either that or this

Everyone in this house is cranky and typing. Thought I'd join on

save cbc? Seems reasonable.

I'm Like Stevie Wonder Only I Can See Things

This is a metaphor for my life. I'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Nobody has washed dishes in this house for over a week. Last night I wrote a paper, tonight I'm writing a paper, tomorrow night I'm writing a paper and after that I'm free.

I know you know just what you like, and I am really not your thing.

That really sucks Chez. Basically sounds like nature and you aren't so much getting along up there. There is a shit ton of bugs in my house, that's about the extent of my argument with "nature."
As I am mildly obsessive I just assembled all of the titles of books that I want to read/ have been recommended to me. I figured out that at the rate that I am reading (approx. two books a month) I will finish all of the books on this list in 12.5 years. Talk about long term plan. Means I can't make my own book decisions until I am 32. But think of the books that will be added to the list in the meantime...
Anyway. Listening to a band called Kisses, which I think is a stupid name for a band but they make peppy music, which is alright.
Downtown there are carolers and horse drawn buggies, and a parade for St.Nick tonight. Just waiting on the snow, Oh Great Sky God. You know what to do.  

smc update! fuck this shit.

Nothing new on my front has been happening. Life is going slow, the house smells of the remnants of pancakes and I've left with this gigantic list of  chores, errands and everything to do. From where I'm sitting in the dinning room I can see the ocean acting up and it just adds to the pure excitement i have for walking into town to play marimba at kriskringle. It's the third day in the row we've been doing an hour a day. To be honest, I've been pretty horrible at the christmas carols. I've practiced, but when it comes to playing the simple, simple leads to jingle bells or let it snow, my mind goes blank and I'm stuck looking like a fool. Maybe I'm not meant to be super musically inclined.  I think I'm going to make a thankyou note for fahlon, and give her some nice chocolates, just as a thankyou for putting up with me, and being this ultimate teacher in the process.

How are things going for you guys? I have a story of wind and water for you guys. Check it.

I was walking from town the other day along the beach, and it was storming right. I thought it would be a adventure in the process of this simple walk. The socks in my shoes were already wet, and my care for keeping them from getting any wetter went flying off to the wind. So I went out for the hike. It was alright for a while. But that while ended the moment it was nearly impossible to cross this rushing replica of a river flowing down to the sea. I swear it was a depth of at least 3 feet.  I stood there for moments wondering my new course of plan, and decided to backtrack it a bit and climb a incline where the rushing water could be jumped easily.  I jumped and I thought the worst was over. I starter climbing the mossy, damp hill up to the path. My shoes had no grip, and I kept sliding. The only things i was worrying about was the brand new pretty stamps I have just bought from the post office and my laptop turning into this soggy mess. But I continued. I was nearly at the tip top of the hill, when all the sudden, the earth underneath my slippery shoes gave out, and I slide down to the rushing water, 20 seconds it took to fall to my ultimate soggy death.  I landed with a dump, and a black mud cover from my shoulders down to my ankles. it was gross. It reminded me of the time I slipped on the dead salmon (the leftovers of a bear) while hiking in the first nations reserve.  The smell of that fall still haunts me.

ANYWAYS. Point is, I ended up climbing up a wall during this adventure, and this gigantic wave attacked me, and surrounded me. Covering me with it's cold, salty water, my gloves still taste of salt. At that point, I started to think whether it would be super horrible if I just floated off to sea at that moment there, died you know? I'd feel bad for my mom. Not so much for cyrus, mostly because  I'm starting to really hate long distant relationships lately. And him. Does that make me a horrible girlfriend? Upset with her long distant boyfriend? In my mind, and heart sort of, I'm not really allowed to be upset with anything. Just because of the distance. It feels really unfair.

I ended up walking through a old folks home, soking wet and covered in mud. I got home, and pleaded to my mom that she'd make me a cup of tea while I run a bath. You know how your hands get red from no gloves? The aftermath of the cold? My entire body was like that. I looked like a lobster.

thats that.

Rivers of Gold.

I'm reading Beatrice and Virgil, Yann Martel's newest. Can you believe that guy lives in Saskatoon? It seems strange. Anyway the book is clearly autobiographical, about a writer named Henry (although he admits right away that Henry is a pseudonym) who has given up writing when faced with a complete shut- down by his editors. Luckily though he has one best seller under his belt (about wild animals no less) so he is able to live off the royalties and what he makes at a part time job. Henry gets a letter from a reader that has a manuscript for a script in which a character named Virgil describes a pear for a character named Beatrice, who has never heard of one. Anyway Virgil's description of the pear is so technical and philiosophical at the same time. How would you describe a fruit's shape/ taste/ consistency to someone who has not only never seen one put never tasted one or held one at all? It's like describing colour to the blind. Maybe easier.
Kat is watching Tintin in the living room. I am laying on the floor of my room.
There is a terrible smell in my kitchen and I can't for the life of me find its source.
And no Laura, I did not listen to the link you posted. Jeez.

"They are not artists, because nobody can play the guitar."

Ok, ok, ok. EVEN IF this isn't really your thing, you have to admit that going to one of his shows looks as if it would be one big, sweaty, dancing, strobe-light filled blast.

The more I listen to Skrillex, the more I like him, even though he is apparently unkind and also very short (no offense to short people who are not unkind). Note the Deadmau5 action goin' on in there.

PS. For awhile, the artist's description on Wikipedia was "Skrillex pressing 'Play' on his Macbook", until disgruntled fans changed it.

I really really love turkeys. wow do I ever

Bahahahahahaha. Remember this night?

Got a great message from a newfound friend, and an e-mail from my uncle. The friend talked about his aunt, and how her aversion to technology basically lands her in the dark ages and makes her irrelevant in today's society. This sprang from an argument we had about the usefulness of books vs. e-readers. I am firmly on the side of the paper and pen. Also, a girl in French CANADIAN HISTORY was going out with a guy last year who lived out in Sooke. He used the school computers to type up assignments; otherwise, he used a typewriter. And apparently, this guy called her up once and asked if she had room in her fridge for a huge glass jar of unpasteurized milk, as he had "milked the cow this morning and didn't have time to bring it home."

My uncle sent me a list of sources for an essay, booyah. The THUGS society is starting up a new journal; if I polish this up enough, it may be publication-worthy. How cool would that be?

Listening to the Deep Dark Woods in preparation for Friday's bonanza, oooooohhhhhh yes. Smooooooth vooooooices...

Swamp Water

I am a big fan of Miranda July. Saw her first at a small exhibition for Third Wave Feminism at MoMA, although to call her a feminist is to cut out a whole lot of other things. She is the writer for the film 'The Future,' remember? About two 30 somethings in the midst of breakdowns as they contemplate the adoption of a cat? Anyway she also writes short stories, solid gold. I would check out mirandajuly.com is I were you. I have come to the realization that the artists/ writers/ film makers that I appreciate the most are the ones who take their Art seriously, but not necessarily themselves. Here she is.

Anyway, been peer editing. Having the usual problem, which is I find it hard to see "strengths" in papers. I may or may not be really mean and nasty. 

 Listening to peppy teen music from a bunch o' locals.

"Outer Space", starring Mary Pickford from Miranda July on Vimeo. Anyway that's my distraction for the evening. Gonna watch some Leni Riefenstahl later, nothing like Nazism to enforce a good night's sleep.

Those dumbass stripe paintings.

You might understand my hate for Barnett Newman if you knew how much Canada paid for one of his pieces. I know I'm supposed to stand behind this kind of stuff but I can't. Especially not for a red canvas with a couple of purple stripes. Colourfield. Rothko did it so much better, all I'm saying.
Saw 3babes on bicycles earlier. One of them grinned at me from under his mustache as they wizzed by. Went to drop a few books off at the communal book shelf on Princess street earlier. Nothing but Westerns and Romances in there, sometimes I forget those things exist.
Last night Zoe's man friend told me that about 3 months ago he told his friend (who I met only breifly) that I thought he (the friend) was a racist when they were in line for the washroom together. Apparently this friend of his was torn up about it for months, that this stranger would think he was a racist. I thought this was a little strange and a little funny, that Cam would tell me this so long after the fact. Also at the opening: these gourds that were attached to strange plywood instruments and somehow amplified sound. The museum guard made me pick one of the instruments up, and tipsy 'ol me almost dropped it all over the place. This nervous woman standing next to me was grabbing at the air with a horrified look on her face. Reminds me of that time my mom's friend showed her this died silk hanging construction that she'd languished over for hours and my mom picked it up and the whole thing fell to pieces.
Saw some ceramic dishes from Chinese shipwrecks that had been at the bottom of the sea for literally hundreds of years but look like they just came out of the kiln. They had two identical bowls, one where the glaze had cracked and sea creatures had latched on in, and one in perfect green with a swirl composure. Revisited my favourite Varley. All in all, good day for art.

We Both Know Your Heart's Not in It

Does it say: find the BABE in that picture? Because that would make sense.
Had an intense day. Surprisingly, lightened up by my professors: first made Mussolini jokes and became giddy when discussing the cat sanctuary in the ruins of four ancient Roman temples in Rome (real deal). Talked about his childhood cat Blackie for a bit. I stared disbelieving.
Second put up slides of woodblock pornography circulated in the papal court of Renaissance Rome entitled 'I Modi' or 'The Ways.' Literally. Apparently this big shot architect did the original drawings for the booklets. She was trying to tie in his affinity for twisting bodies and "problem solving" through a variety of positions to his ability to combine architectural methods into new combinations (ie rusticated pediment, how exciting). Either way it all came down to her main point which was " The best architects are the best lovers.' She backed this up with a quote from Ovid.
And on my way home I got a hot chocolate and stopped to talk to our pal Jocelyn Cook, who was behind the counter. and who invited me to a show for Saturday night, featuring on drums our old friend Ray from Little Qualicum Cheese Works.
And tomorrow night is Urbanite at the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria. I'm going to paste the description here because it is too funny to be true. Keep in mind that the last opening I went to at this gallery featured what was essentially the furniture of the 1950s onward, crap your parents spent their entire lives slowly replacing. The place was packed though with swinging 30 somethings with cocktails and those two ubiquitous men who dress in metallic gold lame outfits and spin beats like Euro DJs.

Inspired by the contemporary South Asian exhibition Collected Resonance, this dynamic evening of music, cocktails and performance provides the perfect atmosphere to mix with friends and muse on visual culture. Enjoy the deep and danceable Electro-Latin sound of MicroBongo Sound System featuring live Indian Tabla, Santoor, and Dilruba performance and interactive visuals from Limbic Media, catch engaging curator’s tours introducing the trans-cultural art production of three contemporary artists exploring the South Asian diaspora, and mingle with friends over signature cocktails from Canoe Brewpub.

First of all, only an art historian would italicize the names of all the artists and companies. I shouldn't be telling you this, but there has to be at least four italicized words per art historical passage.
Quote from the Dean of the faculty, from yesterday: "You may not make a million dollars as an art historian but boy, will you have fun!" (pointing out that Jesus is the biggest in The Last Supper)
*entire class rolls eyes* 

Needed: A Right-Brained Thinker

There's supposed to be a 'baby' hidden in this picture, and I can't find it. This is bothering me a lot. Help?

Well its happened to me.

Here is a video my cousin made. She and her friends regularly make really strange comedy sketches and post them on the internet. Something that I would probably do if I had a camera.

I am so over writing. Hate breasts, hate art. Hate missionaries, also hate the Inuit of Labrador. Mostly hate the pain that my posture is inflicting on me. Fill you in later.
Also, Laura, you are right. Speechlessly offended.

I was going to post this to your Facebook wall, but then I thought it was a little inappropriate, HAHAHAHAHA

and your little heart starts to go boom-boom

Funny Chez. I picked up that Orwell book in a store today because the cover was neat. Also talked to my parents who ALSO survived the storm with bbq (and wood stove, and probably a bath tub filled up just in case) and candles. Remember in grade 10 when the power was out in Coombs for at least a week and Jossy had to shower in the change room at school? My dad was commenting on how Jennifer or Shirley's house up the block still had power. And we laughed at him for mixing up the names Jennifer and Shirley.

And then he told us about this apprentice he used to have who always got into fights. One time he came to work with a broken hand from punching someone in the head. I remember this kid from when he was in elementary school with my bro. He was scrawny and had a lisp- obviously started over compensating. Anyway, now he works in Dawson Creek, which brought up a whole new conversation. My dad says he is growing a Guy Fawkes stache.
Last night I got tipsy off of two glasses of wine but I had no one to talk to so I watched Adaptation staring Nicolas Cage as Charlie and his twin brother Donald. I have never been so repulsed than to hear Donald make a reference to "pushing in the bush" and swivel his womanly hips suggestively. Recommended.

Too dressed up for YOUR MOM

I don't know who the guy is in this photo, but I really love that sky. Photo cred to Taylor.

Having snagged a cozy cubicle in the library, I'm just watching people straggle in with desperate faces and book lists, attempting to salvage something of their wasted Reading Break. Or maybe that's just me.

Last night I had the craziest dream, featuring prison time, running from the law, road blockades, underground houses, boys with white, painted faces, and a roommate who generously agreed to hide us. When my alarm went off, I realized that my blankets had been thrown clear across the room, and felt...dissatisfied, somehow. Almost as if there was an underlying message that I hadn't quite been able to grasp. But it was probably just the pizza before bedtime.

Yesterday morning was mostly spent in a small art store, re-framing some water damaged paintings with the help of a soft-spoken fellow named Rob? Andy? Anyway, a whole bunch of people came trouping in, each of them with 5-6 paintings under their arms, clamoring for help. The rain was a-pouring down, and most of us looked like drowned rats. Cue the older, perfectly coiffed lady in a cream-coloured suit and silk scarf. "Please, everyone, respect my workplace. You are dripping water, and that is dangerous!" Anyway, my paintings look great, I have a newfound respect for the colour plum. And a special raw wood frame has been ordered to fit an acrylic piece depicting a storm over Lake Laberge; all that remains to be found is a suitable varnish.

Got to talk to the folks in Revelstoke last night. It was one of those conversations that had to be finished by e-mail, as his cell phone died midway and all the important stuff was left until the end. Anyway, a mid-February trip there is in the works, and the excitement is running high, even if it is a good 3 months away. We all need something to look forward to.

Sarah, have you read 1984? It's one of those books that is a pain to get through, but once you finish it, you recognize references EVERYWHERE, it's crazy. Orwell at his finest, or worst, depending on how much you enjoy depression.

Also, for the more general public, if you have not yet read Thomas King's green grass, running water, get on it.