GSD's second podcast is up a little earlier than expected, and mainly because I was impatient and wanted to post it. I'm STILL having some technical difficulties with Garageband, otherwise the transitions would be smoother, and the vocals would be louder. Whatever. It's still pretty damned good. I did go back in and fix MOST of the dates mentioned in it, seeing as I'm a retard (see post below) all except for my girlish enthusiasm at the VERY END. (Hey, no skipping ahead to hear, damnit. Suffer through my music choices.)
If anyone tells you that .xml coding is easy, they're LYING!! I spent 20 minutes tinkering with the damned thing before I realized that I saved it with uppercase lettering instead of lowercase, and that was the only thing that was wrong.
I shrank the file size down, sacrificing a wee bit of quality via bitrate torrent for the mp3 conversion, so you guys are getting an hour and five minutes of slightly less than awesome stereophonic goodness, and a 30 meg smaller file size. I'll work on that in my spare (Hah!) time.
I've also included album art if you use iTunes (which is highly recommended. Go get it, it's free, and you can subscribe to any podcast of your choosing on it. Seriously.) As well as track information, including an entire listing of the artists/bands played on the podcast du jour. Okay, Du month.
Subscribe using this here link and revel in music-y goodness.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Hot? Not.
A couple of days ago, I decided to accept a double match on Hot or Not, from a man that posted his profile that I found intreguing. His profile said this:
35, married with children. That was married, not dead. I still like to talk to people. Looking for other tattoo or piercing lovers, that aren't afraid to show them. Friends only. What I wouldn't give for an intelligent conversation.
Now, being a lover of tattoos, piercings and other forms of body modification, I thought, "Sure, why not, he seems harmless." only to receive an email this afternoon from him that said:
"Can I see you naked?"
This was the first email he sent me. No signature, not even manners.
Tsk.
My response was as follows:
No.
Or not until you can break down your "Can I see you naked?" inquiry into a logical analysis that either proves or disproves your question using boolean operators.
(Let me explain... You used the word "Can" instead of "May".)
Technically, it is possible given the refraction of light and our optic nerves' sensitivity to same. Granted, based on where you are, you might require a series of mirrors.
Or I could just tell you to fuck off, and learn some tact.
How this equates to discussing tattoos, piercings and "Friends" (Though, how you define "friends" eludes me...) and asking to see a picture of my tattoo's MIGHT have garnered you a glimpse at flesh, considering they cover most of my back, perhaps after a few emails. Unfortunately, you didn't couch your words in the right phrasing, opting for a more direct approach. A pity.
I clicked yes to "meet" you, because I was interested in the "friend" aspect of what you were saying. If you wanted intelligent conversation, you picked the right girl. IF you wanted two-bit whores flaunting their goodies on webcam or other digital imagery, try another train. This one is all full up. I'm not swoony and fawning over you because of your tattoos or shiny dome, I was interested in genuine conversation with a tattoo/piercing enthusiast like myself.
Show some respect to your wife. She had the patience to have you rutting between her thighs and then popping out a kid for you nine months later. Perhaps some gratitude is in order.
Not all the chicks on Hot or Not are whores, and not all of them randomly flash nude pictures of themselves to complete strangers within the first exchange of email corrospondance. Perhaps you should learn that first, before whipping it out of your trousers.
If you find this harsh, or uncalled for, I'm not apologizing. I found your request both crass and definitely unappreciated.
Cheers.
~L~
I suppose I could've just said "I dunno, can you?" and be done with it, but this was much more satisfying.
Gad, I'm a bitch sometimes.
35, married with children. That was married, not dead. I still like to talk to people. Looking for other tattoo or piercing lovers, that aren't afraid to show them. Friends only. What I wouldn't give for an intelligent conversation.
Now, being a lover of tattoos, piercings and other forms of body modification, I thought, "Sure, why not, he seems harmless." only to receive an email this afternoon from him that said:
"Can I see you naked?"
This was the first email he sent me. No signature, not even manners.
Tsk.
My response was as follows:
No.
Or not until you can break down your "Can I see you naked?" inquiry into a logical analysis that either proves or disproves your question using boolean operators.
(Let me explain... You used the word "Can" instead of "May".)
Technically, it is possible given the refraction of light and our optic nerves' sensitivity to same. Granted, based on where you are, you might require a series of mirrors.
Or I could just tell you to fuck off, and learn some tact.
How this equates to discussing tattoos, piercings and "Friends" (Though, how you define "friends" eludes me...) and asking to see a picture of my tattoo's MIGHT have garnered you a glimpse at flesh, considering they cover most of my back, perhaps after a few emails. Unfortunately, you didn't couch your words in the right phrasing, opting for a more direct approach. A pity.
I clicked yes to "meet" you, because I was interested in the "friend" aspect of what you were saying. If you wanted intelligent conversation, you picked the right girl. IF you wanted two-bit whores flaunting their goodies on webcam or other digital imagery, try another train. This one is all full up. I'm not swoony and fawning over you because of your tattoos or shiny dome, I was interested in genuine conversation with a tattoo/piercing enthusiast like myself.
Show some respect to your wife. She had the patience to have you rutting between her thighs and then popping out a kid for you nine months later. Perhaps some gratitude is in order.
Not all the chicks on Hot or Not are whores, and not all of them randomly flash nude pictures of themselves to complete strangers within the first exchange of email corrospondance. Perhaps you should learn that first, before whipping it out of your trousers.
If you find this harsh, or uncalled for, I'm not apologizing. I found your request both crass and definitely unappreciated.
Cheers.
~L~
I suppose I could've just said "I dunno, can you?" and be done with it, but this was much more satisfying.
Gad, I'm a bitch sometimes.
*sighs*
Now, If I knew how to read a calendar, I wouldn't have addressed my podcast for FRIDAY June 30th. As it stands now, I don't have to post it until Tomorrow, but fuck it. It's kinda funny looking stupid.I swear, some days I worry about myself.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Hey, Neat!!
For the whole 12 people that read GSD, and that have bothered to vote on Blog Hot or not, I'm also number one in the Vancouver keyword category of blogs. That's pretty wild. Thanks guys!
You heard it here first.... Again.... Gosh I'm good at that.
I am 42% Asshole/Bitch.
I may think I am an asshole or a bitch, but the truth is I am a good person at heart. Yeah sure, I can have a mean streak in me, but most of the people I meet like me.In the middle of flash class, and I thought why not do a personality test?
Yes. I'm paying attention. Okay. I will be in a moment.
"These Boots Are Made For Walking..." GSD podcast version 2.0.
The G.S.D. Podcast for Friday, June 30th, 2005 is almost ready to be tossed up there, you can subscribe in your podcasting software by putting in this here link in your subscription input area. If you haven't heard the inaugural podcast before Friday afternoon when I change it, and haven't heard the old one yet, well then poppets, I'm sorry you're too late for that one. I'll post up when it's been updated.
I had a little fun, despite some technical difficulties with Garage band, that stopped me from posting one of these LAST week like I had promised, as well as some assignments that seemed to grow arms and legs and physically take over my life for a few days. Stupid homework. I'm a bad bad girl. I know. Apologies.
The music ranges from The new Missy Elliot, some gritty soulfilled blues, classic Jazz from Ella Fitzgerald, Aretha Franklin, some metal,(Me? Metal? Oh yes...) to a bunch of requests from listeners and some stuff I've tossed in to fill the void. And oh, what a void it is. It's a hefty hour and five minutes, and a staggering 90.1 megs of stereophonic, 192 bitrate MP3 goodness. Only the best for you guys. You love me, so you'll download it and listen, right? Right?
Right.
If you're interested in getting a request up in the next GSD podcast, you can email me with the subject heading "Podcast" in there. I'll do my best to get your request up and rocking the casbah. I'll also do birthday shoutouts etcetera if you get your email in there before I've finished recording.
I had a little fun, despite some technical difficulties with Garage band, that stopped me from posting one of these LAST week like I had promised, as well as some assignments that seemed to grow arms and legs and physically take over my life for a few days. Stupid homework. I'm a bad bad girl. I know. Apologies.
The music ranges from The new Missy Elliot, some gritty soulfilled blues, classic Jazz from Ella Fitzgerald, Aretha Franklin, some metal,(Me? Metal? Oh yes...) to a bunch of requests from listeners and some stuff I've tossed in to fill the void. And oh, what a void it is. It's a hefty hour and five minutes, and a staggering 90.1 megs of stereophonic, 192 bitrate MP3 goodness. Only the best for you guys. You love me, so you'll download it and listen, right? Right?
Right.
If you're interested in getting a request up in the next GSD podcast, you can email me with the subject heading "Podcast" in there. I'll do my best to get your request up and rocking the casbah. I'll also do birthday shoutouts etcetera if you get your email in there before I've finished recording.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Masochist...
I'm getting the urge, stronger and stronger every day, to go get more ink slammed in my skin. Let this be a warning to anyone who's ever contemplated getting a tattoo, they are addictive. My goal is to have my whole backpiece done by 2008, and I'm tossing around some ideas in my head basing off of a Japanese theme, with either bansai trees above a koi pond, or something totally different, though the Japanese theme goes well with the Kanji up my spine. It's all going to be done in black white and grey, unless my tat artist and I come up with another idea.
If anyone has any skills with drawing detailed shading and accurate representation of Japanese culture, including previously mentioned ideas for my backpiece... Please, send me an email. I'll totally credit the original piece to you, and when it's done, you'll know that you've got an original, appreciated piece of artwork limning someone's back.
I've got the opportunity to get my tat's touched up for free,par for the course with getting a tat done in most parlours. The thing is, I want to go strictly to feel the pain of the needle freshing up the ink if it's needed, and I know my shoulder needs some work. This frightens me a little, but in a way I know I'm the sort of person that gets a little thrill from a bit of pain. Tug on my hair during sex at the right time, and I'm three times friskier. (And there IS a right way and wrong way to tug hair, make no mistake. You do it the wrong way, and your S.O.L. and fast on the way to a solo session, with a very snarky bedmate rubbing her sore scalp.)
I also have to go get my navel repierced, seeing as they fucked up the first time they pierced me, going too high, creating more of a surface piercing. Needless to say I was pissed off about the whole scenario, and if it didn't cost me 85 bucks for the jewelery and the piercing that was non-refundable and non-transferable, I sure as hell wouldn't be getting my navel done again, I'd be getting something else taken care of that cost the same amount. *Ahem...*
Anyways...
Don't worry. I'm not the sort to get a razor and start dragging it into my skin. I don't dig scars, and I don't like blood all that much. Oh, and y'know, I'm NOT fucked right the hell up. I guess it's just an aquired taste that toys with the senses when you surrender to a tattoo artist or piercer. If you think about it, your putting your body into their hands and hoping they don't fuck up. It's a serious trust thing, and you have to give into the notion that they COULD fuck up. They could cover your skin with permanant markings that you can only cover up. Maybe that's a masochistic/thrill thing too... Hrm.
...
Here's where I hit a revelation in the middle of writing, since this is a post where I'm rambling, and more or less typing to hear the keys rattle. Now, I try my damnedest to control the happenstances around me, so that things turn out the way that suits not only myself, but everyone involved in the situation. Please note I said TRY, and that sometimes, I don't succeed. So maybe for me it IS a release. I give in, and let things go the way they will. You know what? I find that most of the time, things aren't going to fuck up. Most of the time.
I know, I know. I'm not making much sense. I really haven't been lately, and hell, I don't even smoke dope. This is a stream of conciousness, I'm too tired to bother editing, and as soon as I hit that bright shiny orange "publish" button, I'm crawling my sorry, sleep deprived, LONELY ass to bed, throwing my goosedown duvet over my head and sleeping until six am.
Oh. And if you happen to run into Devin somewhere in the next little while, tell him I miss him.
If anyone has any skills with drawing detailed shading and accurate representation of Japanese culture, including previously mentioned ideas for my backpiece... Please, send me an email. I'll totally credit the original piece to you, and when it's done, you'll know that you've got an original, appreciated piece of artwork limning someone's back.
I've got the opportunity to get my tat's touched up for free,par for the course with getting a tat done in most parlours. The thing is, I want to go strictly to feel the pain of the needle freshing up the ink if it's needed, and I know my shoulder needs some work. This frightens me a little, but in a way I know I'm the sort of person that gets a little thrill from a bit of pain. Tug on my hair during sex at the right time, and I'm three times friskier. (And there IS a right way and wrong way to tug hair, make no mistake. You do it the wrong way, and your S.O.L. and fast on the way to a solo session, with a very snarky bedmate rubbing her sore scalp.)
I also have to go get my navel repierced, seeing as they fucked up the first time they pierced me, going too high, creating more of a surface piercing. Needless to say I was pissed off about the whole scenario, and if it didn't cost me 85 bucks for the jewelery and the piercing that was non-refundable and non-transferable, I sure as hell wouldn't be getting my navel done again, I'd be getting something else taken care of that cost the same amount. *Ahem...*
Anyways...
Don't worry. I'm not the sort to get a razor and start dragging it into my skin. I don't dig scars, and I don't like blood all that much. Oh, and y'know, I'm NOT fucked right the hell up. I guess it's just an aquired taste that toys with the senses when you surrender to a tattoo artist or piercer. If you think about it, your putting your body into their hands and hoping they don't fuck up. It's a serious trust thing, and you have to give into the notion that they COULD fuck up. They could cover your skin with permanant markings that you can only cover up. Maybe that's a masochistic/thrill thing too... Hrm.
...
Here's where I hit a revelation in the middle of writing, since this is a post where I'm rambling, and more or less typing to hear the keys rattle. Now, I try my damnedest to control the happenstances around me, so that things turn out the way that suits not only myself, but everyone involved in the situation. Please note I said TRY, and that sometimes, I don't succeed. So maybe for me it IS a release. I give in, and let things go the way they will. You know what? I find that most of the time, things aren't going to fuck up. Most of the time.
I know, I know. I'm not making much sense. I really haven't been lately, and hell, I don't even smoke dope. This is a stream of conciousness, I'm too tired to bother editing, and as soon as I hit that bright shiny orange "publish" button, I'm crawling my sorry, sleep deprived, LONELY ass to bed, throwing my goosedown duvet over my head and sleeping until six am.
Oh. And if you happen to run into Devin somewhere in the next little while, tell him I miss him.
You heard it here first...
Special shoutout to Orion Skie for posting this bad boy of a meme.
Yo.
We're all fairly giddy in class right now, what with being all sleep deprived. Hooray. I should pay attention.
Yo.
I am 23% White Trash.
I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box. We're all fairly giddy in class right now, what with being all sleep deprived. Hooray. I should pay attention.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Jeebus...
Well, I just made a total ASS out of myself at the local Starbucks, enjoying my Earl Grey (A new addiction). Apparently other than the gigantic moths I'm terrified of, theres a new strain out there that's the size of a fucking monarch butterfly. Great.Guess what this one aimed for. You got it, my head. I admit, I ran, terrified, screaming a little in my throat, and ended up shaking like a leaf inside the coffee shop. Along side a eight year-old girl that was tagging along with her mum outside. The Moth followed me INSIDE. I had half of the people outside (approximately 40 people, all told) looking at me like I was insane.
What creeped me out even more was the big black dude from south Africa, that saw me quivering like a leaf in a wind storm, eight year old standing next to me, and promptly caught the gigantic thing IN HIS BARE HAND.
EW! I'll say it again. EW!!!!!
the top image is the Moth that usually attacks me. (Or something close to it. Make it bigger, browner, and have an orange-y brown splotch on it's back. I searched on google until I couldn't take looking at them anymore.)
The second image, is the Moth that went for my dome tonight, and then terrorized me in the local starbucks. Or something close to it. Sure, it LOOKS pretty, but these are nasty motherfuckers. Vicious. *shudders*
Sure, I realize that I carry on to no end about Moths.(With a capital M. Make no mistake.) Understand that I'm a complete coward, and run screaming regarding insects. However, I'm not usually one to make fun of others fears. For some reason, *THIS* is a justifiable terror in my heart. I don't have the cruelty in my heart to enjoy hurting things, but I get this horrible, vindictive pleasure out of killing these bastards, that have such a horrible, horrible vendetta against me for smooshing so many of their kind. if they just stayed around the porch lights, and away from my head, I'd be cool with them. but they divebomb me, and payback is a bitch. Jerilyn swears that The Moth Mafia Boss has a "hit out" on me; sitting around with his Moth cronies, saying in a horrible Italian accent "That'sa it, She'sa killed too many of 'Mi Familia', It'sa time we brought this genocide to an end. All of you, divebomb her head. Make-a her scream like a pansy girl. Hahahahahahaaaaa!"
The "GodMothra." He has an offer, you can't refuse.I cackle when I kill one. (And the older I get, the more witch-like my laughter becomes, it's creepy.) I cackle, of course, after running away screaming. I muster up enough bravado to kill the bastards, but I get so irked with myself for running like a terror-stricken bimbo in a B movie horror before I can get the courage. (Minus the wet white T shirt and no bra.)
Nice Visual eh? At least I'm not so stupid as to run up the stairs like one of those trollops, trapping myself with the nasties in the house/starbucks. I actually ran into the bathroom, and locked the door, breathing hard.
That's hot.
Stupid Moths. I'll try to have this be the last post about them, but.... Jeebus. How come I can't make enemies with something wingless instead?
Sexy Hairspray, the weapon of champions.
(Is it that obvious I'm playing with the new "add picture" feature on Blogger? Ah well. it's fun. Even though it's a bitch to arrange. C'est La Vie.)
Shocking, Indeed.
Is this not the funniest, most offensive protest sign you've EVER seen someone holding up?I see this dude on a daily basis, standing outside the Vancouver Art Gallery. He stands out amidst the twenty different protests a week being held outside of the art gallery, ranging from freeing political prisoners in various countries, protesting the decline of free speech (?) and the non-availability of two-ply toilet paper in most public bathrooms. I understand, it sucks when your finger breaks through the T.P., and 2 ply would solve most of the worlds problems like poverty, racial inequality, and world hunger. (Well, maybe only hunger if your five years old, me, and locked in the Chevron gas station with your mother.) At any rate, most of the protests held in front of the Art Gallery would be better off located in front of various consulate buildings, but I don't think the hippies involved would know where to find said consulates. Cut me some slack, I used to BE one of those "hippies". (Okay, sorta. Okay, not really.) My dad used to call me a commie pinko, just to rile me, when I was in a political youth organization.
I heart my daddy. Really. I do. He makes me think when I could just blindly accept things as truth.
I digress. This dude stays out there, with his charming cardboard sign day in and day out, protesting the corrupt, crude female genitalia of Tony Blair. No no, Obviously I know why he's protesting. Why he's protesting ALONE... Every. Single. Day. Is another thing entirely. I guess he's retired and doesn't like watching soap operas and The Price Is Right. (Who the hell in their right mind DOESN'T like The Price is Right?)
Most pedestrians give him a wide berth. Understandably so. I tried to snap a pic of him surruptitiously, but to no avail. The crotchety old fuck knew I was taking a picture of him. At least he didn't gnaw on my arm or beat me solidly about the head and shoulders, like he looks like he'd rather be doing. He's still got an ample amount of flyers available that are *FREE*. Goodness. I dunno about you, but I think he's going to have those ones for a while. I'm sure it saves him a bundle at kinkos.
On another note, I went and played tennis with Crystal today, and my god, I'm going to hurt tomorrow. My ass is already aching. (From running, perverts.) It's been a few years since I've played tennis, but I plan on giving her another run for it tomorrow night, if I can walk. As for changing around GSD again, I haven't found a satisfactory template to modify the fuck out of as of yet, or the time to create my own, and I'm coming up and drowning in midterms. Soon my pretties, soon. I might wait until I've finished second term until I change templates, when I change URL's. Fun fun!
Friday, June 24, 2005
New look?
Now, I realize I just changed about the GSD template a mere three months ago or so, however, that being said I'm toying with the notion of changing around the template again. Such are the whims of Design students, and you guys were warned about me tinkering with it all up there in the introduction.If anyone ever reads that damned thing.
I want to find something that reflects the person writing it, (being me. Duh, how redundant...) and while this snazzy black background is nice and all, it's not quite the aesthetic I'm going for.
I'm picky. Sue me.
So, if you notice things are out of place, and GSD is in a bit of disarray, that'd be the reason why.
Cheers!
I want to find something that reflects the person writing it, (being me. Duh, how redundant...) and while this snazzy black background is nice and all, it's not quite the aesthetic I'm going for.
I'm picky. Sue me.
So, if you notice things are out of place, and GSD is in a bit of disarray, that'd be the reason why.
Cheers!
Postcard Confessional... (A brief)
A very, VERY clever idea for anonymous confession... Go check it out.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
For the Love of Rockwell...
Oftentimes, it comes down to the point where I discover an artist that is so touching and so skilled in calibre, that I could sit down and stare at their artwork for hours, digesting what my eyes see in this brain, and finding the symmetry in the pieces they've created.
Norman Rockwell isn't new, and he's dead now. He's been dead some twenty five years. However, I've just recently stumbled along his art. He made some of the most gorgeous "Americana" pieces I've ever seen in my life. The people have such realistic faces. he captured the essence of people, of the kindness and brightness that is present in all of human nature, and in some cases, he probably polished it up and made it more palatable where the subject may have been lacking. He painted the spirit of children to perfection, and in current times it probably would have been speculated upon that he was obsessed with them. I think he just saw the goodness of humanity, when there is so much darkness to wade through. Granted, most of his work was patriotic, and I'm not. 90 percent of his stuff was Americana, and I'm Canadian. Tit for tat, I suppose. That being said, I can appreciate someone that paints so well that it's often hard to distinguish between photographical and created works.
Most of you at one point or another have seen the image of "Rosie the Riveter", and this piece was something that I've appreciated for years, back when I was very political, and very feminist. It's a piece that was created to mobilize women into the workforce during the second world war, when most of the factory working men had to go off to war, leaving factories un...(ahem)...manned. The image of Rosie the Riveter was used as propaganda, depicting a pretty, brunette with her head in a red kerchief dotted in white, with her sleeves rolled up showing her bicep. At least the original propaganda piece was.
Left: Original Image Right: Norman Rockwell interpretation
Norman Rockwell took his own spin on it, turning her into even more of an icon for the women of that era. And while the image of Rosie was formidable in strength, she was feminine at the same time, with her merry red curls held back by a welding mask from her face, her painted nails and red lipstick, and her brown penny loafers resting on a crumpled copy of Adolph Hitler's "Mien Kampf" making a distinct political statement that women working in the American workforce was equal to the men fighting in the trenches and sacrificing their lives in Europe. Both were making attempts to stamp out Fascism, one doing so by supporting the other.
At any rate, Enough yammering. If you want to see the other stuff he's done, Here's a link to another site that shows a bunch of his art. Enjoy.
Norman Rockwell isn't new, and he's dead now. He's been dead some twenty five years. However, I've just recently stumbled along his art. He made some of the most gorgeous "Americana" pieces I've ever seen in my life. The people have such realistic faces. he captured the essence of people, of the kindness and brightness that is present in all of human nature, and in some cases, he probably polished it up and made it more palatable where the subject may have been lacking. He painted the spirit of children to perfection, and in current times it probably would have been speculated upon that he was obsessed with them. I think he just saw the goodness of humanity, when there is so much darkness to wade through. Granted, most of his work was patriotic, and I'm not. 90 percent of his stuff was Americana, and I'm Canadian. Tit for tat, I suppose. That being said, I can appreciate someone that paints so well that it's often hard to distinguish between photographical and created works.
Most of you at one point or another have seen the image of "Rosie the Riveter", and this piece was something that I've appreciated for years, back when I was very political, and very feminist. It's a piece that was created to mobilize women into the workforce during the second world war, when most of the factory working men had to go off to war, leaving factories un...(ahem)...manned. The image of Rosie the Riveter was used as propaganda, depicting a pretty, brunette with her head in a red kerchief dotted in white, with her sleeves rolled up showing her bicep. At least the original propaganda piece was.
Left: Original Image Right: Norman Rockwell interpretation
Norman Rockwell took his own spin on it, turning her into even more of an icon for the women of that era. And while the image of Rosie was formidable in strength, she was feminine at the same time, with her merry red curls held back by a welding mask from her face, her painted nails and red lipstick, and her brown penny loafers resting on a crumpled copy of Adolph Hitler's "Mien Kampf" making a distinct political statement that women working in the American workforce was equal to the men fighting in the trenches and sacrificing their lives in Europe. Both were making attempts to stamp out Fascism, one doing so by supporting the other.
At any rate, Enough yammering. If you want to see the other stuff he's done, Here's a link to another site that shows a bunch of his art. Enjoy.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
*pouts*
Haloscan is being pissy with my comments at the moment. Apparently it's not showing my responses. Not cool. I'm mired down in ample amounts of homework, so forgive me if I'm boring and not posting all that much for the next coupla days. Per'aps that'll give Haloscan time to get it's panties out of a knot. As far as I know, there's no limit to the number of comments I get, only a wordcount limit of 1000 words. Bah. I hate technology.
*kisses*
*kisses*
Monday, June 20, 2005
No Longer "The Flight Of The Bumblebee"...
Now it's the flight of the gigantic, angry, furry, brown and orange moths.
I'm not scared of many creatures in general, but the one thing that freaks the absolute shit out of me, is flying things. Sometimes it's ballsy, aggressive small birds that seem to like taking pieces of my hair, sometimes insects, like those leatherjackets, (otherwise known as big, long legged spiders with wings, or the bugs that look like giant mosquitoes) That my dad has to come kill for me, sometimes bees, and always, ALWAYS, moths.
I'm not to keen on mice either, but that's another story.
When I was living with The Jewish Princess in our first apartment, last year, right around mid-May to this time of year, we lived in a little one bedroom apartment that we shared. It was close quarters, and we had a lot of stuff that we tripped over on a regular basis. At any rate, this little cramped apartment had no screen door, and a tree that was right outside of our apartment balcony.
There were these "new" gigantic moths, (And when I say "new" I mean it struck a chord of terror in my heart that I've never felt before.) and when I say they were gigantic, I'm not joking. They were approximately an inch in length, and when the wings were outspread, they were about an inch to inch and a quarter in width. The furry bodies, were approximately the thickness of my pinky finger (I don't have small fingers, so these fuckers were FAT) and had a proclivity for kamikaze bombing. Usually at my head. They're angry bastards, these moths. And I swear to god, they sense fear, like dogs do, and take advantage of that fact.
They decided, since the tree outside was quite tasty, and the apartment sliding door was open most of the time without a screen door keeping the nasties out, to try to visit the TJP/Glamazon residence on a regular basis. Needless to say, these visits created a stir in the apartment, with much girlish shrieking and chasing about with cans of hairspray ensuing, and a rather comical attempt at us turning all the lights out except for the chandelier and chasing this thing around, thinking that two so called hunters, were better than one terrified twentysomething chick running AWAY from it. (Yah, that's me. Good guess.)
My most vivid recollection is having to get up at five in the morning after a night out with TJP at Mavericks, (I believe) and having to pee, really REALLY badly. Half dressed in a push up bra and bluejeans, I stumbled into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and had a HUGE example of aforementioned moth smack me dead center in the forehead, pinging off in another direction to come back for another shot. Yeah. I wasn't pleased. I was faced with the dilemma of needing to pee quite badly, and a terror of flying insects. I didn't scream, but I was damned close. Next scene sees me whining in an exaggerated, panicked whisper at the bedroom door, "Elizabeth! There's a MOTH in the bathroom and I really gotta pee!!" followed by some incoherent mumbling from her side of the bedroom. Something along the lines of, "Just go pee...Mumblesomethingmumblemurmur." Flash to the next scene of Linds. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom like some disgruntled, demented amazon, clutching a pair of very fashionable wedge sandals, one in each hand, clad only in push up bra and jeans, hurling viscous obscenities at this infuriated moth whapping itself mindlessly against the mirror. I'm assuming it was trying to hit ITSELF, since they seem to be pretty violent, and pretty pissy personality-wise. I lost both of my sandals in a pithy attempt to bash the shit out of this moth, finally trapping it in a huge plastic glass, only to spray the shit out of it ruthlessly with hairspray, via a crack of space I allotted it at the opening of the glass and the counter top. I finally got to pee, cackling and taunting the moth through the cup, shying away like a beaten dog whenever it flopped towards me, getting more and more stiff as the hairspray dried. He deserved it, the fucker. No moth is going to make me pee my pants. Scream like a little girl, yes; but I'll be damned if I pee myself.
Needless to say, I was horribly traumatized, and quite happy when we moved into a huge 2 bedroom a month and a half later, in the same building with screens on all the doors and windows. I did gain a little bit of confidence after killing ten of them, and coming up with my own system to end their reign of terror.
Not for long, apparently, as they seem to be back in the Burnaby neighborhood where I live, inciting my girlfriend to laugh at me during coffee tonight as one smacked against the hood of her car, and I spat curses at it. Do I feel stupid for being afraid of something small that is probably more terrified of me than I am of it? Hell yes. Am I still inordinately scared of them? Uhhh, yup.
They're baaaaaack! And I'm keeping my hairspray handy this time.
I'm not scared of many creatures in general, but the one thing that freaks the absolute shit out of me, is flying things. Sometimes it's ballsy, aggressive small birds that seem to like taking pieces of my hair, sometimes insects, like those leatherjackets, (otherwise known as big, long legged spiders with wings, or the bugs that look like giant mosquitoes) That my dad has to come kill for me, sometimes bees, and always, ALWAYS, moths.
I'm not to keen on mice either, but that's another story.
When I was living with The Jewish Princess in our first apartment, last year, right around mid-May to this time of year, we lived in a little one bedroom apartment that we shared. It was close quarters, and we had a lot of stuff that we tripped over on a regular basis. At any rate, this little cramped apartment had no screen door, and a tree that was right outside of our apartment balcony.
There were these "new" gigantic moths, (And when I say "new" I mean it struck a chord of terror in my heart that I've never felt before.) and when I say they were gigantic, I'm not joking. They were approximately an inch in length, and when the wings were outspread, they were about an inch to inch and a quarter in width. The furry bodies, were approximately the thickness of my pinky finger (I don't have small fingers, so these fuckers were FAT) and had a proclivity for kamikaze bombing. Usually at my head. They're angry bastards, these moths. And I swear to god, they sense fear, like dogs do, and take advantage of that fact.
They decided, since the tree outside was quite tasty, and the apartment sliding door was open most of the time without a screen door keeping the nasties out, to try to visit the TJP/Glamazon residence on a regular basis. Needless to say, these visits created a stir in the apartment, with much girlish shrieking and chasing about with cans of hairspray ensuing, and a rather comical attempt at us turning all the lights out except for the chandelier and chasing this thing around, thinking that two so called hunters, were better than one terrified twentysomething chick running AWAY from it. (Yah, that's me. Good guess.)
My most vivid recollection is having to get up at five in the morning after a night out with TJP at Mavericks, (I believe) and having to pee, really REALLY badly. Half dressed in a push up bra and bluejeans, I stumbled into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and had a HUGE example of aforementioned moth smack me dead center in the forehead, pinging off in another direction to come back for another shot. Yeah. I wasn't pleased. I was faced with the dilemma of needing to pee quite badly, and a terror of flying insects. I didn't scream, but I was damned close. Next scene sees me whining in an exaggerated, panicked whisper at the bedroom door, "Elizabeth! There's a MOTH in the bathroom and I really gotta pee!!" followed by some incoherent mumbling from her side of the bedroom. Something along the lines of, "Just go pee...Mumblesomethingmumblemurmur." Flash to the next scene of Linds. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom like some disgruntled, demented amazon, clutching a pair of very fashionable wedge sandals, one in each hand, clad only in push up bra and jeans, hurling viscous obscenities at this infuriated moth whapping itself mindlessly against the mirror. I'm assuming it was trying to hit ITSELF, since they seem to be pretty violent, and pretty pissy personality-wise. I lost both of my sandals in a pithy attempt to bash the shit out of this moth, finally trapping it in a huge plastic glass, only to spray the shit out of it ruthlessly with hairspray, via a crack of space I allotted it at the opening of the glass and the counter top. I finally got to pee, cackling and taunting the moth through the cup, shying away like a beaten dog whenever it flopped towards me, getting more and more stiff as the hairspray dried. He deserved it, the fucker. No moth is going to make me pee my pants. Scream like a little girl, yes; but I'll be damned if I pee myself.
Needless to say, I was horribly traumatized, and quite happy when we moved into a huge 2 bedroom a month and a half later, in the same building with screens on all the doors and windows. I did gain a little bit of confidence after killing ten of them, and coming up with my own system to end their reign of terror.
Not for long, apparently, as they seem to be back in the Burnaby neighborhood where I live, inciting my girlfriend to laugh at me during coffee tonight as one smacked against the hood of her car, and I spat curses at it. Do I feel stupid for being afraid of something small that is probably more terrified of me than I am of it? Hell yes. Am I still inordinately scared of them? Uhhh, yup.
They're baaaaaack! And I'm keeping my hairspray handy this time.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
A Gigantic Cock, and a Hot Phone Voice...
And that's not all.**
The Mayor over at Mitchieville has written a post that had me laughing more in the ten minutes I took to read it, than I have in the past three days. Mainly because I had to wipe away the tears that the laughter induced from reading it.
Go check it out. It might not be politically correct, but then again, The Mayor likes to toe that line.
** I don't actually know about the gigantic cock, that's just what he says to me, but it's fun to say, isn't it? Come on, try it. "gigantic cock". See, told you it was fun to say. What better a phrase to bring around a year of blogging? *winks*
The Mayor over at Mitchieville has written a post that had me laughing more in the ten minutes I took to read it, than I have in the past three days. Mainly because I had to wipe away the tears that the laughter induced from reading it.
Go check it out. It might not be politically correct, but then again, The Mayor likes to toe that line.
** I don't actually know about the gigantic cock, that's just what he says to me, but it's fun to say, isn't it? Come on, try it. "gigantic cock". See, told you it was fun to say. What better a phrase to bring around a year of blogging? *winks*
365 Days...
I find it interesting that I started blogging a year ago on the 20th of this month. So, tomorrow. Granted, I didn't have a computer for about three months, so entries were sporadic, using a friends comp, or my parents computer, but still, sporadic is better than never.
I've allowed myself to fall in love. Not with a person. Though, I love many people; but with the English language... And I have blogging to blame for it. I've pissed people off, made people laugh, and made people think. (Or at least I HOPE I've made them think.) Apparently I've inspired people to write blogs of their own, which is highly flattering, and I really hope that they continue to hone their love affair with the English language. I've ranted, and raved, gibbered like an idiot, waxed eloquent about my passions, including men, (one in particular) music, art, mac computers, and as a new development this past 6 months (Holy hannah! Six months already?!?!) Design.
You've seen my writing ability change, boiling down into the essence of me. Don't be fooled. I can't write like anyone else anymore in here. Everything you read is me now. You've seen GSD transform itself from the scroll background, into the ever changing shape it is today, with my piddling attempts in HTML coding, and the stuff I've been working on in my spare (hah!) time. You'll see it change more in the future. You might even see it move to a new URL. Most likely at the end of August.
GSD has branched off into many things for me, including the GSD Radio Podcast, the naming of my iPod into the Glamazon shoe discotheque, and even going so far as to contemplate naming my own freelance design "Glamazon Shoe Design" This is still being debated in my head. This might be considered obsession, but to be honest, this is the virtual playground for my thoughts, my ideas and romanticized notions. Or at least the ones I let other people know about. I'm going to give this creative monster of mine some freedom.
I've been contemplating... About stopping writing in here after my year is finished. The only reasons are for the times that I piss people off, the times that I get obsessive individuals threatening me, or ranting anonymous hatred in public forums. It's stuff like this where you realize that some people online, don't have that... Sense of maturity, I guess, for lack of a better term, (This is a hard post for me to write...) that enables them to see that anyone has the right to voice an opinion. I've been threatened by a select few BDSM members in the area with physical violence, including rape. I've been eviscerated in a public message board, not upon my writing, but upon my physical characteristics for having an opinion on music that they disagree with, and it's disheartening. It makes me wonder why I bother to write an opinion that is going to cause so much ire with other people. I do shy away from confrontation whenever given the choice, but will also defend myself if need be in whatever method possible.
I still get Grant DePatie's mum posting comments on here, on random entries, and oh my god, it hurts my heart to read them. I cry when she comments and I read it on my haloscan comments page. She's so angry, she misses him so badly, and she feels so alone. It brings tears to my eyes, and makes me regret having written my opinion piece, and I wish she wouldn't comment, when this place is my refuge to write. However, I wrote the piece, so I'll face the consequence of her writing her devoted, sad comments for the son who she's lost in here every month or so. I've lost a very dear friend, and the only way I could think of honoring his memory was to write about him. I still think I see him on the streets at least once a week. I've had my own emotional disasters, that have seen me hunched over the keyboard, eyes sore from crying, and fingers tapping away furiously at the keys, writing my pitiful little heart out. Sometimes directly, sometimes the words are phrased in a way that isn't so obvious. *This* is my solace at times. *This* is where I choose to pour my heart out when I'm distressed or overjoyed, worried, and a myriad of other emotions, at least for the matters I feel like discussing. To have people threaten that... Well, it's a little depressing.
I don't think I will stop writing, but perhaps, this was just an experiment for me in my head. Perhaps, it comes to a point where at times, I'm sick of doing this. I never expected it to take up so much of my time. However, the fact remains, I could no more stop writing than eating chocolate. (How's THAT for an analogy!!) Apart from those few negative things, I've also had some fabulous encounters, "met" some wonderful people, created friendships and relationships outside of my normal sphere of influence and social activity, and read some fantastic, talented writers, who are inspiring to me. You've learned that I'm a night owl, and boy howdy, is that ever the truth. I think best during the evening and late into the night, as is exampled by my 5 am posts.
I have a mad flirtation fest with my commenters, and I hope they enjoy it as much as I do. It always makes me laugh, and flirtation keeps everyone young, regardless of gender, age or race. I've given a large group of people a little dip into my psyche, and let you see who the real me is. All I can say is sometimes it's deeper than you think it is. You read about my recent adventures to Dallas, and subsequent meeting of Devin, and part (not all) of what that entailed. My posts here were more to reassure my friends that I was alive and kicking in the DFW area, more than anything else, and the fact that I'm not ashamed to express my love from the tops of mountains. I still love that man madly. I always have, no matter how mad I've gotten at him.
And I've posted that, too. *smiles* Such is life.
I spend up to 7 hours a night doing homework now, and I'm amazed any of you stick around to hear about parts of it. Some of my entries are funny based purely upon sleep deprivation, and a slight tinge of homework induced madness. You spend 18 hours a day chained up to a computer, and a trip to Starbucks seems like a vacation to Honolulu. Seriously. So if you ever wonder about my passionate love affair with a Venti, Extra-sweet, (7 pump), extra foamy Vanilla Latte, (I can order those in my sleep, dammit.) There, darlings, is your answer. That hour spent with my girlfriend sitting on the balcony at the local FuttBuckers, is what keeps me somewhat sane, and the caffeine keeps me awake until the time I actually finish my homework for the night. Or wee hours of the morning, depending.
All of this being said, none of this would mean a damned thing unless you guys came around to read it. Thank-you. Hopefully I keep on entertaining you guys with my boring life, couched in exciting words. You give me reasons to smile, and a reason to write.
I love you all.
*kisses*
I've allowed myself to fall in love. Not with a person. Though, I love many people; but with the English language... And I have blogging to blame for it. I've pissed people off, made people laugh, and made people think. (Or at least I HOPE I've made them think.) Apparently I've inspired people to write blogs of their own, which is highly flattering, and I really hope that they continue to hone their love affair with the English language. I've ranted, and raved, gibbered like an idiot, waxed eloquent about my passions, including men, (one in particular) music, art, mac computers, and as a new development this past 6 months (Holy hannah! Six months already?!?!) Design.
You've seen my writing ability change, boiling down into the essence of me. Don't be fooled. I can't write like anyone else anymore in here. Everything you read is me now. You've seen GSD transform itself from the scroll background, into the ever changing shape it is today, with my piddling attempts in HTML coding, and the stuff I've been working on in my spare (hah!) time. You'll see it change more in the future. You might even see it move to a new URL. Most likely at the end of August.
GSD has branched off into many things for me, including the GSD Radio Podcast, the naming of my iPod into the Glamazon shoe discotheque, and even going so far as to contemplate naming my own freelance design "Glamazon Shoe Design" This is still being debated in my head. This might be considered obsession, but to be honest, this is the virtual playground for my thoughts, my ideas and romanticized notions. Or at least the ones I let other people know about. I'm going to give this creative monster of mine some freedom.
I've been contemplating... About stopping writing in here after my year is finished. The only reasons are for the times that I piss people off, the times that I get obsessive individuals threatening me, or ranting anonymous hatred in public forums. It's stuff like this where you realize that some people online, don't have that... Sense of maturity, I guess, for lack of a better term, (This is a hard post for me to write...) that enables them to see that anyone has the right to voice an opinion. I've been threatened by a select few BDSM members in the area with physical violence, including rape. I've been eviscerated in a public message board, not upon my writing, but upon my physical characteristics for having an opinion on music that they disagree with, and it's disheartening. It makes me wonder why I bother to write an opinion that is going to cause so much ire with other people. I do shy away from confrontation whenever given the choice, but will also defend myself if need be in whatever method possible.
I still get Grant DePatie's mum posting comments on here, on random entries, and oh my god, it hurts my heart to read them. I cry when she comments and I read it on my haloscan comments page. She's so angry, she misses him so badly, and she feels so alone. It brings tears to my eyes, and makes me regret having written my opinion piece, and I wish she wouldn't comment, when this place is my refuge to write. However, I wrote the piece, so I'll face the consequence of her writing her devoted, sad comments for the son who she's lost in here every month or so. I've lost a very dear friend, and the only way I could think of honoring his memory was to write about him. I still think I see him on the streets at least once a week. I've had my own emotional disasters, that have seen me hunched over the keyboard, eyes sore from crying, and fingers tapping away furiously at the keys, writing my pitiful little heart out. Sometimes directly, sometimes the words are phrased in a way that isn't so obvious. *This* is my solace at times. *This* is where I choose to pour my heart out when I'm distressed or overjoyed, worried, and a myriad of other emotions, at least for the matters I feel like discussing. To have people threaten that... Well, it's a little depressing.
I don't think I will stop writing, but perhaps, this was just an experiment for me in my head. Perhaps, it comes to a point where at times, I'm sick of doing this. I never expected it to take up so much of my time. However, the fact remains, I could no more stop writing than eating chocolate. (How's THAT for an analogy!!) Apart from those few negative things, I've also had some fabulous encounters, "met" some wonderful people, created friendships and relationships outside of my normal sphere of influence and social activity, and read some fantastic, talented writers, who are inspiring to me. You've learned that I'm a night owl, and boy howdy, is that ever the truth. I think best during the evening and late into the night, as is exampled by my 5 am posts.
I have a mad flirtation fest with my commenters, and I hope they enjoy it as much as I do. It always makes me laugh, and flirtation keeps everyone young, regardless of gender, age or race. I've given a large group of people a little dip into my psyche, and let you see who the real me is. All I can say is sometimes it's deeper than you think it is. You read about my recent adventures to Dallas, and subsequent meeting of Devin, and part (not all) of what that entailed. My posts here were more to reassure my friends that I was alive and kicking in the DFW area, more than anything else, and the fact that I'm not ashamed to express my love from the tops of mountains. I still love that man madly. I always have, no matter how mad I've gotten at him.
And I've posted that, too. *smiles* Such is life.
I spend up to 7 hours a night doing homework now, and I'm amazed any of you stick around to hear about parts of it. Some of my entries are funny based purely upon sleep deprivation, and a slight tinge of homework induced madness. You spend 18 hours a day chained up to a computer, and a trip to Starbucks seems like a vacation to Honolulu. Seriously. So if you ever wonder about my passionate love affair with a Venti, Extra-sweet, (7 pump), extra foamy Vanilla Latte, (I can order those in my sleep, dammit.) There, darlings, is your answer. That hour spent with my girlfriend sitting on the balcony at the local FuttBuckers, is what keeps me somewhat sane, and the caffeine keeps me awake until the time I actually finish my homework for the night. Or wee hours of the morning, depending.
All of this being said, none of this would mean a damned thing unless you guys came around to read it. Thank-you. Hopefully I keep on entertaining you guys with my boring life, couched in exciting words. You give me reasons to smile, and a reason to write.
I love you all.
*kisses*
"Everything will be alright in the end. If it's not alright, it's not the end."
Friday, June 17, 2005
Observation.
Music of the Moment: Lightenin' Hopkins -- "Mojo Hand"
I'm Sitting outside, in the backyard.
The cool, damp air brushing against my face, my lips, my throat, like a lover, but with less charm, and too light and impersonal of a touch. It riffles my hair, which has grown too long for my liking, and the breeze makes the hair dance across the back of my neck, where goosebumps follow. The feeling of hard wood, underneath my fingertips; rough, and at the same time smooth from years of use. My necklace heavy and comforting resting on my collarbone, my jeans and sweater comfortable, a pair of my favourite runners on. My rings digging into the side of my finger, because they have turned on my finger without my notice. Tobacco, tasting sweet, and sulphur on my tongue, disgusting to some, even me at times. but right now, I enjoy it. An addiction I've yet to defeat, and for now, I indulge, as bad as it may be for me. The sleepy murmurings of birds, the last of the sparrows and chickadees, finding a roost for the night, only to awaken with the dawn and greet the sunrise, or the clouds with a song. Other than that, it's relatively quiet, excepting the occasional car traveling past on the road nearby. I'm sated on many levels, having enjoyed the company of wonderful friends, a very satisfying dinner, and arriving home when I predicted I would arrive. Sometimes those simple things are the most appreciated things of all. When the day works out the way you expected, and it leaves you with the unusual feeling of content, because the things that were under your control seemed to flow today, instead of staggering like someone who is carrying too much unbalanced weight.
I look out at the yard that I've spent so many years of my life playing in as a child. The cool grass a lush carpet of emerald, dotted with the sparkling drops of a rainfall hours ago, still clinging to the blades and glittering like diamonds in the scant light from the garage. This is the kind of grass you walk through in bare feet, and enjoy the feeling of it between your toes. Again, simple pleasures. The ground moist after absorbing day after day of scattered rainfall. Walking through it has made the hems of my jeans damp.
It's different here tonight.
Most nights, at twilight, the colours in the garden are vibrant, like the world has decided to shine a giant black light on the flowers. Super saturated in intensity. And I could weep from the beauty of such simple things, when the world overwhelms me with it's complexity and sweet simplicity at the same time. The bright orange of poppies with their black centers that my grandfather planted years past, before he died in 1997. The pastel purples and creamy undertones of pansies in the flowerbeds. The electric fuschia that is the little flowers in the pots by the cement stairs that I don't know the name of, but love to look at. There are aged wooden fences that surround the yard itself and the cement stepping blocks that form the back patio. The house is small, and comfortable and low to the ground. This place is solid. It is a place that I'm proud to call my home. The chairs on the patio, that I sat in at one point, whispering sweet nothings to the man I love over the phone, and wishing I had his company. Sometimes there is sweetness in a bit of pain. Sometimes.
...
But not tonight. Tonight it just aches in the places of my heart I've never really taken a good long look into the past while, because I was scared to go any further and get lost. Not anymore, I suppose.
I don't regret it. Not a single second.
Backlit by the garage light, are the stretching tentacles of dandelions, a foot long at least. The same weeds that I battle with on a regular basis, and the bane of any gardener's existence. These weeds, which are really just plants, are usually considered a nuisance and nothing more. However, tonight they seem to cast a sinister shadow. The height of them exaggerated, eerie. I feel a frisson of unease shivering up my spine, staring at them, thinking of how quickly they've crept out of the earth. I swore to myself they weren't there yesterday, but I'm sure they were. I've just been too busy to notice. Should it matter that they seem somewhat else tonight? No. Probably not.
What else happens around me that I've been too busy to notice? The things that are slipping my grasp unawares, and that were once important to me. The people I inadvertently neglect, due to having very little spare time. I need to pay more attention, I think.
This is a time for observation.
I'm Sitting outside, in the backyard.
The cool, damp air brushing against my face, my lips, my throat, like a lover, but with less charm, and too light and impersonal of a touch. It riffles my hair, which has grown too long for my liking, and the breeze makes the hair dance across the back of my neck, where goosebumps follow. The feeling of hard wood, underneath my fingertips; rough, and at the same time smooth from years of use. My necklace heavy and comforting resting on my collarbone, my jeans and sweater comfortable, a pair of my favourite runners on. My rings digging into the side of my finger, because they have turned on my finger without my notice. Tobacco, tasting sweet, and sulphur on my tongue, disgusting to some, even me at times. but right now, I enjoy it. An addiction I've yet to defeat, and for now, I indulge, as bad as it may be for me. The sleepy murmurings of birds, the last of the sparrows and chickadees, finding a roost for the night, only to awaken with the dawn and greet the sunrise, or the clouds with a song. Other than that, it's relatively quiet, excepting the occasional car traveling past on the road nearby. I'm sated on many levels, having enjoyed the company of wonderful friends, a very satisfying dinner, and arriving home when I predicted I would arrive. Sometimes those simple things are the most appreciated things of all. When the day works out the way you expected, and it leaves you with the unusual feeling of content, because the things that were under your control seemed to flow today, instead of staggering like someone who is carrying too much unbalanced weight.
I look out at the yard that I've spent so many years of my life playing in as a child. The cool grass a lush carpet of emerald, dotted with the sparkling drops of a rainfall hours ago, still clinging to the blades and glittering like diamonds in the scant light from the garage. This is the kind of grass you walk through in bare feet, and enjoy the feeling of it between your toes. Again, simple pleasures. The ground moist after absorbing day after day of scattered rainfall. Walking through it has made the hems of my jeans damp.
It's different here tonight.
Most nights, at twilight, the colours in the garden are vibrant, like the world has decided to shine a giant black light on the flowers. Super saturated in intensity. And I could weep from the beauty of such simple things, when the world overwhelms me with it's complexity and sweet simplicity at the same time. The bright orange of poppies with their black centers that my grandfather planted years past, before he died in 1997. The pastel purples and creamy undertones of pansies in the flowerbeds. The electric fuschia that is the little flowers in the pots by the cement stairs that I don't know the name of, but love to look at. There are aged wooden fences that surround the yard itself and the cement stepping blocks that form the back patio. The house is small, and comfortable and low to the ground. This place is solid. It is a place that I'm proud to call my home. The chairs on the patio, that I sat in at one point, whispering sweet nothings to the man I love over the phone, and wishing I had his company. Sometimes there is sweetness in a bit of pain. Sometimes.
...
But not tonight. Tonight it just aches in the places of my heart I've never really taken a good long look into the past while, because I was scared to go any further and get lost. Not anymore, I suppose.
I don't regret it. Not a single second.
Backlit by the garage light, are the stretching tentacles of dandelions, a foot long at least. The same weeds that I battle with on a regular basis, and the bane of any gardener's existence. These weeds, which are really just plants, are usually considered a nuisance and nothing more. However, tonight they seem to cast a sinister shadow. The height of them exaggerated, eerie. I feel a frisson of unease shivering up my spine, staring at them, thinking of how quickly they've crept out of the earth. I swore to myself they weren't there yesterday, but I'm sure they were. I've just been too busy to notice. Should it matter that they seem somewhat else tonight? No. Probably not.
What else happens around me that I've been too busy to notice? The things that are slipping my grasp unawares, and that were once important to me. The people I inadvertently neglect, due to having very little spare time. I need to pay more attention, I think.
This is a time for observation.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
"Whydja Have To Poke The Bear?"
Music of the Moment: Sweet -- Album: "The Best of Sweet"
Truer words were never spake, Devin, m'love.
I've been embroiled in a battle extraordinare with some hardcore Billy Idol fans on the Billy Idol fanclub message board. D. warned me "Don't poke the bear", but damnit, I couldn't resist shaking up the hornets nest a little. I'm terrible, I know. But I'm no pussy to take abuse lying down. (Okay, maybe sometimes. However, that's an entirely different subject.)
About a week and a half ago, I guess one of the members of the fan club message board was searching for reviews on his latest album "Devil's Playground." I'm not terribly pleased with these recent developments, and I'm not going to respond to any more of the taunting that a few members, (one in particular) seem to revel in. It's not worth my time anymore, and I'm sorely outnumbered, even though I've reiterated that I'm USUALLY a fan of his stuff, just not this particular album.
Now, I admit, I was a bit snide, and was feeling particularly catty the day I wrote that review seemingly detracting a little from the essence of my review by making some comments about his appearance, but all of it was meant in a humorous way, and apparently they've lost their sense of humour when it comes to their "God". You guys know better than that, and took it tongue in cheek, the way it was meant to be. That being said, I really did NOT enjoy his newest album, a release after almost 13 years of silence from the Idol-man. This of course, is my own opinion, and not one endorsed by a large number of reviewing websites, including Rollingstone.com, among others. I gave the album a pithy .5 shoes out of 5. Whereas most websites/e-zines/magazines gave him three stars on average.
Granted, I am not a journalist, though I have worked for a newspaper and a global magazine as both writer and part-time editor, as well as being a afficionado of music of all genres, and having a little over 18 years of music experience under my belt, and a large collection of music that I listen to on a very regular basis. However, according to the fanclub, I am *not* a writer, I was posing as an actual journalistic music reviewer, and have no experience, therefore I have no right to voice my opinion. Bollocks.
I'm shamed indeed. I should just crawl under a rock and die.
On second thought... No.. No I won't.
One fan, even went so far as to say that I was a failure as a writer AND a woman. Nice. All of this based off of my Blogger profile, (which she posted) and the one music review. I was mildly offended at how catty she became, and proceeded to defend myself; fairly well I think, facing her points with my own.
Did you guys know that you have to pay to comment on GSD? Hell, as far as I knew, Haloscan was FREE! Jeebus. Apparently SHE thinks she has to. M'eh. I don't even know why I let it bother me, but apparently it does. She proceeded to slam me, multiple times, calling me a "young, spoiled brat" and "immature", that I was "offensive", a "fraud" and a "freeloader", as well as many other nasty things. Shucks. I cried myself to sleep. Really. *rolls her eyes* I took some serious pleasure in telling her that she was assuming quite a bit about me, without doing research, which is what she was accusing me of doing regarding this album. The pot calling the kettle black, indeed. She threatened to have GSD get in shit with Amazon.com and Billy Idol inc. by posting up a picture of the album cover, (Like I do with ALL of my reviews, Jeebus.) And I'm fairly sure that amazon.com is SO going to complain for having MORE traffic to it's site. Yeah, I'm a little pissed off. The condescension that this woman was forceably throwing at me was palpable, and entirely unappreciated.
I hate the general populace, and it's quite frequent as to WHY I don't like them all that much. Perhaps I had the blinders on reviewing this album, and said a few things that were unprofessional, but I'm blogging, for fucks sakes. I'm not getting paid to do this. I'm opinionated, sometimes blunt, and I tell it how I feel it is. They have their blinders on when they don't accept someone's opinion for what it is, an opinion. There's something called freedom of expression, that apparently I'm not entitled to have. I disagree, and I'm going to defend it to my dying day.
The wankers.
You guys don't have to agree with me on this, I'm not asking for support, I'm just ranting.
Grrr.
Truer words were never spake, Devin, m'love.
I've been embroiled in a battle extraordinare with some hardcore Billy Idol fans on the Billy Idol fanclub message board. D. warned me "Don't poke the bear", but damnit, I couldn't resist shaking up the hornets nest a little. I'm terrible, I know. But I'm no pussy to take abuse lying down. (Okay, maybe sometimes. However, that's an entirely different subject.)
About a week and a half ago, I guess one of the members of the fan club message board was searching for reviews on his latest album "Devil's Playground." I'm not terribly pleased with these recent developments, and I'm not going to respond to any more of the taunting that a few members, (one in particular) seem to revel in. It's not worth my time anymore, and I'm sorely outnumbered, even though I've reiterated that I'm USUALLY a fan of his stuff, just not this particular album.
Now, I admit, I was a bit snide, and was feeling particularly catty the day I wrote that review seemingly detracting a little from the essence of my review by making some comments about his appearance, but all of it was meant in a humorous way, and apparently they've lost their sense of humour when it comes to their "God". You guys know better than that, and took it tongue in cheek, the way it was meant to be. That being said, I really did NOT enjoy his newest album, a release after almost 13 years of silence from the Idol-man. This of course, is my own opinion, and not one endorsed by a large number of reviewing websites, including Rollingstone.com, among others. I gave the album a pithy .5 shoes out of 5. Whereas most websites/e-zines/magazines gave him three stars on average.
Granted, I am not a journalist, though I have worked for a newspaper and a global magazine as both writer and part-time editor, as well as being a afficionado of music of all genres, and having a little over 18 years of music experience under my belt, and a large collection of music that I listen to on a very regular basis. However, according to the fanclub, I am *not* a writer, I was posing as an actual journalistic music reviewer, and have no experience, therefore I have no right to voice my opinion. Bollocks.
I'm shamed indeed. I should just crawl under a rock and die.
On second thought... No.. No I won't.
One fan, even went so far as to say that I was a failure as a writer AND a woman. Nice. All of this based off of my Blogger profile, (which she posted) and the one music review. I was mildly offended at how catty she became, and proceeded to defend myself; fairly well I think, facing her points with my own.
Did you guys know that you have to pay to comment on GSD? Hell, as far as I knew, Haloscan was FREE! Jeebus. Apparently SHE thinks she has to. M'eh. I don't even know why I let it bother me, but apparently it does. She proceeded to slam me, multiple times, calling me a "young, spoiled brat" and "immature", that I was "offensive", a "fraud" and a "freeloader", as well as many other nasty things. Shucks. I cried myself to sleep. Really. *rolls her eyes* I took some serious pleasure in telling her that she was assuming quite a bit about me, without doing research, which is what she was accusing me of doing regarding this album. The pot calling the kettle black, indeed. She threatened to have GSD get in shit with Amazon.com and Billy Idol inc. by posting up a picture of the album cover, (Like I do with ALL of my reviews, Jeebus.) And I'm fairly sure that amazon.com is SO going to complain for having MORE traffic to it's site. Yeah, I'm a little pissed off. The condescension that this woman was forceably throwing at me was palpable, and entirely unappreciated.
I hate the general populace, and it's quite frequent as to WHY I don't like them all that much. Perhaps I had the blinders on reviewing this album, and said a few things that were unprofessional, but I'm blogging, for fucks sakes. I'm not getting paid to do this. I'm opinionated, sometimes blunt, and I tell it how I feel it is. They have their blinders on when they don't accept someone's opinion for what it is, an opinion. There's something called freedom of expression, that apparently I'm not entitled to have. I disagree, and I'm going to defend it to my dying day.
The wankers.
You guys don't have to agree with me on this, I'm not asking for support, I'm just ranting.
Grrr.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
"Damn You, Rob!"
Okay, I've got a large circle of aquaintances that tend to throw a lot of wicked cool URL's my direction. Like this one here...(you might need to refresh it a few times to get the entire length of it.) And then there's the ones, that know I'm a HUGE softie, and get all ga ga over a kitten. It's true. I love a cute pussy. Rob tossed this URL my way, and I've been stealing pictures of other people's kittens. The noises "Awwww!" and whispered "Ohmigod's!" when ogling adorable pussies (Lord only knows what sort of traffic this is going to bring my way... Yeesh.) are enough to make me gag, knowing that I am indeed, a girly girl inside.
I think it's time I visited Melissa and Luc and got a kitten fix. They did just get two. I'm extremely jealous. I want a kitten. *pouts* And yes, I'm fully aware that they turn into CATS when they get older. I'm not adverse to those either.
That being said, Allan sent me this wonderful set of instructions on how to feed a cat or dog a pill. It goes as follows:
How to Give A Cat a Pill:
1) Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.
3) Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.
4) Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.
5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.
6) Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
8) Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.
9) Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink 1 beer to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10) Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard, and close door onto neck, to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of scotch. Pour shot, drink. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw Tee-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.
12) Call fire department to retrieve the stupid cat from tree across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil-wrap.
13) Tie the little bastard's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table, find heavy duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of steak filet. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour 2 pints of water down throat to wash pill down.
14) Consume remainder of Scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and remove pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order table.
15) Arrange for SPCA to collect mutant cat from hell and call local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters......
How to Give A Dog A Pill:
1) Wrap it in bacon.
~*End*~
I think it's time I visited Melissa and Luc and got a kitten fix. They did just get two. I'm extremely jealous. I want a kitten. *pouts* And yes, I'm fully aware that they turn into CATS when they get older. I'm not adverse to those either.
That being said, Allan sent me this wonderful set of instructions on how to feed a cat or dog a pill. It goes as follows:
How to Give A Cat a Pill:
1) Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.
3) Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.
4) Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.
5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.
6) Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
8) Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.
9) Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink 1 beer to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10) Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard, and close door onto neck, to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of scotch. Pour shot, drink. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw Tee-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.
12) Call fire department to retrieve the stupid cat from tree across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil-wrap.
13) Tie the little bastard's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table, find heavy duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of steak filet. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour 2 pints of water down throat to wash pill down.
14) Consume remainder of Scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and remove pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order table.
15) Arrange for SPCA to collect mutant cat from hell and call local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters......
How to Give A Dog A Pill:
1) Wrap it in bacon.
~*End*~
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Haiku...
Man on the subway
Exclaims, "Christ paid your sin bill!"
Christ must be loaded.
You're room is filled with
Leather and Star Wars figures.
Um, I have to go.
We just met--I think
We might be going too fast.
So I won't swallow.
You are not the man
I always dreamed I would love--
Just the man I do.
Your lips are so soft,
Your conversation graceful.
It's just--You're not him.
We all make mistakes.
For instance, I mistook you
For a vertebrate.
"This has been fun, but..."
I've got news for you, honey:
It wasn't that fun.
"I don't understand
Why you want to be with me."
"That's okay, I do."
George W. Bush,
You know where you can put
Your family values.
Why is it you fuck
As hard and fast as you can?
I'm not a Playstation.
Exclaims, "Christ paid your sin bill!"
Christ must be loaded.
You're room is filled with
Leather and Star Wars figures.
Um, I have to go.
We just met--I think
We might be going too fast.
So I won't swallow.
You are not the man
I always dreamed I would love--
Just the man I do.
Your lips are so soft,
Your conversation graceful.
It's just--You're not him.
We all make mistakes.
For instance, I mistook you
For a vertebrate.
"This has been fun, but..."
I've got news for you, honey:
It wasn't that fun.
"I don't understand
Why you want to be with me."
"That's okay, I do."
George W. Bush,
You know where you can put
Your family values.
Why is it you fuck
As hard and fast as you can?
I'm not a Playstation.
These Haiku's are exerpts from the book, "Gay Haiku" by Joel Dirfner. That being said, I find it relevant for more than just gay relationships and gay men.
Monday, June 13, 2005
A Quickie...
Okay, so before I say ANYTHING, I want you guys to go read this "Best Of" post, up on Craig's List. There's a reason. Indulge me. Read it and then come back to read the rest of this post. It'll still be here when you get back.
So, yes, I found this post to be hysterically funny, and there is a very justified reason for it hitting home for me.
When I was five or so years old, I was out with my mother on a day trip. As five year olds are wont to do at innapropriate times, I had to go to the bathroom. My mom pulled me into a local gas station, forgot to take the key in with her, leaving it in the door handle on the outside of the door. Proceeding to lock us INSIDE the bathroom because I was running hell for leather for the john.
Once she realize we were locked in, she pounded on the door (the bathroom was in the outside back of the gas station) and was yelling for help. Dumb five year old me, was getting more and more panicked, the longer no one came to our rescue. I looked up at my mom, with pleading big brown eyes, and said:
And promptly stuffed a few squares in my mouth, to prove the point. What point exactly, I'm not quite sure of. Two minutes later, (Not even) the attendant came to our rescue. A scrawny, tear streaked five year-old (Yes, I was scrawny, at one point in my life) and an very exasperated, buxom young mother emerged unscathed.
To this day, I still can't use the bathroom in that particular Gas Station.
...
I can't BELIEVE I just wrote down this story.
So, yes, I found this post to be hysterically funny, and there is a very justified reason for it hitting home for me.
When I was five or so years old, I was out with my mother on a day trip. As five year olds are wont to do at innapropriate times, I had to go to the bathroom. My mom pulled me into a local gas station, forgot to take the key in with her, leaving it in the door handle on the outside of the door. Proceeding to lock us INSIDE the bathroom because I was running hell for leather for the john.
Once she realize we were locked in, she pounded on the door (the bathroom was in the outside back of the gas station) and was yelling for help. Dumb five year old me, was getting more and more panicked, the longer no one came to our rescue. I looked up at my mom, with pleading big brown eyes, and said:
"Please mommy! I don't wanna eat toilet paper for the rest of my life!"
And promptly stuffed a few squares in my mouth, to prove the point. What point exactly, I'm not quite sure of. Two minutes later, (Not even) the attendant came to our rescue. A scrawny, tear streaked five year-old (Yes, I was scrawny, at one point in my life) and an very exasperated, buxom young mother emerged unscathed.
To this day, I still can't use the bathroom in that particular Gas Station.
...
I can't BELIEVE I just wrote down this story.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
All Hail the Guru!
Dev finally got back to me. He truly was perusing the glories of Northern Dallas French Fries, and got a bout of food poisoning. Poor man. Still, he managed to send me the information I needed to get my XML syndication up and running sooner, rather than later. The GSD Podcast is up and available for your auditory listening. I've checked it myself via Ipodder, and it works fine.
Special thanks goes out to Dev, who without responding would have left me utterly clueless. I'm technologically adept, but obviously not as gifted as he is.
Special thanks also go out to Mr!Erik, who is graciously allowing me to tinker in his server, changing about some coding for my own benefit, and also graciously allowing me some space on his server to post the GSD podcasts, which will be released every two weeks, unless I'm feeling up to releasing one once a week and it doesn't eat up into my schedule too much. Current podcasts will be up for two week spans, so if you miss one, I'm sorry but they aren't going to be up any longer than that...
Without further ado, you can put this here link into your podcasting software subscription, and download the inaugural GSD podcast for June 10th, 2005.
Sorry for the delay.
Special thanks goes out to Dev, who without responding would have left me utterly clueless. I'm technologically adept, but obviously not as gifted as he is.
Special thanks also go out to Mr!Erik, who is graciously allowing me to tinker in his server, changing about some coding for my own benefit, and also graciously allowing me some space on his server to post the GSD podcasts, which will be released every two weeks, unless I'm feeling up to releasing one once a week and it doesn't eat up into my schedule too much. Current podcasts will be up for two week spans, so if you miss one, I'm sorry but they aren't going to be up any longer than that...
Without further ado, you can put this here link into your podcasting software subscription, and download the inaugural GSD podcast for June 10th, 2005.
Sorry for the delay.
"Meme-ories..."
This is the Meme that Pediddle requested of me last week-abouts. I've been busy, but have given myself the time right now to finish this. Better late than never, I suppose. Here goes.
Rules are:
Remove
the #1 item from the following list, bump everyone up one place and add
your blog's name in the #5 spot. You need to actually link to each of
the blogs for the link-whorage aspect of this fiendish meme-age to kick
in.
Rules are:
Remove
the #1 item from the following list, bump everyone up one place and add
your blog's name in the #5 spot. You need to actually link to each of
the blogs for the link-whorage aspect of this fiendish meme-age to kick
in.
1. third world country
2. BTW...
3. Soliloquy...
4. regurgitation
5. The Glamazon Shoe Diaries
Next, select four unsuspecting victims, list and link to them.
1. Unfortunate Serendipity
2. Churn: Creating Nothing from Nothing
3. Mitchieville
4. My Stars In The Sky
Now - the subject of This Detestable Meme is "Five Things I Miss From My Childhood"
Okay...
1.) Not having financial worries. As it stands right now, I owe a frightening amount to both Canada Student loans, British Columbia Student Loans and my financial institution to further my education. While I don't regret going to school, and I appreciate that I've found my niche in life career wise at such a young age (or at least I *think* I have) it's still terrifying to realize that I'm fully 100% responsible for every single penny that I'm currently in debt for. It's something that as a child, you never really worry about, or even think about.
2.) Summer Vacation. Hot damn! Do you kids realize how friggin lucky you are to NOT go to school for the best two and a half months of the year? Cripes. It's two and a half months of not worrying about homework, about sleeping in, hanging out with your friends, playing in the sunshine, crawling the mall and staying up wayyyy too late without fearing repercussion. I'm jealous as hell.
3.) Aiden James Varga. He was my best guy friend from grade five or so, until grade nine when he moved up to Shushwap, in Northern British Columbia. I miss him like hell sometimes. He was the only guy that didn't torture me because I was overweight, and just accepted me for who I was. It was refreshing, and I adored him for it. I'm sure it was a serious case of puppy love, but everytime I smell the cologne he used to wear in early highschool, (Polo, by Ralph Lauren, I believe... Pretty swank for a 13-14 year old.) I always think of him. We had a lot of innocent fun together, and I used to sleep over at his house in Coquitlam on the weekends staying up really late and goofing around. I also miss his older sister and his parents tons too.
4.) Choir. I have no time now, but from the age of six to eighteen, I've been in at least 11 choirs, ranging from the regular choir classes offered in Elementary and High school, as well as professional and specialty youth choirs that only allowed individuals to join that passed an audition. It was a phenomenal learning experience, and I developed friendships that were interesting and fun. To this day I run into people (often at various Karaoke Joints) that I sang with in Elementary and High School. I garnered at least 20 extra credits towards graduation merely from participating in these, and my vocal range developed from soprano, to low tenor to second soprano. My grad year Jazz Choir won silver in the national choir competition in it's first year of running.
5.) The ability to have unconditional trust in adults. Most adults don't seem to have ulterior motives with children, at least not the decent ones. In adult life, it's a totally different story. You face backstabbing, heartbreak, a myriad of disasters large and small. I'm still in shock at times at how I've lost a large part of my innocence due to the behaviour of both myself, and the adults that I know. It's one of many reasons why I adore my nephew. It'll hurt like hell when I see him learning the things I'd rather keep him protected from.
There ya be. Hope this gives you some more insight into my noggin.
Cheers!
Futzpah!!!!
Music of the Moment: "Swing This Baby!" A various compilation of modern musicians doing Swing music.
Fuck the Podcast for now. Apparently I'm technologically retarded, and Mr!Erik and I tried several methods to create an .xml feed for the damned thing. (Which is *VERY* difficult via MSN, for those of you not in the know.) It's probably something *VERY* simple, that I'm just not seeing right now. Dev has been sent a pleading email, begging for assistance, with many promises of lurid, adult-oriented behaviour and batting of eyelashes. So now, I just wait until the guru responds.
At any rate, Podcasting aside, I've snapped about 2 dozen more phenomenal photos of Graffiti, and am seriously contemplating doing a photographical series on Gastown. It seems that I'm obsessed with brickwork and narrow, intimate spaces of brick wall covered with greenery, as well as the character of that small part of the city, dirt, homeless people, and stench included along with the charm of the cobblestone streets and old buildings. I wandered about "Blood Alley" the oldest part of Gastown yesterday, and fell in love with it, (having usually only seen it from the balcony of Club 23 West during SinCity Fetish night.) while snapping Erik's band photo for his newest album, "The Pantload" tentatively scheduled for release on the 15th of July. I've agreed to do the design for the front and back covers of his jewel case, and the stuff I tinkered with today looks pretty damned good. It's a good trade, considering I get to use it as a portfolio piece, as well as trading bandwidth and storage for the GSD podcast online, when I finally figure out what the fuck I'm doing.
I never expected Photography to be such a budding passion for me, but considering my father has an 8 megapixel digital camera that NEVER (and boy, do I mean NEVER, except for when he sleeps,) leaves his side, it should be expected. If I start to spend hours upon hours staring up into the sky with a telescope, you have permission to call me "Larry".
Homework abounds, and I'm surprised I've finished part of my freelance design stuffs AND an assigment in about four hours. I've been rather lax at finishing my assignments, and I'm getting irritated with myself for it, putting my own pleasure ahead of my responsibilities. (Tsk tsk, Madamoiselle Linds.)
I'm desiring the purchase of an external hard drive, since my laptop is getting somewhat sluggish. This would help with storing all the music I don't listen to (I have over 4500 songs, but don't listen to ALL of my albums, so about 1500 of them are now stored on CD-R's as data mp3's.) as well as helping me with all the photographs that I've been schlepping into my computer over the past four months. I'm really anal about file management, so most of it is organized, it's just... Well, a LOT of stuff. I never thought I'd be complaining about having too much music, or even acknowledging that there was such a thing. (I still don't think there is, but whatever...)
At any rate, thoughts are bubbling, and it's time to get back to work. Hope Y'all (y'all?) are doing well, I'll catch ya on the flip flop.
Fuck the Podcast for now. Apparently I'm technologically retarded, and Mr!Erik and I tried several methods to create an .xml feed for the damned thing. (Which is *VERY* difficult via MSN, for those of you not in the know.) It's probably something *VERY* simple, that I'm just not seeing right now. Dev has been sent a pleading email, begging for assistance, with many promises of lurid, adult-oriented behaviour and batting of eyelashes. So now, I just wait until the guru responds.
At any rate, Podcasting aside, I've snapped about 2 dozen more phenomenal photos of Graffiti, and am seriously contemplating doing a photographical series on Gastown. It seems that I'm obsessed with brickwork and narrow, intimate spaces of brick wall covered with greenery, as well as the character of that small part of the city, dirt, homeless people, and stench included along with the charm of the cobblestone streets and old buildings. I wandered about "Blood Alley" the oldest part of Gastown yesterday, and fell in love with it, (having usually only seen it from the balcony of Club 23 West during SinCity Fetish night.) while snapping Erik's band photo for his newest album, "The Pantload" tentatively scheduled for release on the 15th of July. I've agreed to do the design for the front and back covers of his jewel case, and the stuff I tinkered with today looks pretty damned good. It's a good trade, considering I get to use it as a portfolio piece, as well as trading bandwidth and storage for the GSD podcast online, when I finally figure out what the fuck I'm doing.
I never expected Photography to be such a budding passion for me, but considering my father has an 8 megapixel digital camera that NEVER (and boy, do I mean NEVER, except for when he sleeps,) leaves his side, it should be expected. If I start to spend hours upon hours staring up into the sky with a telescope, you have permission to call me "Larry".
Homework abounds, and I'm surprised I've finished part of my freelance design stuffs AND an assigment in about four hours. I've been rather lax at finishing my assignments, and I'm getting irritated with myself for it, putting my own pleasure ahead of my responsibilities. (Tsk tsk, Madamoiselle Linds.)
I'm desiring the purchase of an external hard drive, since my laptop is getting somewhat sluggish. This would help with storing all the music I don't listen to (I have over 4500 songs, but don't listen to ALL of my albums, so about 1500 of them are now stored on CD-R's as data mp3's.) as well as helping me with all the photographs that I've been schlepping into my computer over the past four months. I'm really anal about file management, so most of it is organized, it's just... Well, a LOT of stuff. I never thought I'd be complaining about having too much music, or even acknowledging that there was such a thing. (I still don't think there is, but whatever...)
At any rate, thoughts are bubbling, and it's time to get back to work. Hope Y'all (y'all?) are doing well, I'll catch ya on the flip flop.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
It's ALMOST Up and Running... *sighs*
I'm in the process of having you guys being able to subscribe to The Glamazon Shoe Diaries podcast for June 10th, 2005. If Devin would come back from his ruminations of Northern Texas French Fries, and spend about five minutes TELLING me how to put it on a page, I would appreciate it.
This is an exerpt from the entry "Podcastidental Inauguration"
I've chosen a bunch of stuff the GSD inaugural podcast for release on Friday, June 10th, 2005, including has some wicked old-school Hip Hop on it, (Naughty by Nature, Skee-Lo), Contemporary Hip Hop (Snoop Dogg), Funk (Angie Stone), Blues (Tracy Chapman), R & B (Black Eyed Peas), Pop (Tori Alamaze) and some rock (David Usher, Coldplay) along with a bunch of other stuff. It's a nice mix, and I hope you enjoy it.
Other than that, I'm working on it. It's probably something simple that I haven't yet figured out.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Podcastidental Inauguration...
Editor's Note:
Success!! I have a dear, dear friend who has earned a gold star for every inch of his soul, for donating some of his webspace for moi to use for my podcast. I'll have it up and running on Saturday morning by the latest... See, it benefits to give away some designed stuff for free.
A mere ten days before my first Blogiversary (Ugh, I hate that word.) I've finished mixing together a podcast for the Glamazon Shoe Diaries. I'm moderately excited, and since Devin told me where to find the software to record AIFF vocal tracks it's been much MUCH easier, he then ran off to discuss the benefits of french fry particulars in North Texas... So I muddled through on my own.
I did this whole show in about three and a half hours, including mixdown and converting it to an MP3. This IS my first foray into digital broadcasting, and the mic on my laptop isn't fantabulous. so pardon the somewhat shitty quality of the vocals. Other than that, you get a good feel for what I was trying to get across, and the segueways are nicely done, and the music is crystal clear thanks to the fact that I can directly import music into the program I was using and not record a recording... If that makes sense. That's what you learn working for volunteer radio, I suppose.
*Please note that the address in the RSS feed to download the Podcast is NOT the right address until Saturday, June 11th, 2005, sometime in the afternoon. Thx.*
That being said, I've gotten an RSS feed working nicely, (Special thanks to Mike G. who told me about Feed Burner RSS syndication, Thanks sweets!) I just need to get enough webspace to put the fucking thing up there. I've got a 67 megabyte file, and I get a whopping 20 megs per email addy from my Internet Service Provider. Even if I add up the two email addy amounts alloted to me, (which isn't possible...) I'm still 27 megs shy. Damn. The broadcast is ONLY an hour long, (57 minutes, to be specific.) and I'll be buggered if I only do 20 minute shows. That's just fucking boring. I mean, three, MAYBE four songs, and some talking? Come on now.
As it stands, the GSD inaugural podcast for release on Friday, June 10th, 2005, has some wicked old-school Hip Hop on it, (Naughty by Nature, Skee-Lo), Contemporary Hip Hop (Snoop Dogg), funk (Angie Stone), Blues (Tracy Chapman), R & B (Black Eyed Peas), Pop(Tori Alamaze) and some rock (David Usher, Coldplay) along with a bunch of other stuff. It's a nice mix, and I'm fairly proud of it.
Finances are tight, and I'm waiting for my Student loan to come through right now so I can get that working... Gee, I feel stupid. If anyone has a gig of spare storage that they want to ship down my way, I'd be exceedingly grateful, what with being a starving student and all. I'll even dedicate every podcast to the person that DOES donate space.
If not, then fuck it. Whatever, I'm not about to let my talents go to waste, and I've dated the podcast itself, so fuck it. It's available for people that want it through a fabulous free file transfer system called Dropload. Create an account and email me with the email addy you use to log in to dropload with, and requesting a the podcast de jour. I'll send it along as soon as possible. I have my ways, and it might involve me getting Glamazonshoes.com up and running sooner than I thought. That's fine with me, it will just take a little bit of effort.
Success!! I have a dear, dear friend who has earned a gold star for every inch of his soul, for donating some of his webspace for moi to use for my podcast. I'll have it up and running on Saturday morning by the latest... See, it benefits to give away some designed stuff for free.
A mere ten days before my first Blogiversary (Ugh, I hate that word.) I've finished mixing together a podcast for the Glamazon Shoe Diaries. I'm moderately excited, and since Devin told me where to find the software to record AIFF vocal tracks it's been much MUCH easier, he then ran off to discuss the benefits of french fry particulars in North Texas... So I muddled through on my own.
I did this whole show in about three and a half hours, including mixdown and converting it to an MP3. This IS my first foray into digital broadcasting, and the mic on my laptop isn't fantabulous. so pardon the somewhat shitty quality of the vocals. Other than that, you get a good feel for what I was trying to get across, and the segueways are nicely done, and the music is crystal clear thanks to the fact that I can directly import music into the program I was using and not record a recording... If that makes sense. That's what you learn working for volunteer radio, I suppose.
*Please note that the address in the RSS feed to download the Podcast is NOT the right address until Saturday, June 11th, 2005, sometime in the afternoon. Thx.*
That being said, I've gotten an RSS feed working nicely, (Special thanks to Mike G. who told me about Feed Burner RSS syndication, Thanks sweets!) I just need to get enough webspace to put the fucking thing up there. I've got a 67 megabyte file, and I get a whopping 20 megs per email addy from my Internet Service Provider. Even if I add up the two email addy amounts alloted to me, (which isn't possible...) I'm still 27 megs shy. Damn. The broadcast is ONLY an hour long, (57 minutes, to be specific.) and I'll be buggered if I only do 20 minute shows. That's just fucking boring. I mean, three, MAYBE four songs, and some talking? Come on now.
As it stands, the GSD inaugural podcast for release on Friday, June 10th, 2005, has some wicked old-school Hip Hop on it, (Naughty by Nature, Skee-Lo), Contemporary Hip Hop (Snoop Dogg), funk (Angie Stone), Blues (Tracy Chapman), R & B (Black Eyed Peas), Pop(Tori Alamaze) and some rock (David Usher, Coldplay) along with a bunch of other stuff. It's a nice mix, and I'm fairly proud of it.
Finances are tight, and I'm waiting for my Student loan to come through right now so I can get that working... Gee, I feel stupid. If anyone has a gig of spare storage that they want to ship down my way, I'd be exceedingly grateful, what with being a starving student and all. I'll even dedicate every podcast to the person that DOES donate space.
If not, then fuck it. Whatever, I'm not about to let my talents go to waste, and I've dated the podcast itself, so fuck it. It's available for people that want it through a fabulous free file transfer system called Dropload. Create an account and email me with the email addy you use to log in to dropload with, and requesting a the podcast de jour. I'll send it along as soon as possible. I have my ways, and it might involve me getting Glamazonshoes.com up and running sooner than I thought. That's fine with me, it will just take a little bit of effort.
Tag?!
The Mayor slapped my ass with a Meme, and it's not the only one I have to write. Since I'm cramped for time tonight, and this one is shorter, I'm going to do this one first, and Peddidle's sometime this weekend. Oh, You should go visit both The Mayor and Peds and say "Hello". They're good people.
How many books do I own: probably about 150 to 175. Some get lost in the fray, some get borrowed and never come back, and some seem to get stolen by the Gremlins that sneak into the dungeon at night to rifle through my possessions and misplace them, especially when I need them in the morning... Most of my books are Science Fiction and Fantasy. The occasional non-fiction slips through, as do Murder mysteries (Though I'm horrid at figuring them out), Hardcore Erotica, Romance Novels, and anything written by Anne Rice.
Latest Book Purchased: "Pheonix and Ashes" by Mercedes Lackey
Last Book Read: The Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams (The entire series, including The Restaurant at the End of the Universe; Life, The Universe and Everything; and So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish. Thanks Erik!) Absolutely LOADED with dry, absurd, and often baffling british humour, and the fastest read I've done in a long time. I finished all four novels in a week. I'd probably have to read them four more times to make sense of it all.
Five Most Important Books: Oooh. Tough Question. See, I won't pick the books that true literary minded individuals will pick. I'm going to pick the ones that made an impact on my life, either through the way I process thoughts, to the way the author wrote. It's all relative, darlings.
Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card. A fantastical indepth look at the world in the future, where children are monitored and chosen to be the military masterminds of an Earth under attack by sentient, gigantic bug like aliens. The brilliance of these children astounds me, and leaves ME feeling smarter after reading the books. Filled with interesting political viewpoints, and also an indepth, very look at religion (The author is a devout Mormon, but not pushy.)
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson. Okay, this book is so frenetically paced, that it's often difficult to distinguish between Hunter S' gonzo journalism and the depths of an ether binge/acid trip/alcoholic stupor, or all three in one. Gibbering madness dots throughout this novel, (Novel?) and if you choose to read it as a story instead of non-fiction, it' has continuity errors throughout the whole thing. That doesn't stop it from being HYSTERICALLY funny in parts, as well as being phenomenally descriptive.
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. I picked this up on a whim when I was working for the big red S and it happened to be on sale as a paperback. It's the story of a girl and her family being told by the girl, who happens to be dead, She gets killed in the first chapter. It goes through the story of her watching them, seeing their grief, how the family falls apart and tries to restore itself to something that has a semblance of normalcy. She watches them try to figure out the mystery of her murder. This book, hit home for a large number of reasons. As a victim of molestation, the scene at the beginning made me nauseous, having the name Lindsey made me sympathize with the sister character, (Not to mention that she writes a fantastic, empathetic set of characters) and having a deceased twin sister who's name was Abigail, the same as the Mother's character in the novel, all had chords of similarities that made this book stick out for me. I fully admit I bawled while reading this novel.
Kushiel's Dart, by Jaqueline Carey. My mother introduced me to this novel, and quite honestly, after the first two chapters, I understood why she hesitated to show me in the first place. Imagine a world, probably back in the rennisance, in Europe, but everything is called different places. The main religion is based off of the child of Christ and Mary Magdelene, concieved after his death from mother earth using the Magdelene's fallen tears and Christ's blood on the ground to impregnate the Magdelene, who consequently birthed Elua, Son of Christ. One of the main ways to worship said dieties, is to prostitute yourself. This is a piss-poor summation of the novel, let's just say that it's full to the brim with intregue, political machinations, very kinky sex, adventure galore, a fabulous descriptive narrative, and gorgeous character developement. This novel consequently incurred me purchasing the sequels in hardcover, too impatient for them to come out in paperback. I'm glad I did, since this one is falling apart already. Not too shabby for an author's first published work.
The Rowan by Anne McCaffrey. Brilliant, fantastical science fiction describing a world where telekenisis, telepathy and precognative abilities have developed in some humans, into something called "Talent". I read this book for the first time when I was 16, and I now own two copies of it in hardcover, in case I ever need to have two copies... Hrm... I think I accidentally stole my ex bf's mom's copy, and that's why I have two. Whatever, it's a great story, and it's written before Anne McCaffrey got too emotional in her writing. Her characters are beautifully developed, and the story is in depth and interesting.
At any rate, that was a helluva lot more difficult than I thought, and I'm shocked I could pick five books that meant anything to me other than an escape.
Pick five more people to harass with this? Jesus Christ. I HATE chain letters!! Can't I just pick like, one or two? I feel like such an annoyance. *sighs*
Okay, here goes...
Unfortunate Serendipity
Orion Skie (If you're allowed to type, no pressure!!)
Sex Scenes At Starbucks (If you read this thing anymore...)
Devin
Pediddle
That's it, that's all she wrote. For tonight, anyways.
How many books do I own: probably about 150 to 175. Some get lost in the fray, some get borrowed and never come back, and some seem to get stolen by the Gremlins that sneak into the dungeon at night to rifle through my possessions and misplace them, especially when I need them in the morning... Most of my books are Science Fiction and Fantasy. The occasional non-fiction slips through, as do Murder mysteries (Though I'm horrid at figuring them out), Hardcore Erotica, Romance Novels, and anything written by Anne Rice.
Latest Book Purchased: "Pheonix and Ashes" by Mercedes Lackey
Last Book Read: The Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams (The entire series, including The Restaurant at the End of the Universe; Life, The Universe and Everything; and So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish. Thanks Erik!) Absolutely LOADED with dry, absurd, and often baffling british humour, and the fastest read I've done in a long time. I finished all four novels in a week. I'd probably have to read them four more times to make sense of it all.
Five Most Important Books: Oooh. Tough Question. See, I won't pick the books that true literary minded individuals will pick. I'm going to pick the ones that made an impact on my life, either through the way I process thoughts, to the way the author wrote. It's all relative, darlings.
Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card. A fantastical indepth look at the world in the future, where children are monitored and chosen to be the military masterminds of an Earth under attack by sentient, gigantic bug like aliens. The brilliance of these children astounds me, and leaves ME feeling smarter after reading the books. Filled with interesting political viewpoints, and also an indepth, very look at religion (The author is a devout Mormon, but not pushy.)
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson. Okay, this book is so frenetically paced, that it's often difficult to distinguish between Hunter S' gonzo journalism and the depths of an ether binge/acid trip/alcoholic stupor, or all three in one. Gibbering madness dots throughout this novel, (Novel?) and if you choose to read it as a story instead of non-fiction, it' has continuity errors throughout the whole thing. That doesn't stop it from being HYSTERICALLY funny in parts, as well as being phenomenally descriptive.
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. I picked this up on a whim when I was working for the big red S and it happened to be on sale as a paperback. It's the story of a girl and her family being told by the girl, who happens to be dead, She gets killed in the first chapter. It goes through the story of her watching them, seeing their grief, how the family falls apart and tries to restore itself to something that has a semblance of normalcy. She watches them try to figure out the mystery of her murder. This book, hit home for a large number of reasons. As a victim of molestation, the scene at the beginning made me nauseous, having the name Lindsey made me sympathize with the sister character, (Not to mention that she writes a fantastic, empathetic set of characters) and having a deceased twin sister who's name was Abigail, the same as the Mother's character in the novel, all had chords of similarities that made this book stick out for me. I fully admit I bawled while reading this novel.
Kushiel's Dart, by Jaqueline Carey. My mother introduced me to this novel, and quite honestly, after the first two chapters, I understood why she hesitated to show me in the first place. Imagine a world, probably back in the rennisance, in Europe, but everything is called different places. The main religion is based off of the child of Christ and Mary Magdelene, concieved after his death from mother earth using the Magdelene's fallen tears and Christ's blood on the ground to impregnate the Magdelene, who consequently birthed Elua, Son of Christ. One of the main ways to worship said dieties, is to prostitute yourself. This is a piss-poor summation of the novel, let's just say that it's full to the brim with intregue, political machinations, very kinky sex, adventure galore, a fabulous descriptive narrative, and gorgeous character developement. This novel consequently incurred me purchasing the sequels in hardcover, too impatient for them to come out in paperback. I'm glad I did, since this one is falling apart already. Not too shabby for an author's first published work.
The Rowan by Anne McCaffrey. Brilliant, fantastical science fiction describing a world where telekenisis, telepathy and precognative abilities have developed in some humans, into something called "Talent". I read this book for the first time when I was 16, and I now own two copies of it in hardcover, in case I ever need to have two copies... Hrm... I think I accidentally stole my ex bf's mom's copy, and that's why I have two. Whatever, it's a great story, and it's written before Anne McCaffrey got too emotional in her writing. Her characters are beautifully developed, and the story is in depth and interesting.
At any rate, that was a helluva lot more difficult than I thought, and I'm shocked I could pick five books that meant anything to me other than an escape.
Pick five more people to harass with this? Jesus Christ. I HATE chain letters!! Can't I just pick like, one or two? I feel like such an annoyance. *sighs*
Okay, here goes...
Unfortunate Serendipity
Orion Skie (If you're allowed to type, no pressure!!)
Sex Scenes At Starbucks (If you read this thing anymore...)
Devin
Pediddle
That's it, that's all she wrote. For tonight, anyways.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
A Present for the Boys...
Music Of the Moment: the album "X & Y" from Coldplay.
All right, gentlemen. I'm tossing you a bone. Or maybe you'll grow your own after having some interactive fun with these two buxom ladies. You're going to have to scroll down to see them underneath all the ads, but it's fun to see what they'll do.
Hint: "Lick", "kiss", "Fight", "breasts", "suck" "ass" and "bite" seem to be the ones I found that worked. I'm sure there are more, you just have to do some thinking.
Yes, I honestly was doing homework. I just got distracted.
And yes, I stayed there typing shit in for about twenty minutes, until I got tired of them not doing anything more than mildly suggestive, and giving me stupid looks for writing in anything more than three syllables. I have better girl on girl porn on my hard drive, but this is a fun tease. While the brunette is obviously the better kisser, she mauls a banana and the blonde does a much better job of the dealie.
For all you Star Wars nerds out there, (Mike G., Devin and Dean, this means you!) get them to fight a couple of times and see if they break out the Darth Maul light sabres. They did for me. There's nothing like big tittied bimbos battling it out wearing hot pants and crop tops. And Yes, I know you love me for finding this and spreading the legs.... err.... I mean joy. Yeah, that's it.
All right, gentlemen. I'm tossing you a bone. Or maybe you'll grow your own after having some interactive fun with these two buxom ladies. You're going to have to scroll down to see them underneath all the ads, but it's fun to see what they'll do.
Hint: "Lick", "kiss", "Fight", "breasts", "suck" "ass" and "bite" seem to be the ones I found that worked. I'm sure there are more, you just have to do some thinking.
Yes, I honestly was doing homework. I just got distracted.
And yes, I stayed there typing shit in for about twenty minutes, until I got tired of them not doing anything more than mildly suggestive, and giving me stupid looks for writing in anything more than three syllables. I have better girl on girl porn on my hard drive, but this is a fun tease. While the brunette is obviously the better kisser, she mauls a banana and the blonde does a much better job of the dealie.
For all you Star Wars nerds out there, (Mike G., Devin and Dean, this means you!) get them to fight a couple of times and see if they break out the Darth Maul light sabres. They did for me. There's nothing like big tittied bimbos battling it out wearing hot pants and crop tops. And Yes, I know you love me for finding this and spreading the legs.... err.... I mean joy. Yeah, that's it.
AHHH!!!!
Dear god! This is just WRONG!!! Wrong wrong WRONG!!! This was found online while typing "noses" in a google image search, trying to find images for a project for Creative process. It's like a car accident that I JUST CAN'T seem to stop myself from looking at.
I hope to hell it's a photoshopped image, and the more I look unwillingly at it trying to put it all together, the more I think it is. However, knowing humanity, and it's propensity for disgusting party tricks, it could be totally real and that, my lovelies, is very frightening.
I must find my happy place.
I hope to hell it's a photoshopped image, and the more I look unwillingly at it trying to put it all together, the more I think it is. However, knowing humanity, and it's propensity for disgusting party tricks, it could be totally real and that, my lovelies, is very frightening.
I must find my happy place.
Aww Hell...
I'd gone to all the effort of writing a lovely scathing commentary on the newest season of The Real Gilligan's Island. Damnit. It was great! It was catty! It's... It's... Gone. It's not often that Firefox craps out on me, I just wish it had better timing and hadn't done so BEFORE I pushed "publish".
No, I'm not writing it again. The moment is lost. Oh well. Such is life, I suppose.
No, I'm not writing it again. The moment is lost. Oh well. Such is life, I suppose.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Music Is My Heroin... Tunes To Groove By Version 1.1
Black Eyed Peas -- Monkey Business
Artist: Black Eyed Peas
Album: Monkey Business
Genre: Hip-Hop
A special shout out to "Waffles the Magical Music Pimp" for hooking me up with this album a few days before it's release. (That's today, in case you didn't know, New albums, movies and the like are released on Tuesdays.)
Ahhh, I'm a big big fan of the Black Eyed Peas. I own the premiere album "Elephunk" and it gets some serious rotation in my "random" selections on my laptop. I love the multiculturalism embraced by the band and the funky, catchy beats that the Peas shell out like mad. (Heehee.) Monkey Business is no exception, sampling funk like mad, and including artists like James Brown, Justin Timberlake, Cee-Lo, John Legend, Talib Kweli, Q-Tip, Jack Johnson and surprisingly enough, Sting. (Even the sexual tantric highlord of England isn't excluded from working with this talented quartet.) This, to me is wonderful. I love the mingling of genres, I love the crossing over of generations regarding musical style. I love how Funk is being brought back into music again as a new, contemporary, hybrid genre with Hip hop. It makes Linds happy.
Monkey Business starts off with the song "Pump It" and if you want raucous funk, this is it. Viciously sampling the song "Miserlou" by Dick Dale and the Del-Tones (most recognizable from the introductory Pumpkin and Hunni-bunny scene in Pulp Fiction) turning the beach inspired tune into a latin sounding funk-laden creation that my ears fucking applauded over. Seriously. Fergie just WAILS on this album, and I love her voice. (As I recall, the first time I ever heard her, I thought that it was something that Pink had produced that actually sounded GOOD. *smirks*) It had me wanting to shake my booty. They started the album with a very successful, addictive tune. Expect this song as one of my selections on my inaugural Glamazon Shoes podcast, when I figure out how the fuck to get it going. (Possibly within the next month in a half, when Apple incorporates it into the iTunes Player, so it doesn't take me 20 minutes to get applications on my G4 powerbook set up to record something each time. I'm technologically capable, but I'm still relatively new to macs, and not a genius, dammit.)
What better to follow it up with than "Don't Phunk With My Heart" which has been played ad-nauseum already on my local radio station for the past month and a half. Fergie sounds like a little baby-doll, which is perhaps why I don't really empathize with this song all that much. Don't get me wrong, I like it, but she's got phenomenal vocals, and I don't feel like she's using them to her full capability. On the other hand, if I compared her to Amy Lee from Evanescence, or Chad Kroeger from Nickelback, at least Fergie makes an attempt to sound different in different songs.
Justin Timberlake makes an appearance on this album in the song "My Style", which isn't shocking, considering how much he's contributed to the B.E.P.'s ascending fame. It starts off sounding rather like a gospel song, with the "Lawd have Mercy's" and then the Peas blast off into typical funkdom.
"Don't Lie" is another one that The Beat has been playing on the radio lately, and I love love LOVE the harmonies in the chorus. For such a lyrically dark song, the song is light and breezy. I like the line "In my book of lies I was the editor, and the author, I forged my signature" I found that very clever lyrically, evoking a nice visual in my head.
The song "My Humps" had me laughing to near tears on the bus, the beat similar to "Push it" by Salt n' Pepa, and a myriad of other early 90's hip-hop. Fergie goes on about her "humps" and her "lovely lady lumps." It's an atypical song about tits and ass, and it has me grinning like an idiot. Some of the lyrics should just be breezed over, mainly because they don't make all that much sense. I also like the line "What you gonna do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk?" Fergie does indeed have a wicked body, unfortunately, she chooses to garb it in a rather... Interesting... manner. Oftentimes making her look a mixture of both far too skinny, and frumpy at the same time. (That image is courtesy of Gofugyourself.com)
"Like That" sounds like the B.E.P's went and borrowed bits and pieces of the new Mariah Carey song "It's Like That" and most likely, they did. I'm not surprised, considering that the Hip Hop and R&B community do a lot of collaboration and use a lot of the same writers for lyrics. I just think they could have made parts of it sound a little LESS like Mariah's. I enjoy how they incorporate strings into a large part of the songs they make, even if it's just subtle in the background. "Dum Diddley" is very Reggae influenced, while still very funky. "Feel It" is as close to a ballad as the B.E.P's get in this album, and even at that, it's fast paced and mildly energetic.
The immortal James Brown steps in for the song "They Don't Want Music"(They Don't Know How To Use It.) It's sassy, and has some typical James Brown "Uuuuhn!" and "HAH!"'s as well as some of his "PLAY THEM HORNS!" which I always find enjoyable.
On the all, I might seem like I'm criticizing this album a lot, but the Black Eyed Peas are a fun, funky band that is meant to play at parties. They're a band that you want to shake your booty to, and this album is light, breezy and fun, which, I would assume is the goal of the entire album. They passed with flying colours.
On a Glamazon Shoe rating of FIVE shoes, I give the Black Eyed Peas "Monkey Business" a 4.75/5 shoes. Go pick up this album because your guaranteed to go shake your booty all summer long. Fo shizzle.
Coming up in the next few installments, the new Coldplay album "X & Y", and the new White Stripes album "Get Behind Me Satan".
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Vandalism? I Think Not... (Photo Blog entry)
~*Music Of the Moment*~ Artist: MC5 (Motor City 5) Album: The Big Bang!: Best Of The MC5
Other listening: DevinandMarty.com podcast (Gosh Marty, you sure can swear!)
Reading of the moment: Douglas Adams "The Restaurant at the End of The Universe" (The second book in the "Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy" series.)
Yesterday I spent my evening with my very good friend, the Wiggler!?! himself, Mr! Erik.
While wandering about Gastown, the some-parts tourist trap, most-parts all around dive and homeless epicentre of Vancouver; my mind was in overdrive. After seeing him get a couple of tattoos touched up (Even though I have nine, I've never been able to watch myself getting them done, eight of them are on my back, therefore I physically COULDN'T watch them being done, and when I got my first one I was too chickenshit to watch how it was done... Whatever...) and eating the closest thing to New York City pizza I've had in ages, we strolled around, finding a Venti extra-sweet vanilla Latte for me at a local Starbucks discussing things like politics, (Okay, HE talked about politics, I just listened. He's got a helluva nice voice, always has a quip or remark seconds after I make a comment, gets me relaxed, and keeps me laughing a majority of the time with some of the audacious things he's done and he says, and the things he's said he's done. It's terribly appreciated.) We share the same opinion about the benefits of being able to laugh at just about anything that comes our way or suffer with the consequences of being too damned grown up and serious. We were discussing how I could do the cover for his latest album, which sounds phenomenal, and is the tightest album I've heard him do to date. I'm more than willing to do for him for free, (not something I do often anymore) since he busts his hump doing the music for free. He also razzed my rather Charlie Sheen-esque shag 'do going on right now (I'm trying to grow it out.) I've heard the "Chandler" I've heard that I've got "anime" hair, but that's the first time someone has ever referenced it to Charlie Sheen in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. *sighs*
Erik, quite honestly... Well, he blows my intellect out of the water with his knowledge of Rock n' fucking roll, politics, and an all around world wise savvy, and sometimes... It's all I can do to just sit there and listen to him talk. I'm not as smart as I look, and sometimes I think he's smarter than God, but since he's a devout athiest, he wouldn't appreciate that thought. At the very least I respect him heaps, and he genuinely was the first male to show me respect in a previous relationship, and he'll always have my gratitude and reciprocal respect for that, even though our relationship is over and neither he nor I are planning on ressurrecting it.
At any rate, I'm not really getting to the point, am I? Yeah, yeah, you're thinking. He's a good guy, get on with it already. So be it.
So, we're walking around and I keep on spotting these things that for him, he sees everyday, and for me, are new and exciting... And I'll tell you why.
I've always been partial to grafitti. It's not something I'm in any way skilled at doing, and I'd dread to pick up a can of spray paint and attempt to do something fantastically artistic on my own. I'd end up covered in paint, with handprints on the wall ala caveman paintings from prehistoric eras. My skills are limited to photographical manipulation, logos, and arranging images in a pleasing manner all digitally rendered and quite appreciated for the fact that I don't end up with paint/clay/whatever all over my immaculate person.(hah!) The most I'm able to do with hand done artwork in the past, is create some sort of pathetic Partridge Family bus grid/Mondrian (example 2)/Merot style paintings of faces; and while this sense of kitsch is appealing to some, for this artist (being me) it gets tired pretty fast.
I saw at least four different murals on our wanderings through Gastown, one of a fantastic mythical garden:
pic 1:
Pic 2:
Pic 3:
(larger views of pic 1, pic 2, pic 3.)
Ones of various tags:
(Click here for a larger view)
(Larger image)
(Larger image)
One of fantastically superbright African colours with pastel tagwork:
(Click here for a larger view)
And the one that absolutely blew my mind. I'll get into that in a moment. I snapped pictures of all of these, and once I've had some time to fiddle with them in Photoshop, adjusting them from the absolutely gargantuan, behemoth file sizes that they are raw from my digi-cam, into something a little more bandwidth friendly so that flickr doesn't butcher them on my unwilling behalf. I'll post them up on my Flickr.com account, and consider it bandwidth well spent, even if it exhausts my account uploading for the month.
Now, for the last mural. We stumbled across this on the way back from Starbucks. Better photos are going to be put up soon, this is just to give you an idea of scale and how impressive it is. Erik had no idea this one even existed, and he was impressed as much as I was. On the wall of an abandoned old basketball court, alongside the entire length of it, approximately 25 to 30 feet in length and 10-12 feet tall, (possibly taller, my sense of scale is always off) this entire piece is only in blues, white and black. I counted a minimum of seven artist tags on this piece and the theme was Egypt. I've got all sorts of angles from this piece in particular, and I'm looking forward to splicing it all together in a panoramic photograph in Photoshop. When I get the time, that is.
( Click here for a larger view of this photo)
I particularly love the time before dusk and during dusk, since colours seem their most vivid, and that is when I got the chance to take most of these photos. It's like the world decides to shine a giant blacklight on colours making them stand out. There's something to be said about reveling in your senses, and I'm absolutely hedonistic when it comes to super saturated colours and artwork.
I dragged poor Erik around this skeezy, abandoned basketball court, snapping at least 30 pictures of this thing, from all angles, repeat shots in case the first were blurry, you name it. He took it with wonderful aplomb, (Thanks, Sugar!) indulging me in my photographical orgy of the senses. I don't think I would've had the proverbial balls to go snap photographs in this area of town by myself when the ground I was standing on to take these pictures was littered with the orange caps of hypodermic needles, broken glass, sleeping bags, tarps, cardboard boxes and spray paint nozzles. I won't say I enjoy the less savoury parts of this city, but at the same time, I have an appreciation for the grunge that appears in larger cities. It's one reason why I loved Brooklyn. I actually dislike it when cities are constantly covering up history. I can't explain why but it takes away from the flavour or feeling of the age of a city. Since Vancouver is constantly expanding/being repaired/repainted/whatever, I feel in ways that we're losing a little bit of history by trying to wipe it all out.
I dunno, it could be the taurus in me that doesn't like change, but I appreciate the unique-ness of a city based on it's less than admirable characteristics. Perhaps I've lived my sheltered suburban life for too long, and am romanticizing the less than desireable parts of the city, but I revel in a large, fast paced city as much as quiet steady surroundings. I can appreciate decay and a weathered environment as well as something brand new and shiny. I might depend on technology to do most of the things I do, but I also enjoy walking along and looking at old brick buildings instead of the pink vinyl siding monstrosities around my house and wondering what those walls have seen, even if it's not pleasant. I suppose that's part of my naiveté, but also the part of me that still looks at things with a sense of wonder.
Other listening: DevinandMarty.com podcast (Gosh Marty, you sure can swear!)
Reading of the moment: Douglas Adams "The Restaurant at the End of The Universe" (The second book in the "Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy" series.)
Yesterday I spent my evening with my very good friend, the Wiggler!?! himself, Mr! Erik.
While wandering about Gastown, the some-parts tourist trap, most-parts all around dive and homeless epicentre of Vancouver; my mind was in overdrive. After seeing him get a couple of tattoos touched up (Even though I have nine, I've never been able to watch myself getting them done, eight of them are on my back, therefore I physically COULDN'T watch them being done, and when I got my first one I was too chickenshit to watch how it was done... Whatever...) and eating the closest thing to New York City pizza I've had in ages, we strolled around, finding a Venti extra-sweet vanilla Latte for me at a local Starbucks discussing things like politics, (Okay, HE talked about politics, I just listened. He's got a helluva nice voice, always has a quip or remark seconds after I make a comment, gets me relaxed, and keeps me laughing a majority of the time with some of the audacious things he's done and he says, and the things he's said he's done. It's terribly appreciated.) We share the same opinion about the benefits of being able to laugh at just about anything that comes our way or suffer with the consequences of being too damned grown up and serious. We were discussing how I could do the cover for his latest album, which sounds phenomenal, and is the tightest album I've heard him do to date. I'm more than willing to do for him for free, (not something I do often anymore) since he busts his hump doing the music for free. He also razzed my rather Charlie Sheen-esque shag 'do going on right now (I'm trying to grow it out.) I've heard the "Chandler" I've heard that I've got "anime" hair, but that's the first time someone has ever referenced it to Charlie Sheen in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. *sighs*
Erik, quite honestly... Well, he blows my intellect out of the water with his knowledge of Rock n' fucking roll, politics, and an all around world wise savvy, and sometimes... It's all I can do to just sit there and listen to him talk. I'm not as smart as I look, and sometimes I think he's smarter than God, but since he's a devout athiest, he wouldn't appreciate that thought. At the very least I respect him heaps, and he genuinely was the first male to show me respect in a previous relationship, and he'll always have my gratitude and reciprocal respect for that, even though our relationship is over and neither he nor I are planning on ressurrecting it.
At any rate, I'm not really getting to the point, am I? Yeah, yeah, you're thinking. He's a good guy, get on with it already. So be it.
So, we're walking around and I keep on spotting these things that for him, he sees everyday, and for me, are new and exciting... And I'll tell you why.
I've always been partial to grafitti. It's not something I'm in any way skilled at doing, and I'd dread to pick up a can of spray paint and attempt to do something fantastically artistic on my own. I'd end up covered in paint, with handprints on the wall ala caveman paintings from prehistoric eras. My skills are limited to photographical manipulation, logos, and arranging images in a pleasing manner all digitally rendered and quite appreciated for the fact that I don't end up with paint/clay/whatever all over my immaculate person.(hah!) The most I'm able to do with hand done artwork in the past, is create some sort of pathetic Partridge Family bus grid/Mondrian (example 2)/Merot style paintings of faces; and while this sense of kitsch is appealing to some, for this artist (being me) it gets tired pretty fast.
I saw at least four different murals on our wanderings through Gastown, one of a fantastic mythical garden:
pic 1:
Pic 2:
Pic 3:
(larger views of pic 1, pic 2, pic 3.)
Ones of various tags:
(Click here for a larger view)
(Larger image)
(Larger image)
One of fantastically superbright African colours with pastel tagwork:
(Click here for a larger view)
And the one that absolutely blew my mind. I'll get into that in a moment. I snapped pictures of all of these, and once I've had some time to fiddle with them in Photoshop, adjusting them from the absolutely gargantuan, behemoth file sizes that they are raw from my digi-cam, into something a little more bandwidth friendly so that flickr doesn't butcher them on my unwilling behalf. I'll post them up on my Flickr.com account, and consider it bandwidth well spent, even if it exhausts my account uploading for the month.
Now, for the last mural. We stumbled across this on the way back from Starbucks. Better photos are going to be put up soon, this is just to give you an idea of scale and how impressive it is. Erik had no idea this one even existed, and he was impressed as much as I was. On the wall of an abandoned old basketball court, alongside the entire length of it, approximately 25 to 30 feet in length and 10-12 feet tall, (possibly taller, my sense of scale is always off) this entire piece is only in blues, white and black. I counted a minimum of seven artist tags on this piece and the theme was Egypt. I've got all sorts of angles from this piece in particular, and I'm looking forward to splicing it all together in a panoramic photograph in Photoshop. When I get the time, that is.
( Click here for a larger view of this photo)
I particularly love the time before dusk and during dusk, since colours seem their most vivid, and that is when I got the chance to take most of these photos. It's like the world decides to shine a giant blacklight on colours making them stand out. There's something to be said about reveling in your senses, and I'm absolutely hedonistic when it comes to super saturated colours and artwork.
I dragged poor Erik around this skeezy, abandoned basketball court, snapping at least 30 pictures of this thing, from all angles, repeat shots in case the first were blurry, you name it. He took it with wonderful aplomb, (Thanks, Sugar!) indulging me in my photographical orgy of the senses. I don't think I would've had the proverbial balls to go snap photographs in this area of town by myself when the ground I was standing on to take these pictures was littered with the orange caps of hypodermic needles, broken glass, sleeping bags, tarps, cardboard boxes and spray paint nozzles. I won't say I enjoy the less savoury parts of this city, but at the same time, I have an appreciation for the grunge that appears in larger cities. It's one reason why I loved Brooklyn. I actually dislike it when cities are constantly covering up history. I can't explain why but it takes away from the flavour or feeling of the age of a city. Since Vancouver is constantly expanding/being repaired/repainted/whatever, I feel in ways that we're losing a little bit of history by trying to wipe it all out.
I dunno, it could be the taurus in me that doesn't like change, but I appreciate the unique-ness of a city based on it's less than admirable characteristics. Perhaps I've lived my sheltered suburban life for too long, and am romanticizing the less than desireable parts of the city, but I revel in a large, fast paced city as much as quiet steady surroundings. I can appreciate decay and a weathered environment as well as something brand new and shiny. I might depend on technology to do most of the things I do, but I also enjoy walking along and looking at old brick buildings instead of the pink vinyl siding monstrosities around my house and wondering what those walls have seen, even if it's not pleasant. I suppose that's part of my naiveté, but also the part of me that still looks at things with a sense of wonder.
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