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
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Right Back Atcha, Sweet Feet!
Happy thirteen and all those in between! Many more to come for Beauty and the Bum.- Andrew
Friday, October 26, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Rawk
Last week was the Halifax Pop Explosion, a big rock festival that happens in town every year at this time. Most of the good local bands played, and a bunch of acts from out of town and around the world came to show our little isolated peninsula the current state of international indie rock. It's usually a weekend-long event, but this year it ran for five days.
The highlight for me and a lot of other people I've since talked to was a loud and energetic performance by this Japanese band called Zoobombs. I didn't really know anything about them going into the show, but remembered seeing a video of theirs on MuchMusic's "The Wedge" about ten years ago or so and thinking it was pretty exciting and then not being able to find out anything about them and soon forgetting about them entirely until I found out that they were playing at this year's HPX. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the lead singer and guitarist, Don Matsuo, was basically a Japanese Matt Murphy, quickly whipping the crowd into a frenzy with his hot guitar playing and intense, frantic manner. "Everybody! Everybody!" he kept shouting, apparently seeing no reason to elaborate. Another surprise was that even though they often slipped into funk-inspired rhythms and riffs, it didn't make me feel gross like it does when white bands do the same thing (Talking Heads excluded, of course). Why is the funk somehow less offensive when attempted by a Japanese band? I'm not sure, but their apparent worship of manic energy over technical precision played no small part, I think.
Anyway, if you ever get a chance to see these guys (actually three guys and a girl, the latter pretty hot stuff on the distorted drony keyboard), you should definitely take it. Their live show is really inspiring and exciting and fun. I bought their latest CD from Matta, the parenthetically mentioned keyboard player, and it's a live album recorded in Toronto so the energy and excitement I witnessed is happily captured. Here's a sample. I can't help but suspect they've been somewhat inspired by legendary German 70s band, Can, though they're not listed in the influences on the Zoobombs MySpace page. But Don was definitely channeling Damo Suzuki at times. And it's not just a Japanese thing, because at other times he sounded like Malcolm Mooney, Can's original singer. Check out this Damo track for easy comparison.
In other music news, I was in HMV the other day, looking for a particular Jonathan Richman album (they had none whatsoever, surprise) and this song started playing where the main part was a really nice, harmonically simple but rhythmically complex electric piano line, and my ears perked up to check it out. It was quite groovy and I was enjoying it a lot before I realized that it sounded kind of familiar. In searching the corners of my brain, trying to figure out where I'd heard it before, I suddenly stumbled on the very weird feeling that it was actually a recording of me playing a melody I'd created on my own Wurlitzer. And then I realized that it was a track from the upcoming Buck 65 album and the weird feeling was accurate. It sounded great! Feels pretty good to be digging your own material without knowing that's what it is.
- Andrew
The highlight for me and a lot of other people I've since talked to was a loud and energetic performance by this Japanese band called Zoobombs. I didn't really know anything about them going into the show, but remembered seeing a video of theirs on MuchMusic's "The Wedge" about ten years ago or so and thinking it was pretty exciting and then not being able to find out anything about them and soon forgetting about them entirely until I found out that they were playing at this year's HPX. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the lead singer and guitarist, Don Matsuo, was basically a Japanese Matt Murphy, quickly whipping the crowd into a frenzy with his hot guitar playing and intense, frantic manner. "Everybody! Everybody!" he kept shouting, apparently seeing no reason to elaborate. Another surprise was that even though they often slipped into funk-inspired rhythms and riffs, it didn't make me feel gross like it does when white bands do the same thing (Talking Heads excluded, of course). Why is the funk somehow less offensive when attempted by a Japanese band? I'm not sure, but their apparent worship of manic energy over technical precision played no small part, I think.
Anyway, if you ever get a chance to see these guys (actually three guys and a girl, the latter pretty hot stuff on the distorted drony keyboard), you should definitely take it. Their live show is really inspiring and exciting and fun. I bought their latest CD from Matta, the parenthetically mentioned keyboard player, and it's a live album recorded in Toronto so the energy and excitement I witnessed is happily captured. Here's a sample. I can't help but suspect they've been somewhat inspired by legendary German 70s band, Can, though they're not listed in the influences on the Zoobombs MySpace page. But Don was definitely channeling Damo Suzuki at times. And it's not just a Japanese thing, because at other times he sounded like Malcolm Mooney, Can's original singer. Check out this Damo track for easy comparison.
In other music news, I was in HMV the other day, looking for a particular Jonathan Richman album (they had none whatsoever, surprise) and this song started playing where the main part was a really nice, harmonically simple but rhythmically complex electric piano line, and my ears perked up to check it out. It was quite groovy and I was enjoying it a lot before I realized that it sounded kind of familiar. In searching the corners of my brain, trying to figure out where I'd heard it before, I suddenly stumbled on the very weird feeling that it was actually a recording of me playing a melody I'd created on my own Wurlitzer. And then I realized that it was a track from the upcoming Buck 65 album and the weird feeling was accurate. It sounded great! Feels pretty good to be digging your own material without knowing that's what it is.
- Andrew
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Wish we could be there to celebrate it with you. I hope the day there is nicer than the meteorological mess we've got going on here. If so, I REALLY wish we could be there.In case you happen some time in the near future to come into the possession of a potential, but thoughtlessly unspecified, piece of literature or music, and are wondering how this potential should best be actualized in a birthday-appropriate (i.e. enjoyable, entertaining, fun) manner, here's a couple of suggestions:
Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace, is a hilarious, insightful, LOOOONG novel (with many, many footnotes) about entertainment and addiction and the problems of post-modern living in North America. I'm finally past the halfway point myself, and still enjoying it and ripping it off as much as when I picked it up a year and a half ago.
100 Days, 100 Nights, by Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings, is a contemporary album of soul that is not an album of contemporary soul, meaning that it actually sounds like soul music and not some pyrotechnical diva belting out vocal gymnastic routines that display her lack of soul. This woman's been around since the 70s, but only recently started making a name for herself, and she's GOOD! Think Aretha Franklin or Tina Turner.
Breaking the Spell is Daniel Dennett's most recent book about materialism, consciousness, evolution, and meaning, both linguistic and life-related. This one addresses religion — how could it have evolved and what good does it still do us, if any — and makes a nice, clear-headed, slightly less reactionary though no more apologetic companion-piece to his friend Richard Dawkins's The God Delusion.
Finally, I hear the latest Bruce Springsteen album is quite good. I'm not usually a fan, don't know about you, but Alison just heard it and claims to be converted. I know you like some of those intense, gravelly-voiced singer-songwriters with something important to say.
Of course, should you be granted the opportunity of choosing a new book or CD, I realize that the choosing-to-fun ratio in such cases can easily be at least .50. These suggestions, therefore, should be taken only as such, and represent no greater legal or moral liability than, for instance, an enthusiastically bellowed "Happy birthday!"
Happy birthday.
- Andrew
Monday, October 15, 2007
Update on Cliff
He did break his collarbone. All the way through. Plus a couple of other fractures. There was a possibility of invasive surgery to make sure it stays in place, but he's opted instead for a sling and a prayer. There'll be no drumming for quite awhile. And it turns out it was a tripup from his shoes, and not any kind of macho never-say-die attitude, that sent him sailing racquetfirst into the next court over. I still feel bad, though.
- Andrew
- Andrew
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Shows and Other Disasters
It's been awhile since I've blogged, and I don't want anyone to get the impression that this is all we've been doing during that time or anything, but I have to admit we've been watching quite a bit of these video collections called TV Carnage. They're these compilations of random scraps of really terrible television, but put together in a pretty hilarious order. Sounds stupid, I know, and of course it is, but Ali and I got fairly addicted for awhile there. Seems like any time you turn on the TV you're going to see total crap anyway, so why not watch the crap that someone has selected as representing the absolute crappiest? Here's a couple of the "better" things we discovered. I think they're both from the same show, which I regrettably never saw when it was on.
And speaking of questionable performances, I played a recorded show with Al Tuck yesterday, opening for Ron Sexsmith. Pretty cool. It was part of a series called "Pop In Sessions," which are short shows played in a local recording studio and filmed for later release on the internet. Buck 65 did one recently that I guess was mind-blowing, though I didn't see it or even hear about it happening at the time. Here's one by Brent Randall and His Pinecones that turned out really well, in my estimation.
Anyhow, so this show went OK, I guess, although I think we've played better. But Al's recently moved to Sackville, NB, so there wasn't much opportunity for rehearsal. There was also some awkward tuning between tunes and a song that had to be started over due to technical problems in the sound booth. Every time I looked out at the audience to get a sense of how it was going over, they seemed to have expressions of concern and even fear on their faces, sort of like when you drive by a potentially horrific accident on the highway and can't help but looking even though you're pretty sure you'll wish you hadn't. It was kind of making me giggle a little. I've since been assured that everyone was just engrossed in the intensity of Al's lyrics. I'm not entirely convinced, but I guess you'll be able to judge for yourselves when the show comes online.
Oh yeah, and Ron Sexsmith, he has GIGANTIC hands! Before the show, he was playing this song on the piano and it was really nice and I recognized it as one my mom used to play when I was a little kid, so I asked him when he took a break what it was, and he told me the name even though I forget it now and said that it was something he'd always liked as a kid because it sounded like vampire music and asked if he'd ever met me before because I looked familiar but I said I didn't think so, as if there was actually a little bit of doubt about it, don't ask me why, and then I introduced myself and held out my hand and the hand that it ended up meeting halfway between us was GIGANTIC! It was also very limp, with almost no grasp at all actually, possibly because Ron, who seems like an especially sensitive and caring individual, worries that people whose hands he shakes will be afraid, if only briefly, that their own hands might be inadvertently crushed upon envelopment in his GIGANTIC meatloaf of a manual appendage.
And speaking of crushed bones, Alison and I were playing some tennis this afternoon with Meg and Johanna and Cliff, when Cliff dove for a particularly tough shot I now wish I hadn't hit to him and fell onto the concrete, breaking his collarbone. We had to call an ambulance for him and pull his partner, Angie, out of her yoga class to come to the hospital. She's promised to call us to let us know how he's doing. It was very upsetting. Cliff may now be out of commission for up to six weeks! Poor guy. He'd just been starting to go to the gym regularly, too. And this is pure selfishness speaking, but as he's the drummer in the band at present known as Lowlands, that project's going to move along even slower than usual. Bummer.
I'll keep you posted.
- Andrew
And speaking of questionable performances, I played a recorded show with Al Tuck yesterday, opening for Ron Sexsmith. Pretty cool. It was part of a series called "Pop In Sessions," which are short shows played in a local recording studio and filmed for later release on the internet. Buck 65 did one recently that I guess was mind-blowing, though I didn't see it or even hear about it happening at the time. Here's one by Brent Randall and His Pinecones that turned out really well, in my estimation.
Anyhow, so this show went OK, I guess, although I think we've played better. But Al's recently moved to Sackville, NB, so there wasn't much opportunity for rehearsal. There was also some awkward tuning between tunes and a song that had to be started over due to technical problems in the sound booth. Every time I looked out at the audience to get a sense of how it was going over, they seemed to have expressions of concern and even fear on their faces, sort of like when you drive by a potentially horrific accident on the highway and can't help but looking even though you're pretty sure you'll wish you hadn't. It was kind of making me giggle a little. I've since been assured that everyone was just engrossed in the intensity of Al's lyrics. I'm not entirely convinced, but I guess you'll be able to judge for yourselves when the show comes online.
Oh yeah, and Ron Sexsmith, he has GIGANTIC hands! Before the show, he was playing this song on the piano and it was really nice and I recognized it as one my mom used to play when I was a little kid, so I asked him when he took a break what it was, and he told me the name even though I forget it now and said that it was something he'd always liked as a kid because it sounded like vampire music and asked if he'd ever met me before because I looked familiar but I said I didn't think so, as if there was actually a little bit of doubt about it, don't ask me why, and then I introduced myself and held out my hand and the hand that it ended up meeting halfway between us was GIGANTIC! It was also very limp, with almost no grasp at all actually, possibly because Ron, who seems like an especially sensitive and caring individual, worries that people whose hands he shakes will be afraid, if only briefly, that their own hands might be inadvertently crushed upon envelopment in his GIGANTIC meatloaf of a manual appendage.
And speaking of crushed bones, Alison and I were playing some tennis this afternoon with Meg and Johanna and Cliff, when Cliff dove for a particularly tough shot I now wish I hadn't hit to him and fell onto the concrete, breaking his collarbone. We had to call an ambulance for him and pull his partner, Angie, out of her yoga class to come to the hospital. She's promised to call us to let us know how he's doing. It was very upsetting. Cliff may now be out of commission for up to six weeks! Poor guy. He'd just been starting to go to the gym regularly, too. And this is pure selfishness speaking, but as he's the drummer in the band at present known as Lowlands, that project's going to move along even slower than usual. Bummer.
I'll keep you posted.
- Andrew
Friday, October 05, 2007
Yuck
I feel like crap today. I'm at work right now, in the sense of physical location, but my brain is so curdled and my eyes are trying so hard to close themselves that I don't feel like stretching the prepositional attitude out into any further senses. Plus, I keep seeing this guy in the corner of my office.
Should I be worried?
- Andrew
Should I be worried?
- Andrew
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Quickie
Pizza's here for dinner and we're about to start watching the season's second episode of The Office, but I want to get a quick post on here as part of my quit-ruminating-about-it-and-just-do-it-scrappy-style philosophy I'm trying out sporadically.
Ali and I just played some tennis in a surprise doubles match with our friends Jenny and Sarah, who happened to be there too. It was super duper fun and we're planning to do it again.
Work's been insanely hectic. I've already logged over 40 billable hours this week, and there's still a day to go. Last night in bed my head was surrounded by a buzzing and vibrating energy field that was radiating into and out of it. Some people pay good money for such experiences, but this one wasn't pleasant.
I sent some people emails asking them to sign a petition for the Chinese government to step in in support of the Burmese protestors. Hope no one was offended. Seems like a fairly important and uncontroversial cause to me. There's demonstrations going on all around the world at noon on Saturday.
OK, pizza's getting cold and Johanna's on her way over (recently back from Europe) to watch TO with us and Krista. Hope it's a good one!
- Andrew
Ali and I just played some tennis in a surprise doubles match with our friends Jenny and Sarah, who happened to be there too. It was super duper fun and we're planning to do it again.
Work's been insanely hectic. I've already logged over 40 billable hours this week, and there's still a day to go. Last night in bed my head was surrounded by a buzzing and vibrating energy field that was radiating into and out of it. Some people pay good money for such experiences, but this one wasn't pleasant.
I sent some people emails asking them to sign a petition for the Chinese government to step in in support of the Burmese protestors. Hope no one was offended. Seems like a fairly important and uncontroversial cause to me. There's demonstrations going on all around the world at noon on Saturday.
OK, pizza's getting cold and Johanna's on her way over (recently back from Europe) to watch TO with us and Krista. Hope it's a good one!
- Andrew
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
In Which He Pouts a Little
Lately Ali and I are feeling kind of "off" Halifax. ("I've gone off London this week. It doesn't do anything for me," says the pouty and foppish fashion photographer in Blowup.) It makes me feel spoiled to admit it, as I really don't know where else could be any nicer. I guess the students all being back has something to do with it. And the recent upturn in random violence. I suppose mostly we're both just feeling in a bit of a rut. Fall's always a good time for a big change.Speaking of The Fall and depression and fashionably aloof young Englishmen, last Friday we attended the Atlantic Film Festival screening of Control, the new biopic about Ian Curtis from Joy Division, who committed suicide at the height of the band's power. It's really well done: gorgeous black and white; fine acting, especially by Sam Riley as Curtis and Samantha Morton as his long-suffering wife; based on the book written by the latter (character, not actor). And lots of Joy Division songs are performed in the film, which has been making me feel like listening to nothing but ever since. That insistent bass, those robotic drums, that dark, Wire-like guitar... such a perfect environment for Curtis's brooding baritone to feel its way around in. This one's a particular favourite. I've already started working on a JD-inspired song called No Comment: "No one ever comments / On his wiseass blog / Makes him feel unwanted / Like a pedagogue."
In other film-watching news, we've lately rented the complete series of Sister Wendy's Story of Painting and are really enjoying it. I don't know whether you've ever seen it, but this super-loveable nun with awful glasses, horrible buck teeth, and an Elmer Fudd voice takes you through art history from her own personal perspective. She's so passionate and full of sympathy and joy it's infectious, and one soon finds oneself very emotionally involved. Well, these "ones" do, anyway. Marveling at a Brueghel depiction of peasants sitting in front of a fire, she notices that the lady "warming her underpants" turns her face slightly away from the men, who are "warming their, well, lack of underpants."Oh, and the softball playoffs were last weekend, as I believe I'd mentioned. We lost every game. No one seemed to mind much, though, I must say. It managed to be a pretty fun day of ball.
And now Alison's considering playing next year. She's a bit of a natural pitcher, like her man. We went out for some batting practice with Meg before dinner tonight. Won't be able to do that for too much longer. I can't believe next weekend is Thanksgiving! Oh well, bring it on, I say. I've had enough of summer's light fun and tomfoolery. Time to get down to some serious contemplation in a cold dark room. Now that's what I call a good time.- Andrew
Friday, September 21, 2007
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