifices that have been made for us all. And also parenthetically about drinking vodka, of course. Oh yeah, and John A. MacDonald was a Canadian hero too.And finally, bowling. We did some. It was lots of fun. Went for the candlepin this time, which for any non-maritime readers means you roll five-pin-sized balls at ten pins that are close to cylindrical in shape so that there's lots of room for the ball and/or flying pins not to hit non-flying pins. For this reason, you get three balls to knock down the pins, instead of only two. Scoring is the same as ten-pin, only it's possible to get ten in a frame without getting either a strike or a spare.
There was plenty of victorious gloating...
... and defeated head-bowing.
And then Charlie's Angels showed up just in time for the Moonlight Bowling (lights out except for some blacklights and a disco ball).
Looking fine, ladies!
- Andrew
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Happy Hallowe'en!
We had the annual pumpkin-carving contest at work again yesterday. This year each team was to come up with something related to the theme of witchcraft. Here were the results.
Far left was Dorothy's house landing on the Wicked Witch of the West, whose legs you can see sticking out beside the Yellow Brick Road. I guess the sparkler was just for added visual punch. The next one in was a very clever diorama of a woman being burned at the stake, with little sculpted pumpkin-flesh logs in a pyre shape over an LED candle simulator. My team did a Frank Sinatra pumpkin, complete with a recording of "Witchcraft" playing from within. And the winner on the right was a cauldron that didn't require any extra props and utilized all parts of the pumpkin in very clever ways, including the guts as ooze boiling over the side. A very successful contest, over all.
After work, Ali and I went out for Thai food and a movie, in celebration of our anniversary. Mystery Train was playing for free at the Dalhousie Art Gallery, as part of an ongoing Jim Jarmusch film festival every Wednesday night. It was as good as I remembered it, but unfortunately someone neglected to turn on the English subtitles which are meant to accompany the storyline of two Japanese teenagers who visit Memphis, comprising the first third of the movie. As a result, sometimes you could tell what they were talking about, but other times there were long soliloquies where you could make up just about anything. I asked esteemed Halifax critic, Ron Foley MacDonald, the man in charge of the event, about the subtitles afterward, and he claimed there are none, and, more ridiculously, that Jim Jarmusch never puts subtitles in his films and that's half the fun of them. Remembering parts of some of the more soliliquizational bits from when I first saw the movie in the theatre some twenty years ago, I called his bluff and had him check the subtitles menu of the DVD we had just watched, only to see the options: 1. Italian, 2. French, and 3. None. I still haven't figured out what the heck happened, but I hope the problem is solved before they show Night on Earth next week! (Explanation for non-nerds: Night on Earth takes place in five different cities and contains dialogue in French, Italian, German, and Finnish.
WUNH-waaahh!)
- Andrew
Far left was Dorothy's house landing on the Wicked Witch of the West, whose legs you can see sticking out beside the Yellow Brick Road. I guess the sparkler was just for added visual punch. The next one in was a very clever diorama of a woman being burned at the stake, with little sculpted pumpkin-flesh logs in a pyre shape over an LED candle simulator. My team did a Frank Sinatra pumpkin, complete with a recording of "Witchcraft" playing from within. And the winner on the right was a cauldron that didn't require any extra props and utilized all parts of the pumpkin in very clever ways, including the guts as ooze boiling over the side. A very successful contest, over all.
After work, Ali and I went out for Thai food and a movie, in celebration of our anniversary. Mystery Train was playing for free at the Dalhousie Art Gallery, as part of an ongoing Jim Jarmusch film festival every Wednesday night. It was as good as I remembered it, but unfortunately someone neglected to turn on the English subtitles which are meant to accompany the storyline of two Japanese teenagers who visit Memphis, comprising the first third of the movie. As a result, sometimes you could tell what they were talking about, but other times there were long soliloquies where you could make up just about anything. I asked esteemed Halifax critic, Ron Foley MacDonald, the man in charge of the event, about the subtitles afterward, and he claimed there are none, and, more ridiculously, that Jim Jarmusch never puts subtitles in his films and that's half the fun of them. Remembering parts of some of the more soliliquizational bits from when I first saw the movie in the theatre some twenty years ago, I called his bluff and had him check the subtitles menu of the DVD we had just watched, only to see the options: 1. Italian, 2. French, and 3. None. I still haven't figured out what the heck happened, but I hope the problem is solved before they show Night on Earth next week! (Explanation for non-nerds: Night on Earth takes place in five different cities and contains dialogue in French, Italian, German, and Finnish.WUNH-waaahh!)
- Andrew
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