n: vb: the spice of imagination
via “Your Mom” Andrew:
Back in October 2005, Explosions in the Sky recorded an album called ‘The Rescue’ in eight days. They forced themselves to write and record one song a day, and did things that they had never done before.
You can download the full album in mp3 format here.
As a transit reader, I sit as far in the back as possible, where it’s possible to wedge into a side seat, face forward, and slouch properly into my book right under the brightest lights, right in a corner where no one can bump me. She, as a maybe slightly crazy person, got on a couple of stops after I did, and proceeded to begin a monologue of utter, utter bile. A narrative thread thick with fucking pigs, wops the fucking lot of them or spics fucking spics and if he hadn’t fucking said those fucking lies, shit, it serves them right, fucking niggers, fuckers, mother fucking shits.. It’s not like it was even directed outward, her obvious hatred at the entire planet and every multi-celled organism on it, no. Oh no. She stood there, leaning brutishly over her over stuffed back-pack like it was a rebellious child she wanted to smack, talking only to herself. Hissing, whispering, barely above a disturbing murmur.
I tried to tune her out, and mostly succeeded, though there were a few moments when her volume reached out and clobbered my reading, usually with derogatory terms I had to search my memory for. (Like, okay, when she uses the word chink, she is obviously not referring to a plaster crack in a wall, but what the heck is a chug? Answer: I have no idea.) Every time the bus paused at a stop, my spirits lifted with a wild hope that when the doors opened, she would leave, and I would never see her again. More the fool me. Oh hope. Oh fallacy. Instead, she grew more violent with herself, more spirited. As my stop approached, I decided that I would brush past her as quickly as possible because I knew, I just knew that if she said anything even remotely hateful to my face, I’d slug her. It’s not that I’m violent, but more that I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’m Canadian. I don’t even like to witness littering.
The time came. I pulled the cord, the bell rang, the bus slowed. I stood, collecting myself as compactly as possible, and slid past her, touching her as little as possible. Unfortunately, given her disposition, she’d been crowding into my corner more and more, and by the time I got up, when I say I slid past her, it’s more I squished past her, trying to get by. She turned, “Hey!” and I braced myself, telling myself to be nice, to leave my pointy things in my pocket, to not bunch my fist full of keys. “Ma’am,” she said, (ma’am? really?), “I would appreciate if you would say excuse me in the future, as pushing past people is rude.” Stunned, I replied, “Er, sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you. Sorry.” and exited with as much confused dignity as I could.
“Way to make a stand.” I thought at the corner, watching the bus drive by, “Next time I should set myself on fire.”
"Ten eye catching classic effects laden films, 20 fascinating speaking events and 6 fabulous days. SPARK FX 09 is bringing films like Alien, Forbidden Planet, T2: Judgment Day and Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers back to the big screen. Many will be introduced by historians and filmmakers to give you some insights into the making of these popcorn gems. On top of that Dennis Muren of ILM, Kyle Cooper of Prologue, Dr. Paul Debevec of USC and Jeff Barnes of CafeFX will be speaking at the show, as will dozens of other film, FX and games industry leaders. We’ll have panels on pipeline architectures, rendering human beings, VFX in Vancouver and why practical effects still rock. Come join us for the week at SPARK FX 09 – you’ll be sorry if you miss it!
The 7th Voyage of Sinbad JAN 21 // 7:00 pm BUY TICKETS
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl JAN 21 // 9:30 pm BUY TICKETS
Forbidden Planet JAN 22 // 7:00 pm BUY TICKETS
Alien JAN 22 // 9:30 pm BUY TICKETS
Pan’s Lanyrinth (El Laberinto del Fauno) JAN 23 // 7:00 pm BUY TICKETS
Terminator 2: Judgement Day JAN 23 // 9:45 pm BUY TICKETS
TBD JAN 24 – Check back soon!
Pleasantville JAN 25 // 7:00 pm BUY TICKETS
The Abyss JAN 25 // 10:00 pm BUY TICKETS
The City of Lost Children (La cité des enfants perdus) JAN 26 // 7:00 pm BUY TICKETS
Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers JAN 21 // 9:30 pm BUY TICKETS
I really like the idea of spending time out of town on Valentine’s Day, though it means my friends in Seattle might mostly be “busy” elsewhere. Already I’m considering buying another pair of ridiculously skimpy panties to throw at him to celebrate. I’ve never had a pleasant Valentines. One of my better ones involved someone locking me out of the house in the rain. Last year Mike was in playing over in Australia for Valentines, and Stéphane had just died, so I instead of going out, I was effectively single, alone, and in mourning. The highlight of my day was when Ben Peek wrote me into an autobiographical story introduced by a large picture containing the word COCK.
So far things seem to be falling into place. Nick called last night to tell me his van survived the fire somehow unscathed and that he and Nicole want to come as a romantic trip of their own. (That word again.) If it all works out, we’ll drive down to Portland on Thursday morning, love life there for a day, groovy down that night with Mike, drive up to Seattle, groovy with Mike some more, then spend the rest of the weekend drifting happily around Seattle like vacationing techno-hippies, and get back in time for my work on Monday morning. Depending on money, we might even make it down to his Wednesday night gig in Bend, which I find a delightful idea not least because I like the idea of a town named Bend. Seriously. You liked a place so much you decided to settle there, and that’s what you come up with? Bend? I love you guys.
Over my shoulder, the message lands, beginning with “Happy New Year Lady” and ending with “My love to any animals frozen in your freezer.” What else is there to reply but, “I love you too.”? We were a disaster in Toronto. We’ve been a disaster plenty of times. It is okay that I am Atlantis. Yes, I can see the forest for the trees, and these trees are shaking, waiting for the rain that falls to break them, waiting for the day when your hand takes my hand and we run into the ocean, laughing.
I thought everyone expressed themselves like this, moving through the world with poetry, an unspoken law, but I can see by his tightening smile, so sad, he does not.
“..most famous as the character known only as Number Six in “The Prisoner,” a sci-fi tinged 1960s British series in which a former spy is held captive in a small enclave known only as The Village, where a mysterious authority named Number One constantly prevents his escape.
McGoohan came up with the concept and wrote and directed several episodes of the show, which has kept a devoted following in the United States and Europe for four decades.
Born in New York on March 19, 1928, McGoohan was raised in England and Ireland, where his family moved shortly after his birth. He had a busy stage career before moving to television, and won a London Drama Critics Award for playing the title role in the Henrik Ibsen play “Brand.””
He’ll always be Number One.
EDIT: Equally bad news, Ricardo Montalbán passed away today as well.
via Dan Curtis Johnson aka crisper:
Let’s face it. You’re in a blog rut.
Most of the time, you write about more of the same kinda stuff that you usually write about.
Maybe it’s your day-to-day life, the stuff you did. Maybe it’s topical news response. Maybe it’s short fiction. Maybe it’s re-linking random stuff you see on the internet. Maybe it’s LOLCAT porn. (I hope it’s not LOLCAT porn.) Maybe it’s here on LiveJournal, or it’s over on Vox, or Blogspot or Blogger or Blogblog or Postablogablowablog, or WordPress or Facebook or FacePress or FacePlant or maybe it’s just your Twitter account. It’s what you’re comfortable with, I know, I know…
…but why not try doing something different, just for a day?
Two weeks from today, Tuesday January 27th, is Lewis Carroll’s 177th birthday. Carroll, you’ll recall, wrote about a girl who fell down a rabbit hole and found herself in a place where all the rules had changed. In two weeks, on Lewis Carroll’s 177th birthday, you should do the same.
That’s right: the 5th Annual Rabbit Hole Day is coming.
When you wake up on the 27th, instead of writing about your usual work and school and politics and friends and news and stuff, experience life down the Rabbit Hole and write about the work, the school, the politics, the friends, the news, the stuff that you find there instead. Travel through time. Turn into an animal. Flee from assassins. Talk to your goldfish. Conquer Greenland. Sprout some extra limbs. Learn how to walk on water. Marry an insect.
Take a break from the Every Day and write about your Rabbit Hole Day. Your normal life will be waiting for you when you get back.
——
For consideration: as always, distribute widely
The Hidden Homeless of Los Angeles
White is the new small project. A strip of white to replace the porridge-boring cancerous apartment ecru of the verge hanging in the living room over the sliding balcony door. Once it’s painted, it will be finally time to open the poster tube next to the couch, pull out the Etsy bought vinyl decal of birds on a wire I found on sale ages ago, and glue the image to the wall like a designer child’s shiny sticker.
I can only hope it will work. I am still too new at adjusting my surroundings to express myself to be proceeding with any sort of certainty. It makes me uncomfortable, even as I try to make the place a little more welcoming. The idea of settling into a place is too atypical of my thinking, my skills regarding the idea too primitive. When I moved in, I never intended on staying. Sections of my heart shout loudly in ridicule. “You think this is going to work? This will all end in disappointment.” I persevere in the face of my possible incompetence through sheer force of obstinate will, insisting to myself these renovations are agriculture, and my efforts will all bloom like a sunflower, something bright and cheerful, persistently reminiscent of summertime.
Supporter
, 2008, Ceramics, Glass, Polyester Filler, Car Paint, by Finnish sculptor Kim SimonssonAlso of note, Phantgirl, Spitting at Gods, and Swan Snake.
