Tag: video
I need to download an MBA into my brain
Weather Canada has issued a snowfall warning for Greater Vancouver.
10-20 cm of snow is expected to fall overnight.
Gregory Colbert clips are beginning to appear on YouTube.
I have a habit of not spending nights home. I fall asleep on couches, at tables, pen still in hand, my head cradled in papers, in someone else’s pillows. My bag, invariably it carries books, my camera, and a small overnight kit. Always carry a toothbrush, always carry something to read, never say no to a free plane ticket. Lately, though, it’s like I’m trying to make up for lost time with my room. I stay up late in my own house, writing at the keyboard, trying to grind a miracle out of my business plan. I delete and re-edit until the original version of my paragraph returns to glare at me from the screen with a malevolent beauty. I chase sentences until I simply have to sleep, frustrated that I don’t have a choice. My regular nights out, Sunday’s etcetera, I think I’m feeling too delicate to be around such a false sense of security.
Yesterday, however, I took a day off. I met Minesh at City Hall, and instead of spending energy in a double-run at the office desks which had already individually thwarted us, we sort of did the whole run, really. Lunch at Tomato, then to the Lennox, (consistently a place to run into people – Ryan first, then Kit said Hello, and my brother Cale and his girlfriend Chloe joined us for drinks), then a movie, then dinner, then staying up until 4 in the morning sharing pretty his and hers things on-line until we fell asleep in front of downloaded episodes of Heroes. We even had the most drawn out argument about who would get to sleep on the couch that I’ve had in years. (We’d previously stood outside for ten minutes, trying to get the other person to go through the door first. Who says chivalry is dead? People who aren’t around stubborn goofs like us, obviously).
I remember at some point realizing that it was dark, that all I had to show for the day were some blueprints, and that I didn’t mind as much as I thought I might. It was nice, not having to pour myself into one thing, to rein in my recent obsessive focus and merely be social. Tonight, however, after work… I want this done by Monday. Sleep is for the week.
barbarian girl, still with wrecked ankle
This link has everything needed to tell a story and I like it. (and this explains where it came from. thank you Duncan.)
I feel like dancing. I’ve got new super-perfect music playing, the Kaya Project, (yes, go get some), that’s erasing the unfortunate substance of yesterday’s job hunting. It was a slow Monday, the whole day drifting like early morning. It was taking forever to accomplish anything, the thick simple gravity of the world was holding time down. Clear but molasses. I was tooling away at my computer, able to judge for how long, aware of tasks finishing, but unable to grasp how many were left or still needed to be done. My heart felt too light, my head too hollow, like cases made of calcium and ivory, places for quiet telepaths to live in who didn’t need me to be complete.
Vancouver Zombiewalk 2006 CBC Footage.
When my eyes refuse to read advertisements anymore, I’ve been watching video I took of Chris Murdoch doing contact juggling and falling in love all over again with the wonder and awe that he engenders so easily in me. I need to rotate some the video and lighten it before I can share it. Fool with the gamma a little, tweak the curves. It’s magical and a little too dark. My camera can do a lot, but I expect miracles and lately the poor thing’s been flatscreen crashing.
Oh deary me, the things you find on Craiglist…
phoom, kabang, pow, then the spaceship falls into the sun
Welcome, my friends, to everything goth really wants to be:
I feel like I’m less fun, because I’m not in this video.
Darling theramina brought this to my attention.
I’m not sure what I can do in revenge, except link to this.
Hello to the people who trickled here from the plug from Warren, you’re more than welcome to stick around.
not changing my mind on the reproduction thing
I’m sorry, apparently Canada had an attempted terrorist attack this week? What? Did anyone bother explaining to these people what we’re like here? Gruesomely chopping off Stephen Harper’s head would not send us into an epiphany of terror, we don’t like him. We sort of expect it to fall off anyway, like a withered vestigial limb might. Blowing up Parliament might raise some blood-pressure because it’s some of our only architecture, but I imagine it would become an interesting bit of novel political history to be bantered over dinner rather than a great loss to rally with. As far as I’m concerned, unless they blow up the CN tower, they’re out of luck. Poor sodden fools, let’s dip them in maple syrup and throw them to the moose for being ignorant in their goals.
Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain
I went to AJ’s after work yesterday and by midnight we had finished my gown. (My mother had been wonderfully helpful in procuring tulle for me while I was at work). While I was there sewing tulle to my crimson dupone silk, AJ was finishing a dress for another masque attendee, a black and white kimono that, in contrast to mine, perfectly exemplified the spray of different aesthetics I’m expecting to see Friday. It was fun. I’m going to have to dive-bomb them randomly with cookies later.
I could still fall in love with you
Does anyone know of a professional alteration shop that won’t break the bank?
I have a line on a fairly simple gown that I would like to be a bit more complex. Mostly the skirt ruched up with tulle put underneath as the green one is on this page, or with something on top, as the red one is, yes, flowery bits and all, if that’s easier. It’s about time I admitted myself a flowery bit of girlishness rather than have certain aspects of femininity drift blankly past me like a painted-eye shopping mall crowd after a fire.
Last Sunday I went to Seattle, and after a pleasant ride down with Brian’s friend, Jane, long silver hair, the pretty violet mannerisms of a relaxed bird, I found myself in the grand company of Eliza, who walks like she really means it and takes two hours to decide what to wear. It felt somehow like I was speaking with an echo of something I used to believe in. Three days of barely sleeping, being thrown into a car with a familiar stranger, a city I’m not familiar with. I felt like a game of jeweled cards was playing inside my head where I didn’t know the rules. I appreciated her friends, they were relaxing, a black clothes contingent to take my hand and keep me standing through my weary run. more pictures soon.
People have been repeatedly sending Robert Newman’s History of Oil to me the last few days. I am remiss in not posting it immediately, I’m sorry. (I forget more people read here). It’s a shining and clever monologue that discusses the critical political issues of war and energy use in an exceedingly accessible manner. He gracefully binds imperative information in laughter and ties it all up with a fun sense of charming levity, which may sounds silly, but it really needs to be seen to be properly understood. Watch it as soon as possible!
Quote of the Day: Andrew: “I think it says bad things about me when I try and go to the site http://super.cali.fragi.listic.expi.ali.do.cio.us/ and get disappointed that no one has made it yet.”
too tired for anything but 99c pizza
I really appreciate Tilly. Once a shaved-head lesbian who wrote bad poetry, she’s such a heavily blossoming human being now that it gives me hope for my body, for the wreckage of emotional scenery that surrounds it. I love when she explains her past, if she had a job somewhere as a programmer, she would be the power-point perfect love interest for a Douglas Coupland character. She groans along with us at the more delightfully embarrassing habits she used to have, and it plucks out my hiding grin and shakes it in front of my face like a dusty rag.
Outside black clouds are chasing sunlight across Davie Street in waves. Shadow, sun, shadow, darkness, chilly, light. I want it to snow. I want flowers to bloom so hard they pop in small explosions. I want my feeling of betrayal to launch into the air and be hit by a large blue truck. The snow would be crunchy as I walked out slowly into the street, and the yelling of the panicked driver, oh my god, I’m so sorry, it just ran under my tires, I didn’t see it, would be quiet compared to the styrofoam compression of ice-crystals under my feet and the scorched flower petals falling from the trees thick enough to blind.
Today will continue Mandarin Movie Tuesdays with The Promise, Chen Kaige’s newest and phenomenally beautiful film.
Perhaps irrationally, I feel this psychedelic cartoon of “Love is All,” performed by Ronnie James Dio of Black Sabbath, explains my ex-husband, Bill, somewhat more comprehensively than I’ve been able to myself. It precisely encapsulates a chunk of the media mind-set that he grew up with on Vancouver Island in the 70’s, one that I’ve always had troubles mentally capturing outside of films like Wizards. It’s like those taupe and dark brown houses that cover swathes of suburbia, little tear-downs always with the same hardware store cupboards and red brick fireplaces, nestled in trees that look like they need pruning, that are like fading photographs of twenty minutes before I was born, when he was a teenager fresh from conquering high-school and discovering Vancouver as the fresh place to be.
I found a picture of him while I was tidying this week. It’s a photograph I insisted on taking from the stage before we mounted a play, possibly The Heretic, in Waterfront Theater. It’s him with a bunch of people who used to be our friends, Johnathan Ryder, his wife Nancy, (still pregnant with the baby), John Murphy, and Tom Jones, sitting in first row. If anyone has a scanner I could use, I would like to make a copy to send to him. I think he would like it.
Download Music: New DeathBoy Track: Anuism (feat. Mog Xykogen)
“A willow deeply scarred, and somebody’s broken heart”
After Rick was a no show yesterday after work, I tagged along with Sam to a game of pool. A friend of his leaving town. Let’s get together. Celebrate. Yaletown, home of the tax-bracket enabled. Thread count, thread count and pool halls with clean floors and flat tables. Prettier people, better teeth, nicer shirts. Barefoot, I walked in and looked around. I made a three, not enough for another set. I looked around and wondered. I should be at the hospital. I should be finding busses, climbing hills, breathing sterilized air. Pressing twelve, the elevator button lighting red under the pressure of my finger.
Matthew, Sam’s actor friend from L.A., was paired with Francois, a SFX make-up artist from Montreal. They were the cats. Graceful, fun, the polished easy flirts. In this situation, the social strata lattice-work puts them on top. I barely exchanged words with them, but species calls to species. When it was time to leave, I railed a little at Sam, as if by sheer force of will I could change his community DNA into something that would be helpful to me, some sort of chaperone who was in on the game, but he was left behind. A secondary player, uninvolved in the double-meaning conversation of glances and inconsequentialities. When it was time to go, I railed and gave up. I gave in. Francois left first and I followed, confident I would find him on the corner. We drifted out like smoke. Matthew would follow. This is all part of the scene. Leaving behind everyone else in such a way they don’t think there’s more of a party. Tag, you’re it crowd.
Media Banned from Red Light District.
Now I’m in the clothes Francois’ was wearing yesterday, low slung dark blue jeans and a long sleeve black shirt with ZERO written on the front, (my mind is now pronouncing it “zehro”), that I stole from the hotel room floor while he was sleeping because mine had been too spattered with chocolate and strawberry juice to wear to work, wondering how to create a break in my chemical fall-out refusal to go back to the hospital. I know I went playing pool out of avoidance. I agreed to hang out after out of avoidance. It’s clinging Monday depression like a wall, thick and cloying, turning my thoughts away, making me think twice. I went in Monday needing to feel cared for and walked out feeling like I’d been shot. Not his fault, I didn’t say anything. I never can. It’s not my place.
That’s part of the problem, same as it always has been. It’s like the business card that Atticus threatens me with. Jhayne Holmes: Awesome Mistress.
all men are sailors until the sea
As with the beginning of every May, people have begun asking me what I want for my birthday. Keeping in mind the sorts of gifts that have found me in previous years, I’ve begun creating answers out of self-defense. (The maternity size Dagoli dress springs almost immediately to mind). I’ve come up with a list of three.
I would like my name legally changed to my name already, a clean house, and any suggestions or help at all with my masquerade costume.
Which, admittedly, is more like two and a half, but that’s the best I can do.
Today I’ve been puttering through the BoingBoing coverage of the media fallout from yesterday’s American Day Without An Immigrant, a 24 hour period where immigrants and friends boycott their workplaces and notify their employers that the absence is due to the upcoming immigration reform. It’s been fascinating to see how many people were involved. Apparently thousands of businesses closed for the day simply because they had no workers. The largest rallies were in Tampa, Los Angeles, New York City, San Francisco, Tijuana, Portland, and Chicago. There are photographs that show no end to the crowds, they simply continue on for blocks.
Also yesterday, a not-to-be-missed video of Stephen Colbert’s viciously attacking the Bush administration during a White House Press Corps annual meeting went live on-line. [thank you stephen colbert] [youtube video mirror] [boingboing article]
Colbert, who spoke in the guise of his talk show character, who ostensibly supports the president strongly, urged the Bush to ignore his low approval ratings, saying they were based on reality, “and reality has a well-known liberal bias.”
He attacked those in the press who claim that the shake-up at the White House was merely re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. “This administration is soaring, not sinking,” he said. “They are re-arranging the deck chairs–on the Hindenburg.”
P.S. Alastair needs some film extras, (any age/size/weight), for the film: Casting Couch and How to Use it. Your pay will be love and hugs, but it looks to be fun. People are needed to be part of an audience watching a presentation. The shoot will at 4:30 at Vancouver Film School Main Auditorium this Thursday, May 4th and should take about 20-30 mins. If you’re interested, contact him at al at glasgowkiss dot com.
faster than speeding water
KindelingBoy Michael is having a party tomorrow evening to celebrate his final freedom from Too Much School TM.
My cool news today is this letter:
Hi,
Just a head’s up to let you know that I’ve added your blog, Dreampepper, to the British Columbia Blogs directory and aggregator at publicbroadcasting.ca – if for any reason you do not want your blog listed, please let me know and I’ll take it back down immediately.
Cheers,
Justin
I don’t know how they found me, but the list looks pretty small, so I’m pleased. Apparently the main criteria be that they’re well written, been around for awhile, and update frequently, as well as having that undefinable “something”.
Max Headroom creator made Roswell alien.
Deathboy makes a song based on the very first episode.
This week has been a successful book of matches, every day burning when I strike it with my eyes. I feel like a chemical reaction, sparkling and fizzing, exploding strong-box secrets and licking what’s inside. If I were Rapunzel, this would be me letting down my hair, suddenly afraid that my princes were just a dream. This would be taking myself and my bedding and my famous blue raincoat to wind my fairy-tales a rope, offering them a way in instead of a noose, banishing my fears, losing them one by one like beads from a broken string.
AXE’s GameKillers advertisement series.
Adidas Idicolor viral-marketing films. (watch PINK especially)