I WOULD vote for Putin!
Since it would mean losing my job, if I didn't.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
kleptocracy!
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I'm a COMMUNIST!
Russia's commies are poised to come in second place in the next election, after Putin's journalist-killing United Russia Party.
With the Russian Liberal party barely in existence anymore, the country has basically become a two-party state. And if I were a Russian citizen, there is NO WAY I'd vote for Putin, who's suspected to attempt to try to hold onto power next spring, despite the fact that his legal term as president would be exceeded if he were to do so.
Putin has restructured the electoral system in Russia, doing away with constituencies with plurality voting systems, and raising the required percentage for getting into the State Duma from 5% to 7%, making it more difficult for independents to be elected. The only party presenting any real opposition are the Communists, with about 1/6th of Russian voters behind them.
When asked if Russia was still a democracy, one official shrugged and said "Not really."
I'm going to read Bend Sinister again, in solidarity.
Russia's commies are poised to come in second place in the next election, after Putin's journalist-killing United Russia Party.
With the Russian Liberal party barely in existence anymore, the country has basically become a two-party state. And if I were a Russian citizen, there is NO WAY I'd vote for Putin, who's suspected to attempt to try to hold onto power next spring, despite the fact that his legal term as president would be exceeded if he were to do so.
Putin has restructured the electoral system in Russia, doing away with constituencies with plurality voting systems, and raising the required percentage for getting into the State Duma from 5% to 7%, making it more difficult for independents to be elected. The only party presenting any real opposition are the Communists, with about 1/6th of Russian voters behind them.
When asked if Russia was still a democracy, one official shrugged and said "Not really."
I'm going to read Bend Sinister again, in solidarity.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
:icon_ew:
so.
the other day i kind of got locked on set. for about 8hrs. everyone was supposed to be back by lunch. but they didn't get back til dinner. it was fine, there was work to do. but there wasn't any food. some granola bars, but i hate that shit.
so on my way home i got take-out at fresh. i was starving and i would have eaten there, but i needed to get home to let the dog out. so i did something i really rarely ever do: i decided to eat while walking to/riding home on the streetcar. i am really not a public eater. i think its gross. i'm uncoordinated, i spill, i drop, i trip when not completely focussed on walking. but i was bordering on a hunger-rage so it had to be done.
anyway, i'm trying to be all prepared in case the streetcar comes, so i've got dinner in one hand, i'm holding the streetcar ticket between my teeth, my purse is over my shoulder and there is a hot coffee in my other hand. usually this would spell disaster in the form of scalding (me or someone else), but it seems to be going ok. i'm eating my dinner, i'm only spilling a little, no one is looking at me in disgust. awesome.
then the streetcar comes. i get on. i can't find my ticket. its not in any of my pockets, its not in my purse, its not in my hand. i had another one in my wallet so not really a big deal.... except for the the fact that i think i fucking ATE a streetcar ticket. sick.
the other day i kind of got locked on set. for about 8hrs. everyone was supposed to be back by lunch. but they didn't get back til dinner. it was fine, there was work to do. but there wasn't any food. some granola bars, but i hate that shit.
so on my way home i got take-out at fresh. i was starving and i would have eaten there, but i needed to get home to let the dog out. so i did something i really rarely ever do: i decided to eat while walking to/riding home on the streetcar. i am really not a public eater. i think its gross. i'm uncoordinated, i spill, i drop, i trip when not completely focussed on walking. but i was bordering on a hunger-rage so it had to be done.
anyway, i'm trying to be all prepared in case the streetcar comes, so i've got dinner in one hand, i'm holding the streetcar ticket between my teeth, my purse is over my shoulder and there is a hot coffee in my other hand. usually this would spell disaster in the form of scalding (me or someone else), but it seems to be going ok. i'm eating my dinner, i'm only spilling a little, no one is looking at me in disgust. awesome.
then the streetcar comes. i get on. i can't find my ticket. its not in any of my pockets, its not in my purse, its not in my hand. i had another one in my wallet so not really a big deal.... except for the the fact that i think i fucking ATE a streetcar ticket. sick.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Sunday, September 30, 2007
nuit blah
after last year's experience of traipsing through the rainy streets to see sights like an eerie pit of fog on u of t's philosophers walk, a girl in a glass coffin on queen, and a pretty decent light installation in trinity bellwoods, i had some high hopes for this year's nuit blanche. i set off on my bike around 7:30 feeling like it was christmas eve and excited for the exhibits i'd read about.
i was really interested in the recreation of the cold war bomb shelter in the architecture building at u of t... but it didn't really hold up. also excited for event horizon, which was pretty amusing, but a bit too precious. deeparture was promising in my mind, as well, but all i took away from it were the idiotic and LOUD comments of the people in the theatre, who didn't even bother to sit, but just stood in the aisles, saying things like "wolves hunt in packs" (thanks, genius), and "this isn't even a movie! its just filming animals!" (die). i really would have loved to see the ghost station, as it promised the creepiness i was seeking, but when we got there, the line was over an hour long, and the idea of sharing the space with suburban yuppies and their off-spring kind of killed the beauty in it, for me.
trinity bellwoods made me feel like i was wandering through a mall, with scotia bank tents everywhere. the aquarium window at queen and dovercourt was pretty, and the giant locust at lamport stadium provided us with some delirious 3am laughs, watching people hurl their bodies into it, thinking that it would support their weight. no!
i couldn't help but compare the entire experience to a night earlier in the summer, when there was the most beautiful performance art undertaken in the abandoned monastery on major street. i still think about how great and inspiring that night was. i'll go out for nuit blanche next year to give it another chance, but the crowds and lack of inspiration in the work this year, kind of made me long for the time when art was an inaccessible pastime for the elite. sigh.
i was really interested in the recreation of the cold war bomb shelter in the architecture building at u of t... but it didn't really hold up. also excited for event horizon, which was pretty amusing, but a bit too precious. deeparture was promising in my mind, as well, but all i took away from it were the idiotic and LOUD comments of the people in the theatre, who didn't even bother to sit, but just stood in the aisles, saying things like "wolves hunt in packs" (thanks, genius), and "this isn't even a movie! its just filming animals!" (die). i really would have loved to see the ghost station, as it promised the creepiness i was seeking, but when we got there, the line was over an hour long, and the idea of sharing the space with suburban yuppies and their off-spring kind of killed the beauty in it, for me.
trinity bellwoods made me feel like i was wandering through a mall, with scotia bank tents everywhere. the aquarium window at queen and dovercourt was pretty, and the giant locust at lamport stadium provided us with some delirious 3am laughs, watching people hurl their bodies into it, thinking that it would support their weight. no!
i couldn't help but compare the entire experience to a night earlier in the summer, when there was the most beautiful performance art undertaken in the abandoned monastery on major street. i still think about how great and inspiring that night was. i'll go out for nuit blanche next year to give it another chance, but the crowds and lack of inspiration in the work this year, kind of made me long for the time when art was an inaccessible pastime for the elite. sigh.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
there is no, this is no
Harold is coming by later. Two days ago, when I was sitting on the fire escape, I saw something fall through one of the cracks in the metal slats that make up the floor of the thing. I had no idea what it was, only that it was small, metallic, and not my phone, which I'm supremely paranoid about accidentally tossing over the edge.
I had completely forgotten about whatever it was that had fallen, until I passed Harold in the stairway today. He was talking with the superintendent about some repairs he wanted done in his apartment (my sink has no hot water tap and parts of my refrigerator are held together with duct tape).
Harold speaks with his chin tucked into his chest and jerks his head upwards at every pause. I think about pigeons ever time we talk. Now the pigeon is behind me on the stairs, cooing my name. I don't hear him until I'm in the courtyard and I turn and see him coming, doing an awkward half-run-shuffle towards me and the dog. He moves like he's performing some kind of reverse puppetry. Like all of his appendages are attached to strings, only he's the one pulling, against some motionless puppeteer.
He found the thing I forgot I had lost: Ela's dog tags. They are in his apartment and he will bring them over later.
I entertain myself by imagining that I'm dead and this building is some kind of purgatory that I share with Harold. I never see anyone else here. Its Harold coming home with groceries as I'm going out for the evening. Harold is holding the door as I'm coming home from work. Harold finds Ela's tags. Harold is dropping off his rent cheque at the same time I am, two days late.
I guess there are some others, but there are so few that its kind of eerie. Patrick lives down the hall and doesn't like it when I let Ela pee on the lawn. Alfredo has two or maybe three scruffy looking children and a wife who only speaks Yugoslavian. I hear a lot of rap music coming from 201, and there used to be an old man on the first floor, but I saw his kids cleaning out the apartment a few weeks ago. Thats it.
So purgatory is a spacious apartment building in Parkdale, with a view of the lake. I think that it could be worse.
I had completely forgotten about whatever it was that had fallen, until I passed Harold in the stairway today. He was talking with the superintendent about some repairs he wanted done in his apartment (my sink has no hot water tap and parts of my refrigerator are held together with duct tape).
Harold speaks with his chin tucked into his chest and jerks his head upwards at every pause. I think about pigeons ever time we talk. Now the pigeon is behind me on the stairs, cooing my name. I don't hear him until I'm in the courtyard and I turn and see him coming, doing an awkward half-run-shuffle towards me and the dog. He moves like he's performing some kind of reverse puppetry. Like all of his appendages are attached to strings, only he's the one pulling, against some motionless puppeteer.
He found the thing I forgot I had lost: Ela's dog tags. They are in his apartment and he will bring them over later.
I entertain myself by imagining that I'm dead and this building is some kind of purgatory that I share with Harold. I never see anyone else here. Its Harold coming home with groceries as I'm going out for the evening. Harold is holding the door as I'm coming home from work. Harold finds Ela's tags. Harold is dropping off his rent cheque at the same time I am, two days late.
I guess there are some others, but there are so few that its kind of eerie. Patrick lives down the hall and doesn't like it when I let Ela pee on the lawn. Alfredo has two or maybe three scruffy looking children and a wife who only speaks Yugoslavian. I hear a lot of rap music coming from 201, and there used to be an old man on the first floor, but I saw his kids cleaning out the apartment a few weeks ago. Thats it.
So purgatory is a spacious apartment building in Parkdale, with a view of the lake. I think that it could be worse.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
harold
i've never lived in an apartment building before. it's weird. your relationships with your neighbours are intense. i guess because you're all in such close proximity to each other. i moved into this four story walk-up about a month ago. it's probably around 70 years old, u-shaped, pretty, and crumbling. there are maybe 40 units. i love it.
harold lives on the 3rd floor. he reminds me of seth, this comic book author i met once. he's awkward, far more than i am. this amuses me. i have seen him in his underwear, as he frequently cooks dinner with his kitchen door open to the fire escape, which i frequently climb down to get ice cream sandwiches from the variety store across the alley.
yesterday, when i got home from work, i was in the stairwell and dropped one of the suitcases i was carrying on my own foot. i might have let out a small yelp. harold was going up the stairs from the laundry room to his apartment. he heard me and stopped on the stairs. asked if i needed help. i said i was fine. he carried my suitcase up to the fourth floor for me while telling me that he lived on the third floor, just below me.
i've been worried about whoever it was that was living in the apartment one floor down from me since i have a tendency to blare music and stomp around in heels very late at night/very early in the morning. so i asked him if i was loud. he asked me "in what way?" wearing a suggestive sneer that seemed highly out of character when juxtaposed with his unassuming, pot-bellied, comb-overed, resident-hermit appearance.
we'll probably get married.
harold lives on the 3rd floor. he reminds me of seth, this comic book author i met once. he's awkward, far more than i am. this amuses me. i have seen him in his underwear, as he frequently cooks dinner with his kitchen door open to the fire escape, which i frequently climb down to get ice cream sandwiches from the variety store across the alley.
yesterday, when i got home from work, i was in the stairwell and dropped one of the suitcases i was carrying on my own foot. i might have let out a small yelp. harold was going up the stairs from the laundry room to his apartment. he heard me and stopped on the stairs. asked if i needed help. i said i was fine. he carried my suitcase up to the fourth floor for me while telling me that he lived on the third floor, just below me.
i've been worried about whoever it was that was living in the apartment one floor down from me since i have a tendency to blare music and stomp around in heels very late at night/very early in the morning. so i asked him if i was loud. he asked me "in what way?" wearing a suggestive sneer that seemed highly out of character when juxtaposed with his unassuming, pot-bellied, comb-overed, resident-hermit appearance.
we'll probably get married.
Friday, August 24, 2007
this just in: cops: still dumber than the rocks they want you to throw
Montebello Police force desperately seeks wardrobe stylist, IQ above 80 a plus!
Like really, change your fucking boots. Duh.
Like really, change your fucking boots. Duh.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
the same ghost every night
sigh. she is an old woman. seems nice. always in the kitchen. very short! ela has yet to warm up to her...
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
and now i can never leave
holy shit i'm really loving parkdale.
i'm across the street from the fucking lake. i didn't think that was possible without living in some awful condo in queens quay. i have a fire escape/patio. i live basically right above stella luna and down the street from so many freshly made perogies, both of which i love. the variety store across the street has the best ice cream sandwiches. film buff is about 3 minutes away. i found the greatest table in the alley yesterday. my roommate came with an awesome zombie-child painting for the living room. i have a real bed again. and two closets. the buzzer works. ghandi and she said boom both have stores here. basically, why the fuck did i ever live anywhere else?
i'm across the street from the fucking lake. i didn't think that was possible without living in some awful condo in queens quay. i have a fire escape/patio. i live basically right above stella luna and down the street from so many freshly made perogies, both of which i love. the variety store across the street has the best ice cream sandwiches. film buff is about 3 minutes away. i found the greatest table in the alley yesterday. my roommate came with an awesome zombie-child painting for the living room. i have a real bed again. and two closets. the buzzer works. ghandi and she said boom both have stores here. basically, why the fuck did i ever live anywhere else?
Monday, July 30, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
yeah... i don't really like kids either
So this bi-partisan resolution that is apparently polling at 91% approval among the American public will be vetoed by Bush if it passes:
sorry, your child isn't worth 61 cents to me
Bush doesn't want a 61 cent Federal tax added on to cigarette purchases (with the revenue going towards health insurance for the 9 million uninsured children in the US) b/c he's "philisophically" opposed to it. Brilliant. For a nation who had to have the title of a Harry Potter movie altered from "The Philosopher's Stone" to "The Sorcerer's Stone" because people didn't know what a philosopher was, this is basically a perfect strategy to completely mystify the public and quell any protest.
Why do I continue to be shocked by the things this man does?
sorry, your child isn't worth 61 cents to me
Bush doesn't want a 61 cent Federal tax added on to cigarette purchases (with the revenue going towards health insurance for the 9 million uninsured children in the US) b/c he's "philisophically" opposed to it. Brilliant. For a nation who had to have the title of a Harry Potter movie altered from "The Philosopher's Stone" to "The Sorcerer's Stone" because people didn't know what a philosopher was, this is basically a perfect strategy to completely mystify the public and quell any protest.
Why do I continue to be shocked by the things this man does?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
dance party! (help me buy groceries pls)
I smashed in a Honda. I bought it a new door. Now I'm like, 3rd World poor. Come to my party!
The lurid details
Sunday, July 15, 2007
blood, dirt, chinese philosophy
on my way to isis' this dog came out of nowhere in the park, off the leash, on the dirt path by crawford. totally took me and my bike out. and i'm lying in the dirt and my bike is on top of me and the owner is apologizing and the dog is barking. this nice lady is patting my hair and telling me about the I Ching and how i must have a lot going on in my life because i'm a moving target or at least that is what the I Ching would call me. i may have hit my head. then eric from enterprise rent a car brings me a glass of water. i can't hold the water because my hands are shaking so the ice cubes are just clashing around violently in the cup. actually it was a wine glass. eric has two big diamond earrings and he's come out of this house beside the park where there are about 8 teenage boys yelling at him to "get her number, dog!" he once took two days off my car rental fees because i hated the neon i rented from them so much. he rides my bike around to make sure it isn't broken. the I Ching lady takes me to her house and cleans dirt out of my cuts and gives me tea. the dog owner knows cameron and elyse because they have the same breed of dog. the dog isn't hurt. she lets me pet her.
i've had enough crashes for awhile.
anyway, i think this is what the I Ching lady meant:
i've had enough crashes for awhile.
anyway, i think this is what the I Ching lady meant:
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
uhhhhh... yay china?
This is completely and exactly how I would deal with white collar crime *if* I were a dictator (I AM TOTALLY A DICTATOR!). None of this Scooter Libby shit for corporate actors or politicians who show complete disregard for human life. I don't generally support the death penalty, but for the exception of people who show a premeditated and calculated pattern of behavior that basically amounts to murder, like the douchebag referred to above.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
size. totally matters.
I would love for someone to set something like this up in Toronto. Even on a smaller scale. With me in charge of picking which videos to screen. And sleazeball directors bribing me (with alcohol) to show their videos. Hi! (I can see you!)
I once saw the Diableros vid for Sugar Laced Soul projected on a medium-sized screen... was cool... I could be happy with medium-sized.
I once saw the Diableros vid for Sugar Laced Soul projected on a medium-sized screen... was cool... I could be happy with medium-sized.
Monday, July 2, 2007
dogs!
Putin visits the Bushies in Kennebunkport. I am crossing fingers that Cheney flies in for a nice hunting trip!
Friday, June 29, 2007
sticks and stones
Yeah, yeah. I'm a communist. Whatevs.
Castro vs Bush
The hypocrisy is pretty fucking rank here. Communism and dictatorship in Cuba is bad but in China its ok? Give me a break. The single most important reason behind Cuban poverty isn't Fidel Castro, but the bully-like trade embargo the US has held over the country for the last 50 yrs. Its funny to me that this 3rd world country still has a literacy rate that's higher than in the US, and there are fewer people sleeping on the streets of Havana than there are here in Toronto.
Castro vs Bush
The hypocrisy is pretty fucking rank here. Communism and dictatorship in Cuba is bad but in China its ok? Give me a break. The single most important reason behind Cuban poverty isn't Fidel Castro, but the bully-like trade embargo the US has held over the country for the last 50 yrs. Its funny to me that this 3rd world country still has a literacy rate that's higher than in the US, and there are fewer people sleeping on the streets of Havana than there are here in Toronto.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
come over
make me a snack, i'm kind of hungry/lazy. paint my nails for me. wash my sheets and towels. the recycling hasn't been taken out in weeks. there is more in the garage. read me that book that's been sitting on my shelf for the last month. after we finish my april issue of rolling stone. make me get a haircut. make me eat a vegetable. how old is that stuff in the fridge? throw it out. lets sleep for more than 6 hours and then make our own coffee in the morning. bring your favourite movie that i've never seen. give the dog a cookie. unplug the computer. i'm waiting.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
seven more sleeps
One of my favourite bands are coming from Brooklyn next Wednesday and playing a free show at Sneaky's. I can't wait. I've had their song "Forts" in my head/on my myspace for about a year. It'll be cool to finally hear it live. The wait is kind of killing me though.
BOGGS
BOGGS
Monday, June 18, 2007
cognitive dissonance
soooooooo yeah. apparently thurston moore hangs out in my home town?
what?
serious stalking to ensue. stay tuned, kids.
what?
serious stalking to ensue. stay tuned, kids.
Friday, June 15, 2007
we are not the marines
we left a man behind.... shame on us.
KoTV @ SpaExcess (photos obvs. not by me!)
FYI: Spa Excess = a bath house in the village. FIRST BATH HOUSE!
Who wants a ride on the slurp ramp?
KoTV @ SpaExcess (photos obvs. not by me!)
FYI: Spa Excess = a bath house in the village. FIRST BATH HOUSE!
Who wants a ride on the slurp ramp?
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
hollywood north
My friend Carrie sent me this a few days ago... I am posting it now. Lazy. So lazy. Also, I have lost the ability to sleep. So I am brain dead...
Sicko
Apparently our hometown is getting the North American premier of Michael Moore's new doc? Weird... I can picture the theatre its going to play it (its in my old neighbourhood), and the giant suburban parking lot that stretches out in front of it... glamorous it is not. Ugly? Well, people protested the design of this theatre. And Londoners DO NOT protest outside of the confines of the University... and even those were always pretty poorly attended. So yeah. Ugly. I'll see if I can find a pic.
Sicko
Apparently our hometown is getting the North American premier of Michael Moore's new doc? Weird... I can picture the theatre its going to play it (its in my old neighbourhood), and the giant suburban parking lot that stretches out in front of it... glamorous it is not. Ugly? Well, people protested the design of this theatre. And Londoners DO NOT protest outside of the confines of the University... and even those were always pretty poorly attended. So yeah. Ugly. I'll see if I can find a pic.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Thursday, May 31, 2007
post secret
Tonight my friend Isis and I went to OCAD to hear Frank Warren speak about his community arts project Post Secret. Isis and I are both named after Bob Dylan songs. I feel that its a real bonding factor in our friendship. That, and the fact that she is hilarious and really fucking smart.
Anyway, Post Secret is actually amazing, it was started in 2004 (I think... fuck I'm bad at dates... oh the double entendre! Hahahahah! HAH! Sob!). Moving on: people from all over the world have sent this guy anonymous postcards that they have made and written a secret on, something that they haven't told anyone. Sometimes they're hilarious, and sometimes reading them makes you feel like you've been kicked in the stomach. Its weird/reassuring that certain things are just so terrible, but so universal. Frank said that he gets a lot of cards about suicide, and a lot about peeing in the shower.
He has all these secrets mailed to his home address, he gets about 1000/week. Then he posts 20 on his blog every Sunday. He's also published them in 3 different books. He talked about how he felt that making art wasn't about studying or formal training and more about the personal courage needed to take something you've made and show it to other people. That totally resonated with me. I know that if I were to send in a postcard (and I probably will), it would be something really fucking emo or emo-political or emo-ironic. Something I would deride as being completely lame if the lights were on and everyone could see me. Oh fuck, we're bordering on dramatic here. Also, bordering on using the word "fuck" one too many times in a note. Just check out his blog:
Post Secret
Anyway, Post Secret is actually amazing, it was started in 2004 (I think... fuck I'm bad at dates... oh the double entendre! Hahahahah! HAH! Sob!). Moving on: people from all over the world have sent this guy anonymous postcards that they have made and written a secret on, something that they haven't told anyone. Sometimes they're hilarious, and sometimes reading them makes you feel like you've been kicked in the stomach. Its weird/reassuring that certain things are just so terrible, but so universal. Frank said that he gets a lot of cards about suicide, and a lot about peeing in the shower.
He has all these secrets mailed to his home address, he gets about 1000/week. Then he posts 20 on his blog every Sunday. He's also published them in 3 different books. He talked about how he felt that making art wasn't about studying or formal training and more about the personal courage needed to take something you've made and show it to other people. That totally resonated with me. I know that if I were to send in a postcard (and I probably will), it would be something really fucking emo or emo-political or emo-ironic. Something I would deride as being completely lame if the lights were on and everyone could see me. Oh fuck, we're bordering on dramatic here. Also, bordering on using the word "fuck" one too many times in a note. Just check out his blog:
Post Secret
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
wheel of organ
A friend of mine who spent a few months working in the Netherlands can attest to the following statement: Dutch people are MENTAL. Serious.
Nevermind THIS, a warped parade they have at Christmas where white guys dress up in black face and accompany Santa through town, now they've taken reality tv to a level that is just WRONG:
Win my Kidney!
Nevermind THIS, a warped parade they have at Christmas where white guys dress up in black face and accompany Santa through town, now they've taken reality tv to a level that is just WRONG:
Win my Kidney!
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Thank god for the photographer passed out on my couch last night
I came home with the intention of writing a rllly drunken, emo blog (I think I would have referred repeatedly to "the scene"...eep). But there was some dude sleeping beside my computer. Phew!
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
vid (creatve title, i know)
This song could be terrible, I haven't watched the vid with the sound on yet... but its directed by Michel Gondry (who I love), and so I don't care.
I read ink
I've been reading Solzhenitsyn's The First Circle since I found it last week in a used book store in London. Shockingly, its fucking depressing. Like Sylvia-Plath-writing-about-terminally-ill-children-in-the-Sudan-depressing. Its a 400+ page novel that describes the minutiae of three days worth of living in a part of the Russian gulag designated for professionals and academics. While they aren't made to do hard labour like the other prisoners, they're still captives of Stalin's Soviet government. The title references Dante's first circle of Hell and the limbo-like state these guys live in. I'm at the part where its looking as though they are about to sacrifice themselves to the hard labour camps in Siberia in order to make some sort of moral point. I'm missing Nabokov, he never moralizes.
Anyway, it was all getting to be a bit heavy and doing absolutely nothing for my mood, so I switched. I'm now re-reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I find it hilarious. It makes me laugh out loud, which books rarely do. But I've read it already, and everything I bought last weekend is in the same depressing vein as The First Circle, with the exception of the Anais Nin, but I don't think I can deal with her right now... so basically this was a long-winded plea for summer reading recommendations/book loans. I can deal with "dark" or even "bleak", just not "hopeless" or also anything with the word "Shopaholic" in the title. Go.
Anyway, it was all getting to be a bit heavy and doing absolutely nothing for my mood, so I switched. I'm now re-reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I find it hilarious. It makes me laugh out loud, which books rarely do. But I've read it already, and everything I bought last weekend is in the same depressing vein as The First Circle, with the exception of the Anais Nin, but I don't think I can deal with her right now... so basically this was a long-winded plea for summer reading recommendations/book loans. I can deal with "dark" or even "bleak", just not "hopeless" or also anything with the word "Shopaholic" in the title. Go.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
architecture for the deranged
My most recent obsession is with monuments people have built to... well, their own insanity. I don't know, maybe insanity is too harsh a word. But they definitely aren't expressions of normality... but I guess art never is. Although I find Monet pretty fucking boring.
This kind of started a few years ago when my Nana came back from Prague with a book for me on the bone cathedral, Sedlec Ossuary. The interior of the building is decorated and furnished with items constructed from human skeletons, like 40 000 of them. Apparently a lot of Czechs died during the Black Death and wanted to be buried here. Too many. So when the cathedral was reconstructed they put this carpenter dude in charge of making some sense and order out of all these bones. Personally, my first instinct would be incineration, then a bone chandelier. Luckily for lovers of the macabre (ME!!), he thought differently:
I really, really, really need to see this IRL. Its hurting me.
Also: a friend of mine was working in LA last summer and was telling me about driving into Watts after dark (picture a skinny Jewish boy with glasses, sorry Fred, but you are) to see the towers while being followed by an LAPD helicopter the entire time. I had never heard of the towers despite the fact that Fred claims they are in basically every LA-set film or tv show. Anyway, this Italian guy spent about 33 years of his life building these 17 towers on his property, mostly from steel and wire, but also using mortar to inlay stuff you might find in your recycling bin, to make the most beautiful mosaics. Then he moved because he didn't like his neighbours.
After nearly being demolished by the city, the towers are now a National Historic Landmark. Which makes me feel like an even bigger jerk for not knowing about them.
So I think my whole thing is that these guys, a woodcarver and a construction worker, built this shit with none of the pretense usually attributed to the art world, or without any concern about being viewed as "artists". Also the scale of their work kind of awes me. I'm looking for more examples of this kind of thing... so if you know any, link pls.
This kind of started a few years ago when my Nana came back from Prague with a book for me on the bone cathedral, Sedlec Ossuary. The interior of the building is decorated and furnished with items constructed from human skeletons, like 40 000 of them. Apparently a lot of Czechs died during the Black Death and wanted to be buried here. Too many. So when the cathedral was reconstructed they put this carpenter dude in charge of making some sense and order out of all these bones. Personally, my first instinct would be incineration, then a bone chandelier. Luckily for lovers of the macabre (ME!!), he thought differently:
I really, really, really need to see this IRL. Its hurting me.
Also: a friend of mine was working in LA last summer and was telling me about driving into Watts after dark (picture a skinny Jewish boy with glasses, sorry Fred, but you are) to see the towers while being followed by an LAPD helicopter the entire time. I had never heard of the towers despite the fact that Fred claims they are in basically every LA-set film or tv show. Anyway, this Italian guy spent about 33 years of his life building these 17 towers on his property, mostly from steel and wire, but also using mortar to inlay stuff you might find in your recycling bin, to make the most beautiful mosaics. Then he moved because he didn't like his neighbours.
After nearly being demolished by the city, the towers are now a National Historic Landmark. Which makes me feel like an even bigger jerk for not knowing about them.
So I think my whole thing is that these guys, a woodcarver and a construction worker, built this shit with none of the pretense usually attributed to the art world, or without any concern about being viewed as "artists". Also the scale of their work kind of awes me. I'm looking for more examples of this kind of thing... so if you know any, link pls.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Patrick Wolf was amazing.
Also: do NOT try to out-suicide Graydon. You'll be all "I would dive off the bar and take one of those spikey lights right in the chest!" And you'll think you're hott shitt. But then he'll come back with a game plan involving the dragon with the glowing orb, an electrical cord, and goldschlagger. And you'll feel so lame.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Monday, May 7, 2007
ok, i get it, you're in "love"
Yesterday I was walking down the street, in a good mood (read: Bailey's in my coffee) with Ela when she decides to do one of her characteristic middle-of-the-sidewalk (why wait for grass?) poops. Not a big deal. She finishes, I pick up, we're good. But as I look up, there's a wall of people coming down the sidewalk towards me. Fine, we can squeeze through, only the people I'm trying to squeeze past are a couple, holding hands, and apparently, unwilling to let go.
Instead, they lift their arms making a little arch for me, dog, and dog poop, to pass under. Problem: they're like, 5'3 and 5'7, respectively. I'm 5'9 and wearing heels. Its fucking ridiculous. Really? You can't unclasp hands for the 2.5 seconds it will take me to get by you? I have to crouch down to pass under your midget-bridge? If I hadn't had a leash in one hand and a bag of shit in the other I totally would have karate chopped their hands apart.
Instead, they lift their arms making a little arch for me, dog, and dog poop, to pass under. Problem: they're like, 5'3 and 5'7, respectively. I'm 5'9 and wearing heels. Its fucking ridiculous. Really? You can't unclasp hands for the 2.5 seconds it will take me to get by you? I have to crouch down to pass under your midget-bridge? If I hadn't had a leash in one hand and a bag of shit in the other I totally would have karate chopped their hands apart.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
I'm so alone.
I locked up my bike on Queen St. today and was gone for about 4 hrs before I got back to find that I had left the book I had just bought in my bike basket. It was Nabokov's Glory. Does no one else like Russian Lit? This is Toronto, not Pleasantville. Why the fuck didn't anyone steal it?
Saturday, April 28, 2007
i don't really feel bad about stealing
... i just feel bad about stealing from the same people all the time. and then not crediting them. and then deleting their comments off of my blog if they try to take any credit. and then laughing about it a little.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
everything i want to write about happened in 2004
so i'll just say goodbye to jess with this little gem:
bring me back a designer-knock-off-something-or-other from milan!
bring me back a designer-knock-off-something-or-other from milan!
Monday, April 23, 2007
na zdorovia, boris
Russia's first democratically elected, post-soviet leader died today. Famous for forging ties with the West and infamous for sinking his newly capitalist country into economic disaster, Yeltsin was a true Russian. By which I mean that he was drunk. In public. Frequently.
Sportsovitch: Yeltsy playing tennis with a cosmonaut.
Danceovitch: Presh!! Yeltsy rocking out at a concert. I couldn't love Russians more.
Diplomatovitch: The drunk and the cheat. And yet still, somehow infinitely preferable to Putin and Bush.
Sportsovitch: Yeltsy playing tennis with a cosmonaut.
Danceovitch: Presh!! Yeltsy rocking out at a concert. I couldn't love Russians more.
Diplomatovitch: The drunk and the cheat. And yet still, somehow infinitely preferable to Putin and Bush.
Monday, April 16, 2007
bandaids
why are cnn and george bush talking about metal detectors in colleges and a comforting loving god and not fucking gun control? why can't i change the channel? god damn.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Monday, April 9, 2007
to me!
For those who are wondering, on April 30th I'll happily accept any of the following, without too much protest or "You shouldn't haves!"
1. Yes, ok. Another one:
2. My own entry in Wikipedia. I will also be satisfied with an entry in IMDB! Who said Tauruses weren't flexible?
3. Anything, just anything from Burberry Prorsum's Spring or Fall line. I am not difficult! I am however, hopelessly preppy:
4. The crown off of the statue of the Virgin Mary from that church on Manning. Jeff, I got you a crown last year, its time for you to step up!
5. Veuve: all sizes fit!
The following is also a perfectly acceptable substitution:
Its the end result that matters, right?
....aaaaaaaaaaaaand wasted.
6. My dad owns this. Like, fuck. GIVE IT TO ME ALREADY:
Ok! Only 21 shopping days left, friends.
1. Yes, ok. Another one:
2. My own entry in Wikipedia. I will also be satisfied with an entry in IMDB! Who said Tauruses weren't flexible?
3. Anything, just anything from Burberry Prorsum's Spring or Fall line. I am not difficult! I am however, hopelessly preppy:
4. The crown off of the statue of the Virgin Mary from that church on Manning. Jeff, I got you a crown last year, its time for you to step up!
5. Veuve: all sizes fit!
The following is also a perfectly acceptable substitution:
Its the end result that matters, right?
....aaaaaaaaaaaaand wasted.
6. My dad owns this. Like, fuck. GIVE IT TO ME ALREADY:
Ok! Only 21 shopping days left, friends.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
I'm moving to Atlanta?
I keep getting these weird emails in my gmail account that are meant for a woman whose name has one less "r" in it that mine does. Its so awkward because I never know if I should email back and let them know that they're sending mail to Corrina and not Corina. But I've come to the decision that Corina is some sort of madame or high class hooker and now I want more of her mail! Way more interesting than the shit I usually get (eg. "Someone from your high school has written on your facebook wall!" Woo-fucking-hoo.)
Anyway, I only have one of these emails left in my trash, but there were about 3 or so more, all in the same vein of "Hey, you're going to Atlanta! Here's some guy you should meet!" Its either a super aggressive dating-service type thing, or my name twin is a very Pretty Woman:
Subject: Hi Miss Atlanta!
Anyway, I only have one of these emails left in my trash, but there were about 3 or so more, all in the same vein of "Hey, you're going to Atlanta! Here's some guy you should meet!" Its either a super aggressive dating-service type thing, or my name twin is a very Pretty Woman:
Subject: Hi Miss Atlanta!
So there you go….you never know what could happen…
Sorry I missed the celebration last night, I got back to PDX this morning, I hope it was great fun. Michele is trying to get a walk/breakfast organized this week, so as I said I hope to see you in the next few days. If not, best of luck to you and your journey, I know you will love Atlanta; it’s really beautiful and has all the right elements.
Margie"
**Margie is a total slut name and "right elements" is obvs. code for "rich men and cheap drugs." Fuck, so transparent.
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