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My vacation is ending soon.
And randomly, I wonder if my like for Dragonette is at all strange. Whatever. This song makes me warm and fuzzy. Yep.
Sometimes the sun shines on us - Sometimes the rain goes and a rainbow’s all that’s left - We got lucky, hey, didn’t we, baby?
‘Cause I like your head on my shoulder - I like the way you smile, the way you smile - We both think the weather’s getting better - So let’s get lucky, let’s go all the way
I found you seaside in the fog - I hadn’t tried a lot of looking for anything at all - The cloud cover of fog - All the hearts I'm gonna' love in the morning
The weatherman says it’s wet and cloudy - Stay indoors, sit out the storm - It looks like this might be a quickie - Hey handsome, we got it good - Hey mister, we gone and done it - Just because we could - Because it’s cloudy out there - Staying in like we should
Watching (indifferently?) as a random but well-dressed girl topples over in the subway, smashing her face.
Watching (indifferently?) as random people stand to help her, but really do nothing.
Watching (indifferently?) as the random but well-dressed girl gets of the subway, holding her face. Does she even know where she is?
It can always be worse.
Jesus Christ, that's a pretty face
The kind you'd find on someone that could save
If they don't put me away
It’ll be a miracle
Do you believe you're missing out?
That everything good is happening somewhere else
With nobody in your bed
The night is hard to get through
And I will die all alone
And when I arrive I won’t know anyone
Well, Jesus Christ, I’m alone again
So what did you do those three days you were dead?
Because this problem is gonna last
More than the weekend
Well, Jesus Christ I’m not scared to die
But I’m a little bit scared of what comes after
Do I get the gold chariot
Do I float through the ceiling
Do I divide and pull apart
Cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark
This ship went down in sight of land
And at the gates does Thomas ask to see my hands?
I know you're coming in the night like a thief
But I’ve had some time alone to hone my lying technique
I know you think that I’m someone you can trust
But I’m scared I’ll get scared and I swear I’ll try to nail you back up
(everyone now)
So do you think that we could work out a sign
So I’ll know it's you and that it's over so I won't even try
I know you're coming for the people like me
But we all got wood and nails
tongue tied in hate factories
We all got wood and nails
tongue tied in hate factories
We all got wood and nails
And we sleep inside of this machine
Today I am not at work. Today I am remembering. And running and baking and doing work.
While running in a splendid temperature of 6 degrees and in a light mist I pondered why geese poop so much. I cannot stand when it gets stuck in my shoes. To compensate, I ran around every bit of it as best as I could.
While running I thought about how nice it is to have miles and miles of paths along the waterfront, relatively far from traffic and very close to my home. The running paths are one of the few things I miss about Ottawa.
While running I thought about how I wish I had more time to run, blog, make unnecessary telephone calls, socialize and wander around the city. Such is my life.
Yesterday I realized that it is okay to ask for and to accept help. Recognizing weaknesses is just as important as having strengths.
Today I realized that I have not posted for over a month. The gap can be explained by being stuck to a computer for reasons that are not self imposed.*
Today I realized that in just over 48 hours I commence a 2 month holiday.**
Tomorrow I will continue to try. I have every reason not to give up.
* Kind of.
**If working 9-5 is considered a holiday.
I'm in the process of discovering Lou Reed (which by default includes the Velvet Underground).
My musical pallet has been stretched lately. It's a good thing. There is a small area just outside of the comfort zone that, when pressed, creates growth. Musical, intellectual, physical, etc.
I was undecided about this pioneer. His voice bothers me. You would think that someone so musically inclined would be able to carry a tune.
Half asleep, contacts dry as sandpaper, freezing like it was February, close to you, comfortable as I ever have been and ever will be. Lou Reed was there, too.
TIFF's Lou Reed's Berlin was the start.
It was very physical it held you to the stage doin' the things that he wants to.
He can sing. He just chooses to talk most of the time. He appreciates music. His crooked smile has convinced me.
At the end of the day, that is all I try to do, too.
The real game's not over here
life starts and reality hits and it is sexy and orange. or orange and sexy. or neither. imperfection is beauty.
the colour of pin-up girls is ironic.
and i wish you were here. 6 days of change.
eat my dust...
too much white wine, bonding over kidneys, cold rice krispies, clogged vacuums, not enough orange juice, the joy of catherine wheel, bar (exams), burning, brilliant yellow roses, praising the kelly, the perfect lighting, free beer, lists and tables and lists.
...you insensitive fuck.
I'm not a fan of art from the Renaissance or Baroque periods. Instead, I prefer the Romantic and Impressionist periods. I don't like it when I can't use my imagination and I feel that it is better put to use by the mystery and intrigue of the later.
My tastes have been met with criticism. "Where is the skill?" I have been asked. "I could draw that" or "my child could do a better job" are also popular comments.
I have been quick to come to the defence of my art but have not really known what to say when it came to even more abstract art like that done by Picasso or Warhol. Until now.
I had the pleasure of visiting Picasso's gallery in Barcelona. It was a fantastic collection of work from the beginning of his study (yes, he studied!) to the end of his career and included sketches that were probably never meant to be public. I also recently saw even more of Picasso's art while in New York. I was blown away.
I think many people associate Picasso with his later work. Not known by many (including myself) is the fact that this boy could paint. He did the sketches and was traditionally educated. And he was good. So what happened?
My theory is that Picasso got bored.
I tried to find examples on the internet but none could be found.
Take my word, instead, that while sketching in art class and drawing as he was "supposed to" he would doodle. Most doodles included goats or cartoon flowers randomly placed somewhere on his sketch pad.
Did he not want to be there? Afterall, his father was a painter and his teacher. Did his father see his talent and encourage him to continue? Was Picasso just going through the motions? Did he really just want to jump out the window?
Then Picasso went to Paris.
 He didn't have money and he developed a taste for the "forbidden." Of course this translated to his work.
Looking at this one (mild) example, I wonder if Picasso ever meant for these doodles to become public. Did he care? Apparently during extreme periods of poverty he burned his art to keep warm. Was he just so creative that he didn't think twice about it? Did he paint like some people write? At least he still had all of his ears.
There is a marked progression in Picasso's work from his traditional training to what is now referred to as Cubism.
 Genres change and develop. Like building blocks, each period uses what was good from the period before and changes just enough to make it distinctive. If rules were broken a new way would never be recognized.
So was it easy? Definitely not. Picasso spent just as much time on his later works as he did his earlier works. Did he get the recognition he deserved? Probably not, although he did enjoy more wealth than other artists.
The moral? Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it should be dismissed. Just because you're told to do it doesn't mean you always should.
If rules were always followed Picasso would never have created.
The good side of the tape is playing and the wine is going down just a bit too easy. Yes. The tape. The mechanics of the Lakeshore waste containers continue to impress and evening outdoor Shakespeare shows remind me of younger days … Watermelon on the grass for a quarter and literary summaries so as to not lose the finer points. Don’t forget the chair. Blankets are inadequate. It’s like corn on the cob. Innocent and sweet. Plentiful and satisfying. Daddy’s little girl. Could it bring you to your knees? That was always my least favourite part of church. I preferred the music. But do I really want to return? Perhaps it is about time. This vacation is for the birds. Running through their crap is frustrating. It ruins my flow. I imagine what it is going to be like to remove. You Can’t Do That On Television.
I didn’t like that green goop, either. Here we are with our running and confusion, and I don't see no confusion anywhere.
... make me weepy.
The list includes but is not limited to certain types of music and songs, certain books, certain personalities, unexpected kindness (both to me and to others), when my father skins a knuckle (he does it regularly because he is always building something) and moments of heart-stopping pain and happiness.
Yep. Heart-stopping. Ironic, no?
... is what I have been doing in regards to this blog. It has been neglected due to time consuming exams, licensing courses and a move. The good news is that now I am in a hub of activity, a mecca of entertainment and in a location where art and culture is born.*
I say that Toronto is more exciting than Ottawa but that isn't without exception. In addition to participating in other silly tourist activities, I saw Feist (and Shaye and the Cowboy Junkies and others) on Parliament Hill on Canada Day.
Feist is exploding.
I was first introduced to Feist with the release of her album "The Reminder." I fell in love (and I don't do that easily).
The beauty with Feist is that she has achieved mainstream notoriety with a very non-mainstream sound (dare I say it is still fairly "indie"?) Her single "My Moon My Man" has been a regular feature on Much Music's Video Flow and both the video and the sound of the song is very much like "Mushaboom" from "Let It Die" (2004) (which was only recognized in certain crowds). Her Ottawa concert date sold out and she closed the Canada Day festivities on Parliament Hill. I don't know if such things are qualities of "mainstream" and "top-40" artists but I bet it helps. And if you still don't believe me, take a look at the records sales.
I recognize that her sound isn't for everyone but her vocal ability, however, is worth noting. And the music is clever. What more could one want?
But do all artists want such success? I would imagine they do. Even if it isn't good for them. (see the story of the late Michael Hutchence from INXS for an example). Is there ever a happy medium? I may have to search for an example.
I have nothing but time.
There's nowhere to go but on Heart on my sleeve Not where it should be The song's out of key again
*I admit that this sentence may be a bit of an exaggeration.
... I am taking over the world.
I have a certain friend who absolutely hates it when I say "touch base." I never really realized that I did it often until he started to point it out. In it's defense, it is really a great phrase. Look at all of its uses:
-"I just wanted to touch base."
-"Why don't we touch base at X time."
"No mom, nothing is wrong. I am just calling to touch base."
Today when I was speaking to (I was nice this time) Bell I was informed that they have a "Touch Base" service. This service "lets you choose a number and call it free of charge up to 20 times per month. [You can t]alk as long as you need to, without worrying about using up your airtime minutes." Of course, there are notable exceptions (like long distance, for example). My point, however, is that annoying as my phrase may be ... it is catching on!
One small victory at a time.
I am not.
I think I've over-walked her. I think I've over-talked her. I even sang to her! Ugh.
At least she is still alive.
A long, long time ago, it seems, even though it really wasn't. The older you get the more quickly time passes. Two months? A lifetime? Today I like number 3 the best.
If I could catch it, wrap it up and sell it, I would make a fortune. Too bad for them. It's all for me.
Turn a new page. Tear the old one out.
I used to read novels like there was a shortage of words. I would get upset when they ended. It was like I had lost a friend. Trilogies and series silenced those complaints. I haven't indulged in years. I've come to like my reality better. White wine and sleeping pills? Not required.
I prefer my eggs ... [and] bottomless coffee, thanks. Wait. That's number 1.
I cannot believe that I did not know this existed. "Could it be true?" you ask. It's probably overstated. It doesn't take away from the hilarity, though. And when you're done with that, go here. I'm sure the law students/lawyers will be equally humoured.
As a child/teenager my father would lecture me about taking care of my tools. "If you don't take care of them they will not take care of you" he would say. Of course, he was referring to dull blades on iceskates.
I do math equations in my head when I run. It helps distract me. As I am easily distracted, I usually spend the entire run thinking about the solution to one equation. I suppose I am also not great at calculus in my head. (But really, who is?) I used to tell people that I was "anti-derivative" until I realized that I didn't create that concept. Oh, I like this song.
I haven't been running well since my return. It was an effort and my knees and hip were a constant bother. My shoes were long past ineffective and I knew this. Complaining is for lazy people.
Today I ran. In my shiny new shoes. I ran and ran and ran. I did not think of math. I did not think of other life stresses. It was not until I finished that I realized that my knees did not hurt and that my hip did not ache.
And so my father was right yet again. It's amazing how much your parents learn when you leave home.
Note to self: it is a bad idea to stick your finger in a cup of concentrated bleach.
I wouldn't be me if I didn't do such asinine things on a semi-regular basis, though.
My mind has been in a bit of a state, lately. Too many things are going on and I feel like I am more than a bit disorganized. Part of me hates it. The other part loves it. My new philosophy is to just let it happen, to enjoy it and to stop insisting on always having control. After all, life isn't always just about exams and living arrangements. It's also about laundry. And really ... who really wants to be in charge of that.
This past weekend my interest in Feist was confirmed. I am always pleased when the second listen to an album is just as good, if not better, than the first.
On a downloading rampage I went back to Monarch (1999).
I like my covers to be heavy So I don't get cold when I sleep My love affairs always seem unsteady And I never go half-way when I weep Take me anywhere With you Take me in your care With you Take me anywhere With you Take me anywhere With you I'm still true
My Grey's has returned to me. *Swoon*
All I will say is that if I was Meredith and I had her family history I would have wrote that stupid test. The straw that broke the camel's back? Sure. Devastating? Definitely. Surprised? Nope. Self preservation and perseverance are essential. I don't for one second think that she didn't have it in her.
And Izzy? Good on you. That was the first rational thing you did all season.
My brain has exploded and I’ve really only just started. Can I just sign a waiver promising that I will never practice tax and security law? If I could that would really make my day. No. It would make my month.
In a moment of complete submission I resorted to Much Music. Video Flow always makes me feel better. To my pleasant surprise Video on Trial was on. I love this show. Six videos (or is it five?) are played and different Canadian comedians make comments on the singing/acting/costumes (or lack thereof)/etc. The whole product is just enjoyable. It also helps that I happen to agree with most of what is said. (On a random side note it also reminded me of yet another reason I can’t wait to return to Toronto.)
This brings me to Beyonce and Shakira. “Beautiful Liar” was played frequently in both Spain and Italy* amidst pop music that just made no sense to me. I can’t stop singing it. God help those around me if I ever hear it when I am in one of those dancing places….
Yo se cosas que tu, nunca querres saber.
Another one of my guilty pleasures? You have no idea. The Video on Trial people liked it, though. They never like anything.
*Wikipedia tells me that in Italy, the song debuted at number one making it the first #1 single for Beyoncè and the third #1 for Shakira.
She said she didn't think she could believe in God anymore. How could she? It makes perfect sense. He was 19. Young and beautiful. Ripped from the world almost within a blink of an eye.
But does it really have anything to do with the powers that be? Oh, I have my doubts, my issues, my beliefs. This was not the time.
She needed something else. Something I tried desperately to provide. I am a poor substitute for my mother.
I walked through the Vatican. I didn't have a holy experience. I gaped at the grandeur, the beauty and thought about the irony in Michaelangelo's bitterness. I actually felt closer to my grandmother than I did to God.
If the events of the last week and a bit have taught me anything it is that we only live once. Death is inevitable and in the end the moment is what matters. Sort of....
Carry me away. I need your strength to get me through this. Slowly walk away, To breathe again....
Tomorrow is the end.
Tonight I saw the most amazing sunset. I had the most amazing company. I really need to pack.
The last three weeks have been more than I have imagined. They have brought me insight, calm and excitement.
The world is full of places that are just waiting to be discovered.
At the risk of sounding like some kind of infomercial, I will leave. Await pictures and corresponding posts. My material has quadrupled.
As I sit in, Horta, a suburb of Barcelona, I think.
There is so much to see. There is so much to do. There is no alternative. It has to be done.
I will swim in the Mediterranean even if the water is not warm. I like refreshing.
I will walk until my feet will take me no further. Things could be worse.
I will wake up early and I will sleep late. I will not miss a thing.
I know that I'm supposed to inspect the cork. I know that I'm supposed to stick my nose into the wine glass (deep and bulbous for the red) and inhale deeply. I know that I'm supposed to take two sips before I decide if I like it. I know I'm supposed to look at its legs. I tend to forget, though.
Or maybe I just don't really care.
There is little I like more than unpacking the bag, taking off the clothes and pouring the glass of wine. I put on my music and I listen. I sip and I feel.
They are my grandmother's wine glasses, you know. Donzens of dinner parties later they are well used and well loved. Some have met their demise. I never mind.
There is no greater way to show appreciation than use. A memory isn't protected by an item. The use of the item creates more.
I could sit for hours listening to the songs and letting them take me to those places. It's my sanity, you know.
I am not opposed to hard work. I like it, in fact. It makes me feel useful. Use is important. YOU were too much work. YOU were not supposed to be that much work. I am worth more.
I feel as though my life is about to start. Opportunities have lined themselves up and I can be as picky as I want.
I can only remember one other point in my life when I have felt this complete. I was about to start law school. I was nervous. No. Terrified. I wrote about it on my long since dead livejournal and said that I felt that day was the first day of the rest of my life. My god. How my life has changed since then.
It’s funny how time brings joy and misery, failure and insight. In the last three years, I have feared for my life, cried myself to sleep, ran for everything I was/am, have laughed harder than I thought was possible and have realized that in the end, all I have is me.
Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I can’t wait.
I cry more during emotional movies than I do during my own life.
It feels good.
Good like running in the rain, water pouring down your face, good. Good like the smell of spring, good. Good like a smile from a stranger, good. Good like an unexpected but thoughtful gesture, good.
Reign On Me was the perfect dose of feel good.
Then I listened to NIN.
Perfect.
Everyone who reads this or who even remotely knows me at all knows that I believe lyrics are just as important as phrases/harmony/musicality.
Most people also know that I really enjoy System of a Down.
What some people don't know is that I enjoy this band with a caveat. I DO NOT like it when they are political or when they try to make any sort of policy statement.
System of a Down became obviously political with Boom! from Steal this Album.
Boom, boom, boom, boom,
Every time you drop the bomb,
You kill the God your child has born.
Boom, boom, boom, boom.
It was around the time of the very political invasion of Iraq and the band began to use their media influence to share their views. The video depicts the unmistakable cartoon of Georgie.
I want to make it clear that I don't always hate it when artists use their work to express their political views. Chopin's Revolutionary Etude is all about his displeasure with Russia's invasion of Poland and that score is probably one of my favourites from the era. The difference is in how the artist structures the work to get the point across without being condescending or forceful. Now, before I am told that Chopin's compositions did not include lyrics I will simply state that his frustration with the political issue was demonstrated in cascading scales with determined chordal progressions. The product succinctly depicts emotions of anger, pride, sadness and frustration. It's the same thing.
The most important factor in being a successful artist, in my humble opinion (especially in mainstream art), is to guide the listener/viewer to naturally draw the exact conclusion you want or an acceptable variation thereof. When finished listening to Chopin's Revolutionary Etude I feel how Chopin intended me to feel. System of a Down just pisses me off.
Violent Pornography from Mezmerize is even more to the point.
It's a violent pornography
Chocking chicks and sodomy
The kinda shit that's on your TV
Now, I'm not a fan of this type of thing but I also know that it's not readily available on my tv. I'd have to look for it and I can guarantee you that it won't be on today's youporn listing.
I want clever lyrics. I want lyrics that don't spoon feed me. I can think. I can conclude. I think political opinions and social issues are much more complicated than the way they are expressed by System of a Down in a three minute song that spends most of its time repeating said lyrics. Sure, System of a Down may be exposing naive listeners to issues that would otherwise not be considered but I highly doubt that they are guiding the listeners to think for themselves.
I much prefer it when political issues are a secondary theme to music. System of a Down needs to stop thinking they are being clever and stick to their material from their pre-mainstream days.
And just for that, I am removing the song from my daily play list.
Reflective, pensive, emotional is what the last 3 weeks have been.
I found a new friend. It was rather long over-due.
Well it's a realization, when you find out you don't even wanna look at yourself
I am a strong advocate of "self-reflection." It's not pleasant but it is necessary. It's nice to have allies for the combat, but it's also nice to know who aren't going to be there.
And i'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket But I gotta go and move on with my life
So there.
A post about something more coherent will follow when the opportunity presents itself.
Today I left for the CAPPRT with a head of hair that was behaving, skin that finally no longer looked like I had planted my face in ice and with a mind full of advice that I was determined for follow.
I like to “people watch” so I rarely think much of it when people do it to me. On days like today I could care less. “Look all you want! In this second, I am perfect.”
He told me I was beautiful. The look in his eyes convinced me that he was going out of his way to tell me this and that he meant it.
There is hope for me yet.
Life, bring it on.
 During a rare night of "quiet" I pulled out Saw 2 and popped some popcorn. I have now watched all 3 of the Saw movies. I just did so out of order.
I don't enjoy psychological thrillers. I think it is because my imagination is active enough. I don't need mystery and suspense for enjoyment. WYSIWYG thank you very much.
Saw is not a psychological thriller. It's not quite "slash" either. (I would classify Mr. Zombie as being more in the "slash" genre.) Nevertheless, they give me what I want. Blood, guts and giggles.
Tonight I considered why these types of movies bother some people. Sure, if it were to happen in real life it would be horrible, no good and very bad. HOWEVER, it's a movie. It's exactly the same as some cheesy love story where the woman gets swept off her feet and the theater sighs at the same time.
Blah. Give me 1000 Corpses any day.
Horror films are dirty. (And I don't mean *that* kind of dirty.) For 90 minutes the characters crawl around in blood, brains, animal skin and feces. The houses are so decrepit that you can almost smell the stench from the couch. Dirt = discomfort. Mix that with an incredibly painful situation and people have trouble with it.
Horror doesn't make you feel all lovey-dovey like Mr. Grant and co-star of the week does. It doesn't make you want something you don't have. Instead, it makes you feel better about what you do have.
Take that Miss. B. Jones. Ha.
Is it anywhere in the city you live? Is it the house where you grew up? Is it where you fall asleep at night? Is it where you feel most comfortable or comforted?
I recall speaking to a parent when I first moved away from "home" just short of a decade ago. We confused what I meant by "home" because she thought I meant her house and I thought I meant mine.
City and Colour made me think of this today. So did the comments of a friend.
I'm indifferent, I think. I am not comfortable in my childhood home. I have never looked at my other homes as permanent. I certainly am a guest at most of the other places I spend time. Being a guest doesn't equate to being home. It's a funny change of perspective. It's also one that isn't entirely unwelcome. It's proof that at the end of the day change is good. It provides character, strength and insulting independence.
A home is not defined by four walls. It is much more. I'll know it when I find it. I certainly haven't yet.
I wouldn't consider myself a sappy person but last night I found myself staring, starry-eyed, at a short-ish man with a strange shirt/tie combination (which, by the way, is a pet-peeve of mine - the tie ... not the stature).
He spoke proudly of the fact that he finished his first year of law school third from the bottom. He went on to graduate sixth from the bottom. He then opened a very successful boutique law firm that specializes in Corporate Finance and Mergers & Acquisitions transactions in Toronto.
Last night, this man, on behalf of his firm, donated a substantial sum of money to various student causes. My place of student employment was among them.
He said he wanted to be an example of what can be done with drive. I couldn't agree more.
I sit here now looking for my drive. I really have no excuse.
Today was all about Radiohead. Well, to be fair, it was not just about Radiohead ... you know...
I think it's the lyrics that get me *here.* They pull at strings and I find myself saying "ya ... I hear you, Tom."
Red wine and sleeping pills Help me get back to your arms Cheap sex and sad films Help me get where I belong Stop sending letters Letters always get burned It's not like the movies They fed us on little white lies I will see you in the next life Beautiful angel Pulled apart at birth Limbless and helpless I can't even recognize you
lovelonelyemptysad
lovecompletefulljoy
lovedifficultconfusedresentful
lovebrightwonderfulcontent
lovequestionedalonedoubtful
lovemagicpeacefulcomplete
lovecoldbitterangry
To sleep, perchance to dream.
Apparently I have been incredibly disadvantaged because I didn't know about Pink Floyd's, The Wall. I have been told that they made the album into a Rock Opera.
Does anyone know where I can get a copy of the video/dvd (if there is one)?
Hmph.
There are not many things I hate. Sure, I dislike stuff. I even am indifferent to stuff. Rarely, will I say I hate it.
My one exception is Bach. Yes. I HATE, Johann Sebastian Bach. I could go on for quite some time explaining how Bach's Preludes and Fugues made me wish I was doing my calculus homework instead of getting my 4th finger of my left hand to successfully carry the melody of the recurring phrases. (It's hard! The 4th finger, no matter how muscled, will always be weaker than the other fingers). I also take unreasonable issue with taking marks away from me during my Harmony III and IV exams (which involved writing scores of music with just paper and a pencil and no other way to test your brilliance) because I just happened to break the same rules that Bach broke when he was doing his four part harmonies. (You see, the rules of classical harmony come from Bach's work ... namely his Preludes and Fugues. He was mostly consistent with what he did but occasionally he would "break a rule" for a moment of dissonance or something different.) It's possible that my level of hate does not quite come through in this post. Trust me ... it's there. In fact, take a look at this to get a better appreciation for my position. This guy had me in stitches.
I just spent the last 10 minutes salivating over a myspace video of Marilyn Manson and Nine Inch Nails (Trent) performing together at a concert. Nevermind that. Even I agree my fascination with the image of Marilyn Manson is strange.
Trent Reznor is a creative genius. I am still deciding if I enjoy his pre-sober/clean creativity more than his buff/muscled creativity but either way...
So the point of this is to say that Nine Inch Nails is releasing "Year Zero" in September 2007. There was a leak and all signs point to it being planned. A shiny silver flash key was found in a not so shiny public washroom. The occupant of the washroom took it home to see what was on it. The "Violent Heart" began to play. After the song was finished there was about 5 minutes of static.
Spectrographic imagery. The static, using certain visualization plugins (such as iTunes), displays a hand dropping down and plucking out a heart. It's violent, all right.
Nine Inch nails is not the first to do this. Aphex Twin did the same thing long ago. The difference is that it is easier for the public to experience the creativity. Media is at our fingertips.
And just like that music takes on a new form.
 I've been listening to a lot of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club lately. Different music for different days.
I never thought I'd see it comin' I never thought I'd ever know Nothin' seems to take me over Nothin' seems to let me go.
I also keep looking over to my flowers. So simple and so pretty and I wonder why they are so appreciated (and I'm not convinced that it is just a "chick" thing).
It's nice to know that you're appreciated, wanted, liked, loved. It's nice to know that someone is thinking about you.
But I know that you're so confused and afraid I just want to be one true thing that don't fade I don't wanna give up tomorrow.
And really - what is wrong with that?
So I'll wrap myself in my music ... dream away the next few days ... except my world ... and move on. It's what I do best, you know.
I own the Fergie album, the Gwen Stafani albums and the Justin Timberlake albums (among others, of course). Music critics sometimes argue that the compilations lack integrity but music lovers disagree. A lot can be said for a well produced album and it's top 40 to a new extreme.
I think the main reason I listen to this music is because I enjoy experiencing the progression of the album. It's unique (to a certain extent), it's easy to listen to but most importantly, it's fun. Music should not always be about assessing how complicated the harmony is or if the beats are true to its proclaimed style. If you like it - you like it. No explanation required.
So this leads me to the Grammy Awards. The usual suspects were nominated and I'm not really surprised with the results. Justin Timberlake walked away with a couple, as did the Dixie Chicks (I'm a big fan of "I'm Not Ready To Make Nice.") I found it refreshing that most of the awards were not only part of the top 40 and recognizable but that they also met whatever technical standard these awards rely on.
What I don't understand, however, is the award for Best Rap Song (which is a song writer's award). "Money Maker" by Ludacris Featuring Pharrell won. Huh? Is this an example of what's popular winning as opposed to quality? If so, it would not explain Wolfmother beating not only System of a Down but also Nine Inch Nails in the Best Hard Rock Performance category. Perhaps, instead it's an example of the top 40 also actually being quality music.
I am not particularly fond of Ludacris or Pharrell (although I would take the later over the former if forced to choose) but I am happy to see that some legitimacy has been given to my age old argument that sometimes top 40 isn't crap.
A few people, some more close to me than others, seem confused by my interests.
"Silly," they say.
I don’t pretend to be "mainstream" but I am confident that few can accuse me of being intolerant of different tastes.
Something out there - be it music, literature, movies, celebrity gossip, political gossip - will grab your attention, hold it and rock your socks. That something will make you want to know more and to be more. Others who care enough to tolerate/indulge that something will inevitably learn more about that person on a rather personal level.
This is my something. Deal with it and do what you will with it.
It’s the horse. I was introduced to this painting while I was studying the Romantic Movement through the Royal Conservatory of Music in the early 1990s. (There are various versions of this painting and Fuseli’s works are fascinating but will be left alone for now.) I didn’t see it as first. I focused on the lifeless body, still and lovely, in such sharp contrast to the ghastly demon so smug to be sitting on her chest. I learned that a nightmare in the 1700s was thought to be caused by just that – a demon sitting on the sleeper’s chest. Clever, I thought. It explains the sudden jolt of consciousness, the shortness of breath as the dream is still vivid and the invasion of privacy that could only be the doing of the “impure.” Then I noticed the horse. It jumped out at me from behind that curtain in a very uncomfortable way. I still haven’t completely figured out what the meaning behind this horse is. Academic text suggests the word “mare” is a play on the word “nightmare.” I’m not completely convinced. To me the horse represents an unsettling aspect that captures exactly what a nightmare should. I bet that the use of the same animal’s head in The Godfather was no mistake. The horror continues even when awake. And just like that I was hooked. Bring on the unusual, the disturbing, the clever and the provoking. I embrace it.
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