Best Minute and Forty-Four Seconds Ever

That's what you're going to see tomorrow night at 7:00 EDT. Well, maybe not REALLY, but I've gotta pump myself up a little. I am quite excited about it and it should go off without a hitch. We've practiced it many many times now, out of and then in the Metro Centre where the awards show is happening. Yesterday morning was three and a half hours of rehearsing the performance over and over again, with about fifteen minutes of staring into space in between each time, while the technical people sorted out camera angles and sound and technical type things. Ben Mulroney and his female e-Talk Daily counterpart, whatever her name is, were spotted sniffing around and filming some little incidental segments. He has a very large head.

I thought I'd probably be meeting Pamela Anderson somewhere in there, but now realize that the closest I'll come to her will be when the actual show happens and she steps onto a stage about 50 feet from ours as we finish our bit. Not that I was especially keen to meet her or anything, but I did have myself kind of psyched up to be as normal as possible and follow Alison's advice of "look her in the eye". But they really have the whole shenanigan planned out so that the high-level and low-level celebrities are kept well away from each other in both time and space. However, Coldplay's dressing room is right across from ours, next to the garbage storage area. I don't know what that means.

One "celebrity" I will get to meet is Cheryl Hickey. A woman who used to live in the apartment above us in Halifax, and now lives in Toronto, showed up at the bar where we were with some friends last night, and turns out to be working for Entertainment Tonight Canada. I told her, truthfully, that I think the show is a lot more interesting than its American counterpart, and revealed my embarassing but not insignificant crush on Ms. Hickey, the main host. Yeah, yeah, I know. So she says, "Well, you should come by the media area at the show. We'll be there, and you can meet her." Yikes! Hilarious, weird, and awesome.

This whole town has gone Juno crazy and there've been all sorts of shows and parties, most of which Ali and I have successfully avoided. The one last night at the bar I mentioned was The Self-Conscious, Mike O'Neill's new band. I think I've already raved about them on here, but no harm in saying it was really really enjoyable. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. The place was a madhouse of squashed together bodies, many from out of town. Normally, that would be a definite minus, but I kept running into people I know and everyone was so keyed up and full of good will that the mood was pretty infectious.

The evening before that was a free outdoor concert in the Grand Parade (Toronto translation: = Nathan Phillips Square), starring Joel Plaskett and Matt Mays. We couldn't wait for the Mays set, but Joel had the enormous crowd (4,000?) in the palm of his hand as he belted it out and pontificated Springsteen-style about the meaning of a hometown. Shameless Hali-pride pandering abounded. Hundreds of little kids were lifted onto as many pairs of shoulders. Many balloons were lost forever to the clear twilit sky. It was great.

And tomorrow night promises to be no less of a spectacle. Unfortunately, Rich's entourage seems to somehow be short a couple of tickets for the show, which means that both Charles and I have to give up our seats in order for our significant others to be able to attend. So you may catch glimpses of us after our opening bit, milling around down in the general admission section in front of the performance stages. I'll be the one punching the air to the Black Eyed Peas.

This whole thing has sure been a good time, and I'm pretty excited about tomorrow night. Playing with Rich again and getting to spend some time with him and Charles has been really nice -- I wish we could do some more of it. And I'm getting paid very handsomely too, even after you subtract the musicians' union's penalty for not being a member. Man, I hate that union. See you on the red carpet, maybe, I'm not sure, probably not.

- Andrew

Loose Ends

Finally, here is the Joni Mitchell song I was raving about a few posts ago. I had to create a new Castpost account to get it to work.

I forgot to mention yesterday that it seems Neuseiland will be playing a show soon. Tim's coming down from Toronto for a visit, and there's been talk about an April 13 gig, though I don't believe anyone has actually set anything up yet. Hmm, someone should probably do that... Well, we'll see what happens. Looking forward to seeing Tim, at least.


I feel today like I'm coming down with a cold. I bought some Cold-FX, so I should be OK, but say a prayer to the pagan god of your choice for me. If I come down with this flu that seems to have knocked out my entire family, and then have to play the Junos, there's gonna be hell to pay for the Ontario contingent. OK, chances are slim that I would actually have contracted the virus via some indirect and circuitous route traceable to one of them, but you never know.

The other thing I forgot to mention is that we went to Mitchell Wiebe's art opening at The Speakeasy on Saturday night. He had all sorts of great new material up, which I wish we could afford to purchase some of. We had just been saying the other day that we hadn't seen any of his recent paintings in a long time, so it was nice to see what he's up to. I guess you could say it's a continuation in the same vein he's been working for years, but you'd be using a pretty broad definition of the word "vein" in that case. He's always full of surprises, both funny and fear-inspiring.

- Andrew

We've been busy little bees.

Holy cow, it's been over a week since my last real post. I realized it because we did laundry again today and made some really nice sock balls. The excellent and inexpensive, hippy-run, mostly vegan restaurant above and beside the laundromat has closed down because I guess they didn't pay the rent. Sigh. Stupid, disorganized hippies. I asked the laundry guy about it and he said the building owners will be reopening it in about two weeks with all new staff, because those people were "a bunch of gypsies." When I laughed nervously at that, he said they were seriously disgusting pigs. I guess we can say goodbye to the refritos and Grateful Dead every Sunday morning.

Coincidentally, there was also a Joni Mitchell special from a few years ago on TV tonight. It was really good. Sorry I never could get that song from a couple of posts back working. None of our Castpost files were working, so I removed some, and now the YouTube video from that post doesn't work either! The internet's all screwed up, man.

I guess quite a lot has been going on since last we one-way communicated. Alison's whole photography gear deal got changed again, with the guy deciding he does want to hang onto most of his equipment except for one digital camera, so Cuba is now back on. I've taken the week of April 24th off. Also, the same guy has decided to sell his laptop, so Ali will be purchasing a pretty new G4 12" iMac! Very exciting. I'll have this beautiful G3 tower all to myself, muah ah aaaaahhh.

Rehearsals for the Junos have gotten underway, and it's sounding pretty sweet. I'm going to go in on my lunch hour every day this week to keep running through it with Charles and Rich until it's like Happy Birthday to us. It'll be the most practiced minute-and-a-half piece of music ever. Dress rehearsal is Friday. Incidentally, it was Charles's birthday yesterday and we went over for some cake and socializin'. His daughter Ava carried the cake in to him while we all sang the HB song as slowly as humanly possible. It was some cute, I tell ya.

We looked at an apartment today that's right under that of our friends Krista and Keith. It's gorgeous, and we're definitely going to take it unless the landlady decides to jack up the rent, even though it's currently more than twice as much as what we're paying here. We can afford it, and it has a nice back yard with gardens, a sunroom, a gas stove, and washer and dryer. Plus, there's plenty of storage space and it's right under the K's. A short hop from the Common too, for convenient access to softball games in the summer.

Oh yeah, that's another thing. I don't think I already told you this. My friend and softball teammate, Jen, ran into Alison on the street awhile ago, and described this dream she'd recently had wherein she was the coach of a little league softball team. She said she woke up so happy that she realized it was something she really wanted to do. But the thought of coaching a team all by herself was a little daunting, so she immediately thought of getting me to do it with her. When Ali told me about it, I thought it was one of the best ideas I'd heard in a long time, and couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to me before. So now Jen has put the call in to some guy who's in charge of such things, and we're just waiting to hear what can be done. One possible problem is that neither of us has a car. But we do both live really near the Common, so if all the games took place there... I really hope it happens; I'm quite psyched about the possibility.

Anything else? Hmm, I think that's about it. What more do you want out of a week? I spent about four days synthesizing the sound I needed on my keyboard for this Juno performance. There was a lot of random feeling around in the dark, not knowing whether I was getting closer or farther from the guide track Graeme had laid down, and it really had me pulling my hair out until I realized that the key was to make it sound like a rubber band being plucked. After that, I narrowed in on it pretty quickly and got it honed exactly how I wanted it. I'm glad I did, too. It's a very versatile sound, based on one of Kraftwerk's key signature timbres.

Working on it gave me a whole new respect for those guys. They really knew what they were doing -- you'd never just stumble upon this sound, because if you change it a little bit in almost any direction, it becomes completely wrong. Actually, I noticed that you can hear that sound slowly evolve with each consecutive album, starting with Autobahn. They don't quite have it yet on that one -- it still sounds a little cartoony -- but by Trans Europe Express it's very solid and they make significant use of it. I don't know if this is a coincidence or not, but I believe Autobahn is also the last album on which they used flute, converting themselves into a purely electronic band. It's as if they said, "Screw the flute, we've got rubber bands now."

I also had this flash of realization/memory that when I was very young I used to enjoy hooking elastic bands around bureau handles and other things to make "guitars". I could listen to and experiment with that sound all day long. Maybe that early musical experience unconsciously influenced my adolescent love of Kraftwerk! I'm now planning a recording involving actual rubber bands. My dream is to put together a full rubber band band. Maybe the drummer could play balloons.

So, in conclusion: no more hippies or expensive camera gear; Junos, laptop, Cuba, little league, and moving are all a go; Joni Mitchell and rubber bands rule. Have a nice week.

- Andrew

Yeah, this is REALLY boring! Who made it up?

Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to it).
3. Find the 5th sentence (or closest to it).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

Boring, boring result:
And not only not want to do it, but regularly act in an unhealthy way, based on my not wanting?

More Morbid Reminiscence

I'm obsessed lately with this Joni Mitchell song from the 70's. About a week ago, I started waking up with it in my head every day, and it's a pretty freaking complicated tune, so you can't just go around humming or whistling it when that happens. Believe me, I tried. I've heard it said that when you have a tune stuck in your head you should put it on and listen to it all the way through, because it's just your brain trying to work out how the whole thing goes and once it's heard the actual song it'll lay off. Well, so I did that and it actually brought me to tears. I don't think I've ever heard such a succint, rich, universal expression of the sadness and hope that is the human condition: It's a lonely life and, what's worse, you have no one to blame but yourself. But you are also the only one with the ability to turn it around. Very buddhist, actually.

Anyway, that didn't work at all and now it's almost always in my head. I remember going through about a year of this with the album Heijira back in the early 90's. Hopefully this one will be a little more short-lived. Yesterday morning I forced Ali to sit down and listen to it, and immediately burst into tears again. Enjoy:

[Well, I can't get this stinkin' thing working. Something's gone terribly wrong with Castpost. It was Down to You, off Court and Spark. You should go listen to it. Everyone has that album, right?]

And, in case the short glimmer of blue skies at the end was not enough upliftingness for you, here's a really nice piece of nostalgia I discovered on a pretty great site called YouTube. The ending's different from what I remember, but Ali tells me there were a few different ones. Just as well -- that handful of powder stands out as one my sadder childhood memories. Love those sweeping shots from within the contraption.


- Andrew

Laundering Money

Of course there's lots of craaayzee shenanigans going on as always, but I only want to quickly mention a couple of things:

1. We did our laundry tonight, as we do about once a week, and I think I noticed something very interesting, which no one ever talks about. I believe it is a general fact of human nature that everyone likes packing up the socks. The rest of the folding is a huge pain in the ass, but I'll do it willingly because I know when I get through it I'll be let at that pile of socks just waiting to be paired up and made into tidy little balls. Why is that such a gratifying activity? My theory is that it makes us feel incredibly intelligent to know we can successfully find the right match for each one, like kids playing the memory game, and then earn the reward of creating an entirely new thing out of the two matches. And I think this is a universal truth. Please correct me if I'm mistaken, though.

Speaking of hosiery, we were wondering on the weekend, due to a misleading crossword clue, whether "hose," as in stockings, is singular or plural. You can't say, "I am wearing a hose," right?

2. It's looking like we're probably not going to take that Cuba vacation after all. Alison's been trying to get a bank loan to buy all this photographic equipment at a good rate from a guy she knows well, but they won't go for it because she has no credit history. No history is good history, I say, but they don't see it that way. So I guess we'll have to use our savings to cover it. Which is a very worthy thing to be spending our savings on; it just means we won't have enough for a big whoop-dee-doo trip after all. We'll probably figure out some kind of cottage rental or something instead, and save the whoop-dee-doo for later.

I don't think that was actually the second thing I was going to mention, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. I am very tired and definitely shouldn't stay up to watch The Office, but that's exactly what I'm going to do because I don't see enough of people acting like insensitive boobs to comic effect during the day.

- Andrew

Performance

Hey, folks. Don't feel much like blogging this evening. Just finished doing a bunch of freelance and brought-home design work, and now I'm trying to get to bed. But here's an illustrated depiction of my solo show on Thursday night.






It was very low-key and quiet. Pretty intense, actually. I've kind of figured out that I don't really like playing solo and that the only people I would just as soon see play solo as with a band are Billy Bragg, Joni Mitchell, and Thelonious Monk. I'll probably think of others later. But anyway, I might want to try it one more time with an mp3-player loaded with backing tracks, to see if that's any more fun. Lest you think it didn't go over well, though, it did. All twelve audience members had a real nice time.

We went to see the Super Friendz last night, which was fantastic, as one would expect, and Mike O'Neill opened for them with his new band, i.e. drummer, which was also fantastic and a rare treat as he hasn't performed live in some time. Good to see him in top form and enjoying himself. The show was at the Grawood, which is a really weird student bar at Dalhousie. Loud, dark, and kind of unpleasant. Cheap beers, though.

Hope everyone had a nice weekend. We had incredibly warm weather for this time of year, and spent a lot of time walking around in it. Now I'm tired and must rest my corporeal form. Have a nice night!

- Andrew

What Have I Done?

Yesterday, at the coffee shop I visit at least once a day, the guy behind the counter told me he has a solo acoustic show coming up there on Thursday and asked me if I could do an opening set for him. He knows I play music, y'see, although I think that's pretty much the extent of his knowledge about the subject, so it was pretty nice of him to just invite me sound unheard. So I said (gulp) yes! Now I have to come up with enough songs I know how to play and figure out how to play them in a solo vein. I'm actually kind of excited about it; gonna throw some oldies into the mix. And it'll be good practice embarassing myself in front of people for the upcoming Junos.

On the weekend, Ali and I got to catch up with a bunch of people we haven't seen in a long time due to winter hibernation. There was a party on Friday night which was pretty mellow and really nice, and then on Sunday we went for a walk in the park with Charles and Kelly, their two little girls, Lee Anne, and her dog. I feel like I never spend any time with Charles anymore, but I guess we'll be hanging out a fair amount in preparation for the aforementioned J-awards. Alison brought her new digital camera along but couldn't get it working. However, we figured it out back at home and did a quick experimental series. Enjoy.

One more thing: if you ever feel like laughing uncontrollably, ask Alison to do her rendition of this year's Oscar winner for best song, It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp. I swear it's even funnier than the original.

- Andrew

Ketchup

Hey. Long time no blog. How's it going? Here too.

I guess we've been pretty busy, as usual. Mostly it's been the fun kind of busy, though. Last weekend we went bowling with Meg and her sister, Litsko. It was really a blast. I had been bragging about what a great bowler I am and the first four balls I bowled all went in the gutter. I gradually worked my way back up to my own standards, though. The beer may have helped. We had to wait a long time to get a lane, so there was a bit of an intersibling air hockey tournament. And I don't know why we're squishing poor Meg's head in the last photo here. She didn't even win.





We also went to a dance party the same night, in the space that is soon to become the store of our friends Sherry and Jay. That was a lot of fun, at least until Joe the de facto DJ blew out one of the speakers and started playing the same terrible tracks over and over again and wouldn't let anyone else on the stereo. We left pretty soon after that, but I guess people were there until around 5:30 or 6. Sheesh!

This week at work has been super hectic, but at least Meg's back. However, someone was also fired so it's pretty much as busy as when she was on vacation. These random firings seem to always happen right after we've hired someone new, and for some reason always just as Meg gets back from vacation. Weird, spooky, and very very sad.

Speaking of vacation, Ali and I are trying to plan one for around the end of April. We want to go to some kind of all-inclusive resort in a warm place for a week, figuring it'll be cheaper at that time of year. Anyone got any suggestions of where to go? (Please don't say Mexico.) I'm thinking Cuba would be pretty cool...

I am, by the way, definitely going to be playing with Rich at the Junos. So everybody set your VCR's to record on Sunday, April 2nd at 8:00 pm Atlantic Time (7:00 Eastern). Don't forget to put a tape in! Or that the VCR has to be turned off. That's the one that always gets me. Also, I think that's the day we start Daylight Savings, so don't even ask me to figure that out.

I've hardly had any time for reading lately, but when I have it's been spent on The Amazing Adventures of Cavalier and Klay by Michael Chabon. You may remember that I was saving that one like a compulsive weirdo until I'd finished some other, less immediately gratifying works, but I finally gave in about a month ago. It's incredibly rich and funny and emotionally compelling and just a really really great read. Two adolescent cousins in the thirties, one a recent American immigrant from Czechoslovakia, and the other a fatherless latent homosexual, invent a superhero called The Escapist, modelled on Houdini, and start a comic book early in the history of the form. Meanwhile, the Second World War looms. That's the plot, anyway, but the reason to read the book is the writing, which is warm and generous, witty and unassuming. In summary, me like.

That's 'er fer now. Going to scarf down some pizza and watch an episode of The Larry Sanders Show before working on some freelance design. Take care, cheerio, etc.

- Andrew

I have seen the future of intimate suppertime jazz...

I finally got to the end of that lengthy bit of Halipunk nostalgia. Whew! Of course, it keeps getting added to every day, so if I don't stay on top of it I'll quickly be behind again. But I think it's kind of jumped the shark at this point anyway. How many more stories can I read that go "Remember at that party at A's house when B did way too much C and broke his or her D trying to smash E? I wonder if he or she is still alive."? I will be listening to Steve and Lee Anne's memorial radio show, though.

Tonight Ali and I went out after work with our friend Meg and her sister Litsuko, who's visiting from Detroit. They wanted to hear some jazz so after eating we headed over to the SoHo Kitchen to check out the Chalmers Doane Trio (a quartet, oddly enough). I wasn't exactly looking forward to it, as I'm pretty picky when it comes to jazz, and after two Sunday Editions in a row where Michael Enright debated whether jazz stinks I'd kind of come to the conclusion that although there is some jazz I love, I definitely sympathise more with those on the stinking side of the argument. In fact, even typing the word "jazz" that many times is kind of making me nauseous. But so anyway, it ended up being a really nice time. The guys (and gal) playing were pretty old and obviously just in it for a good time. It was very lightweight, which could mean terrible, but it managed to find a small, enjoyable position for itself in a little known territory between unobtrusive background music and uninspired improv. Meaning that it didn't force itself on you, but if you chose to pay attention, there was something pleasant waiting to reward you. Maybe it was the ukulele; I don't know. They were just having such obvious fun, without being overly ostentatious about it. We happened to meet up with a friend of Meg's and Alison's from the community college and her amusingly ditzy British chum, all sat at one table, and had a real nice time. And when the band was through, Chalmers came over to our table and thanked us for coming out, which I thought was pretty classy.

- Andrew

How I Misspent My Adulthood Remembering How I Misspent My Youth

So, I was pretty much the entire weekend poring over this tome. It's a really really long thread on the Halifax Locals message board in which pretty much everyone who ever went to Backstreet Amusements video arcade in the late '80s reminisces about, well, pretty much whatever. Thanks a lot, Sandra. Highly entertaining, even though I don't even know who most of the people on it are. I was around just enough during that time and have met enough locals since then to make a complete reading absolutely necessary to quench my historical curiosity. Plus, new people keep showing up along the way, who then have to go through the oh-my-god-can-you-believe-this-thing-it's-so-great- remember-when routine. And then everyone else is happily surprised to hear from them. It's quite fascinating and heartwarming, actually. So really thanks a lot, Sandra, without the sarcasm this time. Now I just have to get through the last 25 pages.

Note to Dana: Someone mentions at one point Callah and Natalie, who were always together. Must be the same ones, right?

Note to Johanna: There's a very nice, not at all embarassing photo of you at some party on page 87.

In other news, we got a visit from our friend Matt today. He came down from Toronto for a very short vacation with Laura and to try and get some kind of intership somewhere in Halifax for the summer. So we got to have lunch with him at the Shoe Shop, which was really nice but way too short. It was great to catch up with him. Seems like J-school's treating him well and he's enjoying the big city. Too bad our waiter was sort of an inept bozo. After lunch I took him up to my office to show him around. Matt, not the inept waiter.

The weather was certainly colder over the weekend than it's been. On Sunday the wind was whipping so hard around our poor little rowhouse that we were sure it was going to smash in a back window and blow us right out the front. Neither one of us was feeling very well, but we finally agreed that it was about time to take the screen out of our bedroom window and put up the plastic that allows the room temperature to approach the thermometer setting. Once that had been done, we felt fully justified in getting back into bed and spending the rest of the morning with "The Sunday Edition". That Michael Enright was cracking me up. He has definitely grown on me. For a long time I thought he was a total boob, but now I realize that he just plays the fool in a really dry way for entertainment's sake, and to draw thoughtful, coherent responses out of his guests. Though sometimes I'm still not convinced he's putting it on. But at least it doesn't drive me crazy anymore. I like how he ends every episode by saying, "I'm Michael Enright?..."

Gotta hit the hay now. Well, after I read a couple more pages of the Backstreet Boys' (and Girls') Proustian recollections: A la recherche des quarts perdus — Book I: Clarke's Way.

- Andrew

I got a real red wagon!

Last night for belated Valentine's Day we watched A Mighty Wind (again) and busted a gut over delicious Chinese food and a couple of beers. Fred Willard is the funniest unfunny guy ever!

- Andrew

The Aristocrats!

They were gone completely for awhile, but now they're back with new outfits on. You can't exactly tell from the photo, but the father is at least wearing pants this time. I'm not sure why the kids are still bare-bottomed. Cylindrica the cat doesn't mind, as long as she gets to sit on someone's lap.

- Andrew

I Love Sundays

So, Ali got home from the photo shoot on Saturday, and she brought back a sample portrait. They were shooting kids and babies sitting at a table, and she was required to sit in for some lighting measurements:


The next day we got a dumpload of snow. We decided to venture out and get some movies so we could be entertained while the weather raged outside. It was kind of fun walking around in it, but I was glad to get back into the house, where I could warm up with a hot bath.


We got a really nice email from our friend Matt in Toronto, to which a response is forthcoming, listened to some Sunday Edition and some Sonic Youth (Washing Machine -- man, that last song is long!), and spent some quality time with the DVD player. Junebug - sentimental and surprisingly lacking in surprises, but pretty worthwhile; The Aristocrats - entertaining, for a completely juvenile documentary, but don't watch while eating dinner. Even managed to see a bit of the winter olympics. Snowboarding. Those guys are so not athletes -- just a bunch of stoners. But I enjoyed watching it. It's really weird hearing the commentators talk seriously about the boarders' "old-school stylee". REALLY weird. Almost as weird as Brian Williams repeatedly referring to the central area of the opening ceremonies as the "mosh pit".

Stupid, stupid internet!

I put this post up around four days ago wherein I asked if anyone knew the origin of a certain saying, and I was wondering why no one had responded, then I realized yesterday that it had disappeared! Weird. It was definitely there before.

The saying is, "Know thyself, and to thine own heart be true." It just suddenly popped into my head the other day and struck me as incredibly wise. I like that you get the (fairly standard) advice to be true to yourself, or rather to that part of yourself to which it's particularly important to listen, but before even doing that you're advised to first know yourself. I think that's a step that a lot of people skip without realizing it. So anyway, DOES anyone know where it's from? I'd really like to see it in the original context. My admittedly lazy googling has turned up a lot of: 1) "some guy once said.." or 2) "As Shakespeare says..." (Through which character? In which play?), and that's only putting in one of the two connected clauses at a time. The entire quote has apparently only ever been written once on the internet. It's unattributed, and the writer in fact says, "At least I think that's how it goes. Email me if I'm wrong." Type it in quotation marks if you don't believe me.

In other news: I got a raise! My bosses finally gave me the review that I was supposed to have at the end of December, and gave me a raise that is retroactive from that date. Yeah! Free money!

Alison's been working a lot lately too, doing a lot of photo assisting, which she is in fact doing right now, on top of her work for the government, or "the glub glub gang," as we like to call them. So I guess we'll be smoking big cigars and taking limos everywhere for a little while.

Thumbsucker: see it! It never came here when it was in theatres, but it's finally out on DVD so we rented it, and I really really liked it. The main actor is great at being awkward. The director is Miranda July's boyfriend. So you know it's good. Even Keanu Reeves doesn't suck in it.

The Junos: I may be on them. They're here this year, and Buck 65 will be playing, and my services may be required. Maybe I shouldn't say anything in such a public forum, but what the hell. It looks fairly certain, though I've probably just jinxed it. I'll keep you posted.

Dream: I was reading the newspaper, and I could actually see and remember what the headline said. It was, "Royal Targets Empathy: Sentences Even Samosas." Doesn't that sound like a cryptic crossword clue?

Cold weather: sucks. But I shouldn't complain, 'cause we really haven't had much. But brrrrrr!

Ali's home now. Gotta go warm up.

- Andrew

P.S. Sorry no snaps or sounds. Gotta get out more.

Weekend "Activity"

Yesterday Ali and I went to see The New World. It was pretty great, in the usual Terrence Malick style: slow-paced and meditative, hardly any plot, lots of being inside characters' heads to hear their most mystical thoughts, gorgeous majesty-of-nature shots between every scene change. Too bad it had to be Colin Farrell, but he did a reasonable job. We had to take a bus out to the big-box industrial park to see the movie and we somehow got on the wrong bus. Neither one of us really knows that end of town at all, so we didn't realize it was the wrong bus until we came back to the same mall for the third time. We had to get off and catch another bus, which we almost missed because it was confusingly called "Out of Service," and then the mob of people at the theatre nearly made us late. I'm not really sure what they were all there to see, but it certainly wasn't our movie.

When we got out of the film 2.5 hours later, the sun had just gone down and this really weird fog had settled everywhere. The giant yellow sulfur parking lot lights above it were creating purple haze without the drugs or feedback, and the sky was a brilliant indigo with a bright half moon right in the centre. It was really beautiful and Ali got a picture of it, but unfortunately it's analog on a roll of 36, so it won't be available for some time.

The bus home wasn't for another half hour or so, so we went into the Chapters across the lot and perused the mags. Alison found a decent photography one, and I was excited to discover Seed, my favourite magazine, which I thought had gone under since I hadn't seen an issue for about a year. It's a great science-for-people-who-have-a-working- knowledge-of-science-but-think-that-there-are-other-important-ways -of-looking-at-the-world-too publication, and this particular one has an article by Daniel Dennett, my favourite rationality-biased philosopher, who talks about the need for scientists to bring religion under the microscope. I guess it's taken from a new book of his which I will now have to track down. There's also a fascinating piece explaining how new brain cell growth has been related inversely to stress, meaning that people born into poverty and other hardships may be at an actual biological disadvantage.

So today is reading and crossword day. Next time I'll tell you about this great novel I finally allowed myself to start reading and now can't put down. Hint: it's not the Michael Crichton one about eco-terrorists that my boss loaned me.

- Andrew

Another Dream

I was at a bar having a drink with one of my bosses, who was sitting across from me. We were both in easy chairs, talking comfortably. My boss started getting more relaxed and took his shoes off. Then he started stretching his legs out while he was talking, so that one of his feet was pressing into my shin. Then he stretched out even further, until his entire foot was in my face, pressing my head back, his big toe poking into my eye. I finally had to say, "Could you at least wait until we're back in the office to do that?" Then I started laughing so hard at my own joke that I woke up.

- Andrew

Good excuse for antisocial insularity this time.

[Paranoid by Black Sabbath was here, but I'm taking all the copyrighted material off our Castpost account in the hopes that it will work again. Wish me luck. 3/27/06]

I guess I've officially joined the iPod generation. I know it's just one more way we're all keeping each other from infiltrating our mental space. But here in Halifax, we're having one of those major snowstorms today, the kind where it looks like there's a real thick fog preventing you from seeing anything, and then when you finally catch a glimpse of something it's nothing but pure white anyway. I'm the only one at work right now because everyone figured it would be OK to come in late, but I had to get something over to the newspaper first thing. When you think of me walking the deserted blocks of biblical weather in my rubber boots, listening to this on my mp3 player and feeling like some kind of really tough pioneer, you can probably imagine the smile that wouldn't disappear even if I wanted it to. Check out that guitar solo where the melody is in one ear and the distortion in the other! Wow.

Then this Cuban guy, Isaac Oviedo, came on playing quiet tres guitar and singing croakily and it was somehow even better. There's something about Cuban music that always goes great with snowy Canadian winters. And not just in some ironic, juxtaposed way, either. It's like the relaxed polyrhythms perfectly match the rhythms of the snowflakes falling or something. If I live to be 200 I'll never even pretend to understand it.

- Andrew

I have seen the future of rock 'n roll...

Wow. You gotta check out this Norwegian band, Serena Maneesh. OK, maybe I'm a little behind the times, as I guess this self-titled record that's got me all excited came out last August, but it's really hard to get over here. So hard to get, I had to track it down through not-entirely-legal means, if you know what I'm saying, but don't worry, I'm going to have my local record shoppe order it in for me. It'd be a disgrace if a band I like this much didn't squeeze a few bucks outta me for their hard work. And I've been legitimately buying a whole lot of music lately, too, so lay off me, man.

Serena Maneesh are a pretty fascinating hybrid, stylistically. They're all nebulous and breathy like My Bloody Valentine or the Jesus and Mary Chain, but also pastoral psychedelic like Syd Barrett's Pink Floyd, and super wigged-out skronky like the Stooges. And they can chop it up post-punk style with the best of the contemporary kids too. However they're playing, though, it's all about the sound of the guitar for them, which is what really makes it great to listen to. You know when you can tell that a musician is just enjoying the SOUND of his or her instrument as much as you are, regardless of what notes they're actually playing, and you feel privileged to be invited along on the exploration of its possibilities? I feel that way about Thelonious Monk. Well, these guys are really really into the sound of distorted guitars. The main guy even seems like he's trying to look like Jimi Hendrix.

The whole album builds really nicely to an insane climax, so it's hard to pick just one track that'll show you what I mean, but this one seems to encompass at least some of the stuff I'm talking about. Enjoy.

- Andrew

Under the covers, behind the glass...

Ali started this post the other day (which is why the date says Friday even though it's Sunday), but the photo inserting wasn't working, so I'm finishing it for her while she works all day assisting on an Aliant photo shoot, about which I'll let her tell you. I'm pretty sure these were the two shots she was going to put up. Buster's been found completely under the covers of our bed a few times lately, though he'll never come in when we're in it. Weirdo. The mannequin family lives just up the street from us, and always gives us a pretty good chuckle when we walk by. I'm not sure why none of them wears pants.

Here's my first attempt at drawing Stephen Harper while I was watching him on TV. Something's not quite right. I'll have to keep working on it. Is it my imagination or does he wear an awful lot of turtlenecks? Maybe they just keep printing pictures from the same day.

Today and yesterday I got up at five in the morning. The first time was because I woke up from a nightmare that all of our stuff had been stolen, and today was because of something out the back window that sounded like a gunshot. But who would shoot anyone at five o'clock in the morning? Anyway, both days have been mild and sunny, and it's been really nice having so much time to get stuff done. I may even go to the gym today, which is unheard of on a Sunday. I've been stressed out and super cranky all week from bad work vibes, so a relaxed and productive weekend is just what I need.

- Andrew

Where's Ali?

Hmmm. This worked for Jason, so maybe I'll give it a try. Alison has an awesome picture which she should be putting onto the blog any time now, and maybe if you're nice she'll tell you a little bit about what's going on with her too.

- Andrew

Paradigm Shifts Required

We have a new prime minister. He looks like the creator of the bad smell that the last one always seemed to be inhaling. The new guy is less middle-of-the-road than the old guy, but we voted him in because the old guy was starting to seem like he was motivated by things beyond keeping us middle-of-the-road, and the only other guy was even less middle-of-the-road than the new guy. The new guy looks less like a deer caught in the headlights and more like a lizard sitting perfectly still and unblinking on a rock. As a nation, our motto is "Give us the status quo or give us death."

I saw a science show last night about a huge glacier in Greenland that is moving faster than it should. Glaciers typically move about a foot a day, but this one is moving about 113 feet a day, and steadily speeding up, even in the winter when it shouldn't really be moving at all. It turns out that this glacier has been melting so much, due to global warming, that the water it produces has been making its way down a hole in the middle of it, all the way to the bottom. You would think that water travelling through miles of ice would freeze back up before getting all the way through, but there's so much of it that the sheer pressure has forced it all the way down underneath the glacier, where it creates a little pool on which the entire glacier is now floating. So it's moving across the land and dumping itself into the ocean at a much faster rate than anyone thought possible, and this particular glacier accounts for 4% of all the sea level increases worldwide. Meanwhile, the exact same thing is happening with other glaciers all over the place.

We went to yoga last night, which was great, but I think I kind of overdid it. It's supposed to make you feel good, but today my back and legs are a little bit aching. Guess I was thinking too much about the goal and not enough about enjoying the process. No gym for me today!

- Andrew

The Wizard of Id

[In an effort to get Castpost working for me again, I'm taking off all copyrighted materials. This was My Ever Changing Mood by The Style Council. 3/27/06]

Here's another tune guaranteed to get you through the winter. Well, if you're anything like me, I guess. This one's getting maximum rotation on the mp3 player as it seems to make any and all surroundings into a movie montage of maximum joy. Bipolarity has never been so celebratory.

Does anyone listen to The National Playlist on CBC weekday mornings? It's a nifty concept and a fun show hosted by young and handsome tolerable Canadian goofball Jian Ghomeshi. They've had Grant Lawrence, host of CBC3's weekly podcast, on all this week, and his naïve but authoritatively delivered musical opinions have been driving me crazy. Today Ian Thomas, who is one of the other panelists, didn't like one of Grant's bland choices, so Grant started on a sarcastic rant about how hip hop is a new style of music Ian might not have heard about and how much he loves a particular Ian Thomas song from the 70's. It was really mean and made me so mad that I unsubscribed myself from the CBC3 podcast, even though he sometimes plays some pretty interesting Canadian indie rock on it.

Yesterday, on returning The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin to the video store while our clothes dried at the laundromat, I ran into the father of my childhood best friend, who was coincidentally the one who introduced me to the show back in the seventies. Very strange. I told him that I'd rented it and it hadn't really held up, and he didn't seem too surprised. In fact, he barely remembered the show. It's funny that in my memory it was his favourite show and the times spent with him and my friend watching it in their den were some of the greatest examples of hilarity and male bonding ever. Just goes to show you what a uniquely personal, Rashomonian version of events memory is. He asked me if I was still in Sloan.

Last night I dreamed for a long time that I was at a party at which I expected not to know anyone, but ended up seeing a lot of figures from my past with whom I'd fallen out of touch. It was a little uncomfortable because I didn't really know the hostess very well at all, and certainly didn't know how they all knew her. More and more people gradually populated the place, and it started getting louder and harder to move or hear, or even think. Just as it was reaching a fever pitch and I wondered how I was going to ever get out of there, someone yelled my name from upstairs, loudly enough that it cut through all the hubbub. I looked upstairs to see who it was, but there was no one there, and I suddenly realized that everyone else had also disappeared the moment my name was bellowed. I woke up confused. Then I went back to sleep and had an equally long but much more pleasant dream wherein I was sitting in the back seat of a car driving at night and watching the car ahead of us in our headlights through the windshield. Nothing happened, and I couldn't see anything else because it was pitch black, but it went on and on like that. It was a great relief and very relaxing after the previous dream. I don't really know what either one means exactly, but the juxtaposition seems significant.

- Andrew

Finally!

[This was it, but now it's gone. Golden Brown by The Stranglers.]

Got it to work. For all you Soulseek-deprived people.

- Andrew

Hulk Smash! Revisited

Blaaargh! This is really too much! 8:00 in the morning 'til 7:00 at night with no lunch and no review to boot because there wasn't time. One stinkin' new client -- whom I won't name -- is hogging all our time and refusing to be satisfied with our work no matter how ugly and unreadably packed with small type we make it for them. Suffice it to say that they offer a morally sketchy service to psychologically sketchy customers who give them money in exchange for the excitement inherent in the probability that it won't be given back. I was supposed to be working all day on one biweekly project for another client which takes a day and a half every time and is due tomorrow afternoon, and I hardly got to do anything on it because I was constantly doing major revisions to the work I went in for yesterday, which work of course turned out to be a total waste of time. The work was due today as it's to air on television on Wednesday, but I still haven't gotten approval. So now I have to go in early again, which means no gym again, which means Mr. McCrankypants will be sitting at my desk tomorrow.

Plus, on the way home, swaggering along to "Jockey Full of Bourbon" by Tom Waits and therefore feeling pretty cool, my ears are suddenly filled with the sound of a submarine's warning alarm like in the movies when something's gone terribly wrong and the camera shakes from side to side and people hurl themselves around with dazed expressions on their faces, only this one is broken so that instead of going "EINH, EINH, EINH,..." it just goes "EEEEEEIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNHHHHHH!" I try to pause the mp3 player, then I try to skip to the next song, then I try to turn the volume down, and finally I try to turn it off, all to no avail. Removing the batteries worked and it seemed fine after that, but it's a little disconcerting, especially if I'm going to use that thing to play live shows. Not to mention the fact that I pulled a total Kramer in the middle of the street and felt like an idiot.

And to top it all off, I can't get Castpost to work at all. I think maybe they've given me the boot because I keep putting copyrighted material on there or because I've used up more memory than I'm supposed to have, but I haven't gotten an email from them or anything. Strange. So I'll have to just tell you the song I was gushing about yesterday: "Golden Brown" by The Stranglers. Did you guess it? I'm sure Tim did. Not nearly as much fun as actually hearing it; sorry. None of my older sound files are working either. Has anyone heard of some kind of electronic fist software I can shake at the internet gods?

- Mr. McC Z8^(3

Haven't been able to get the song up yet. Try and guess what it is.

Here's my favourite song right now. I'd completely forgotten about it, but it popped up in this Australian movie we watched called He Died with a Felafel (sic) in His Hand. Noah Taylor was in it, whom we both love, and it was pretty darn good. I put the song on our mp3 player, which I've got narrowed down to an elite selection of 53 perfect songs. I've actually started walking around with it on, even though I'm in principle against all this deliberate insularity going on these crazy hypermodern days, and I have to admit it makes everything pretty enjoyable.

Listening to the song now, I just love the rapturous melancholy of it. Wouldn't it fit right in on a Wes Anderson soundtrack? I've got to get that harpsichord up and running so I can make beautiful music like this, but I never seem to have time.

Work has gotten so busy these days that I had to go in for six hours today to finish off the ugliest, most jam-packed newspaper ad ever, and some stills for a related television spot. Plus there's a meeting at 8 in the morning, so this will be a short post. Oh yeah, and I have my first review tomorrow, so I may be getting a raise. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Our yoga teacher, Michi, is back from her Christmas vacation in Japan and we had a class with her on Saturday. It felt so great and put me in a really nice mood for the rest of the day, even though I felt like I was getting a cold. She brought me and Alison each a 5 yen piece. She's so nice. We start another, longer weekly class with her in the North end on Tuesday. Should be good.

The above-mentioned cold, by the way, I seem to be fighting off with plain old ginseng. I know that's what Cold F/X is extracted from, and that always works for me, so I thought I'd try just ginseng this time, since we always have it on hand. I'm happy to report that the experiment seems to be a success so far -- the cold is definitely retreating in shame. Of course, any decently-designed experiment should be a success, since as long as the hypothesis being tested is either confirmed or disproven it has done its job. But let's not be pedantic.

People keep asking me and Alison when we're going to play again next. It's kind of weird and awkward, because I'm not sure Ali really wants to do that anymore, so it's something we have to work out between ourselves. We usually get all sheepish and don't really know what to say. I wish people wouldn't ask, though I understand and am flattered by the motivation. Maybe if they could just ask one of us at a time it'd be OK... It's kind of like asking a couple when they're going to have a baby.

Also, for some reason, people are lately pointing out that I could stand to gain a bit of weight. I finally just took off the ten pounds I gained over Christmas, for Jimmy's sake! Do they think I'm completely unaware of what kind of shape I'm in or something? It's weird how people you don't even know that well have no qualms about giving you health advice. I've decided to start offering snap psychological assessments in response. "I don't really find passive aggression a more acceptable outlet for anger over lack of parental approval than the eraser full of thumb tacks you think you're hiding in your desk drawer, but that's just me."

That's a pretty sour note to end on, but I've got nothing else to tell, really. Sorry. Oh, I know, we've been watching the second series of The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin. Remember that British comedy from the seventies? It's kind of weird. The guy's more of a jerk and less funny than I remembered, but it's still quite entertaining.

OK, that's better. Later.

- Andrew

We apologize for the delay...

Man, I have really been out of sorts since the holidays. I guess I'm not alone in this feeling. At the risk of repeating myself, #*@*!!¿†* Christmas! My regular schedule got thrown all out of whack and putting it back into whack has proven next to impossible, as I was up late every night last week rehearsing for a Link Wray benefit show. The show was on Friday night, and it went pretty well, fun times, etc. Alison took some pictures, most of which didn't turn out so hot. But here are some of the better/kookier ones. I'm on the left hunched over my little MicroKorg.




I've also been spending pretty much any free time I've had getting a poopload of work done for my one remaining freelance client, as she's off to India for a month and had to tie off all loose ends at her store before leaving. So besides feeling generally bummed out and like there's nothing interesting to say, I have actually not had time to blog it up. Yesterday I finally sat down and tried to post something, but because I was morose and unverbose I had to get Alison to play a game with me where we would take turns writing the next word. After kind of a long time, it ended up being some fairly hilarious gibberish that sounded like a retarded person whose first language was not English. But then I tried to do some fancy adjusting of text under one of the photos I'd posted, and accidentally lost the whole post, thereby getting so discouraged that I had to give up entirely. May I take this opportunity to recommend the "Save as Draft" button? Such an undervalued little blue rectangle.

Then this morning I woke up in excruciating pain, basically from being heavier than I should and doing nothing for too long, and felt so super bummed that I didn't even want to get out of bed. Ever. I'd meant to go to the gym and finally get some exercise before work, which probably would have helped a lot, but I couldn't even force myself to do it. Instead, I got up at the last possible second and trudged off to work wondering how much longer I would have to suffer through this physical world.

But I think whack is in sight now. Working all day and getting some projects finished off helped a lot, plus Ali and I have started this five day "cleansing" diet where you eat, like, nothing but fruits and vegetables and drink ginger tea by the gallon. Oh, and you have to eat a teaspoon of sesame seed and raisins after every meal, for some reason. My brain seems at least temporarily back to its semi-normal state and I no longer feel like I was accidentally channelled into the body of an ancient cripple. Tomorrow I am definitely getting up early enough to go to the gym, and you can kick me hard in the kneecap if I lie.

- Andrew Z8^B

First Dream of the New Year

I've been having some strange nightmares lately, and last night's was particularly strange. In it I was Satan, walking around cheerily after dinner one evening with a group of friends. I don't remember who the friends were. I imagined that they didn't notice they were walking with the devil -- even though I was much taller than all of them and had horns, long bony hands, and the face of a monster -- because we were all laughing and having a good time.

But they were much smarter than me. At one point a brick fell off a building onto my head and hurt me quite badly. Everyone appeared surprised and concerned, and they convinced me that I should crawl into a hole in the side of the building to rest and heal. As soon as I got into the hole, though, I realized it was a coal chute that led into the empty, multi-chambered basement where I lived. Instead of tricking my friends out of their souls, I had been tricked by them back into hell.

This scene played itself out over and over again for some reason, with slight variations. The last time, I noticed that one of my female friends was in love with my servant, a man in a suit who had been following us covertly on the other side of the street. He would always show up in the basement a few minutes after I got there, to see if I was all right. So I convinced my friend this time to come down the chute with me so that she might be with my servant in private. She seemed quite content to be in hell once he showed up, and he seemed happy too to have a companion. I left them alone in one of the chambers. It was a happy ending.

- Andrew

Do it! Do it! Do it!

Alison and I went to the gym this morning for the first time in quite awhile and I weighed myself after I was done. I weigh EIGHT POUNDS more than the last time I was in. Must be that second cookie I had yesterday.

Our friend and my coworker Meg just left after having lunch and a visit with us. She made a delicious noodle salad to go with Alison's famous vegetable pie, and then we forced her to look at pretty much every bit of creative work either one of us has ever done. We were like two siblings vying for parental attention. Now she's gone, having been bored completely to tears, but we might as well keep all this stuff out because Joan is coming over any minute. Where did I put that bronze Participaction award from grade four?

- Andrew

Holiday "Activities"

Where has the time gone? The past four days are a giant blur of visits, Ultraman, and alcohol. And Ultraman is due back tomorrow I just realized, even though we've only watched ten of the 39 episodes. Oh well -- I'm starting to perceive a bit of a pattern to the plots. The Science Patrol gets a call about a giant rubber monster that appears from the sea/a lake/the earth. They put on their helmets and race to the scene, leaving Fuji the lone female member to hold down the fort/look after their child-mascot/make coffee. Once there, they generally stand around/formulate ineffective plans/otherwise act useless, and finally are saved when one of them secretly turns into Ultraman, who clumsily wrestles the monster for three minutes before blowing it up with a beam of dotted lines that comes out of his hand.

On Monday night we had a few friends over, including Jeff, who had to go back to Toronto the next day. It was a real nice time, but I stayed up way too late debating and theorizing with Johanna after everyone else had sensibly gone off to bed. Topics discussed: Christmas tree aesthetics, kitsch, the Japanese, political correctness, hippies, religion, parental influence real and imagined, Supreme Court rulings on sexual deviancy in public places, the Narnia Chronicles, non-judgment of others, judgment of others, political corruption, dealing with requests for immoral favours. Alcohol consumed: wine, rum & eggnog, rum & coke, beer.

Charles dropped by on Tuesday afternoon and we gossiped for awhile, then put together the artwork for an album of songs he's been working on for sometime and is just finalizing. I can't wait to hear the finished product! I also completed Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door, which Erika gave me for Christmas. It's by Lynne Truss, author of Eats, Shoots and Leaves, and is very much in the same hilarious, if slightly heavy-handed, style. I think I like this one a little better, actually, as the subject seems a little more worth getting worked up over. A sample:

"Those of us who automatically deal out politeness words in suitable contexts are becoming uncomfortably aware that we earn less credit for it than we used to. It is becoming obvious that we are the exception rather than the rule, and that our beautiful manners fall on stony ground. People who serve the public are becoming impervious to rudeness, either because they are young and don't care, or because they are older and have learned to toughen up or suffer a nervous breakdown. Either way, if you attempt to sympathise with a shop-worker who has just served a rude customer, the response is rarely the one you expect. Mainly you will get a blank shrug, which carries the worrying implication: this person doesn't care whether customers are polite or not. This makes it quite hard to go through the ensuing politeness display without feeling self-conscious, or even quaint. 'May I please have it wrapped separately?' you ask, with your smile fading. 'Thank you, that's perfect, how kind you are.' The ground starts to slip from under you, as no validating response comes your way, yet you are powerless to stop being polite and old-fashioned. 'And what a fine morning, forsooth!' you exclaim. 'Ha. By God's breath, thou hast a cunning way with yon mechanical abacus! Hast thou a quill-pen prithee? Or mayhap I must digitate upon yon artful keypad?'"

Yesterday I had to actually do some work at the office, as the bi-weekly used car supplement which I produce is due at the newspaper by 9:00 Wednesday morning and we're closed until Tuesday. This thing is usually about a day and a half of work, but I got it done yesterday in under four hours. Mind you, the changes this time around were pretty minimal, but still it's amazing what a little lack of distraction and some motivation to get out of the office can do.

Then Ali and I went to my boss's place for an incredible dinner with his family and a few other people. It was a fantastic smorgasbord of delicacies, and we had a great time talking mostly about bugs, cats, and people's most hated jobs. Unfortunately it went on until almost 11:30, and we were supposed to be meeting up with our friends Matt and Laura for drinks at 9:00(!), as they had to go back to Toronto the next day (a recurring theme at Christmastime in Halifax). Oops. We felt terrible about it when we finally showed up, but were glad to get to talk with them for a couple of hours before the bar closed. They're really sweet, funny, wonderful people, and it's ALMOST not worth seeing them for such a short time when it means having to say goodbye again. But things seem to be going really well for them in the big smoke, and we were plenty drunk by that point, so nothing but happiness and good times came out of it.

So today was a bit of a hangover, catching our breath day with little to no activity. I did a tiny bit of freelance design work and read some rock books which Charles loaned me as bribery for doing his CD artwork. Besides that, a couple of episodes of Lost over ordered-in manicotti was about all that happened. It really is a pretty lame show. As crappy TV goes, it's no Ultraman.

- Andrew

Merry Christmas

(A stocking stuffer from Ali. Whuddya think, though? Should I grow a real one?)


Hope everyone's having a nice one. We've been getting to see lots of friends, and that's hopefully going to continue into this week, which we both have off. Went for a nice walk around the ghost town in the fog today, and then ate a big Tofurkey with all the fixings over a bottle of wine and a couple of episodes of "Lost" (which is not quite as good as I'd imagined from all the hype, but oh well, we've also got 40 episodes of "Ultraman" to check out). This evening we recorded this carol using the new mic stand Ali gave me:



Peace on earth.

- Andrew

Re: Hulk Smash!

A few seconds later...



- Andrew

Egads!

Guess who?








Why, it's Woody the Talking Christmas Tree, of course! (did you guess?)
Why spill your guts to Santa when this friendly giant fir will lend you an ear? Face, I mean a face.

Orders from a Self-Confessed Nerd

This is my new screensaver at work. Everybody go to see King Kong right now. I know it's been overhyped, but that's no excuse to miss it. It's gorgeous and terrifying. A perfect environmentalist horror movie.

- Andrew

A Nice Winter Day

It snowed last night and today was really sunny, which made for some nice walking around, even though the purpose of the walking around was Christmas shopping. I managed not to be a total crank. Well, not all of the time, anyway. In fact, I'm actually starting to get a little bit into the seasonal spirit, I have to admit. I think the only way out of being angered and depressed by all the bad taste and downright ugliness which Christmas seems to bring out in most of the western world is to dive headfirst into the festivities on your own terms. There's been enough holiday iconography and signifiers collected up over the years that there's bound to be something out there to induce the warm fuzzies, whatever subcultural camp one finds oneself barricaded in. For instance, we've been listening to Duke Ellington's version of The Nutcracker Suite tonight, and tomorrow we'll catch a matinee showing of It's a Wonderful Life before picking up a small tree to be sparely and tastefully decorated. Sure, the merchants would love for me to feel depressed and therefore guilty over my lack of Christmas spirit so that I'll spend more money at this most important time of year for them, and maybe it's just the sunshine talking, but I say screw 'em.

- Andrew

Loo loo loooooo...

OK, so I'm sorry I haven't been blogging very much lately. Things are pretty hectic and I always seem to be tired when I have free time and I guess the whole Christmas thing has been kind of bumming me out so I never really feel like I have anything worth telling anyone. We watched the Charlie Brown Christmas special the other night and it was devastating as usual. Alison cried and I got a huge lump in my throat. I remember getting that lump from it one year when I was a little kid, and I didn't even know what it was -- I thought it meant I was getting sick. They really suck you in by making the first half all jokes from the comic strip and you think, "Oh, this is not so bad. I think I can take it this year," and then they begin quickly ramping up the pathos, starting when Charlie Brown goes out with Linus to find a tree. Even the light in the sky when they go outside is enough to make you realize, "Uh oh. What have I gotten myself in for?" By "you" I mean me.

Charlie Brown's and, particularly, Linus's voices are so perfect in that show. I don't know where they found those kids. So soft-spoken and understated. Especially in that Luke reading -- he really brings out the poetry in that passage like almost no one else could by completely underdramatizing it. I wonder what kind of adults those two grew up into.

If you haven't started bawling by that point, the "MERRY CHRISTMAS CHARLIE BROWN!" will of course get you every time. And if it doesn't you might as well pull the other foot into that coffin, 'cause you're beyond help. By "you" I mean you.

I'm making an e-Christmas card to send out to people. Maybe that'll help me get more into the spirit than the seasonal red and green sprinkles on the donuts served by Santa-hatted Tim Horton's ladies seem to. If not, I'll have to go out and find a play in need of a director.

- Andrew

Finished!

Well, for now, anyway. Here's the new and improved electronic tune I've been working on.



- Andrew

Haven't heard from you in a while, Ali.

Three things I love – yoga, Buster, and pre-winter light. I don't know who this yoga lady is...I found her on google images under "crane". She looks like she's having fun. Not taking herself too seriously. Buster, oh Buster, you are so cute. This is a recent photo of the kitty taking a break from knocking his superball around. The last photo was taken last year at this time and I recently rediscovered it in among my many CDs of photos. I needed an excuse to display it cause I really like it. I think it was about 4:30pm, late November. Something like that. It is very blue out. Anyway...

Next time, three things I hate. (grrrr.)

Of course I watched Martha.

Did anyone else notice at the end of the show, while the credits were rolling, over the usual music that goes: Bomp bomp. Bomp bomp. Bomp bomp. Buddle buddle buddle bomp bomp... there was a crazy sax solo? I was busting a gut, but maybe other people wouldn't find that funny. Also, there was some other instrumentation bringing out a 6/8 time signature where I'd only ever heard 3/4. That was kind of cool.

- Andrew