03/28/2004 - 04/04/2004
Had to wake up at 8:00 this morning just to get to Yerk and edit flim. Have started getting to the Clay'n'Paupers performance, still in "assembly" stage. That's before the "rough cut" then the "fine cut". OOH, the glamour. As I've expressed to some of y'all, I've been sort of shaky about my program and may have to drop editin' during the 2nd half of this year due to bad plannin'/insufficient "networkin'". But, as Kane* would say, "Ain't no half-steppin'" and in that spirit I am going to dive into pre-production for my 1950's mockumentary and make it next year no matter what.
Time to put 'em on the table.
* - In this case Big Daddy, but the saying also reflects the attitude of Charles Foster.
Here is a nonsensical poem about beards that I wrote for my friend's birthday, and also to distract myself from the inordinate amount of studying I have to do. It's quite long, I apologize:
I tell a tale most tragic; 'bout a creature very strange,
Both mysterious and magic, and from its host estranged.
My insouciant days were dwindling as I sought to seek my treasure,
So off I went on journeys spent to end my days of leisure.
While traipsing on a trail I'd never tread on in my life,
I came upon a pack of children, bearing each a knife.
But normal younglings these were not - sharp implements aside,
For on each chin there grew a beard as thick as lion's hide.
"You shall not pass!" in unison they cried, "Pass you shall not!"
A complicated chain they formed, and in it I was caught.
I twisted and I turned but from their tangles could not wrest,
Myself, and thought in great despair that this would end my quest.
Relinquishing all hope I ceased my struggle and collapsed,
Was raised upon their shoulders ere a moment had elapsed.
Thusly was I carried 'till the path reached its conclusion,
To gates of a grand castle (though its grandness was illusion).
For if you stared with careful, knowing, seeing, honest eyes,
Its beauty would dissolve for its appearance was a lie.
The child-leader motioned for his tribe to pass the gates,
Through the thick-strewn forest where a secret passage waits.
But weariness had won out for they witnessed no facade,
And when a rebel voiced complaint, majority took nod.
Their lassitude was lasting and the castle meretricious,
Its tawdry tastes took hold over the few who were suspicious.
And so the children dropped me, to the leader's disbelief,
And just as soon I heaved a sigh of freedom and relief.
The leader yelled (in more creative terms) for this to end,
But scurrilous and jussive speech turned not a single friend.
I watched in silent horror as the gates were thrown askew,
And charging in they did not glimpse the sight that was most true.
What the bearded children took for bunnies made me gasp:
Their hands did not touch rabbit fur, but slimy scales of asps.
And little ducks were dragons fierce, and playful kittens trolls;
Soon all the children in the tribe had died to pay their toll.
But now the beasts had fought and dined and clearly had their fill,
Content they lay there, apathetic, wanting not to kill.
And so there were before me vacant steps to be ascended,
While the beasts lay happily, their stomachs quite distended.
Chary of the childrens' fate and wary to extreme,
Silently each step I climbed, quite surreptitiously.
Atop the steps two giant doors lay heavy on their hinges,
Ajar they came with effort great, and cheeks with reddish tinges.
The castle seemed to sigh as those great doors swung to a close,
And up ahead I thought I saw some people, all in rows.
Fear and curiosity did battle in my heart,
The latter soon victorious, towards them I did start.
Some spectacle it was, but also serious and grave:
At the center, quivering with fright, was some poor knave.
I took a place beside a stranger in the final row,
Thereupon he noticed me and told me of the foe:
"The one up there - the frightened one - his judgment day it is,
For he has quite neglected all the duties that are his.
We work here for the giant, and he treats us well and fair,
But asks us that we do our job with diligence and care.
That one up there - the lazy one - he tried to get away,
He didn't like the terms upon which he was forced to stay.
The giant, he is angry, and he means to seek revenge,
On all of us, if we don't plead our case and make amends."
Just then emerged the giant, looking neither gay nor pleased,
And in the room each fist was clenched, each muscle tight and seized.
Quietude, austere and sharp, fell over every one,
The heavy blanket woven out of silence weighed a ton.
"Ab uno disces omnes," came the giant's judgment call,
The lazy little aberrant would represent them all.
And after that 'twas chaos, each went wild with distress,
Until the central creature of this story did address,
Its audience below it, for the perch of this small creature,
Was right atop the giant's chin - a very salient feature.
And though this sounds fantastic, and may merit skepticism,
I swear the beard of that large man did undergo a schism.
Off the giant's face it leapt, and on the table stayed,
Delivering a sermon from below the giant's shade.
The astomatous creature had a voice most clear and pure,
But from where the sound had issued, of that we were unsure.
The people listened keenly, lending ear to its didactic,
But too late they discovered it a potent ataractic.
Two-by-two their eyes fell shut and one-by-one they slumbered,
Until those left awake by dozing neighbours were outnumbered.
And in the end I stood alone, and all alone I stood,
How many hours? I know not; I'd tell you if I could.
Entranced I was, or hypnotized - some magic yet unknown,
All I recall is waking up and finding what had grown.
The beast had fled, the rest lay dead in sleep, and on my face,
As I had feared: a hideous beard - what shameful, crude disgrace.
With fingernails I tore and clawed and sought to pull it free,
When no avail would come of it, I turned my tail to flee.
But lo! behold! a shadow cold had crept upon me slyly,
And up above the giant loomed, and down it smiled wryly.
His beard returned unto his chin, the evil to his eyes,
His fearful, baleful, soulless grin proportioned to his size.
He pondered my propinquity and studied me intently,
And in his hand he placed me as he raised me, oh so gently.
His grisly face to mine, I feared he'd squash me in his hand,
Instead he simply waved his arm and motioned to the land.
Behind the castle, fields and fields, as far as eyes can see,
My job to tend them for all time and never to be free.
I pass my days in solitude; a lonely, cruel exile,
Remembering the giant with his sick and vaunting smile.
I've rows and rows of beards to grow, with almost no respite
For even as I fall asleep I dream of beards each night.
And so each day I plod away, attending to my crop,
Shearing here and shearing there, a little off the top.
My venture failed, my hope assailed, and vanquished to the past,
But hoping every minute long the next will be my last.
My tale turned bad, it is most sad, and worse than I had feared,
And that is why I'll never trust a man who grows a beard.
Does anyone here remember the month of October? More specifically, the holiday that falls at the end of it? Anyways, I took some photos around that time that I never managed to upload, but now I have. Most of 'em weren't too good, plagued by camerawork that could be charitably described as "drunken", but I've got a selection of some of 'em up and onto the internet, just waitin' to be viewed. So, without further ado, we have:
A group shot (Ben, you may want to consider hotornotting this one)
Brendan Bane terrifying Leo
Graham Wagner and the Top of Leo's Head
A Portrait of Naomi in Domestic Bliss
Me and some people I don't remember meeting
And Emma Lawson looking as though she doesn't want her photo taken at all
So many memories.
Also, like the idea of fanzines. Presumably, we don't write anything for our own zines, yes?
Just concluded a 4 night bender. Satisfying. Now prawjekt due tomorow. Not much worry, though. Not too hard. Right? Anyways, just discovered an old scrap of paper in my room. And I'm dead serious, we need to do this. Fanzines of ourselves. I'll take helm for the first one. I say we start with Sam. It seems like a logical choice. I'll take publisher and do an interview about Punster. Anyone else with any other article / photo / etc ideas on the project, weigh in here on the comments section and we'll do it. Let's try to get this one done roughly by the end of winter break. Pay for the photocopying ourselves, not make too many of them. (6 pages = 30 c each X 50 copies = $15.00 / contributors [>2])Try to stock them at the Beguiling, and, if we can, York. Anybody know anything about their magazine rack policy? Colleen? Anyways, if we get the Sam one done and it's fun and we get any sort of feedback, we can go from there. I think it could be great fun. Title? The Sam Experience: the official fanzine of sam linton.
Weigh in, folks.
Type in sentences and have this sing them back to you (via Volokh)
Honda's ASIMO robot now capable of menial office tasks like greeting visitors, making coffee, finding Sarah Connor. (via Fark)
How to eat Sushi (watch for the recommended specials!)
Douchebags #1: The Recording Industry
Douchebags #2: The Royal School District of Washington
Douchebags #3: Mississippi (but you'd probably already guessed that before now)
Fall term: 0