Have a gooder everyone! Even the poor! The obscene rich can rot away in their own self-inclusive opulence. It's what they want! Let 'em have it.
The plan is to party hop and get funnily fun with a various assortment of things from over there.
My cup of coffee rests on top of a Walt Whitman book. It's sexy, but I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm 24. I HAVE NOTHING TO LIVE FOR!
Maybe I should have a dozen kids?
Last night I saw The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou for FREE at the theatre. It was a truly funny movie. Rotten Tomatoes gave The Aviator 88 per cent fresh, and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou received a measley 48 per cent fresh. They got their freshometers wrong. Weird American fuckers don't know what's going on outside their own phallic-based Freudian fantasies which, for some strange conspiratorial reason, are used to operate the mass psyche of their population and they don't even know that when DiCaprio's character reaches for the control stick of his cool plane, he's actually reaching for his penis so as to render control over his own masculinity and therfore dismantle himself from the feminine, which then must be contained in the form of a docile female celebrity who can bake a mean fish.
I bought two CDs today: Elliott Smith - From a Basement on the Hill and Dave P. Sm1th - 33lgirl (sorry 'bout the numbers, but I'm a paranoid).
The Elliott Smith one is great, defo an interesting process, the musician as complete author. He pulls it off. Lets face it. Sometimes it gets sentimental -- Act like a man, face it -- is how it presents itself, but not too often. The Dave P. album isn't as layered as his debut, which I was more into.
I also made off with a bunch of clothes, including an orange t-shirt that has a giant black jellyfish on it and math equations behind it. Very pomo for the sake of fashion.
For dinner: Eggs, with vegies and an orange. Tomorrow, the halibut. The next day, salmon. The day after that, salmon. The day after that, salmon. Pink meat of the sea!
The Holiday's are over. And I have money to buy new clothes. I get to go shopping! I'll go out for lunch, have a few coffees, make a go of it. I don't know if I want three-hundred one dollar hooker bots, or one three-hundred dollar hooker-bot. That's a Bender quote, more or less.
Back home I be chillin out, watchin' movies, and pushing the online away while I get some guitar playing done. Music is a tough one. It's always there, if you need it. Like most things. Think of butter, or, when in Rome, olives, or, when at the supermarket, herring. Good ol' fashioned pickled herring in a large jar with cloudy water and onion strings floating around, saying "put me on a cracker, then put it in your nose."
Salty.
I have many new books, which will help my sanity, and my pocketbook this upcoming term. I've decided to read and read and read and play cheap video games. That way I may hopefully find a very part-time job, or if not, have at least some money left on VISA so as to tour this summer. Traveling takes money. You need money to make money. Time is money. Save your money. A penny spent is a lost million, a cool one. And let's face it: poetry nor country music will ever change a piston. I should've joined the circus. This is the way I see it: circus pool: meet the man with the pool cue. Watch him play pool, for a price.
Your cue. Give it to me.
And other than that, all I wanna do, is have some fun . . .
I woke up at 8 am today, with nothing to do except buy christmas presents. Had a good weekend. Went to Fl0yd's Diner twice. A great place indeed. My pocketbook, however, cannot keep up the task of my overindulgent flights of fancy. I need to spend less. I hate the idea of opulent lifestyle right now. Actually, I've always hated it. I like the idea of just taking what a person needs, no more, no less, all the time. But that's so friggin impossible -- It's Christmas and I'm in one of the most expensive places to live in Canada. This city defines opulence like no one has seen it before.
A guitar, a studio, a small place to live by the beach, a garden or something. That would be nice. But I also intend on traveling the world. So who knows. I'm also not in Victoria for much longer, and when I look at this city through the eyes of its and mine own combined mortality, the intent is to go out and be wild.
Mainly though, money is an issue. Money money money. I should find a job. I have two coming up, but they're odd jobs. Meh meh meh.
Today I'm going to finish up the christmas shopping. I'm striving to purchase locally made goods for everyone, even though my family doesn't really give a damn about such things.
I'm well on my way to being done this semester. Tomorrow at three p.m. my final portfolio will be completed. It will consist of a 3,000 word long paper about me going to Roman Catholic Mass and eating their silly little wafer, a 1,000 word memoir/essay of what's in my wallet, and a 1,000/1,5000 word movie review contrasting "Swept Away," by Lena Wertmuller, and "Last Tango in Paris," by Bertolucci. I couldn't stand either movie, frankly, though they were good. "Swept Away," was filled with an Italian boor bitch-slapping his capitalist boss on a desert island. I wanted to re-title the movie: "Come Live on the Island Where I Can Beat You."
Potluck is also tomorrow. I'm gonna buy garlic bread. . . maybe blow ten-15 bucks on snackables, odds and ends, and a firm quater-pound shit coated in chocolate then covered in peanut-butter then frozen until, until, the moment is right, when that person who deserves it walks through the door, they'll have it served on a rotting deer's leg and they'll have to eat it with the jaws of a prarie cow. It's vegetarian. Not vegan.
The weekend was a little crazy. Except for friday, which was probably mellow. Saturday was an insane trip up to Nanaimo. The Cambie was packed and when we started playing, everyone either left or went out to the smoking patio, which is what always happens. Nanaimo-apathy is what I call it. Although there were two people there who liked us very much, and they were a little nerdy, which made it all better. We're trying to reach out to the nerds. One of the nerds happened to run a little radio show in Nanaimo and we're sending a disc up to her and she will play it sometime in the new year.
The after-party consisted of the band drinking heavily in the room, hanging out on the roof outside the window, which looks over the shittiest parking lot ever (Mike was quoted as saying: Hey, I believe I've been here in Grand Theft Auto). We only had one cup so we had to drink most of the whiskey straight with chaser. A nod to the jazz greats.
In the morning a Black dude knocked on the door and came in. I said my throat hurt and he said it was that time of year. Then when he saw the smoking apparatus he said, "Gotta bring the little one's on the big trips." I didn't know what he meant, so I said nothing, emptied said apparatus into the sink, and checked out.
There's nothing like dismantling a drum set when hungover and with about 5 hours of sleep.
We stopped off at the Husky House restaurant for breakfast, left when there were no tables, but one of the waitresses ran out and stopped the van to announce there was a table ready. We went in, and I ordered the breakfast buffet. I love the breakfast buffet. I don't care the quality of food for some reason, as long as there's lots of it. And there was: french toast, pancakes, eggs, danish, juice, muffins, potatoes. Plate after plate.
The SUB staff party was later that day, which consisted of yet another buffet! This time it was lasagna, potatoes, salad, usual fare, but oh so tasty. And the free beer washed out my hangover in no time. Then home to fall asleep at 9:30 pm, wake up restless at 4:30 am, then wake up fully recovered at 11:30 am. That's like, 14 hours sleep. Then I read a novel, "After Goodelake's", which was okay. I invented a genre for it: cheepomo pulp-literature. I know what it means.
I do believe that the Sadies are Canada's most underrated band. As far as Canadian bands go, they are in my top five. I want to be in a country band again someday, but with the verve and innovation that the Sadies bring. Canada has a great history of country music, and unfortunately the CMT channel is trying to say otherwise. It'll all fade in time. Remember: good and evil don't exist outside our atmosphere, it's all contained here on earth, and forty miles up, it don't make no difference.
Digital Camera -- found it
Ties with other musicians -- recovered
Lost gigs -- none
Gig today -- yes
Where -- Cambie, Nanaimo
Excited -- very
What I'm doing right now? Grilling zuccini, gonna add scrambled eggs (3), mushrooms (2), tomato (some), with salsa, then added over top a bead of toast.
The Day -- bright, shiney. Decembre 11th and I was shirtless on the patio.
Lost money at poker last night, which sucked at first but I know why I lost. I was fucking myself over, that's how.
Where did my digital camera go? please come back.
Where did my exceptional piece of CNF go to? I think I threw it away, no digital copy for some strange reason. It'll be published if I can find it.
Where is my food? I don't have any food.
The weather is schizophrenic. I think my jam space may be flooded.
I'm playing a show on Friday, in Nanaimo.
Sunday rituals are probably the best of the week, re: coffee and skin-fun in the morning.
One thing I'll never tire of is the act of listening to peers' music and then listening to my own and comparing the two.
S3cond Storey was the place to be for most of the weekend, revising student works. Today I'm off to the university to write a chapter of a novel that may or may not ever get written. It's due tomorrow, and I wonder what the rest of the class is writing, and whether or not mine's the best. I've got a rough draft done, but upon reading a few other chapters of other published work, I've got a long way to go. Basically, I got to make it simple, interesting, invigorated and sad all at the same time and all from a believable perspective. The basics are simple, and simple is good.
I watched two movies last night. Joy rented "But I'm a Cheerleader" and it involvled a christian girl's family selling her out to a rehabilitation camp for gays. She has never thought of herself as gay before, realizes she is, and doesn't rehabilitate herself. It's less political and more romantic comedy for gay teens, which is fine. The movie itself could've pushed a few more borders before the happy ending.
The other film was "Emile", a diddy I picked up, featuring Iam Mckeller as an aged professor from England who originally came from Saskatchewan, then moved to England, became a snobby literary English writer, then visited Victoria to receive an honourary degree. He stays with his niece, who lives in the Fairfield area. He abandoned her when her father died, and there's all sorts of things that need settling. Handled very nicely. Non-pretentious for the most part, a sort of literary story trapped in image.
Maybe I grew up on stories where musicians weren't scared. . . like Miles Davis coming down to play a show, late, unapologetic because there was a baseball game on, or being so drunk that he could only play a chorus or two over the course of an evening. Or like the Bird getting his sleep in cabs between shows, the whole idea of not giving a damn, not letting fear enter the mix, especially for the shittiest venues that treat the musicans like a group of second raters, as the only reason they're there is to cover up the local biker gang activities therein.
I used to play with musicians who ignored the fear. Then they either died or gave up. Victoria is almost over. These shadows will be forgotten.