21/02/04
Being free of the usual punctuation provided by work, shows, or jaunts to the park with Java, the last couple days have bled together in sort of a slow-mo blur of blandness.
Tonight, I bailed on work after walking maybe a third of the way there and deciding that it just wasn't worth getting soaked trudging the rest of the way to do a bunch of other people's jobs. I thought maybe I'd instead go check out the dance-punk snowball war on Falkland to hang out with Toby on his birthday for a bit, and then head over to Bloomfield House for the blog-friendly party. Unfortunately, by the time my beer was chilled and my dog was pooped, the snowball war was long-diffused, and I figured the residents Bloomfieldia had probably long-abandoned the place in favour of wreaking snowy havoc upon the city. So I came back inside and ate tacos while watching some cool videos by Trail of Dead and the Pixies and Liars. Such a rare treat, to get to see videos by bands I actually dig.
So after that I ended up going to some cute punk chick's house for what I thought was supposedta be a party, but which turned out to be a couple girls sitting around watching Drock nazi the stereo. It was ok though. It was just nice to get outta the house, and Cute Punk Chick was so kind as to give me a couple cigarettes to carry me through until tomorrow as I was leaving to come back home. That was incredibly nice. I just smoked the last one now.
So I wonder if tomorrow's Seahorse show is a go?
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Tonight, I bailed on work after walking maybe a third of the way there and deciding that it just wasn't worth getting soaked trudging the rest of the way to do a bunch of other people's jobs. I thought maybe I'd instead go check out the dance-punk snowball war on Falkland to hang out with Toby on his birthday for a bit, and then head over to Bloomfield House for the blog-friendly party. Unfortunately, by the time my beer was chilled and my dog was pooped, the snowball war was long-diffused, and I figured the residents Bloomfieldia had probably long-abandoned the place in favour of wreaking snowy havoc upon the city. So I came back inside and ate tacos while watching some cool videos by Trail of Dead and the Pixies and Liars. Such a rare treat, to get to see videos by bands I actually dig.
So after that I ended up going to some cute punk chick's house for what I thought was supposedta be a party, but which turned out to be a couple girls sitting around watching Drock nazi the stereo. It was ok though. It was just nice to get outta the house, and Cute Punk Chick was so kind as to give me a couple cigarettes to carry me through until tomorrow as I was leaving to come back home. That was incredibly nice. I just smoked the last one now.
So I wonder if tomorrow's Seahorse show is a go?
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20/02/04
17/02/04
I own a pitbull. It's funny how this can be interpreted as reflecting on my personality, but I suppose it's probably true that the vast majority of pitbulls have douchebag owners, so it makes sense to infer what you will about "us." Anyway, that was just sort of a disclaimer, I guess. My dog is fearless to the point of insanity, and she would fight Godzilla at the drop of a hat, but this is not why I love her, or even why I got a dog of this breed in the first place. It's hard to explain the concept of "gameness" to non-dog people, but I've always been partial to game dogs, and agression is just one manifestation of this personality type. I have always trained Java to be gentle. Anyone who does different with a game breed is almost definitely an idiot and/or asshole.
But still, fights happen from time to time, and dog fights are nasty, savage things. As with before, it's hard to explain how the line between "play" and "fight" is not as well-developed in domestic animals as it is in humans. The fact that this distinction is refined at all is probably what separates a domesticated animal from a wild one. But still, they are animals, and they can no more escape their instincts than we. So they fight. We do too, just less-frequently with so many teeth.
It's weird when a dog fight starts. To a casual onlooker, it probably seems to come outta nowhere, but there are subtle cues, and it really has a lot more to do with interpersonal dynamics than it does with agression or foolhardiness. One second they're playing tug-of-war or something, and the next they're locked in bloody mortal combat. Have no illusions about dogs; even yr uncle's fat old golden retriever doesn't really see the difference between the one circumstance and the other. It just acknowledges and complies with the fact that WE do. This is why we find dogs so endearing. They are our tamed lions, ready-bred just-so for minimum effort. Domesticated animals are bred to be our slave-friends. They come out of the box that way, as it were. This is why I prefer game dogs, and this is why I love my spazzy Jav and all the dissent that comes with her personality. She has fucking character. Her mischeivousness reminds me that I live with another living being, and not a fat, smelly, shaggy potted plant. Now, if I could only train her to earn her keep...
So anyway, she gets into fights from time to time, and it's pretty crazy shit. It happens in a heartbeat, so quickly that it doesn't matter that I can see the signs. It just becomes a violent blur before I'm on my second footfall to break it up.
This is the moment I've been driving at. That split second when everything spirals down into shit. You didn't see it coming, but the signs were still there. It doesn't matter; it just happens too fast to stop it, and, like dogs, you lose sight of what it was you were doing before the shitstorm started anyway. You become so embroiled that nothing that preceded the fight matters anymore.
A friend of mine is caught up in a tangled web of bullshit right now, and it brought all this to mind. How out of control a relationship can become in an instant, and how readily we lose sight of the fact that this kind of fighting only ever happens because you liked each other enough to play together in the first place. All of a sudden everything gets tossed out the window, and all that matters is the fight. Words are what make us great, and they will be our undoing. I've had this fight. Once it starts, it's impossible to escape. I still wouldn't change a thing I said, but I regret the circumstances that led up to the necessity of saying them.
We are, after all, just fancy animals. We are dogs.
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But still, fights happen from time to time, and dog fights are nasty, savage things. As with before, it's hard to explain how the line between "play" and "fight" is not as well-developed in domestic animals as it is in humans. The fact that this distinction is refined at all is probably what separates a domesticated animal from a wild one. But still, they are animals, and they can no more escape their instincts than we. So they fight. We do too, just less-frequently with so many teeth.
It's weird when a dog fight starts. To a casual onlooker, it probably seems to come outta nowhere, but there are subtle cues, and it really has a lot more to do with interpersonal dynamics than it does with agression or foolhardiness. One second they're playing tug-of-war or something, and the next they're locked in bloody mortal combat. Have no illusions about dogs; even yr uncle's fat old golden retriever doesn't really see the difference between the one circumstance and the other. It just acknowledges and complies with the fact that WE do. This is why we find dogs so endearing. They are our tamed lions, ready-bred just-so for minimum effort. Domesticated animals are bred to be our slave-friends. They come out of the box that way, as it were. This is why I prefer game dogs, and this is why I love my spazzy Jav and all the dissent that comes with her personality. She has fucking character. Her mischeivousness reminds me that I live with another living being, and not a fat, smelly, shaggy potted plant. Now, if I could only train her to earn her keep...
So anyway, she gets into fights from time to time, and it's pretty crazy shit. It happens in a heartbeat, so quickly that it doesn't matter that I can see the signs. It just becomes a violent blur before I'm on my second footfall to break it up.
This is the moment I've been driving at. That split second when everything spirals down into shit. You didn't see it coming, but the signs were still there. It doesn't matter; it just happens too fast to stop it, and, like dogs, you lose sight of what it was you were doing before the shitstorm started anyway. You become so embroiled that nothing that preceded the fight matters anymore.
A friend of mine is caught up in a tangled web of bullshit right now, and it brought all this to mind. How out of control a relationship can become in an instant, and how readily we lose sight of the fact that this kind of fighting only ever happens because you liked each other enough to play together in the first place. All of a sudden everything gets tossed out the window, and all that matters is the fight. Words are what make us great, and they will be our undoing. I've had this fight. Once it starts, it's impossible to escape. I still wouldn't change a thing I said, but I regret the circumstances that led up to the necessity of saying them.
We are, after all, just fancy animals. We are dogs.
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16/02/04
Because we could, we slipped back into Audio Empire last night and recorded another song. The original idea was that we were gonna do a split with some band from New Jersey that I've neither heard nor heard of, but they probably checked their heads and realized that doing a split with some equally-unheard-of band from the most obscure region of North America south of Nunavut was probably not the most career-savvy of moves. I'm not sure whether playing such anomalous music for this region is a liability or an opportunity, but really, who cares? Even though Tobias is doing the great, great majority of the work in trying to set up the tour, I'm coming to realize by mere association how much more difficult this sort of thing is for an unestablished band playing music in a questionable genre all the way out here past the 14 hours of venue-less wasteland. It's so much more of a gamble on the part of both the band AND the promoters. It's pretty intense. The upside is, I guess, that it's relatively easy to stand out (be it by virtue of being good or just being annoyingly different... I'll leave that up to you) in such a small, tightly-knit scene. "The squeaky wheel gets the grease" never sounded all that appealing to me. But anyway, who really gives a shit about that either?
The idea now is a 12" EP, and we figured that since we have this newfound space to fill, and since the rest of the recording is basically an ancient document of how we sounded in, like, October, we might as well throw something more up-to-date on the thing to round it off before we send out the masters on Friday. What the hell, right?
I think it ended up ok, but what I'm getting at is that I'm learning to despise track-by-track recording. I'm sure everyone in the band wrote me off as ultra-anal about this junk long ago, but I can't put into words how unnatural it feels laying down guitars to a drum track when stops and starts and tempo changes and general nuances are usually played with mutual intuition and visual cues and shit. It's no fun trying to replicate the feeling of someone else's take over and over until you fake it good enough to (hopefully) fool listeners.
I guess what really bothers me is that doing a single guitar track over and over in isolation until it fits the subtle eccentricities of the drum track from two hours beforehand really brings to the forefront just how incompatible being both a hack and a perfectionist is. I suck, basically. I don't do my ideas justice. If multitracking is gonna be the method, I want a zillion hours of studio time. It'd be so fucking cool to be able to experiment in the studio with this band. Just listening to what we've done, I can hear so many subtle touches that could elevate things from "wow, that's pretty good!" to "holy jesus fucking christ, these people are insane geniuses!" But these are the sorts of things that bands spend months in the studio getting just so, and usually require rehab afterwards. We're not exactly trying to be Led Zeppelin, so it's probably just as well. I just finally got a copy of the old recording today, and I'll dare say it sounds pretty fuck-you good, subtle nuances be damned.
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The idea now is a 12" EP, and we figured that since we have this newfound space to fill, and since the rest of the recording is basically an ancient document of how we sounded in, like, October, we might as well throw something more up-to-date on the thing to round it off before we send out the masters on Friday. What the hell, right?
I think it ended up ok, but what I'm getting at is that I'm learning to despise track-by-track recording. I'm sure everyone in the band wrote me off as ultra-anal about this junk long ago, but I can't put into words how unnatural it feels laying down guitars to a drum track when stops and starts and tempo changes and general nuances are usually played with mutual intuition and visual cues and shit. It's no fun trying to replicate the feeling of someone else's take over and over until you fake it good enough to (hopefully) fool listeners.
I guess what really bothers me is that doing a single guitar track over and over in isolation until it fits the subtle eccentricities of the drum track from two hours beforehand really brings to the forefront just how incompatible being both a hack and a perfectionist is. I suck, basically. I don't do my ideas justice. If multitracking is gonna be the method, I want a zillion hours of studio time. It'd be so fucking cool to be able to experiment in the studio with this band. Just listening to what we've done, I can hear so many subtle touches that could elevate things from "wow, that's pretty good!" to "holy jesus fucking christ, these people are insane geniuses!" But these are the sorts of things that bands spend months in the studio getting just so, and usually require rehab afterwards. We're not exactly trying to be Led Zeppelin, so it's probably just as well. I just finally got a copy of the old recording today, and I'll dare say it sounds pretty fuck-you good, subtle nuances be damned.
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12/02/04
My computer crashed tonight, but it was a blessing in disguise. Long story.
Before that, I talked with my sister online for the first time ever. I'm still tripping on that. I wonder if she's this sentimental about this shit. She's in university. Last time I saw her she was twelve.
Before that, Drock and I inaugurated a new System Poop drummer. I forgot how fun those songs are to play. It's pretty cool bringing a drummer into the fold who already knows all the songs just from listening to them. So yeah, I guess System Shit's back, for however long.
Before that, there was some pretty riotous messageboard drama. Most. Hilarious. Thing. Ever. But it's all been erased from history now, so there's no point in linking to it.
Before that TMWSD jammed and it was fun-ish, even though I have yet to find so-and-so in the right mood to show him ideas without him geting all defensive. Funny, I LIKE having people tell me what they'd prefer I do. Bigger picture, man, bigger picture. Ego at the door and all that.
Before that, I slept not nearly enough, and ate poutine. I'll log back on if I have a stroke.
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Before that, I talked with my sister online for the first time ever. I'm still tripping on that. I wonder if she's this sentimental about this shit. She's in university. Last time I saw her she was twelve.
Before that, Drock and I inaugurated a new System Poop drummer. I forgot how fun those songs are to play. It's pretty cool bringing a drummer into the fold who already knows all the songs just from listening to them. So yeah, I guess System Shit's back, for however long.
Before that, there was some pretty riotous messageboard drama. Most. Hilarious. Thing. Ever. But it's all been erased from history now, so there's no point in linking to it.
Before that TMWSD jammed and it was fun-ish, even though I have yet to find so-and-so in the right mood to show him ideas without him geting all defensive. Funny, I LIKE having people tell me what they'd prefer I do. Bigger picture, man, bigger picture. Ego at the door and all that.
Before that, I slept not nearly enough, and ate poutine. I'll log back on if I have a stroke.
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10/02/04
I just had virtually the same conversation with two different girls tonight, one an old friend, one relatively new. It's funny when people think I have something to contribute to a conversation about boy-girl relations. Like I have a fucking clue. The most lasting relationship I've ever had was with solitude.
But LaPointe said if she ever won the lottery we'd get hitched and I could be the kitchen bitch while she was the baby factory. Fine by me, I guess. Get with the lotto ticket buying.
I dunno, my head is screwed on all weird about shit like this. Whatever.
Pulling words outta the ether to somehow reflect what I think just isn't working right now. I wonder why I started writing this thing sometimes. I think I thought I had something to say.
I never meant for it to be this self-absorbed garbage.
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But LaPointe said if she ever won the lottery we'd get hitched and I could be the kitchen bitch while she was the baby factory. Fine by me, I guess. Get with the lotto ticket buying.
I dunno, my head is screwed on all weird about shit like this. Whatever.
Pulling words outta the ether to somehow reflect what I think just isn't working right now. I wonder why I started writing this thing sometimes. I think I thought I had something to say.
I never meant for it to be this self-absorbed garbage.
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09/02/04
Of all the days to have agreed to come in early. I could easily have slept another eight hours when I got up for work this afternoon. And having to train some new guy whilst concurrently receiving a giant order in the freezing cold was not what the doctor ordered.
Oh well, it was worth it. Mark Black's place was aces, even if I did somehow manage to miss him prancing around in a dress being announced as "the man of the house," (it's ok though, I later confronted him with my handy-dandy hand-held tape recorder and got his take on it down on tape for posterity's sake. God I must be annoying with that thing once I've had a few beers) and failed in soliciting a haircut from Claudette. I think I managed to make nice with someone I barely know who had an unfounded hate-on for me, so that's a bit of a weight off, and it was cool to be at a party with a bunch of other people who can enjoy drinking to Fugazi without fucking pointing out the supposed irony of the situation. There should be a party like that every week. I think I was there for just the right span of time too, since there was apparently some Mark Black genitalia on display at some point, and, I mean, I like the guy and all, but I'm pretty cool with having missed that. I also got the skinny on some cool show stuff that I won't divulge just yet.
So anyway, I'm not exactly sure what time I left for the punk party on the opposite end of town, but I was pretty in my cups by then. Several people were on the verge of passing out when I showed up and I almost wished I'd sayed at Bloomfield House, but it'd sorta seemed like it was dying down when I left anyway, and I didn't wanna overstay my welcome. A bunch of the punxors seemed to revive themselves when I showed up though, and it ended up being pretty fun. At least, what I remember of it. Things get a little hazy around there. I recall seeing Mike Adams there with his demure little girlfriend, and finding that sorta funny, the two of them lazing around on the bed in the living room, surrounded by mohawks and pitbulls. I remember Colleen being so blitzed that she didn't even try and kill me for patting her head and tugging on her dreadlock-ponytail. I'm not gonna go into it, but some changes in her life have made her -dare I say it?- downright jovial as of late. It's really good to see her being all happy and un-sociopathic. I also remember getting a little mouthy with this giant punk rocker guy (I'm pretty sure it's the same guy who smoked Gerry on the dancefloor at the Seahorse), and him just being sorta incredulous about it. Thank fuck. I really oughta get back into ju-jitsu before I start mouthing off like a twenty-year-old again. Anyway, as always seems to happen at these parties, I ended up in a long conversation about dogs with some crusty guy, and that's always cool. Say what you will about street punks or crust punks or whatever, but they all seem to approach dog ownership with the kind of reverence and sentimentality that I really think only exists in fundamentally good people. All I remember after that is waking up on the couch at like six in the morning, and wondering when and how the fuck I'd passed out. I stumbled around the place trying to find a telephone so I could call a cab post-haste (poor Jav, sitting home alone while I party it up in a dog-filled house), but no dice. Started to come around, and realized where I was. Fucking crazy punks probably don't even have one. So I gathered my shit, headed across the street to the gas station, and cabbed it home from there. I never even got to see the Texas mickey of gin. Good thing, I suppose.
In the absence of venues, I hope people keep throwing parties as great as the ones I've been to in the last few weeks. Hell, I'd even have one, but I can't imagine anyone wanting to hang out in this place. Keep 'em coming folks.
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Oh well, it was worth it. Mark Black's place was aces, even if I did somehow manage to miss him prancing around in a dress being announced as "the man of the house," (it's ok though, I later confronted him with my handy-dandy hand-held tape recorder and got his take on it down on tape for posterity's sake. God I must be annoying with that thing once I've had a few beers) and failed in soliciting a haircut from Claudette. I think I managed to make nice with someone I barely know who had an unfounded hate-on for me, so that's a bit of a weight off, and it was cool to be at a party with a bunch of other people who can enjoy drinking to Fugazi without fucking pointing out the supposed irony of the situation. There should be a party like that every week. I think I was there for just the right span of time too, since there was apparently some Mark Black genitalia on display at some point, and, I mean, I like the guy and all, but I'm pretty cool with having missed that. I also got the skinny on some cool show stuff that I won't divulge just yet.
So anyway, I'm not exactly sure what time I left for the punk party on the opposite end of town, but I was pretty in my cups by then. Several people were on the verge of passing out when I showed up and I almost wished I'd sayed at Bloomfield House, but it'd sorta seemed like it was dying down when I left anyway, and I didn't wanna overstay my welcome. A bunch of the punxors seemed to revive themselves when I showed up though, and it ended up being pretty fun. At least, what I remember of it. Things get a little hazy around there. I recall seeing Mike Adams there with his demure little girlfriend, and finding that sorta funny, the two of them lazing around on the bed in the living room, surrounded by mohawks and pitbulls. I remember Colleen being so blitzed that she didn't even try and kill me for patting her head and tugging on her dreadlock-ponytail. I'm not gonna go into it, but some changes in her life have made her -dare I say it?- downright jovial as of late. It's really good to see her being all happy and un-sociopathic. I also remember getting a little mouthy with this giant punk rocker guy (I'm pretty sure it's the same guy who smoked Gerry on the dancefloor at the Seahorse), and him just being sorta incredulous about it. Thank fuck. I really oughta get back into ju-jitsu before I start mouthing off like a twenty-year-old again. Anyway, as always seems to happen at these parties, I ended up in a long conversation about dogs with some crusty guy, and that's always cool. Say what you will about street punks or crust punks or whatever, but they all seem to approach dog ownership with the kind of reverence and sentimentality that I really think only exists in fundamentally good people. All I remember after that is waking up on the couch at like six in the morning, and wondering when and how the fuck I'd passed out. I stumbled around the place trying to find a telephone so I could call a cab post-haste (poor Jav, sitting home alone while I party it up in a dog-filled house), but no dice. Started to come around, and realized where I was. Fucking crazy punks probably don't even have one. So I gathered my shit, headed across the street to the gas station, and cabbed it home from there. I never even got to see the Texas mickey of gin. Good thing, I suppose.
In the absence of venues, I hope people keep throwing parties as great as the ones I've been to in the last few weeks. Hell, I'd even have one, but I can't imagine anyone wanting to hang out in this place. Keep 'em coming folks.
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04/02/04
Waking from a bender to find yr notoriously filth-encrusted living quarters impeccably clean is off-putting, to say the least.
Mommy, I'm scared.
So anyway, who wants to go see Bubba Ho-Tep with me next monday?
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Mommy, I'm scared.
So anyway, who wants to go see Bubba Ho-Tep with me next monday?
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03/02/04
02/02/04
I think too goddamn much.
Or fret. Maybe "fret" is a better word.
Yeah, whatever. Who gives a fuck anyway?
I'm not even nearly halfway done cleaning, and my apartment is already the cleanest it's been in over a year. I wonder how long I can keep this up. I'm a heavy sleeper, and I haven't stayed up for this long (26 hours, I think) without the assistance of drugs since I was maybe 21.
The Mars Volta sucks.
I'm gonna curl up in a blanket and sleep on my clean-carpeted floor tonight.
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Or fret. Maybe "fret" is a better word.
Yeah, whatever. Who gives a fuck anyway?
I'm not even nearly halfway done cleaning, and my apartment is already the cleanest it's been in over a year. I wonder how long I can keep this up. I'm a heavy sleeper, and I haven't stayed up for this long (26 hours, I think) without the assistance of drugs since I was maybe 21.
The Mars Volta sucks.
I'm gonna curl up in a blanket and sleep on my clean-carpeted floor tonight.
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