wildcat

THe weekend in Vancouver for Matthew's film, Keywords: trying to get on to the 7pm ferry, we got to Schwartz Bay early and ended up on the 5pm ferry, which wasn't loading until we got there at 6pm. It left at 6:30. Too much time spent in the eerie stench of the Ladner Exchange (there's nothing there but a bus exchange!), followed by a vomit-drenched bus ride with a bunch of carousing teenagers. At least we didn't have to pay, because apparently the fare box was "smoking." We saw no smoke. Immediately, I developed a weird acne derivative on my eyelid; I suspect it was induced by the pollution in the air, actually. As a side note, the human eyelid is suspiciously similar to the human foreskin. Anyway, we went and met up with Andrew Smart at the train station and went back to his house in Gastown.

After that, we met up with Brown, and some guy named Aaron (who was typically from Prince George and strangely coated in pink). We met up with Matthew and Gavin at this girl's house - her name was Carmell, and her house was an old S&M Dungeon slash brothel. The downstairs used to be used for tying men up to medical tables and beating them. The second floor has glass walls on one of the bedrooms so that you could watch bondage displays. Wine was consumed, witty Noel Coward banter went on, and later we left to go back to Andrew's to crash. Matthew wanted us to stay out with him and go to the Odyssey, but Michelle was crashing, and we were all more in the mood to relax.

Saturday: Tsunami Sushi for what amounted to brunch. I woke up at 7am that morning and produced to be a case of ADHD for no apparent reason. Everyone else got up at 10:30, and Andrew went to work. Tsunami was excellent, though; on our way there, the HEU strike parade followed us through the streets of Vancouevr and we then ate vast amounts of sushi. The sea urchin was terrible, though, and I don't care; no matter how sophisticated I get, I'll never enjoy that. Then we shopped, having only two hours to do it in before we had to start meeting up with people. This was a weird afternoon and can only be encapsulated in a silent film montage with rousing piano music, us chasing into various stores and eventually settling on Jupiter on Davie for a quick martini (which took forever to get). Dinner at some Italian restaurant in Kitsilano. Matthew's film, which was the cream of the crop, no bones about it. I was appalled at some of the shit coming out of UBC film school in comparison to, say, random films made in WRIT 320 here, which is only one class. The equipment was better, but in terms of ideas and basic things like strong cinematography? Pwah. Matthew's was astonishingly good, of course, and the awards afterward felt a little too political for my tastes.

Ended up at Andrew's place by 1:30 am, after four hours in the Gobi desert slash theatre, an hour and a half of drama at a local Greek restaurant, and two fucked up cab rides. The driver should never try to fill out the visa form while driving at 1 in the morning, downtown Vancouver, in the pouring rain. We drank two bottles of wine and went to bed at 3:30am.

Sunday, we were awakened by trains going by - Andrew lives by the tracks - a marathon, and some man shouting the Psalm about the Shadow of the Valley of Death at 9am. What? Eventually we got to Yaletown for a brunch with the boys at Melriches, which was fabulous, then a trip to Chapters. I bought Haroun and the Sea of Stories. We took off on the skytrain and started off for home.

It was good to be back in Victoria that night.

"This is the man who should compensate me for the fucking rug."
- Jeff Bridges as the Dude, The Big Leibowski

They were in the underbrush, trees overhead, knees low to the ground. He wanted to be paid for weaving that rug, but Bitch just ran away with it. Bitch was like that, a coward. He was used to seeing Bitch's lemon-shaped ass retreating in a pair of jeans. Now was the hunt, his fingers attuned to the rhythms of the forest, the wool, and the sheep. He was a hunter and he would bring an end to unfair labour practices--

In the Pride Office waiting for the prom meeting to begin. I feel like a blonde Heather in high school, planning a formal dance for homecoming. I will crush all opposition. I will destroy whomever I so desire.

Last night was a good writing session at Joy's house, but I missed the second half in favour of drinks with Michael and Nathan, which was a bit weird because Vista 18 costs too much and the appetizers are practically sub-molecular.

But I wrote some postcard stories - one of which I just posted. One of them is for the zine, whenever we have a meeting to start planning it, and another one is potentially the start of a much longer story. I feel creative.

Awoke at 10am this morning and immediately, with the lights off and my glasses off, started looking through books for inspiration regarding a zine title. The one Joy suggested that is our "working title" is fine but it is too similar to the old Blockhead Stage and I want to cut all ties to the past in hopes of eliminating any potential bad vibes from it. Trawled through Anais Nin's diaries, Ginsberg's collected poetry, and the dictionary. I might hit the Rushdie or something might spark something, as well. Titles are always a pain.

Watched the beginning of Shaft last night - what? The T.V. station started out bleeping the motherfuckers only to abruptly stop. There was no discernable plot. Christian Bale was in it (what?) for no apparent reason. After a while, Michelle and I noticed that at no point does the funky Blaxploitation music ever cease, it just gets quieter at some points. A bit like watching a seventies porno.

Then I started writing a story, continuing some characters of mine. It's weird, I get the vague feeling that this probably means a novel at some point, because I'm starting to want to do longer things with characters I enjoy writing. My god, my attention span might be changing. Maybe it's natural response to all the postcard stories we've been writing.

Meeting up with Joy for the zine meeting this afternoon, and it'll be nice to hang out with her. Probably roam the streets looking for fresh babies to eat, that kind of thing.

Had the first weird little zine meeting with Joy, looked at potential names and decided on one that we like, subject to suggestions and final votes. Also ironed out a proposal for meeting protocol and hierarchy issues to prevent certain problems so that we can, you know, have a blast doing this. Sat in Second Story and wrote postcard stories. Feeling energized, plan on spending a couple hours working on ideas for fiction.

Also went to the Lotus Pond for cheap Vegetarian chinese. Love those soy balls.

The Pride Prom? Ha, it was mostly a success, even if a lot of the kids were complete bitchy, and not in that witty "Noel Coward" manner I'm so used to. I don't think I've ever had that many teenaged boys be polite to me, though, even when I was one. As Joy commented today, teenaged girls can be awful. There were all the usual problems associated with large groups of people being in a space, but everybody coped well. The DJs, of course, were amazing; I would have liked to listen to a bit more of their sets, but I had to run around.

Cutest lesbians ever - this pair of fifteen year olds in very Retro mid-1940s polkadot skirts with corsages who danced together all night and ran around holding hands. Adorable. Makes me sniff long for the days when I was a fifteen-year-old lesbian. You know, back in the Eighties.

Other things: photographs with Michael where I got him to actually face the camera. Wearing a leash and being complimented on it constantly. Thinking about Sushi all day. The very creepy incest subplot between Greg and Marcia in A Very Brady Sequel, which was on today and surprised me. Brandon phoning from Denver and getting to chat with him. Finishing Haroun and the Sea of Stories, which I still haven't made up my mind about; there were a lot of great things in it, but a lot of ideas were squelched by writing choices that didn't sit with me right.

Dream from a few nights ago: details pretty sketchy, but I was at a table with a bunch of people (friends) at my mother's friend Silia's house in Prince George (there was a flash of outside at some point in the dream), where I used to babysit her kids. I'm not sure who exactly was at the table, except that one of them was Ganesh, completely blue with the elephant head and the four arms. I can't remember what happened but I commented on the fact that Ganesh was there and that this was a benefit to us with regard to some kind of conflict with outsiders. Ganesh looked sheepish and removed his trunk to reveal that he was in fact a twenty-something Hindu girl. I can't remember how it ended, but I remember marvelling at the care and effort she went into applying blue paint to her entire body and attaching the prosthetics in order to impersonate an elephant god.

Last night I went to Daniel Cunningham's birthday dinner with Michael and Jonas, to the Japanese Village. It was the first time I'd been over in the steakhouse section, where they have the big grills at each table and a teppan chef comes over to cook your food in front of you; a flashback to Prince George and my sixteenth birthday, when my parents took me to the Shogun. I had teriyaki salmon and it was delectable - rice, soup, vegetables, prawns, salad - the whole experience was fantastic. Daniel and his entire family were pretty drunk, and it was rather amusing. After dinner we retired to a Best Western penthouse (!) for scotch and bad decor. The penthouse suite should not have two copies of the same painting (dining and living rooms) with another one from the series in the hallway. But the bathroom was large and jacuzzi'd. Afterward, Michael and I drove home in the van to watch Family Guy and generally pass out in the middle of Futurama.

Last night, when I set my alarm, I somehow accidentally set the whole clock an hour ahead. What? I woke up and had a five minute shower thinking that Michelle was running a half-hour late while in fact I was an hour early. I thought she'd left without a shower after that, when in fact she was in the newly converted yoga room doing her morning yoga. I didn't figure all of this out until I noticed that apparently every clock downstairs was an hour behind (or were they?). I ate a bagel, watched the MuchMoreMusic run down of all-time best teen idols for a few minutes, and then went upstairs.

Now I have to go to work.

My teeth must be brushed!

That love seat packs up nice, even though all this furniture couldn't possibly fit in my trailer. But that's what you do when you rob a bank: buy furniture. I wanted to go with the zebra stripe pattern, but Snake? He wanted to floral, like pansies or something. He's so metrosexual, wouldn't even go in for Zellers ski masks. Calvin Klein models can't rob banks. I wanted an ottoman to go with the love seat but he said that was too Fifties, then demanded we look at a marble coffee table from Bombay. "We didn't rob Fort Knox," I said, but he refused to listen. I'm worried he's going to start talking white-collar embezzlement soon.

(c) Ben Rawluk 2004 all rights reserved

Went and picked up the cheques for the DJs from the pride prom, to be handed out later today if all goes well; Jason and Stephen should be stopping over here after Jason gets off work. It's been a delightful day and I had lunch with Ryan and Paton at the I.Q. Bistro - probably a bad idea with regard to money, but whatever. I'm going to spend most of the rest of the day cleaning up my room, decorating the new parlour downstairs (the drawing room?) with my dad's photographs, and then doing some writing. I've spent the past few days in a bit of a commotion, which my bedroom reflects: it's all disheveled. I try to avoid having strict writing rituals I need to go through, so that I can be limber and strong no matter what, but I always find it easier to write at home if I've cleaned my room up first. It focuses my powers. The laundry's all been done and I can straighten things up a bit.

Last night was productive, but I fell into a bit of a vodka fiasco when I wasn't paying attention: drinking it mixed with Country Time lemonade (which has never seen a lemon, as Matt pointed out) gave the whole thing the appearence of watered down urine. But it tasted good and the fiasco sidled up to me from behind when I wasn't paying attention. Casey was there which was exciting, and Danika came again. No Emily, though. I fear she may have been kidnapped by Fu Manchu.

Got the beginning of a story last night. The question is, can I maintain the first person narrative voice? He doesn't have a name yet.

Thinking about writing some parables. For future reference, "The most popular names are Ganapati (lord of the tribe or attendants), Vighneshvara (controller of all obstacles), Vinayaka (the prominent leader), Gajanana (elephant-faced), Gajadhipati (Lord of elephants), Lambkarna (long-eared), Lambodara (pendant-bellied) and Ekadanta (having one tusk)."

Best quote (for the moment), from Grant Morrison's The Filth graphic novel: "The Hand uniforms were designed to remind folks of Freudian sex urges they prefer to deny, Ned. Thinking about us makes them feel dirty. They usually try to avoid mentioning us in company." Uttered by Miami Nil. A severely screwed up read, and I'm going to have to go through it about a dozen more times to get places with it. Half the time it's the reverse of comic book wish fulfillment - everybody's ugly and perverted. Nobody's "cool." It's like an anti-matter answer to The Invisibles. If you care at all about what I'm saying, check out Barbelith.

Submitting some things in the next week or so; I need to take my laptop to Michael's house to use email directly so I can transmit some submissions. Going to start writing a story in the next few minutes when I finish blogging.

Wondering, in an offhand way, what the anti-matter version of Johnny and Teiresias would be-?

I shall meander, Dorothy-like, to work in short order. I need to scrape the iron-razors facial hair off my chin before I go anywhere, though. Tonight is about Van Helsing, the new Hugh Jackman monster hunting flick which is inevitably schlocky. Michael and I will probably spend the entire movie making snarky comments about Kate Beckinsale like, "Where's all the PVC?" I'm not sure who else is actually going, probably Paton and Jojo. I can never remember if I find Hugh Jackman attractive (probably not, then). Why watch another remixed "old school" monster movie that will probably sound ridiculous when you think about it afterward? It can be fun to be Mystery Science Theatroids.

I feel relaxed this morning and I don't know where that's coming from, probably the tuna sandwiches I just had to counteract the woeful avocado sandwiches from yesterday (so disappointing). Water cut with lemon juice. Michelle's getting sick so I'm going to have to be careful - nothing is worse than a summer cold, and I've had one every summer for the past few years. It's a waste of time.

I want to hang out with people and roam the dunes looking for enemy armies on camelback. No, wait, that's Lawrence of Arabia. I'm not Peter O'Toole.

Woke up at six this morning - before six, actually - and fought with sleep before waking up to have a shower and get ready for work. By seven I was in front of the computer with the intent of starting a story that was in my head last night, which I did for an hour before leaving the house. The story includes Michael's fish Dante, in a way, and it might have what I intend to be a happy and horribly disturbing ending. According to Margaret Atwood, as a Canadian my stories will end horribly even if they end happily. I look forward to seeing how things turn out.

Collecting materials for the collage I want to do, on my next rantbook. So far it has a picture of Bjork emerging from a sea of silver CGI bubbles, tongue ejaculated out. I have some old Promethea comics I want to cut up - I have the relevant issues duplicated in the graphic novel editions - amongst other things. A postcard from Peabody's. A Marlene Dietrich interview. A few other things. I might try to stick that martini menu from Suze that I swiped a thousand years ago in somehow. I just need to buy glue, which I'll do tomorrow. I vaguely remember this weird paint on adhesive from day camp, but I can't remember what it's called - it would give the thing a glorious glossy shine.

Like Farrah Fawcett's hair.

When I got home from work at around nine-thirty last night, covered by an adhesive layer of dried sweat and book dust, I had a quick shower and settled down to collage my new rantbook - which I finished after midnight. Rubber cement is a lot messier than I expected, but the whole process was fun. It's quite surprising what will go on during an early stage in the game - Bjork's picture, for example - and then get covered over completely an hour later; first by a jigsawed male model and then by a postcard. The inside covers are mostly one big picture each, with some adjustments, and I think I like the back cover best - Mortimer Absinthe, the best thing about the Steampunk comic (which was a bit of an abortion in the long run, really), bits of Promethea, an eye reflecting a ticking time bomb Victorian clock. I should do this to more of my rantbooks, I think.

Went to a few antique stores on Oak Bay Avenue with Michael yesterday - ohgod, I've become one of those people - and looked at furniture. The surreal thing was wanting to come back in September when I have money to see if I still want a chest of drawers which looked 1950s with the rounded edge at the front. The prospect of adult purchases looms.

I'll be going downtown in an hour or two to look at the week's comics and the week's hot comic book guy at Legends, then I'll pick up Michelle for a quick sushi date. After that I need to find the opthamologist's office for tomorrow morning's crack of dawn appointment. Then it's home to clean up a bit before our potential roommate interview. I don't know if I need another "Andrew" in my life.

After that? The Saddest Music in the World! I'm excited.

Should be off to Goldstream tonight after work for some rest and relaxation. Two nights in the cheap showiness of nature. I look forward to cutting myself off from most of the world and just being.

Yesterday: Watched The Ghost in the Shell by myself, which was a strange but pleasing experience, even if the ending felt more like the pilot to a new series than a film. Tortellini for breakfast. Two hours at Second Story, writing, with useless trips out to look at clothes stores with Joy. One bottle of Boone's Sangria to myself at the Junkie Park with Joy and Matt. Sipped from A&W cups. We talked with great pretension about the universe and reincarnation, masturbated our brains until intellectual orgasm, and then headed off. Stopped at Steamer's Pub to pee -- came face to face with Matt's image on a poster for one of his bands, above the urinal -- then picked up beer and groceries to make a dinner. It was really good - spaghetti with cream of mushroom soup as a sauce, plus fried tofu and steamed broccoli. Drank beer. Watched eight episodes of Sex in the City and critiqued the whole experience. Talked to Michael on the phone. Wandered home at midnight to get sleep so that I could get up this morning and apply at Well's Books, because someone said they were hiring.

Only they weren't, so I uselessly dropped off a resume and came to Michael's house. I don't know -- maybe the woman didn't like my look immediately, or it's all done through nepotism anyway. Disheartening.

Man, it looks like rain.

Back into Victoria this morning at 11:30, after a day and two nights spent in Goldstream Provincial Park's camp grounds. I haven't gone camping since the Great Bear Lake trip back in the day, and it was nice to get away from the world and hang out. The cell phone stayed off, I gorged myself on veggie burgers (I don't know why, but I developed a day-long addiction to them), burnt marshmellows (if you watch them burn, they look like planets collapsing), and wine. We went up-island after work on Tuesday, Michael picked me up in the Van of Death, and we found a camp site. In the darkness, it was secluded and we set up and had a fire.

In the morning - I think I woke us up at seven or eight - we caroused and made copious breakfasts and giggled and made bad jokes. Decided to go for a trip to the Goldstream park section and wandered around on the gravel paths and looked at the signs saying "Quiet Zone" that encouraged you to keep back and avoid causing the animals anguish. People at the vistors centre with, frankly, cabin psychosis. Went and looked at a water fall - looked at another one that evening - and wandered around making rock sculptures and taking photographs. Wrote for about an hour, had a nap, made dinner, drank a beer, complained about children wandering around - two of them claimed they'd tell on us for throwing a pine cone at them. They failed to realize that the pine cone had fallen off a tree from above them. Little fuckers. Drank quite a bit of wine and had long talks while we played with the fire, roasted marshmellows, eventually the children disappeared and we went to bed in a heap in the back of the van. Got up this morning to a hungover Michael with a case of food poisoning from his Bavarian smokie, and buckets of rain. Eventually we ran around in the water and threw everything in the van, drove out of there.

Now I'm eating a chocolate orange and thinking about calm things. I've had a bath and a shower today. Laundry rolls around downstairs. Michelle will come home and I'll find out how the ultrasound went, and if she's getting drugs for her kidney infection.

Work in one and a half hours. Slightly more interested in writing right now, though, don't know how that'll go - but it's only a four hour shift. I can do those in my sleep.

I feel like writing something silly.

Yesterday was brilliant: up at the crack of dawn for cocktails and brunch with Michael, Joy, Matt, Pete, Devon, and Mike. Then two hours of photo-snapping with Joy and Michael - including discussion of the movie's "grave scene," where we decided which grave site to shoot at. My favourite shot, though, is definitely the lower half of a dismembered mannequin in a store window, with tight black panties on embossed with a white Eye of Horus on the back. We also watched about five episodes of Futurama and had sketchy Mexican food before retiring.

Crazy Egyptian conspiracies--