Oh yeah.

A Picture Share!
Originally uploaded by doctor paradox.

As you can tell by my friend here, the presentation, while a little scattered, went remarkably well. I cracked some jokes and they ate'em up. I can never answer peoples questions though, I freeze up and forget how to talk. It was gross. But everything else was lovely. Time for booze!

What is that building across the street used for?

Alright. I made it to school. About my project: basically I'm looking at the Delgamuukw v.British Columbia case. The short version goes something like this:

Delgamuukw: We want to claim this territory as our traditional land.
Province: Ummm, no.
Del: Why not?
Prov: Well, you guys didn't sign a treaty, and you have no proof that you have always been here.
Del: Signing a treaty means surrendering our land to the Crown, so no thanks. And as far as proving we've been here all this time, we have an oral tradition that binds us to this land that dates back longer than European colonization .
Prov: You must be kidding! Oral tradition? That kind of evidence is as flimsy as my granny's oatmeal! There is no documentation to prove your claim, so therefore our answer is still a resounding "no".
Del: Hm.

So Delgamuukw takes the province to court, and after the first trial (which was practically rigged) and an appeal Delgamuukw wins his case. This set a precedent in future Aboriginal land claims in B.C., and gave Aboriginal communitites some leverage when dealing with corporations that want to harvest natural resources on their land.

I am going to focus on the initial ruling, and the use of oral history as a source of evidence. Wish me luck.

*Yawn* here's the sun

It is done. A fifty-two page legal document, highlighted and deconstructed to suit my purpose, plus an overview of an essay that critiques the hell out of the first trial. I will give details on the presentation topic later today. Right now, I'm off to get breakfast and finish my notes. Later.

Old habits, new problems.

It is late and I'm just getting started on my stoopid history presentation. I got word that my dad is pretty sick and I'm worried about him despite his assurances. My mom called at noon with the lowdown, she was really upset and maybe a little hysterical. I had to carry the news with me like it was a ding-dang ugly monkey clinging to my back, constantly reminding me that my dad's in trouble. I met my group members for another project in the computer lab, and I ran into into a classmate/new friend and dumped all this on her, while she was editing a paper. So, thanks again M., you saved me a trip to the liquor store.

Wish me luck on this project. Only three classes left, two exams next week and a short final paper. I am counting down the days.

Hm.

Hm. Not much to say, or write, except my group presentation for Friday is officially under control. It's late and I've been online way too long. Time for a snack and then off to dreamland. Yawn.

The Heart/Mind Scene

Buttons
Originally uploaded by romanlily.

This pic pretty much sums up what I've been feelin' lately. Props to the shutterbug.

So begins our sordid tale, as our hero wastes his time browsing superhero websites, unaware of the hammer of doom swinging above his head. . .

What I hate, truly and without a doubt, are those free memberships offered online. I am addicted to them. Why are they forged with such malice, luring weary surfers with their siren song? Why can't I delete these accounts? Why are they so numerous? I do not recall any of the tenets of democracy being "saturate the bandwidth with more crap". Oversaturation is not about providing choices, it's about bombarding the hapless consumer with shades of the same mediocrity. Phooey!

One complaint and then you can go: I have a group presentation on Friday. There is one other member in my illustrious group. I have talked to this person on two occasions - at the beginning of the term and last week. I have nothing to bring on Friday. I have four days. The tension mounts.

Mr. Body Massage Machine Go!

O.K. I am ready to go.

Some writing projects I'm working on at the moment. The reason I'm getting this down is to keep myself tuned in to the good writing mojo. Oh yeah, I write drafts and add notes on my Live Journal account: http://www.livejournal/users/j_sting.com

Comic book: The big mutha of a project. I hate the working title so I'm not going to share it.
Film script: A zombie love story that looks at social pressures. 'Nuff said.
Short stories: Historical fiction/mystery/Weird Tales/pulp sci-fi mags from the fifties.
Poetry: I write this stuff all the freakin' time.

Mornings bring the hurt

Hmmmmm. . .another late night writing a paper. . .finished at, like, four a.m. Then played Dungeon Siege and listened to Singapore Sling. . .eating a breakfast of fried up chickpeas with peppers, onion, and dijon mustard. . .not bad.

Stupid Indy. . .I can hear the racecars humming around the track. . .

. . .

The best pizza in town

I have the house to myself, which is good, and my friend has left for the ComicCon, which is bad. Bad because we didn't get to hang out enough (he is a very popular fellow, the entire city wanted to see him) and because another Con will pass me by like a speeding car. Sigh.

So to soothe my troubles, I decided to conduct a little experiment. Now, ladies and gentleman, brace yourselves. What I have to tell you may be shocking, so disturbing that you might tear out your hair upon hearing this.

I like 99 cent pizza.

Now, in my opinion the best cheap slice place in town is Pizza Garden. The ingredients are generally fresh, the slices are not drowning in grease, and there is a good selection of veggie choices (not just "garden" and "spicy"). But recently, a classmate introduced me to Uncle Fatima's (sp?) Pizza. Unc's is a bit more expensive, but holy Jesus on a bicycle I never thought broccoli would taste good on a pizza, but it does. There is so much flavour, the ingredients leap off the slice.

So this afternoon I made a trip to both. The verdict? Pizza Garden was exceptionally greasy today, and one of the options was a sun-dried tomatoe, pineapple and black olive pizza. It wasn't bad, the pineapple and tomatoe gave it a juicy, lively bite, then it was rounded off with the earthy olives. I also ordered the pesto, and it was dry and totally uninsipired. Unc's, on the other hand, offered a pizza with a virtual buffet on the slice. Very generous. Unfortunately, the vegetables didn't work together, the flavours were just mashed together to make the classic "salad" flavour of veggie pizza. I will consider this experiment to be round one.

A great Horse-Head emerged from the foamy depths. . .

I haven't been able to get anything on this dang site for awhile, but I'm impressed with my rigorous writing schedule on the whole school front. I had the fortune of going to the horse races on Sunday, and was able to break even after buying an expensive lunch. The eighth and nineth races were thrilling; the horses I picked for the two races were both #7 (one was named Lord Samurai) and I bet they would place - pretty safe bets, I know, but the odds were not really in their favour. So in the nineth race, my horse was, like, in fourth and trailing to fifth, then he pulled to the inside and swept past the others! The horse was a symphony of muscle and determination, his hooves barely touched the ground. I believe I feel the stirrings of a new addiction.

Picked up Shadows Over Baker Street from the library - a collection of short stories by prolific writers of sci-fi, horror, fantasy and mystery. What are these stories about, you ask? Well, I'm glad you asked. Imagine Sherlock Holmes, plus Watson, Mycroft and Irene Adler, and put them into Lovecraft's world. Yup, one of my favourite fictional characters going up against the Old Ones! Oh, and I'm reading Emma Goldman's "Living my Life" and a bunch of other stuff. But Sherlock Holmes! Cthulhu!

Circuits, friends and beer

Nothing really exciting to report. I'm enjoying the lovely weather from the comfort of my own home, whittling away the hours behind the computer until tonight, when I meet a friend at the pub. As usual, I'm a little nervous, even to meet a friend. Well, there will be others there too.

It's funny how I'm comforted by knowing what all my friends are doing at the moment. One is out hiking (lucky bastard!), one is here in town, a few are on the Island living out their lives. There's a couple of friends in Alberta, but because I have no idea what they're up to I get all diconcerted over their absense. You would think, with such advanced telecommunications, people would remain connected like they're on a long daisy chain. It's too bad technology is shaped by the human heart.

No gin

I didn't get the gin but a nice red from France instead. No mountain, or giant boulder, but a roasted vegatable sandwich with tabouli on the side. I'm glad that this week is coming to a close. I can spend the weekend writng at my lesiure, listening to the street sounds from my office or sitting on my porch with a lemonade.

Wednesday's Menu Special(s)

Ugh. . .grrrr. . .huh?. . . ugh. . .pulled an all-nighter to finish a paper. Sadly, I really didn't have to, but the stupid Amazing Race was on and I got dragged into the living room to watch it. Yes, dragged. The irony is though, is that the paper is for psych. The topic: procrastination. But if I ever, EVER, see the letters A, P, and A together again I swear to Go. . .oops, my head just exploded.

Heh. "Your head a splode".

I don't know how I feel about missing ComicCon this year. I mean, I've missed it since I was born, so I feel I'm not really too worried about it. It would be a neat opportunity to rub up against the bigwigs and then get thrown out by security. But you have to, like, pay to talk to people? I should start doing that.

Elderly Lady: "Excuse me young man, would you know where. . ."
Me: "Whoa, let's press pause for a moment. If you want anything outta me it's not going to be cheap, but possibly messy."
Elderly Lady: "But I just want to know where the bus stop is. . ."
Me: "And I want a cyborg pony. It's a bad day for both of us. Luckily, directions to the bus stop are on special today."
Elderly Lady: "Oh? May I ask how much?"
Me: "$21,678.21"

Tuesday's Menu Specials

As my week comes to a close, and assignments get handed in, I think I'll get the largest, cheapest bottle of gin and make my way up the tallest mountain. One that preferably looks over the city. As I'm halfway down the bottle, I'll pick up the largest boulder and heave it into the city. If I don't get chased away by the park rangers or accidently crush my house, I think I'm gonna go to the horse races and bet my entire student loan on a horse with a funny name, or if the horse's name is Ulysses. A fine name for a horse.

I'm halfway through The Iron Wagon adapted by Jason (I don't recall the original writer) and to date it is my favourite "recent" work put out. I can only read the latest comics a year after they come because my funds are in a strangle hold. Jason uses negative space like a master, creating a palatable tension between the characters with a simple palette: red, black and muted paper-bag brown. I'm a huge fan of nineteenth-twentieth century European literature (Witold Grobowicz is spooky and cool. . .spookier and cooler than goths! Well, that's not too difficult) and seeing a novel adaptation in my "field" is pretty exciting.

Rock n' Roll Post-Secondary School

A little too much work for a weekend. A presentation, plus a paper for psychology. And two assignments for English. I get the impression that profs don't give a flyin' Jesus if you have a life, or other classes that are equally as demanding. I know my academic career can't always consist of 100-200 level classes, and as time goes on the work will have a greater emphasis on thinking out problems rather than banging out paper after paper on topics I wouldn't usually even glance at. I'm getting just a touch burned out on this whole school thing. It had better be worth it.

Just picked up my first Bacchus comic (Eddie Campbell, From Hell) and 1,001 Nights of Bacchus is a lovely read. I find Campbells line work more "free" looking, more spontaneous than his work in From Hell, except when he draws Bacchus and then he gets very tight and serious. I'm getting really stuck on Astro City (Vol. 2) now. It seems these days I only have time for poetry and comics, and I'm only reading poetry I already have but never gave myself a chance to explore. I'm very fond of Hart Crane at the moment, particularly The Bridge, which I believe is his most important book.

I missed the local poerty fest that happened a week ago! All the local bigwigs made an apperance, there must have been over twenty-five poets! I had company from out of town, and I didn't want to drag them out. Bitter? A little.

The Stork and the Frog

The profile section lets you write a story - well, I did, but I went way over the one hundred and fifty word limit. So here it is.

Now this bald frog, who keeps a yellow jar under his arm to hold all the flies he catches, was napping in a hollow pumpkin in Farmer Needle's field. You see, the frog had no name, and a storm had swept him away from his beloved pond and he had to live in this field. He really missed his pond y'know, he missed the way the sunlight rippled across the water, and bright green lily pads bobbed on the waves like little boats. And the thing is, y'see, when animals are taken away from their homes, they lose their real name. I don't know why that is, maybe Nature gets too sad and wants to forget Her friend's name so She won't feel so bad, who knows? Ask the crows sometime, I'm sure they would like to tell you why. Anyway, the frog is sleeping in his pumpkin when a stork landed nearby and waltzed over to see what there is to see, and lo and behold a little frog with a yellow jar under his arm was snoozing inside a pumpkin! The stork lowered his head slowly, so very slowly, to gobble up our friend the frog. But just as the stork was about to catch the frog, our brave little amphibian tossed the jar into the storks mouth! The jar, however, got stuck in the stork's throat, and he squawked and flapped his wings and ran around in circles! The frog perched on the edge of his pumpkin and chuckled. The stork saw him and asked:
"Mr. Frog! Mr. Frog! You must help me! If I can't get this jar out of my throat I won't be able to eat!"
The frog replied, "my dear sir, if I were to remove said jar, you will eat me!"
"I promise I will not!" cried the stork, but the frog knew better.
"Before I help you, you must answer one question for me" said the frog.
"Very well" replied the stork.
"What is the one thing you hate to eat the most?" asked the sly frog.
"Well," mused the stork, "I like to eat frogs (you already knew that) and I love to eat fish, but I really hate eating those who wear wigs"
The frog grinned and said, "If you wait a moment, I will help you."
So the frog dashed away and collected hay from the field and wove a handsome wig, then using a little mud he attached it to his head. He returned to the stork, who was taken aback by the sight of the frog's wig!
"Mr. Frog, what a ghastly thing on your head! I cannot eat you, not in a million years!"
The frog then crawled into the stork's mouth, being careful not to fall, and grabbed the jar, and in one pull the jar popped out of the stork's throat and the frog with his yellow jar landed back into his pumpkin.
"Mr. Frog! You saved me! But since I can't eat you, then maybe I can help you get back to your pond, a pumpkin is no place for a fine frog such as yourself!"
The frog agreed, and the stork let the frog climb onto his back and the two flew back to the frog's pond. Now, the frog was given his name back, but an animal's real name is kept secret from people, what do you think his name is?

It's true. . .

Spelling errors bring picnic baskets to legless kittens.

Frankenfurter, Frankenberry

I need to take a break from horror movies. I've been a fan for awhile now, I remember cruising by the horror section of the video store whenever I went with my parents. They would never rent them for me, but those covers where so enticing, they promised to bombard me with mystery and mayhem. Well, mostly mayhem. I had to depend on friends to gain access to them, or at the very least get a synopsis of the film. My relationship with the genre is borders on the love/hate type - sometimes I do get disturbed and I hate that, but I remain fascinated. I saw two entries recently, Dagon and Suicide Club (also released as Suicide Circle) and now I need I break. Dagon was great, all the Lovecraftian references thrown in (the Miskatonic sweatshirt) plus the build up to a moment of extreme gore equals a finely crafted film. I'm still aabsorbing Suicide Club, but needless to say the film merits a thorough examination. I'm still recovering from that kids voice over the phone, the "ahem" between sentences gave the conversation an unknowable menace.
Too much blood, and too much uncertainity and fear. Some people have that in large doses in their lives, and yet some pour into their hearts like it's made of chocolate. Not to brag, but I have seen films that can make the steeliest stomach projectile vomit on the ceiling, and at the moment my soul could use a rest.

. . .and soda. . .inflates me like a balloon. . .spent half of a three hour class. . .bubbling and burping. . .oh god. . .

R5105S18

Last night I had a conversation with a friend about the merits of the Comics Journal, which in my opinion is a fine magazine and the only one in it's field that is critical and celebatory at the same time. My friend, who I consider to be the most knowledgable person on comics, pointed out that the Journal does not focus on superheroes, or rather levels its gaze on 60's - 70's pop comics. Well, yes, I replied while I wiped my sweaty palm on my leg, they are interested in the subtext, like all those huge groins they drew on Captain America. . .and then it kinda dawned on me that yes, the Journal seems to be excluding an intergal part of comic book history. Granted, some of the first comics were not only superheroes, but also westerns, thrillers (true crime), science fiction (you could argue that sci-fi and superheroes walked hand and hand together in a field of wildflowers) and what not, but my initial assumption was that the superhero genre is the meat of the medium. My evidence? Ask a friend, preferably someone who doesn't read the funny books, and mention the word comic book. This is a simple word association game, anyone can do it. I will wager that the answer will be Superman, Spider-Man, etc. I know this can be a tenuous correlation, but my point is that superheroes had in fact sculpted the medium with their mighty hands. Most kids who read comics for the first time will buy a superhero comic. A large reason the underground comic scene flourished is because it was a response to the dominant superhero genre, and the underground felt as though the Big Two were not telling stories real people could relate to (how can folks appreciate the plight of Bruce Wayne, millionare?)

It seems to me that the Comics Journal, to a degree, are embarassed by their roots, like those who are ashamed of bringing their cousin from the Ozarks to a party. Yes, superheroes still dominate the comics market, and yes the Big Two has royally screwed distribution, and yes most marketing goes to superheroes than to indies, and yes in some ways the superhero genre distorts public perception of what comics really are and what comics can be; holding back an "evolution" of the medium. What is important though, (my dad would say: "what you don't understand is, son. . .") is to be careful on how history is constructed. From the Comics Journal perspective, the superhero genre was unsophisticated, perpetuated stereotypes and damaged the market (which is true) but that's all it was, nothing more. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that is not a balanced representation of history. When historical facts are ignored or modified, it changes the reality of the subject supported by those facts. The result? New social meanings are assigned to the subject, meanings that can repluse or attract. In the case of the Comics Journal, the goal is to repluse. Please don't interpet this an anti-Journal tract, I still read and enjoy the Journal (just lower your price a bit, *nudge nudge wink wink*) at every opportunity, but caution must be taken if the Journal wishes to keep an elitist, oligarchical hold on the medium.

Underwater therapy

Geez Louise, I sound like a ranting lunatic who needs to periodically wipe foam off his lips. Ah well, Poe possibly died from rabies. Here's some books I (a) have finished (b) gave a partial read, or (c) have a desperate need to read:

Bakunin - The Philosophy of Freedom, Brain Morris: I found Morris to be overly critical of Bakunin, possibly to sound objective? Had to return to library. Phooey.

Anarchy! - An Anthology of Emma Goldman's Mother Earth, ed. Peter Glassgold: Bloody good. I danced around my house in a drunken stupor as I read this. Auntie Em was so awesome, she made the men in her era look like complete fools. She will be the subject of many papers, that's fer sure. I would like
to tie in her anti-war articles with Gertrude Stein's work during World War 2.

What Right? - Graphic Interpetations Against Censorship, ed. Robin Fisher: This was fun to read over, it's nice to read comics I haven't seen before from familiar artists. What can I say? Censorship is a complex issue, and it becomes dangerous when we begin talking about expressing political views in the current social atmosphere. Can radical leftists participate in public dialogue, knowing that the public sphere constrains and contorts?

Comics? Oh yes. Walking Dead, Iron Wagon, Astro City, getting through V for Vendetta, Y the Last Man, just picked up Street Angel #2 and it's so much fun.

Haiku? Not for you!

I just got an English assignment back today. I need to rant here.

How the hell can I explain a complex subject, like cultural appropiation in, like, 200 words? What, you want me to write a freakin' haiku?

White author writes story
About Rainbow Serpent
Without cultural context

And before you start counting syllables, and I know you are, contemporary haiku is not necessarily dependant on the 5-7-5 meter. O.K. I feel better. Thank you.

The sky is falling and so is my hair

My first post. . .ugh. . .well, I'm off to school soon and with a little luck I might be able to paste together a presentation for sociology (Social Issues in Canada) next week with my group. Historically, I have never done well in group projects. My chronic shyness has me tied to a short tether pulling me into the dark, so no one can catch a glimpse of me. Sometimes it takes a day of preperation, and some tequila, to talk to strangers. What makes me mad as hell though, is that our project topic is interesting: we are examining how the Iraqi prisoners in American custody are depicted by looking at photographic representations. But my stupid, irrational, ass-backwards shyness keeps making me swallow my tongue whenever I open my mouth! It's high time I take on my self-conscious paranoia and low self-esteem in a no-holds-barred steelcage match, with razor wire strung along the top of the cage and hungry Bengal tigers pacing around us.

Oh, and I spelled "unfortunately" wrong on a testimonial I wrote for Friendster. *Groan*