This is totally crazy and I have to blog this. I just finished a review for Mike Mignola's Jenny Finn: Doom, which I lavished more praise onto than Steven Grant's critique on Comic Book Resources. I actually liked the art, I thought it added to the overall tone of the story. Mind you, I didn't exactly absorb the entire comic yet. Anyway, I mentioned to I, the arts editor, that the comic had a Herman Melville feel to it, but I didn't include it in the finished article. I don't know why, probably beause I had some nagging doubt about the vaildity of my claim. I just checked out Steven Grant's final assessment:
Not quite so successful is JENNY FINN: DOOM, an attempt at Lovecraftian horror (though it somehow comes off more as Herman Melville) by Mike Mignola.
My eyes widened when I read that sentence.
27.5.05
24.5.05
Send the message to headquarters, we are sending representatives to Iceland
Iceland has incredible landscapes; the rolling hills and steaming pools are like those found in a dream, the earth covered in soft textures and alien colours. I would love to spend a week or two there, writing and doing a general investigation. Too bad it's super expensive to mount an expedition in that country.
23.5.05
In the immortal words. . .
Holy crap! Alan Moore (possibly) reading excerpts from William S. Burroughs' works! Why, why does this have to take place in Britain? Why?
22.5.05
Like most people on the internets, George Lucas has seeped into my digital monologue.
Rainy day. I'm stuck inside doing homework, since I'm a week behind on my readings, but my assignments are all doing swell. I have to finish this philosophy text, then move onto English.
You can tell nothing is going on when I write about school.
Well, I did wait in line for two hours with C and A to see Star Wars. Still, without a doubt, a terrible movie. I will agree with my fellow nerds with this movie's tone being much closer than the first three. However, where the hell is the plot? If it's there, then I find it really hard to nail down. I also agree with L, Lucas only had vague ideas for his prequels, and everything, both visually and dramatically, hinged on the third installment. He needed two movies, or two acts, to get to the third. That's like having a cool idea for a final fight scene but not really knowing how to direct the characters in that direction. A New Hope had a story, The Empire Strikes Back was drifting away from plot conventions and Return of the Jedi was like a Jackson Pollack painting, everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Revenge of the Sith is a fun movie to watch. Lots of lightsabre (saber?) battles, military campaigns in strange, alien landscapes and of course, Yoda kicks Sith ass in this film. A good popcorn movie, but it's such a merchandise generator; the public will be bombarded with Stars Wars junk until Christmas.
You can tell nothing is going on when I write about school.
Well, I did wait in line for two hours with C and A to see Star Wars. Still, without a doubt, a terrible movie. I will agree with my fellow nerds with this movie's tone being much closer than the first three. However, where the hell is the plot? If it's there, then I find it really hard to nail down. I also agree with L, Lucas only had vague ideas for his prequels, and everything, both visually and dramatically, hinged on the third installment. He needed two movies, or two acts, to get to the third. That's like having a cool idea for a final fight scene but not really knowing how to direct the characters in that direction. A New Hope had a story, The Empire Strikes Back was drifting away from plot conventions and Return of the Jedi was like a Jackson Pollack painting, everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Revenge of the Sith is a fun movie to watch. Lots of lightsabre (saber?) battles, military campaigns in strange, alien landscapes and of course, Yoda kicks Sith ass in this film. A good popcorn movie, but it's such a merchandise generator; the public will be bombarded with Stars Wars junk until Christmas.
17.5.05
I got this result over a decade ago.
Your #1 Match: INFP |
The Idealist You are creative with a great imagination, living in your own inner world. Open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships. It takes a long time for people to get to know you. You are hesitant to let people get close. But once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop. You would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist. |
15.5.05
Tips for Summer Fun!
And hello to y'all.
My weekend was very eventful, but I'm not feeling so hot. I hope I can get to work tomorrow afternoon, but it's looking like I'm staying home until Tuesday. I suppose that's fine, since I got a little extra cash from my tax return, but it burns me up to miss out on the sweet, sweet raise we got after the strike. I really should look after myself better, especially since I tend to melt into a pinkish, sweaty blob whenever our little blue planet enters a closer orbit to the sun for a few months. Yeah, I'm not a summer person. As I get a little older, I experiment with different techniques to counter the summer heat.
1. Stay inside. Oh, so, it's really sunny and clear and beautiful outside? Enjoy your sunburn. As I see it, twenty to thirty years from now the ozone layer will be as thin as Kate Moss, and we will have to live indoors or be incinerated in thirty seconds. I'm just preparing for the future.
2. Since I've already established my whereabouts during the summer, I will follow my mom's advice: close the blinds and open the windows.
3. Iced coffee beverages. I know, coffee is bad for you, but so is excessive exposure to UV rays. I am choosing the lesser of two evils.
4. Either go out really early in the morning or after the sun goes down. Or those brief, blissful moments just before the sun goes down and the great outdoors begins to simmer down a little.
5. If you do have to go out, other locations must have three basic amenities: air conditioning, air conditioning, and air conditioning. And iced coffee beverages. Okay, that's four.
Now begone!
My weekend was very eventful, but I'm not feeling so hot. I hope I can get to work tomorrow afternoon, but it's looking like I'm staying home until Tuesday. I suppose that's fine, since I got a little extra cash from my tax return, but it burns me up to miss out on the sweet, sweet raise we got after the strike. I really should look after myself better, especially since I tend to melt into a pinkish, sweaty blob whenever our little blue planet enters a closer orbit to the sun for a few months. Yeah, I'm not a summer person. As I get a little older, I experiment with different techniques to counter the summer heat.
1. Stay inside. Oh, so, it's really sunny and clear and beautiful outside? Enjoy your sunburn. As I see it, twenty to thirty years from now the ozone layer will be as thin as Kate Moss, and we will have to live indoors or be incinerated in thirty seconds. I'm just preparing for the future.
2. Since I've already established my whereabouts during the summer, I will follow my mom's advice: close the blinds and open the windows.
3. Iced coffee beverages. I know, coffee is bad for you, but so is excessive exposure to UV rays. I am choosing the lesser of two evils.
4. Either go out really early in the morning or after the sun goes down. Or those brief, blissful moments just before the sun goes down and the great outdoors begins to simmer down a little.
5. If you do have to go out, other locations must have three basic amenities: air conditioning, air conditioning, and air conditioning. And iced coffee beverages. Okay, that's four.
Now begone!
13.5.05
I am now an adult. My student loan and tax return has been dumped into my bank account, and this afternoon, after totally missing my meeting with L, I bought a blazer and white shirt for special occasions. Also, I've taken a liking to wearing jackets of this calibre. Buying the items, in a mall no less, has reminded me once again that I have turned into an adult. This is not a terrifying notion. The slow physical decline doesn't seize me with paralyzing anxiety, more like my self is winding down like the last, slow bars of a tune spilling out of wind-up music box.
I have some work to do tonight, but I really need to catch up with friends, especially the ones I haven't talked to in ages.
I have some work to do tonight, but I really need to catch up with friends, especially the ones I haven't talked to in ages.
10.5.05
Let my internal dialectic session bloom
Lately I've been a little burned out on passwords. My life and work requires computers, and I need to access the contents of said computer. I have to check email, chat or log on to the computers at school; all of which require a password. Modern worklife, especially in offices, is really a memorization game. Most people have to juggle several passwords (for instance, I have passwords for Friendster, Flickr, Hotmail, Livejournal and school) in order to create, manage and transmit information to other parties. I don't know where I'm going with this, but historically, this is definitely a new trend in labour. Also, the personal management of security embodies Habermas' risk society, or the formation of stringent security protocols to protect citizens from a perceived danger, one often associated with modern life. This can include accidents, crime or (gasp!) terrorism.* Part of this new "security culture" is monitoring (video cameras in public spaces, like in the U.K.) but also an internalization of protocol, like memorizing passwords or procedures to keep one "safe."
* Terrorism is very real and very serious, so my snide comment is not a show of disrespect to the victims of terrorist acts in the United States and abroad. However, it is difficult to deny that the threat of terrorism is employed by media and government to sustain tension in North American society.
* Terrorism is very real and very serious, so my snide comment is not a show of disrespect to the victims of terrorist acts in the United States and abroad. However, it is difficult to deny that the threat of terrorism is employed by media and government to sustain tension in North American society.
9.5.05
Notes from Paris, Final
Our last day in Paris was like standing in the center of a rushing whirlwind, as the debris from the streets were picked up and spun around in large circles. Although we were in Paris to check stuff out, we were also there to collect data for L's thesis. She is a graduate student in sociology, and her paper is about urban exploration, or the subculture that arose from individuals exploring urban spaces deemed "forbidden." In Paris, there is a group known as "cataphiles," or people who explore the network of catacombs throughout Paris. Unfortunately, the catacombs are closed until June, so on our last day, after waking up as earlier as possible, we went our separate ways. L went to the catacomb's administration to ask questions, and I went off to finish the bookworm tour. After seeing Ezra Pound's and Gertrude Stein's flats, plus Hemingway's first flat in Paris, I checked out some of the restaurants the Lost Generation frequented, including the former Dingo Bar, where Hemingway and Fitzgerald met for the first time.
We met up later in the morning (the administration office was closed too, poor L) we nibbled on some tartelittes and took the metro to Notre Dame, which we climbed earlier, to check out the archaeological crypt just below the cathedral. The remains are displayed in situ, or left in their original position when they were found by archaeologists. The crypt had Roman and some very early medieval remains of streets, buildings and even a early home heating system! A furnace pumped hot air through ceramic pipes laid throughout the house, thus heating all the rooms during the winter. Very clever. I suggest to those interested in history and archaeology to visit this museum. We mysteriously got in for free. L met this interesting guy, who studied the Paris Commune for many years and had finished a DVD on the lives of one the Commune's heroes: Michelle Louis, or something like that.
After the ruins we took another train to a "sewer tour", a section of the sewer cordoned off for tourists. L knew that urban explorers also went into sewer tunnels, so she wanted to see how this part of the city is presented to tourists and locals alike, and how that presentation differs from the sewers as a "playground." This was my first time in a sewer. Sewers, as I imagined, smell terrible. Worse than a litter box in August. The Parisian sewer did not fall short of my expectations. Regardless, there is a strange beauty to the rusting pipes and darkened tunnels. The colours are very earthy, like multiple shades of brown (stop giggling) and green that meld together like a abstract painting. Coupled with the mysterious elements (as L and were taking a picture of a tunnel, we noticed a small pinpoint of light coming towards us, then suddenly was snuffed out. I was very creeped out) I can understand why people become enchanted by this kind of space.
I should also mention that L picked up some books in Paris related to her topic. And for a fraction of the price!
We did do some shopping. For mustard. But before that, we hunted in second-hand stores that sold cast-off designer clothes. We were not successful for two reasons. One, L found nothing she really liked. And two, even though the items were second-hand, they were still designer clothes. Sure, the clothes were, at times, 70% off their original price, but if the original price was 2,000 Euros, then, well, it can be beyond a student's budget. Just as we were going out to get mustard, fancy mustard no less, we had to dodge a torrential downpour that suddenly appeared. We ran from awning to awning, and took brief refuge in a men's clothing store. The owner invited everyone in, although when he saw me he detained me and jokingly said, "expect for you, sir!" I laughed and he patted me on my back as I walked into his shop. I love the French.
Our last stop was Museé D'orsay, and we finally got to see some of the most important Impressionist paintings from Renoir, Cezanne, Monet and Van Gogh. Stepping into the galleries was like visiting a sacred church that people make a pilgrimage to, and when I arrived I was in awe of seeing the complex brushstrokes that made their work come alive. I can't believe I crossed an ocean to just to look at some paintings up close and examine the movement and blending of paint on a canvas that is older than me, or anyone I know.
To wrap up, we caught our flight the next morning. I. Hate. Flying. The take-offs and the landings are the worst. My stomach shoots into my skull or plummets to my ass whenever the plane soars up or down.
Now I'm back, and that means I have to run some errands and go to work. Luckily, I like work at the moment. Enjoy the pictures.
We met up later in the morning (the administration office was closed too, poor L) we nibbled on some tartelittes and took the metro to Notre Dame, which we climbed earlier, to check out the archaeological crypt just below the cathedral. The remains are displayed in situ, or left in their original position when they were found by archaeologists. The crypt had Roman and some very early medieval remains of streets, buildings and even a early home heating system! A furnace pumped hot air through ceramic pipes laid throughout the house, thus heating all the rooms during the winter. Very clever. I suggest to those interested in history and archaeology to visit this museum. We mysteriously got in for free. L met this interesting guy, who studied the Paris Commune for many years and had finished a DVD on the lives of one the Commune's heroes: Michelle Louis, or something like that.
After the ruins we took another train to a "sewer tour", a section of the sewer cordoned off for tourists. L knew that urban explorers also went into sewer tunnels, so she wanted to see how this part of the city is presented to tourists and locals alike, and how that presentation differs from the sewers as a "playground." This was my first time in a sewer. Sewers, as I imagined, smell terrible. Worse than a litter box in August. The Parisian sewer did not fall short of my expectations. Regardless, there is a strange beauty to the rusting pipes and darkened tunnels. The colours are very earthy, like multiple shades of brown (stop giggling) and green that meld together like a abstract painting. Coupled with the mysterious elements (as L and were taking a picture of a tunnel, we noticed a small pinpoint of light coming towards us, then suddenly was snuffed out. I was very creeped out) I can understand why people become enchanted by this kind of space.
I should also mention that L picked up some books in Paris related to her topic. And for a fraction of the price!
We did do some shopping. For mustard. But before that, we hunted in second-hand stores that sold cast-off designer clothes. We were not successful for two reasons. One, L found nothing she really liked. And two, even though the items were second-hand, they were still designer clothes. Sure, the clothes were, at times, 70% off their original price, but if the original price was 2,000 Euros, then, well, it can be beyond a student's budget. Just as we were going out to get mustard, fancy mustard no less, we had to dodge a torrential downpour that suddenly appeared. We ran from awning to awning, and took brief refuge in a men's clothing store. The owner invited everyone in, although when he saw me he detained me and jokingly said, "expect for you, sir!" I laughed and he patted me on my back as I walked into his shop. I love the French.
Our last stop was Museé D'orsay, and we finally got to see some of the most important Impressionist paintings from Renoir, Cezanne, Monet and Van Gogh. Stepping into the galleries was like visiting a sacred church that people make a pilgrimage to, and when I arrived I was in awe of seeing the complex brushstrokes that made their work come alive. I can't believe I crossed an ocean to just to look at some paintings up close and examine the movement and blending of paint on a canvas that is older than me, or anyone I know.
To wrap up, we caught our flight the next morning. I. Hate. Flying. The take-offs and the landings are the worst. My stomach shoots into my skull or plummets to my ass whenever the plane soars up or down.
Now I'm back, and that means I have to run some errands and go to work. Luckily, I like work at the moment. Enjoy the pictures.
8.5.05
Add up events to build a day-pyramid
Tomorrow morning, as a promise to myself, I will write a good and proper update.
Got royally hammered with R last night, then made it for Free Comic Book Day with C. That same afternoon saw me in Chilliwack for L's mom's birthday, now I'm home to prepare for the week. I get to keep all my classes, and. . .well. . .I have good news, but that can wait until the next update.
Got royally hammered with R last night, then made it for Free Comic Book Day with C. That same afternoon saw me in Chilliwack for L's mom's birthday, now I'm home to prepare for the week. I get to keep all my classes, and. . .well. . .I have good news, but that can wait until the next update.
2.5.05
Haiku/Sketch
Café de Flore, sidewalk under maple tree
waiter points at my foot resting on stool
says, "monsieur, s'il vous plait."
waiter points at my foot resting on stool
says, "monsieur, s'il vous plait."
Notes from Paris 3
Passed by the yard behind the train station, the train cars were like long, silver snakes, glistening in the sun, lolling in the gravel under a discarded heap of metal and glass in a garden.
Sacré Coeur
The church is entirely composed of arches, linked together like sweeping brushstrokes. It is a strange mix of faith and commerce; tourists stroll around the church's interior while the pious sit in the pews or at the alters, whispering private prayers. Their presence can startling. One almost stumbles upon them as one casually examines the statues and mosaics, reminding the tourist that this is indeed a living church, rather than a museum.
We wandered into the Museé Picasso, and it was free! I gawked at Picasso's work, from his early material to his cubist period, than into his later years. Also saw pieces from Cezanne and Bacon. What's left: Museé D'orsay, shopping, and the remainder of the bookworm tour. And the Parisian depths! We will be exploring crypts and sewers too.
Sacré Coeur
The church is entirely composed of arches, linked together like sweeping brushstrokes. It is a strange mix of faith and commerce; tourists stroll around the church's interior while the pious sit in the pews or at the alters, whispering private prayers. Their presence can startling. One almost stumbles upon them as one casually examines the statues and mosaics, reminding the tourist that this is indeed a living church, rather than a museum.
We wandered into the Museé Picasso, and it was free! I gawked at Picasso's work, from his early material to his cubist period, than into his later years. Also saw pieces from Cezanne and Bacon. What's left: Museé D'orsay, shopping, and the remainder of the bookworm tour. And the Parisian depths! We will be exploring crypts and sewers too.
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