Suicide Blonde

I don't watch TV.

As in, I have one, but the only show I catch with any regularity is The Daily Show/Colbert Report...I make a point to avoid any learning about who's on American Idol or what's happening on Lost. When I heard INXS was going to be starring in their own reality show, I threw up a little in my mouth.

See, when I was a kid, I LOVED INXS. I have this distinct memory of being at choir practice, the night after they played in town...an older kid came in wearing a shirt from the show, and I was GREEN with envy. I asked him how the show was, and he said, "amazing. the opening band, The Soup Dragons, totally smoked a joint ON STAGE."

I remember asking him, "what's a joint?", and he replied, "it's like a cigarette, but with DRUGS in it!"

I was stunned. INXS, the only GOOD rock band I knew of, became GREAT at that instant. The INXS I speak of, is THIS INXS:


Enter Michael Hutchence's suicide by hanging, some post-mortem drama, a few years and the demise of one of the greatest bands of the 1980 and 1990s. Enter CBS. Enter Rock Star:INXS Enter...(shudder) JD Fortune.


What a complete and utter douchemachine. Last night, Leah & I had the...(NON)privelege of seeing INXS last night, for the first time ever. The problem: this Fortune kid.

Despite his COMPLETE lack of stage presence, his TOTALLY overdone stage dramatics, and fucking ridiculous banter, the band themselves were totally good. Their new songs eat some serious turd burgers, but The Farris Brothers were amazing.

but this FUCKING FORTUNE KID RUINED THE WHOLE SHOW. I was pissed! I had good seats, and had been stoked for weeks, but this kid's ego completely overshadowed what this band was trying to do: stay alive. It got SO bad, we left the show 45 minutes in. I couldn't take another second of it.

The REAL kick in the junk came when we were leaving, already disgusted. We stopped by the merch booths and were appalled to discover that while INXS shirts were the usual $30, JDF had HIS OWN SHIRTS, for $40!!!

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

Fuck that little brat.


While I'm stewing over this, check these:

A paintbrush that captures texture and video? What the fuck.

Funny Funny Funny. Sad cuz it's true.

peace, and take my advice: avoid the new INXS.

bounce boing sproing

I've had WAAAAYYY too much coffee today.


I'll be brief. This is the best news I've got all week...from bitchdork, erm...Pitchfork:


Tortoise Reveal Box Set Details

Kati Llewellyn reports:
Not to go all biblical on your bottoms, but remember that New Testament story where Jesus brings Lazarus back from the dead? Aside from religious beliefs, this tale resulted in the coining of "Lazarus taxon," "the paleontological term for a species that disappears, then reappears in the fossil record," according to a dictionary. OK, we lied, it's according to a press release. Not surprisingly, the name Tortoise have bestowed upon their upcoming rarity-packed box set, due August 22 on Thrill Jockey, is A Lazarus Taxon. Righteous.

Though the collection's title has changed from the previously reported Rhythms, Resolutions, & Clusters, and the set's release date has been pushed back from April, it still centers around 1995's out of print Rhythms, Resolutions, & Clusters. Weighing in at a whopping four discs, the set includes three CDs filled to the brim with rarities, remixes, and bonus tracks, as well as a DVD containing various Tortoise music videos and live performance footage.


I guess I didnt have a blog last summer when I met up with Tortoise in Calgary and did a wee minitour with them for a couple o'days. Some of the nicest guys on earth, and easily one of my favorite bands of all time. In honor of this forthcoming box set, I'm sneaking a track to you from it...my favorite Tortoise song, Why We Fight.

It's only up for 7 days from May 25 - and it's an m4a, so you'll need iTunes.

enjoy!

37. Break it, stretch it, bend it, crush it, crack it, fold it.

Hey Edmonton. Recognize this view? It's from the INSIDE of the nunnery on Whyte/92 St. I found this photo on a forum about Urban Exploration.

Loosely defined, not in my words, UE is:
.... a hobby shared, to various degrees, by people all over the planet. The common thread seems to be an innate curiosity, which manifests itself in the drive to discover our environment, which happens to be urban. By going places others normally do not go, and seeing things other rarely see, we are able to learn about and gain a deeper knowledge of the world that we've build around ourselves.

Reading sites like Drains Of My City fill me with such...excitement, that I can't believe I hadn't read much about this before. You may have heard of infiltration, a worldwide hub of gentle-break-and-enter information. I stumbled upon it, and followed links until I found the above-mentioned forums and now my heart is racing with the anticipation of exploration. There are certain buildings that have always captured my interest. I lived across the street from an abandoned nunnery, one of two in the neighborhood; the other is pictured above. I would sometimes sit at night and stare at it, and wonder what was inside. On a couple of occasions I would go walking around on the grounds, looking in the windows and imagine the lives lived within. The idea of poking around, trying out door handles to see if they were open, breathing musty air of a dark boiler room - these things actually appeal to me.

I think I can relate it back to a sociology class I took at uni called Built Environments, taught by a fascinating woman named Yoke-Sum Wong.. (Yep, that's her site.) In the class we discussed the walls (artificial and physical, imagined and real) that we as citizens build and tear down around ourselves in the course of our lives. We raise some to keep others out, some to keep ourselves in. I could rant about the (north) American system of exclusionary (read: classist) building systems, but this is about getting into places we shouldn't be. An assignment in that class was to go in pairs to showhomes in 'gated' communities, posing as young, educated, interested couples with money...and watch and learn as they tried to sell us a crappy, purpose-built home with no individuality or character, and examine why people want that.

This class often linked architecture and desire - our WANT to have our environments reflect a certain (and as I learned, assumed) quality...perhaps better described as taste. Taste is stores engineered for 'easier consumption'; it's what feeds our battle between perceptions of want vs. need.

[a quick aside: for those that have seen Massive Change, Bruce Mau has a well laid-out manifesto on the subject of want vs. need in design...interesting ideas; I'm not sure if I agree with some of them.]

Says I: I want to explore abandoned buildings, with the hope of reconnecting with the lives experienced inside. To understand what changed, and why the buildings are past their..."expiry date". To feel like a rebel. To experience the rush I used to get when tagging at night.

Says the security guard, armed with night-vision cameras and dogs: I need to protect this space. My income depends on it. I know nothing of the desire of my (real and/or imagined) enemies.

I don't know where this is going. In my mind there is a clear connection between design-human space-neighborhoods-capitalism-infiltration-exploration and...joy. I hope I've made that connection for you...better yet, I hope you've made that connection yourself, and want to join me sometime while we explore somewhere...dark.

speaking of dark:


I am a matchflare
you are another
Together
for an instant
we pierce the surrounding
dark

Two matchspurts
I'd have us be
Not wicks
that flicker
to extinction
and black silence

I love all passing things:
roses and dust
Their brief stay,
like your smile, instructs me
to embrace the world
with irony and joy.

- Irving Layton


beautiful, non?

take care, friends. explore...safely.

Can you visualize smell?

smells like summer.

Another week, another 12 grande americanos.

I haven't much to say this past week. Work is...work.
It's hot out, but I wouldn't know, as I have no windows anymore, and an AC vent above me blowing sub-freezing temps on me all.fucking.day. I guess I could always do the right thing and off myself. Just kidding.

And then, there is Daily Dancer. This guy has made my week, if not my month. I discovered him on the day he did a video for "Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard. When I was in 5th grade, James and I used to jump on his bed in our matching Batman t-shirts, belting that song at the top of our lungs.

Being a kid was fun. I remember that same year my friend Matt and I entertained ourselves for hours, nay, weeks...playing inside, on-top-of and around a gigantic cardboard tube used for making concrete pillars. We'd emerge all sweaty, dusty and giggling over having no stress, no jobs, no worries.

How things change.

I've been struck by the magnitude of these changes recently as I have been becoming closer with an old friend again, a girl I knew in elementary school. She was 2 years behind me; Helen must be...23 or 24 now, and as much as this makes me feel old to say, it's so nice to have seen her grow up into a mature & accomplished adult. You can experience the radness yourself on her blog.

On the same note, the aforementioned James and I met in 3rd grade, which makes him pretty much one of my three oldest friends...I don't know if it qualifies as serendipity, but at the same time as I went to elementary with him, I lived in an apartment one floor above the aforementioned Matt (yes, a word so nice I used it twice), the 2nd of my oldest mates. I left that school and neighborhood just before grade 6, and lost touch with both of them until high school...J&M then MET in junior high, became BEST friends, and now both play in what is likely my favorite local band of all time, The Last Deal. Both are stellar fuckin' dudes.

The third of my oldest bros is Leon. I moved in across the street from him in that summer after 5th grade, and we've been friends since. He's a good shit, in the Irish sense of the term. All my stories about Leon may or may not involve: ridiculously packed house parties where he insists on the biggest entrance with a posse of a dozen; bike races through active intersections; unicorns; summers on blackdog patio.

The point is that I'm feeling...older. Like I'm finding my way in life, in love, and in friends that keep me conscious of where I've come from, and help me keep a grounded approach to where I'm headed. I turn 26 in 8 weeks. Is that old?

I've leave you with these:
Something to read.
Something to listen to.
Something to look at for a loooong time.

p.s: I'm DJing this thursday on the wooftop. Yep, that one.

once, twice, 12 times an asshole.

Remember Paul?

He's back with a fucking vengence, shitting and pissing all over one of only two stalls in the washroom on my floor. The icing on the cake: he did it twice, in one day. As in, he went to wreck it once, then came BACK, and sat and wallowed in his OWN shit and piss, then shit and piss AGAIN, ALL OVER THE PLACE!! What do you do with a guy who is SO disrespectful that he can't keep his shit together, LITERALLY?!

Too Old.
jee-zus.

I have lots on my mind today.


I've been working like a powerhouse, confirming shows left right and gaddam center.
Like...this guy:


with...these dudes:


neat, huh?

-------------



Tonight I saw a fascinating and saddening film: Why We Fight.

I haven't quite got my thoughts together on it. I just got back from seeing it, and my mind is swirling with anger, doubt and...well honestly, shock. I knew the US government and the private sector were incestuous to the highest degree, but holy fuck. Go see it. Really.

Sorry if this post lacked substance...it's been a challenging day.
Read this, and you'll understand where the movie starts and ends.

ouch.

I'm typing awkwardly and gingerly. My right hand and elbow are wrapped in gauze; they both got friendly with some neighborhood gravel last night, the drunk bastards. Seems I was riding the longboard home, and got the idea that I could outrun this van on my board, and when he came too close, I swung into the shoulder, into a pile of sand.

wham bam boom.

fastforward 8 hours. I'm at the doctor's office, just having had gravel scraped out of an open wound on my hand with a RAZOR BLADE, and about to get a tetanus shot and for SOME fucking reason, I bring up the whole Russian Torture thing. I must have been delusional from too many Advils, or too much endorphins. The doc, totally wide-eyed and kinda weirded out about my rant, opens her mouth to comment on how young boys are beaten into submission, and I think to myself,

Yes, you're still kinda afraid of doctors. Run for your life.

I bolt from the room, grab Leah and we ditch.

---
Now it's night, and I'm somewhat numbed on Tylenol and Lucky, an excellent combo for curing minor pain, and I've stumbled across this, where I find THESE:





Impressive, huh? Now THAT's pain.
I'm more and more impressed by the lengths I see people going to to modify their bodies. Don't get me wrong - I got mad respect for body art, but whoah; sometimes, I just gotta say whoah.


but I digress.

my cellphone also met its' bitter end last night, as it was in my front pocket when it became the middle of a road-and-thigh sandwich. I have a new one now
it's got some kinda wacked out inset keyboard thingy for speed-texting. great.



meanwhile...




Aw, I don't mean to bum you out.
here, listen to this. It'll make you feel better.

Weekend, friends. Weekend.

3:45 am

I can't sleep. It's 3:03 in the morning. I got home from work two hours ago, and I settled in to read the new issue of Vice, called simply "the Russian issue". Holy fuckin'shit, Russia seems is a messed-up place. Most of the issue is available at the link above, but I blame this bit for my current state of insomnia.


The thought of torture is so shocking to our 'western' sensibilities, yet it's regular-ass life for a good chunk of the world - that is wrong. I know I'm hardly the first to bring this up, but I'm learning to distrust the 'protectors'. There seems to be too much...Interest (self- or otherwise) going on.

My thoughts of torture now turn to those of interest, and looking out for the best of one's own - why do you think some people simply abandon that choice? Allow me to rewind this into some context.

I work downtown. Every single day I am approached by panhandlers, every excuse and character more colorful than the one previous. I choose to give my change to one guy only, who sits outside my building almost everyday, selling Our Voice magazine. His name is George, and he's nice. I'm happy to see that he's made it through the winter. I always keep it in mind that people like him have their reasons for being there, but I'm often left curious about HOW they got there.

I came out of the Starlite tonight and was approached by a younger guy who I've seen probably a dozen or so times on Jasper ave, starting about 2 months ago, when I remember seeing this fairly well-dressed homie kid panhandling - I remember thinking that he didn't look the type - but over the last 8 weeks, I've watched this guy decay into a shadow of himself. I noticed about 2 weeks ago, when he came up out of the subway, mouth bleeding, a deep-looking cut under his eye, and stumbled towards me mumbling something about "needing a bus to BC".

Tonight, his line was asking people for 'money for food'. The kid looked like shit. His teeth were jagged and blackened, and you could tell his jaw was in serious pain, if not broken. His forehead sported a massive goose egg and scabbed-over cut, and all around his lips, spreading onto his chin and cheeks, were cracked, bleeding sores.

He asked me for change, and in my shocked arrogance, said 'dude, you ask me almost every day for money. I've never given you any, and I'm not going to start."
"whatever," he replied.
I went into the pizza place next door to grab a slice - and the decided to order 2, and walked outside and handed one to him.
"I'm going to give you this, but I want to ask you a couple of questions. Is that ok? I'm not here to harass you, I just wanna know some things."
"yeah, ok man. what do you wanna know?"
"what happened to you? Like, where you are from?" I asked.
"over there," he said, and gestured to the east side.
"so you're from Edmonton."
"yup."
"and why are you...still here?" I said, motioning to the streets around us.
"cause I don't fucking care. I just don't. fuck it."

He was being honest. There he stood, vacant expression, sleep and food deprived, totally fucked up, and he was levelling with me. He really didn't care. I felt so sad.

Now I'm sitting here, it's nearly 4AM and I'm connecting the idea torture to this kid. This is what I mean by the abandonment of self-interest. He epitomizes it. He's torturing himself, and there is nothing anybody can do about it.

How completely humbling.

Count your blessings, friends. This is a crazy goddamn world.