With Greg MacPherson and Fractal Pattern. I think we’re all supposed to be political. Our songs are not overtly so (maybe anti-bullying?), and our aesthetic will occasionally venture toward the vaguely fascist (anthem rock! big noise! what do you expect?) but we all stand for the right kinds of things in our hearts.
But I just found out that Heath is 1/4 Japanese. So maybe we’ll start billing ourselves as “the Japanese band.”
Went to see the X Men movie. It was basically a mutant fashion show (and now, a mutant who has porcupine spikes on his face… here’s one who smashes things… ooh la la! Wings!) riddled with completely stupid logical story problems. For example, if you need to get to Alcatraz, why divert the entire Golden Gate Bridge to reach it? Why not rent a boat?
Just saying.
Seriously though, none of this hardly matters. GOOOOILERSSS!
The Oilers only have to win ONE MORE to get to the Stanley Cup finals. To encourage this, I’ve 
roasted a duck.
It was my nephew Alex’s birthday. There was a barbecue, and a baby bird!
It wasn’t as bad as I expected. And it’s certainly not worth the big kerfuffle. Maybe it’s because there’s no emotional stake in it for me, having not being raised a Christian nor read the book (though some dude walking out of the theatre declared loudly, “The book had WAY more detail in it, so it really got me to BUY INTO IT more.”).
It’s a thriller, with some twisty-ish puzzles (in that you can see everything coming minutes into the film) and some faux-theological voodoo that is just convincing enough for me (i.e. the ignorant heathens) to make it fun. Just don’t try and think too hard about it. For example, why would anyone put clues about a world-shattering secret into a painting? Why bother hunting down a secret society so secret that they may as well not even exist anymore? As far as I can tell, the Keepers (the name for the secret organization that knows about Jesus’ descendants, which, incidentally, speaking of bloodlines, is the name for a menstrual cup) do sex-orgy potlucks occasionally, while NOT talking about, you know, things.
All that secrecy for all that time kind of means no one’s ever gonna believe them even if they did blow the cover! Plus, the lineage is maternal, proving nothing about JC’s supposed fatherhood. If I were part of the secret Catholic sect in charge of keeping a lid on things, I’d certainly keep an eye out, but probably wouldn’t bother with murdering anyone. Certainly I would not send out an ALBINO MONK to do the business. That seems a little flamboyant, even for me. Not that I don’t want albinos involved in other aspects of my life. Do you know any?
I’m with Ian McKellen on this one: fun for the ride, put it down, forget about it. Although if you, like me, are inclined, you’re gonna spend a good hour trying to figure things out rationally. This is a mistake.
Heh.
It’s not as bad as everyone says it is. But I do agree that the serial killer thing is kind of a distraction from the lampooning of art school life that I can only imagine is all too accurate: only very vague standards to grade student work, they “types” of kids who end up there, criticism that barely hides the fact that no one knows what art is anymore. Washed-up professors, the jockeying for meagre post-graduate showings, the dog-eat-dog attitude of the art industry. And the cringe-inducing awkwardness of first love and yearning for beauty, which comes off as stupidly naive and deliciously sweet at the same time. When Jerome starts smoking, you know he’s gonna spend the next several years posing as an asshole ’cause girls will like him more.
It’s kind of nostalgic. It’s like Russell Smith’s How Insensitive, which I read shortly after finising my MA. It was the first time I realized that academia isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, and that I shouldn’t feel bad for not being totally successful in that environment. But the same kinds of things: if you didn’t have an angle (in the mid ’90s: race/class/gender), professors (and other students) just weren’t all that interested. I got a lot of, “We’re so glad *people like you* are here.”
And it made me think of Mike Winters and Allen Ball, the two people who are quite close to that Clows-ian/Zwigoff-esque misanthropy in real life. All in all, worth the $6 for a Sunday matinee.
But it was projected badly; they needed to scootch the image up a little, ’cause you could totally see the boom mic in the shot. Bleah!
I got to review Douglas Coupland’s latest novel for the Journal. You can read the long version on Sunday, but here’s a preview:
it’s good! I have to admit that I’ve never fully read any of his books. I suspect I was assigned it because they suspect that I’m young but not TOO young, and since Todd’s busy writing his own novel, I will have to do. I have no such encumberments, therefore I am desperate for work. Yes, yes, yes, and yes.
I did see a Fringe show of Life After God (the book must be good…) and I read all of the sidebars from Generation X once. So in a way, I’m the ideal reader. JPod is funny, mostly due to its being self deprecating/reflexive/mythologizing. And again (if I understand Coupland) he’s hit upon the funny-cause-it’s-true thing, this time being at a game developer company in some crappy Vancouver suburb. It’s kind of a more sophisticated Office Space. Plus, that hilarious precipice of cool/uncool that we see folks in their late 20′s teetering on.
It’s new, I think. Or at least we are made to feel that a more genuine cool was achievable in the past that isn’t possible today, due to the overwhelming saturation of instant marketing and the co-option of young people into that machine. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be the first to break whatever new trend in whatever locale you happen to be at?
And who (in Edmonton, anyways) hasn’t felt that mild disappointment the first time you were in an actual Big City that sense that it’s not measurably more exciting in those places, it’s just that things are more abundant and expensive?
Same deal. We are the victims of all trying too hard to be there first to be the most unique, the most something– and therefore we are all constantly losing. And feeling kind of crappy about it, while at the same time quietly trying harder.
The book is only something like that. I digressed into another personal rant. Anyhow, JPod is agonizingly stylish and funny.
It’s so sad!
Our neighbourhood bar was destroyed by fire last night. Police think it’s arson, and so do we. In fact, to take it a step further, we think it’s an insurance scam. Why? Last night, Paul noticed a sign that they were hiring all new staff, and when I walked by to get milk at the store (which apparently also got damaged), there was a sign on the door saying that they were closed. Hmm… fire all staff and close on a game day followed by a mysterious fire? OhhhKaaay…
The Grinder, as you may or may not know, was an Oilers hangout during the glory days. There were still signs that it was a pretty nice place, with the awesome semi-circular bar booths, tin ceiling tiles and the Tiffany glass decor. Or maybe those were added during one of its many renos? Matt Vest would know. In any case, I have lots of good memories there. We (Clinton, Matt and me) used to sing karaoke there every Sunday. And they had live music. Smashula could’ve played there!
I just hope that the folks at the liquor store and the Super Lucky Mart were insured and are going to be OK.