shawty

Since when does Usher need autotuning?

I thought that was mainly used for those who can't produce notes in key?

Let's stick to the classics, because I'm with Jay-Z on this autotuning.

True Patriot Love

Happy Canada Day, my friends.

Having skimmed through my usual blog roll earlier this evening, I thought it necessary to at least brush upon the fact that it's Canada Day. The only thing I've missed mentioning while on tour is the passing of Michael Jackson, but that topic deserves some planning, which I'll get to.

But really, etiquette and tact aside: I love this fucking country.

For starters, I should mention that I've never really understood the large amount of pride that one puts into it's own nation. You'll never see me defending Canada in fatigues, nor will you see the red maple leaf stained permanently on my arm. I've always thought that priding oneself on the soil you were born on was more of an elementary idea, and that goes for every nation. There's not a country on this planet that I'd pronounce any pride from. However, I know that I enjoy living here.

I won't go on about how much I love the Rockies or Double-Double's, but rather what is contained within our borders, figuratively speaking. Our culture (and trust me, we have one) is such an incredibly fragile thing. It really only hangs by a few, strong threads. Our passive nature as a nation really allows us to legitimately lollygag around almost any situation, and I love that. The manners, the courtesy, the respect for one another: it's all quite remarkable.

It's only when you step outside of this nation that you realize how unique our culture really is. And you need not travel too far: minutes south of any Canadian border lies an accent you'd swear was as foreign to you as China. Having traveled across this country many times, under very different circumstances, I can tell you that Canadian culture is not too hard to find. All you really need is an empty stomach (to crave the food), a vehicle and destination (for the sights), some knowledge of the French language (because you're supposed to), and an old couple to talk to (because that's where the straight Canadian goods lie, largely).

I could just as easily go on about how many problems we have in this country, but I'll leave that for another day. Because who likes to get shit on when it's their birthday?

And besides, I got to see Joel Plaskett play last night for free in St. Johns, New Brunswick, so how hard can life here be?

I really want to revise this, but I'm tired from driving across the country. I'm going to bed, and wouldn't have it any other way.

Happy Birthday Canada.

pirogies, film, and jackholes

I've definitely been slacking in the writing department as of late. But hey! What am I to do when my laptop has been reduced to a pile of Compaq Shitcario? That's right, the days of old trusty are soon coming to an end. Bill Gates has made me squeal for the last time. Time for an upgrade.

Other than that, everything has been hunky-dory in Andyland. Due to some run-ins and meet-ups with some very wise friends, a lot has been put in perspective and I've heard things I needed to hear. These weren't things that I didn't know, but lets just say they were pulled from the back of my mind after being bombarded with useless media exposure.

I'm still painting like a mad man.
I'm working on this one right now that is taking me forever. I utilized two brand new techniques and wrestled with them for over two months, mainly using undercolor and successive layers of complementary tones. Using orange in a blue sky was something I wasn't used to, but has separated the work from my previous alla prima style. Also, with undercolor, I've allowed the background base colors do the talking, as opposed to what was placed on top of white canvas. So instead of trying to create a technically accurate image from one single layer of paint I've begun to build from the bottom, up. It's all very exciting, until I stop moving and the lights turn off.

Carla and I were talking yesterday about getting back into candid photographs using film instead of digital. I like that idea, because the thought of nearly losing all of my digital photos from the past three years in an instance scares the shit out of me! So I think I'll take all of my tip money from
work and put it towards getting my old rolls of film processed, instead of sitting in my freezer chillin' with my pirogies.

My friend Caitlin and I are still discussing my upcoming portfolio website, which still excites me. Don't hold your breath though, this baby won't be seen until sometime in 2009. But that's okay, because I'm still trying to hunt down and document my work from the past decade to put on the site. It's going to be exciting and snazzy. If you know any artist websites (even those that utilize Flash), just leave them in the comment box and I'll be sure to give them a looksy.

I took a really cool self portrait the other day, and I hate taking those. I'll put it up when i get a scanner? Who even has one of those?

I've also been finding myself in a constant state of laundry. I just can't stay on top of it.

I've considered making a new swear word. It's called "jackhole". It's a combination of jack-off and dick hole (another curse i've been really into). I guess I kind of took it from Marc Johnson, when he mention "gnarly jackasshole" in Modus Operandi. I like jackhole better though. It's fun to say and makes a fantastic descriptive word, ie. "Well, the guy was being a fucking jackhole, so I left."

I've also strangely developed an accent? Not entirely, but I've noticed it coming out every once in a while when I speak. It's a mix of a west-coast Canadian tone, and a little southern cowboy delivery on certain words.

I was rummaging through some old stuff back in London last week and I came across an illustrated short story I'd written in 1993. It was fucking genius. It was about a bull that didn't grow hair until he was in his twenties, and then died because bulls don't live that long. If that's not strange enough, at the end I went on about how his friends and family surrounded his grave, every night! There was also an illustration of this, which I want tattooed on my body. Sounds about right. I can imagine now, a tattoo drawn by myself when I was seven of two bulls standing at the burial site of a dead and buried bull. You can even see the outline of the dead body. I was advanced. That's another things I need to scan.

My doppio-long-espresso-con-pana has left me over-caffeinated, so I'll stop writing. That was the whitest thing I think I'll ever write. Rock those khaki's!

over, and under.