Why does Nessun Dorma make me want to shrivel up in a ball and cry like a little girl?

east and dp

Dan and I realised a while back that not only have we been friends for a long time, but we've been making music together for almost just as long. I'm fairly sure we've been involved in some sort of group together at any given time over the past 7 years.

I remember it like it was yesterday. We'd arranged to have a "jam" at my house in my bedroom. We planned on playing Credence Clearwater Revivals single, Down on the Corner. Hours before he showed up to my house, I pleaded with my sister to teach me how to play it, even though the song is only three chords. My fingers were getting sore even before he got there. I fumbled with the tabliture terribly, almost like a child learning how to ride a bike.

After several attempts together at completing the song, I looked over to the bongo I'd been given that Christmas (this one is specifically known as an Indian tabla), began to play, and the rest is history. I brought the beat and Danny played the guitar.

We continued to play together, comparing calluses in the cafeteria, and then we began playing with our good friend Nathan, who actually had a fairly decent understanding of the guitar. After only three or so practices, we played our first show together, under the name of Gerald Pessy at a coffee house. Later that month, we entered in our high school Battle of the Bands (how 'right of passage' does this sound for young boys?), and came in second.

Another story of this sort comes from the days before we played our final show together at The Embassy, which is all but a pile of rubble now. We decided to "electrify" our sound by putting Nathan on electric guitar, and me on drums for the first time. I really want to say this was because we were listening to a lot of Oasis at the time, but who really knows. I distinctly remember, much like the session with my sister, my brother sitting me down and teaching me the one and only beat I'd ever be structurally taught. It was the simple 4/4 beat that is most common in percussion. That night at the embassy, it was the only beat I played for every song. The tapes from that show exist somewhere, and I'll be damned if I don't find them someday.

Years later, after disbanding with Nathan, we wrote and recorded Fly Away under the name Hue. Seeing as we were the only two members of the band, we wrote and arranged all the instrumental parts together under the chord progressions and lyrics from Dan. The album is roughly recorded, but there is innocence, vision, and sincerity in the execution of the each song. I still have a few copies kicking around.

To this day, we are still best friends and continue to make music together. We have full confidence in each others talents, yet are never hesitant to provide feedback when needed. We compliment each others work, and never forget to pound knuckles after each night we play. Even after all these years, I think the one thing that keeps us from feeling stale musically is the fact that we're excited to hear what we can both come up with, whether alone or collectively. It's either that or we're both really good at freestyling.

...to another seven Danny boy.

kick a blah blah blahhh

After Tiffany informed me of more ridiculous Kick a Ginger Day antics, I had to look it up for myself. So ridiculous. Another cultural reference blown way out of proportion.

Maybe I didn't get kicked because I was out in the sun most of the day? They probably didn't suspect a thing. Besides, if they did decide to kick me, I'd probably allow it out of sheer admiration for their gall. Especially when I'm carrying a dizi in my backpack.

nay-sexual

A couple days ago, it was nearing the end of the day and something interesting occurred to me:

I hadn't been turned on once the entire day.

In truth, everyone gets sexually turned on by something daily, if not by the minute (you know who you are). There's nothing at all wrong with that. Yet on this day, I had nothing. Not a dirty thought entered my mind nor a smokin' be-hind to look at. So, naturally you can understand the gravity of this, because I noticed it right away.
I was so excited by this fact that I quickly walked home so that I could write about it. But on the way, sadly, this girl walking past me was popping huge cleav' and we eye-fucked for about two seconds. Great. My experience was completely ruined by really nice boobs. Now I'll have to wait another 23 years until it happens again.

somebody give us some moneeeeyyy

It's simple: Canadian cinema has no money.

I'm pretty sure the biggest budget film of all time is still, get this, Porky's.

While aching and groaning in sickness, one of my favorite activities is to sit on the Apple site and watch movie trailers for about two hours. It's fun, and I know a lot who do the same thing.

However, I went back a few pages and noticed a trailer for a film called Bull that was originally posted over the summer. I'm almost certain this is the only Canadian film currently on the Apple Trailers website. And boy is it a sad one. After watching the trailer with a bit of neglect, I decided to share it with the rest of you just to exemplify how shitty the movie looks, which really doesn't have much to do with the cast or crew. It just looks terrible.

We see some garbage first-generation HD footage, some crappy sets, all the go-to Canadian actors (half of them have shows on CTV), terrible dialogue and even worse production value. But in actual fact, this all really just comes down to money - because our film industry has none.

Bull - The Trailer from Bull - The Movie on Vimeo.

Also, if you do decide to visit the films website for whatever reason, you'll notice the "Now Available on DVD" post-it in the lower corner, while it's still being advertised as a trailer. Ouch.

Mom, Prague, Czech Republic

mom's the best. i meant to put up this photo a long time ago.

marla and me

I've mentioned it a hundred times over: I am utterly confused by the term artist. He's an artist, she's an artist, they're artists. It all boggles my mind, and I'll tell you why.

The reason I'm so confused by this term is that I thoroughly believe that anyone is capable of making art. We all are. In fact, I know people who are more an artist than I and they don't even make art. It's in the way they carry themselves: the way they articulate words and tinker with anything tangible, almost unconsciously. Then there are those that make art, but do not consciously think it's good enough to display and become discouraged out of any sort of exhibitionism for their work. There are also some that make art and don't even know it.

There are also those that claim to be artists, which is all good, provided you backup your statement, you ballsy prick. Like I said, I've mentioned this argument before.

There is a massive grey area to be seen. For instance, in the dictionary the term "artist" seems fairly straight forward: the centric line states "a person who produces paintings or drawings as a profession or hobby". Fine. Later, the same dictionary mentions singers, dancers, and actors. Except what the hell is a singer creating? All they really do is remember someone's lyrics and make their vocal chords vibrate. However, they do have the capacity to provoke emotion, just as much as Christo's big bedsheets, Serrano's Piss Christ and Rothko's squares of color.

The fact of the matter is, everything that has been indeed deemed "art" has provoked some sort of emotion one way or another. Your kids crayon drawings, your dog barking (ever hear that barking solo from Eels?), the suds on your car. This is where the problem presents itself to me, because all I see is grey.

If somebody were to walk into a room and a friend of mine turns and says "Hey, that guys an artist!" I'd say "Fuck him". Not the most well-rounded argument, but it's a state of mind.

HOWEVER

There are people who I do truly credit as artists. They've paid their due's, and got paid. Fine. My big problem is finding the line between your seven year old kid and the man who hangs work every two weeks in seven countries. A prime example of this can be seen in the film My Kid Could Paint That.

Although I'm not looking for the answer just yet, let it be known that I'm still on my quest. Because nothing makes me feel dirtier than calling myself "an awwwwtist".

tbc.

peas and tarot's

Two shoots. Two days. Rush rush rush.

I was experimenting with a flash setup I bummed from school, except the sync chord they gave me didn't sync at all, so they were only really good for spot lights, but I made do.
I snapped some band shots last night of the lineup we've currently been rehearsing with. Who knew that one day we'd have another ginger, who's name is also Andrew, who also went as Tin Tin for Halloween? I don't know if I like the sounds of those similarities. As long as he can't freestyle as good as me, I'll be okay.

There are more shots, but they'll be released on our Myspace when we're good and ready: probably after a few more rehearsals.

The next shoot was this morning at Blair's urban planning firm.

I was hired on by Cal Brook and Anne McIlroy, who are quite possibly the two most gracious and patient bosses I've ever met. The shoot went very well. I allowed myself a little over three hours to shoot, and the production meeting we had weeks beforehand helped us craft the sort of images they were looking for to add to their website.
Despite my serious sickness, I managed to pull together a fine body of work (and even got to use a ladder). I'd add more photos to see, but they currently don't belong to me. Oh to be a business. Fun day nevertheless, and I even got another job out of it.

On a final note, Anne told me my personality is reflected in my work. Probably one of the best compliments I've received all year.

There you have it. Another capper on one of those "Impossible Weeks" I seem to keep having.

ahhh, the onion

I hate to say it, but thank god I follow the blogs I do; because sometimes you just find the gems.

How To Find A Masculine Halloween Costume For Your Effeminate Son

that's callled tweeting

ALRIGHTMEANDBLAIRAREGETTINGDRUNKONOLDEEANDGOING
SWIMMINGWEALSOHOOKEDUPWITHGIRLSINNYC

above video: Battery Park, NY.