Daylight savings time

The time change - it always leeches the initiative out of me. I get so lazy on time change days.

Spookesville 06

I managed to miss the UTSC residence haloween party for the third year running last night. But that was only because I had already promised myself to a different party - no tragedy this time around. Thankfully. Anyhoo, I waffled about going, but the simple truth was I knew I had to. I had turned down and rain chequed three offers of party action on the corner of Dupont and Spadina already this year. There was no getting out of it this time. So, with a slight bit of hesitancy, I donned the zombie costume and made my downtown for yet another adventure. The beginning was everything I expected - the folks who live there in costumes. Tara was a Sea Horse, and convincingly so... I was terribly impressed. Andrew was Hunter S. Thompson, which was also very well done.

The interesting part about the evening wasn't so much the costumes as it was how people kept showing up, like a steady trickle of awesomeness all night. I had to take the stake off eventually, just so we could manoever around properly. At first, J-bo, Jaime, Dan, Aaron Both (!!!) and Dan's brother Tim showed up (Later on, another dan and another tim would turn up, but i didn't really know them). This was pretty exciting since a)they're my friends, and b) I haven't seen Aaron in a dog's age.

Then, Julian found his way to the party. Turns out he had been at the same concert as the rapscallions above. Good times were beggining to ramp up, as I hadn't seen this guy in over a year. But the fun doesn't end there. Camp allumni began to turn up. Lactose turned up, which I may have groaned about in the past, but I've moved past former predjudices and actually rather enjoyed hanging out with her. Then, suprise of surprises: Ted. Another person I have not seen in far too long. He was around the party, too, wearing the classic "I like weekends and parties with my friends" shirt. Then, through the tube of coincidence that came out of last weekend, Rosemary showed up, too. It was like old times!

What it comes down to, in the end, I guess, is that if you'd told me I would be partying with Julian and Rosemary in Andrew Dzenis' attack jam room two summers ago, I might have been suspicious of you. However:



(Yes those are pigtails. Perhaps it's better you don't ask?)

Toronto Zombie Walk Part II

The dead walk the earth.

Here I go again...

Our Childre Are Future.
(Don't Say We Didn't Warn You)

Nanowrimo 2006.

Title subject to change. Of course.

Toronto Zombie Walk

I missed my connection flight. There was some sort of crisis. And then, out of nowhere, this huge stick came and impaled me in the chest! Next thing I know, I'm the walking dead.

Toronto Zombie Walk. Holy Crap. I furiously attempted to round up folks to join me in my undead lurchings this weekend - alas the hoards were busy with things more important that being undead, so i was forced to make a decision - stay at home and do homwork, or join the undead hoards on the subway.

I opted for the latter. Good thing, too, because it was damn good times. I don't have a camera, or Iwould have taken some pictures, but thee were enough shutters going off that it shouldn't be too long before the photos (and videos?) arive on the internerd. I was a little reluctant to go, and felt sort of dreary about going alone. But, lo and behold, what should happen on the subway? Why, three fellow undead lurched their way aboard! Little Dead Riding Hood, her priesty friend whose placard read like a church in 28 Days Later, and the tall grey cowboy all climbed aboard. Seeing I wasn't alone, I opened my bag and retrived my zombie prosthesis - a caot hanger that fits around the body with a long wooden stake coming off it... and donned my zombie attire! My costume was an instant hit - the undead preist found it particularily amusing. Together we rode the rails and arrived at Nathan Philip Square just in time to see some people do the thriller dance... in absolute silence. Strange, but entertianing. There were some interesting zombies about - one lady had opted to wear a felt shark for the "I've been eaten but I'm back from the dead" look. My classmate Brandon was "Where's Waldo" in undead form. I saw a number of zombie brides. Shaun of the Dead was there, too. I can't be certain, but I'm also fairly sure somebody had dressed up as a marine infected by the Flood in a nod to the zombie aliens of the video game Halo. There were a fair number of people wearing torn cloths with lots fo fake blood - but its the costumes with gimmicks that really stand out.

There were literally hundreds of the undead shuffling. Spirits may have departed, but the mortal coil moved on as a mass escorted by the police down Queen Street. We screamed for brains and mauled streetcars and cafe windows. Spectators quickly stopped to watch us lurch and staggar past, dragging our limbs as we searched for the brains at the bloor cinema. People screamed and laughed and pointed with delight at the many zombies shuffling past their place of luncheon. I was particularily pleased to see a woman drop her salad fork and gestulate wildely out teh window, pointing at me and miming my impaled chest. It made my unbeating heart all warm and fuzzy on the inside - or maybe that was just my rotting corpse getting moldy.

In the end, I really wish that some of my friends had been able to die with me today. Alas, I understand that living sometimes gets in the way of that. I still managed to have lots of fun without them. However, next year: I'm putting some effort into planning group action!

The dead will rise again! In Twenty Aught Seven!

... Also, I now have a iwcked haloween costume. It'll be on the subway again before the month is out.

Stack the Kitten

The next time you're near a litter of kittens, keep this fun game in mind!

You will need:
-A kitten
-Another kitten
-A third kitten
-More kittens (optional)
-a box or hamper lined with blankets and/or pillows.

Take A Kitten, put in in the box. Take Another Kitten, stack it on top of the first. Take a Third Kitten, and stack it on top of the fiorst two. Optionally, take more kittens, and stack them on top of this kitten pile.
Watch.

Sheer hillarity and pure joy ensue.

Troll

There are a lot of things that have made me laugh in this life that maybe weren't all that funny. The word "chicken" for example.
The sense of humour that appeals to a child isn't always congruent with what your typical adult feels is funny. However, I must admit that, when reading Harry Potter the suggestion of somebody getting a letter grade of T (a failing grade) is quite funny, merely because the T stands for Troll. There is something absurdely hilarious about an institution such as a school awarding students a grade that essentially does nothing but insult them.

Billy: Outstanding
Tom: Exceeds Expectations
Greg: Poor
Jenny: Outstanding
Hubert: Troll

The Phone's for you. It's the President.

The Pit

recently, I've taken to refering to my kitchen as 'the pit.' It was gross. like, no understatment need apply here, direst kitchen ever. It was at the point where i did not even want to go in to it to cook. I would rather go hungry.
Gross. Ggrrrooooooosssss.

Anyway, i got fed up with it and scoured the pit today (even though it wasn't technially my turn to do so). turns out that undernearth all the grime was a kitchen in very poor repair with lots ofs tuff broken and msiing, warped counters, a terribly stained fridge and broken floor tiles. But at least it's clean now.

Zombies are so freakin' cool, man.

My sister sent me a link to a photo from last year's Zombie Walk here in toronto. J-Bo was one of the two featured zombies in said photo. It was pretty intense. Check it.

Needless to say, I'm becoming irrationally excited about the zombie walk. No doubt, I will be contact jared and be planning zombie costumes in no time. VV boutique may see some old suit jacket action hyjacked for my future zombie-hood. Plus, it will allow for me to have an effective halowe'en costume... I've come to terms with the fact that dressing up as a Jedi Knight probably isn't going to happen (and even if it did, it wouldn't be as cool as a zombie).

Anyway, the point of this post: I've named my new song about zombies. I've sort of taken inspiration from the cross-genre success of Sean of the Dead. The song is called "Lesions on the Hearts of the Undead." It's about how zombies have feelings, too. I'm sure the content will reflect how zombies feel they shouldn't be a symbol for rampant mindless consumerism. Even if they are. No wonder they always attack the mall.

"Deeeaaaaallllllsss...... DDDDEEEEAAAALLLLLSSSSSS!!!!"

Release and the march of the undead

My writers block has lifted. I can write songs again. And probably stories, too. I'm working on a song about being undead, and how zombies have feelings too.

And on that note, October 22nd is the Zombie Walk. I'll be attending. I suggest you join the legions of the netherworld, too.

Apparatus

I was puting on my healing boot just now (I made the mistake of going for a little run to catch a bus last night... time for another episode of 'good idea bad idea.' Needless to say, my foot is sore, thus the comforting boot) and I realised I could walk up to somebody and say "I'm wearing my apparatus" and totally get away with it.

Also: have you ever noticed how humerous the word 'apparatus' is?

heh heh heh ... "journalist"

The september issue of The Frequency finally shipped today. My last minute, made up on the spot because i felt bad for not doing it properly peice of crap article was printed inside. I guess, technically speaking that makes me a journalist. Heh... yeah right.

Trout Fishing in America

I'm taking a course called Contemporary American Fiction this semester. The latest book we read was Richard Brautigan's Trout Fishing in America. If you've never heard of it, that's okay, Professor Boughn reports that he may very well be the only person in the world to teach Brautigan.
Reading this book brought to mind thoughts of old days and high school. Not directly because of the content, but rather the style of book. What I once thought was new and edgy, exciting because it was different, such as our good friend Chuck Palahnuik, I am quickly learning is actually not new at all. Rather, this seemingly new take on literature is part of a greter tradition - I just didn't know about it. I guess you might be able to call it the post-modern novel; in encompases things like last year's great revelatory text White Noise.
When I think about it, the books that have had the most impact on me personally seem to be in this tradition - sometimes because I learn something about myself from them, and others because they afford me an opportunity to look at the world in a different way.
Now I slip in to the part of the discussion where I assume you've read the book. I thought it was incredibly tragic. That's really saying something, since there isn't really a plot. But towards the end Trout Fishing in America, the personifaction of the concept has his last meeting with the narrator and his baby daughter. The daughter plays with Trout Fishing in America while the narrot fishes in a trout stream. But, she is merely toying. It's like this book is actually about the end of trout fishing in america. Trout Fishing in America leaves, not to be found or mentioned again. Trout Fishing in America Shorty is legless, unable to do anything except pollute himself with wine. And the fabulous chapter near the end where the narrator goes to a wrecking yard and looks at lengths of trout stream stacked and for sale, with the trout still swiming in it. There is a box of scraps, lengths of stream anywhere from six inches to a foot - good for almost nothing. All of this seems to point to some sort of death of Trout Fishing in America. In fact, there is the journal of the old ladie's brother who, despite all his years of effort, never catches a single trout. Trout fishing in america, the book seems to suggest is over. Even the trout that Lewis and Clark catch at the base of the waterfall are twice the size those the narrator catches through the novel.
But there is another thought in my mind. Maybe the book isn't so tragic after all. It's the concept from Nick Hornby's High Fidelity that comes to mind here: are we depressed because of so many bad love songs, or are the bad love songs caused by our depression? DO i find this book to be tragic (as opposed to comic, Professor boughn said it is) because I have read so many depressing books in my day (see Nick Hornby's How To Be Good) or is there actually a strong undercurrent of tragedy in this unassuming novel that we just haven't yet recognised in lecture?
Hopefully I'll find out when I talk to Professor Boughn. for now, I must depart and go to lecture.

The return...

So, as it turns out, Drop-D radio is going back on air tonight. Surprise!

Tuesdays nights at 11pm. Good times had by all on the internet airwaves.

www.fusionradio.ca/listen.htm

she's got blood in her eyes for you

Is there really any purpose to going to a university fair when you're half done your undergraduate degree?

Thats the question I asked myself the other day.

Turns out there isn't. Except maybe spending afternoons with friends from out of town.